Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 9, 1895. . WHY IS IT ? Some find work where some find rest, And so the weary world goes on, I sometimes wonder which is best. The answer comes when life is gone. Some eyes sleep when some eyes wake, And so the weary night hours go. Some hearts beat where some hearts break 1 often wonder why ’tis so. Some will faint where some will fight ; - Some love the tent and some the field, I often wonder who are right— The ones who strive or those who yield Some hands fold where other hands Are lifted bravely in the strife, And so through ages and through lands Move on the two extremesof life. Some feet halt where some feet tread, In tireless march, a thorny way ; Some struggle on where some have fled ; Some seek when others shun the fray. Some swords rust where others clash ; Some fall back where some move on ; Some flags furl where others flash Until the battle has been won. Some sleep on while others keep. The vigils of the true and brave. They will not rest till roses creep Around their name above a grave. — Father Ryan. A GIRL OF INSIGHT. BY MABEL QUILLER CoucH. “What is the matter with you ?” “Nothing.” “Did you town ?” “No-o ; beastly hole, bores one to death.” “But there is such a lot going on now. Did you not goto any thea. tres ?" “Yes, to every one, music halls, too ; saw everything there was to be seen. I suppose I did enjoy myself, but I bave forgotten it.” The Girl looked at the Man steadily for a moment, but he walked moodily on, unconecious of her gaze. “Were there any nice people staying at the same place ?'’ she asked uncon- cernedly, but still watching him. “No-0; at least, I hardly spoke to any of them.” “Who were those people you wrote about ? Those people you were with 80 much ?” “Ob, they were Irish.” Dead silence: The Man and the Girl sauntered along the beach, each intent on his or her own thoughts, “What charming people the Irish are, as a rule,’ said the Girl, at length, : “Yes; awfully jolly,” enthusiastic- ally. “Were these ?" “Oh, yes ; they weren't bad.” “How many were there, and of what sort and condition? Do rouse your- have a good time in — self a little, and try to be a trifle more entertaining.” The Man pulled himself together and made an effort. “What shall I tell you? About the Irish people I met ? Well, there wag a father, also a mother—awfully fine old lady she was —and a daughter.” “Wag the daughter pretty ? Irish girls are lovely, as a rule, I think. There eyes are so beautiful. Had this girl beautiful eyes ?"” “Ye-es, I suppose so.” “Was she a nice girl, clever and so on? Tell me all about her.” ; “Oh, there is nothing to tell.” The Man grew restive under the quetsioning then he tried to turn the conversation. The Girl sauntered ‘on more slowly. She was a little paler than she had been, buta slightly mocking smile played round the corners of her mouth, “How pretty those brown aails look out there,” she said, presently, point- ing to a little fleet of fishing boats far out on the glittering sea. “Mark, I shouid like to go out sailing.” “Would you ?” he rejoined indiffer- ently. “Yes; let us go and have a nice long day. I will get some provisions while you get the boat. Shall we go ”m “I should like it if you would.” With a little more alacrity he moved off, while the Girl wended her way up the cliff path to the house perched on the top. “Poor boy I” she said, softly. “To be slangy, he is hard bit, or thinks he is, which amounts to the same. I am afraid heis very impressionable.” Out at sea there wasa soft breeze blowing, a little breeze that made the hot sun unbearable, and put new life and spirits into the two in the boat ; there was something so exhilerating, go free, 80 invigorating, in the very feeling of flying along over the smooth, sparkling waters. Care seemed to be left behind, where it would not over- take them ; anger jealousy, mortifica- tion, seemed all too petty and mean to live in this great open stretch of sea and eky. ; “Shall .we have lunch now ?’ the Girl was leaning back in a perfect nest of cushions, looking unspeakably com- fortable, and very pretty; her pink sunshade gave a delicate flush to her cheeks, which were otherwise pale. Her dainty pink gown made a bright spot in the boat, and formed a relief to the monotony of brilliant blue around them. The breeze flapped the wide brim of her hat, and blew her soft hair in curls about her forehead. The Man looked round from the sail ropes he had been intent on, and an invol- untary gleam of admiration shone from -his eyes. “You look go comfortable it is a pity you should move,” he said, in less melodramatic manner than he had hitherto spoken. “I will unpack the things and hand you all you want.” “My dear boy, I could not possibly eat in this position, and loath as I am to disturb myself, my spirit longeth for subetance. I am going to sit at the bottom of the boat,” she said; “will you arrange some cushions at my back for me ?” Easily and deftly, and with an ajr in which the proprietor and protector were curiously mixed, he arranged her nest. There was something strangely fascinating in taking care of this dain- ty, graceful maiden. The Girl seemed to divine his feelings, for she colored a little and roused herself so as to dis- pense with his attentions. When all was ready he sat down close to her and arranged his own meal. And all the time the boat sped lightly along before the breeze. and the water rippled and splashed round the boat. “This is awfully fine,” said the Man, leaning back, with his hands clasped behind his head, and looking first at the Girl, then at the sky, and then back at the Girl again. “This is splendid ; I could goon sailing away forever. One seems to leave all worries behind, and forget all disagreeables.” The Girl did not speak for a mo- ment ; she was looking at the brown sails of the boats they were passing. “I do not know that I should care for it for the rest of my existence,’ she said at length. “You are very agree- able companion, Mark at least, you can be,” with a little rising of her eye- brows ; “but I think it would be very stupid to pass one’s whole life with one friend”—— “With one what?” “Friend,” answered the Girl, calmly unfurling her sunshade, and settling more comfortably into her cushions, The Man stared at her for a few sec: onds, then he followed her gaze at the brown sails, and for a moment they appeared to find something of sur- passing interest in them. “I think it would be very jolly to bring out Mina Armstrong one day, and her brother, don’t you?” asked the Girl. “Ye-es, perhaps they would like it,” indifferently. “Oh, Jack Armstrong told me yes. terday that he is devoted to sailing. He wanted me to go with him—them to-day, but I said you were coming, and you would think it odd if you found no one at home.” “You were very kind,” he answered- a little sulkily. “I am sorry to have kept you at home.” “Oh, it does not matter, I can go another day ; I wanted to see you, you know.” “Thanks, but why not go in his boat to-morrow instead of having him here? You would enjoy it more, probably.” “I don’t know that I should,” mus- ingly. ‘Besides I want you to know Mina, she is such a dear little soul, andso pretty I am sure you will quite fall in love with her.” She looked at her companion for the first time, then quickly lowered her sunshade, for the dignified amazement of his expression was too much for her gravity. For minutes silence reigned in the boat. The Man was wondering if it could really be possible that the Girl regarded him simply as one of ber man friends, and was quite in- different as to whether he cared<more for another girl or not. It really seemed 80, but it was almost incom- prebensible. In an instant it all flash- ed across him ; she was infatuated by this newcomer, this other friend, who wanted to take her outeailing and she wanted to pack him, Mark, oft with the sister. It had never occurred to him that other men might admire Ruth so much as to wish to take her from him. He looked at her in his endeavor to fathom it all, he looked at her, and then he no longer wondered. She was really very pretty ; when he looked at her she was leaning on the side of the boat, her head resting on her arm, It seemed to him there was a sadness about her attitude and expression, a sweet, pathetic air that made his heart beat faster with a great desire to com- fort her. Perhaps her thoughts were with that other fellow | hile he was try- ing to discover why he so disliked that other fellow, Ruth gave a little sigh, and thesadnees vanished from her face. “How perfectly idyllic this is,” she said. “What a comfort it is to be able to sit silent when one feels inclined, and not feel one is playing the bore. It ia a sign of true friendship, Mark, I could not do so with any one but yon, but you understand.” She looked at him with a sweet grave smile. “We ought to be good friends after know- ing each other all these years, oughtn’t we 7" Mark nodded. ‘ ‘Friends’ always seems to me such an inadequate, cold word,” he said. “Friends and ac- quaintaoces are the same to me.” “Ob, no ! oh, no!” she cried. “Ac- quaintances mean so little, thay are nothing. I have so many, but of friends so few. You are one of my chieftest, and” — “I always thought we were more than friends,” he said. “You silly boy, how could we be!” she replied with a little laugh, but the laugh did not ring true. : “Well, you koow what the old folks" —— “Mark, do you know that it is near- ly 4 o'clock, and that I promised to be at Armstrong's at 4:30. We must really goin now.” The man got up rather unwillingly ; he was uneasy somehow about Ruth ; she seemed to have raised a barrier be tween them, a eomething that made him feel that she was less his than he had chosen to consider her. Later that day it occurred to -him that he had not thought of the Irish girl for several hours, He did not think of her until the monoat rose, and be went out on the headland. and sat alone with his pipe, and he longed to make her aware of the fact. * * * “Ruth, do you feel inclined to come for a stroll 2’ The Girl was sitting in a large basket chair in the garden on the cliff top ; in her hand she held a magazine, but she was not reading it, she was looking out over the sea, think- ing, thinking of something which call- ed up a little smile to her lips. She looked so sweet, and fresh, and cool, her eoft white gown showing her pretty, sunburnt cheeks, and the glor ious color of her hair. Mark approach- ed her with his request almost diffi- dently. During the last week or two he had found that she did not jump at his suggestions with her old alacrity ; in fact, it had taken him all his time and all his tact to secure her company at all, and so occupied bad he been that be had no time to think at all of the Irich girl; at least, he had only found time of an evening over his pipe and two of those evenings he had spent in think- ing of Ruth. He was quite un- happy in those days, for, as is usual in this life, he had not appreciated the good things life held for him until he felt he was likely to lose them. To-day, however, Ruth willingly consented to accompany him. “Let us go on the heather,” she said, “and you must talk to me, for I am feeling “fearfully lazy.” So they strolled along the narrow lane inland, until they came to the moor, where great springy beds of pur- ple and white heather stretched away for miles, and the low hedges were draped with festoons of honeysuckle and “old man’s beard.” Close to one of these hedges they tound a seat, or at least Ruth found a seat ; Mark did not mans one, be lay on the heather beside er. “Mark, this is an earthly paradise,” she exclaimed, as she leaned back against a 8oft cushion of sweet-scented thyme. “It [ was superstitious I should say it was too good to last.” “I think it is,” said Mark, rather mournfully. “We seldom have a walk or anything else together now, Ruth.” “No?” She was not prepared for this rudden attack, and grew confused. The Man noticed it, and determined to make the most ot it. “Ruth, dear, you bave changed lately ; we are not such good friends as we used to be. Why ig it? Tell me.” * He looked up at her, and from his lowly position could see every change in her face. . “Don's be silly,” she said studiously averting her eyes. She stooped and gathered a hacdful of heather which she promptly began to destroy and scatter in little showers over her white gown. In a moment she recovered and became herself again. “Get into | & more comfortable position,” she said smiling down at him, “and talk to me. I must be amused. So the Man with a sigh lay down on his heather couch and began to talk. Io those days he did anything the Girl told him, and everything he could think of to please her. Presently he began to talk of his late visit to London, that visit on the subject of which he had hitherto been so silent. “And those Irish people,” said the Girl unconcernedly, idly sticking pieces of heather in his curls, while she looked keenly down on his face. The top of his head was towards her, his eyes were fixed on the blue sea, where it appeared far away in the dis- tance, 80 that he did not see her, “Why do you not ask them down here? You were so much with them and liked them so, I am snre you would be glad to have them.” No answer. The Girl struck anoth- er piece of heather in his hair, then took it all out again. I am sure I should have liked to have met them. “L am sure I should have liked the girl awfully.” “I know you would not.” “Why? I think we should get on beautifully together.” “I am sure you would not. She is not vour style at all.” “What style is she ?’ ¢Oh, I don’t know. She is an awful flirt, and not good form at all.” “Oh I” A silence ensued for about five minutes, then the Man rolled over, and planting his elbows in the heather looked up determinedly in his compaa- ioa’s face. An inkling of the truth had reached his brain. : “Ruth, I mnst know. It is only fair that you should tell me why you have changed soto me ? Deadsilence. The Girl looked away. and made no at temptito reply, “Won't you tell me?’ he said, wistfully; you are making me very miserable, dear.” His voice was quite ead and pleading, it touched the Girl in spite of herself. “Iam ? Oh Mark.” The tears al- most came into her eyes, but she smiled instead. “How can I make vou un- happy ?” “Because I love you Ruth, and I cannot bear this something that has risen between ue; it drives me mad. Ruth, my dear little girl, don’t yo know how I love you, and that I vod you to be something very, very mu nearer than a friend ?”’ The smiled died away from her face, she grew very pale, and her fingers trembled a little as she played with the heather, but she spoke calmly, almost coldly. “I did not know it was me you loved,” she said. “I have never loved any one else, not with a real love such as I have for you. I may have admired others, yes, and perbaps thought myself in love with them for a time ; but that is all different, you know it is.” “Yes, I think I know,” she said; “but it might happen again.” “Ido not think it would,” he said seriously. “I never knew until I came back this time, and —and began to feel that I might lose you, how much I loved you, dear.”” He wondered then why she smiled go oddly. “You must have seen it, Ruth ?” “But, Mark, how about that other girl, that Irish girl ? Aren’t you— don’t you—care'for her ?” “Pooh !"” said the Man, with un- feigned scorn. “Care for her ? I nev. er did. One may flirt with a girl like that, but as to loving her, or—or mar- rying her, well, I pity the poor fool who does. She flirts abominably.” Then the Girl smiled again, a tri- umphant little smile, quite unintelligi- ble to the man. She knew that her course of treatment had been success- ful, the cure was complete. “Why do vou emile?” acked the Man perplexed. “‘Because—oh—because I am so happy.” “Happy! Do you mean that?” catching one of her hands and kissing it passionately. “Then it May I tell the old folks it has all come about as they wished ? Look at me, child, and tell me you really mean it ; that you do care.” Still she looked away, intent on tearing up the unfortunate heather by her side. The Man watched her 1nsi- lent dismay. He could not understand her in this variable mood. “You do not care,” he said at last, when the silence had become unbear- able. “You do not care, and you can- not make yourself,” There was a great sadness in his voice; his face seemed in a moment to have aged and grown haggard. He turned over and propped himself on one elbow, with hig face well away from hers. “Don’t try dear,” he went on ; but the words came haitingly. “Don’t try ; either you do or you do not, and I would not have” Something was laid on his bowed head. . It was Ruth’s little hand. “Mark,” she said softly. “What is it, Ruth ?” “Look up, I wantto tell vou some- thing.” He obeyed her, and turned a very miserable pair of eyes toward her. “Never mind, little woman,” he said, bravely ; “I know you can’t care’ —— He stopped, something in her face mak- ing him forget what he was saying. Her eyes were bright and shining, a delicate flush crept up over her cheeks. “You are making a mistake, I do care very, very much,” she said, earnestly. “It is all right now,” and leaning to- wards him she took his face between her two hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. : “You dear little soul,” he cried, as- tonished at this unusual outburst on her part. But she had buried her face in her hands to hide the crimson that dyed her sweet face; and a pair of very rosy ears was all that her lover could get a glimpse of. Planting Nuts for a Profit, A Business That Few Americans Will Engage in.—They Have not the Patience—And Yet There is no More Certain Investment Than a Grove of Nut Trees—Americans, However, Care Very Little for Posterity Because They Fail to See What Posterity is Going to do for Them. . The high nervous energy and the de- sire to get rich quickly which is com- mon to the majority of Americans make them averse to considering any undertaking which takes several years to realize returns from, even though these returns may then be ample as tell as thereafter long continued. . To this cause more than to all others combined can be ascribed the fact that the very profitable growing of nuts for market has not been carried on to any appreci- able extent. Again, there have been some who bave failed signally in the undertaking, simply from the fact that, baving heard that nut (culture was profitable, had at once idvested consid- erable sums in the trees of different sorts and set out large plantations, only to meet with dire failure. It requires some knowledge, gained by experience, and the only rational and cheap way of obtaining this very necessary measure of experience is to commence in a small way, increasing the number of trees as expedience proves which are best suited to the soil and climate of that particular section. From ten to one hundred trees can be set out the first year, dependent upon what amount you care to expend at the start by way of experiment—for mere experi- ment it really is until you~ have gained actual practical experience —and what amount of ground you have available and suited to their growth and develop- ment. There are hundreds of acres in almost every State in the Union which, being undesirable for general cultivation or the profitable growing of ordinary field or garden crops, due to the unevenness, stoniness or rugged nature of the piece, which can be profitably set out in nut- bearing trees, which ina few years, with only ordinary care and attention, will commence to bear and regularly increase in bearing and profit for many years. Itis a very poor and selfish ex- cuse to say that “I will not live to see them bear paying crops,” and on that account neglect to set outa fair sized grove, for they will prove to be a good inheritance for the family to realize in- creasing incomes from. Eight or ten years soon slip around and bring with it the fruitfulness of nearly all varieties of nutbearing trees. The chestnut is one of the commonest and best known of our American nuts, and immense quantities are annually consumed in this country. Nearly the entire bulk of the crop comes from the wild trees, which produce a medium to small nut, which is sweet and nutritious. By thinning out the groves of natural trees and thus encouraging their growth and productiveness, much larger nuts willbe produced, commanding a readier sale aud at enianced prices. There are many places on most ordinary sized or large fartas where plantations of the common American sweet chestnut can be sel cut to advantage and profit. They ccme into bearing in from six to eight years, and in teu to fifteen years are large enough tobe used for fence purposes—posts and rails—for which purpose there is always demand. It is, of course, better to permit them tu at- tain a greater growth and then cut “them, so they will succor or sprout again from the parent root, soon again growing into large frees. 2 As the very ‘large varieties of the chestnut bring the highest prices, usual- ly three or four times as much per bushel a3 those from the wild trees, it is desirable to plant a number ot the graft- ed varieties, prominent among which is the Spanish chestnut. These trees are more expensive in the start, though they can now be boughtat a reasonabls price from most prominent nurserymen. The grafted varieties generally have a fuller and more spreading habit of growth, making beautiful trees when set not too close together—say twenty- five to forty feet apart each way, ac- cording to the space you can spare— and commence to bear two or three years gooner than do the ordinary wild is to be.: variety. They attain a considerable age, and we know of some of these trees in an adjoining county which are over forty years old and show no sign of waning vitality. They have produced Crops every year since commencing to bear, varying somewhat according to favorable or unfavorable seasons, the crop averaging from $5 to"$2) per tree. These grafted varieties will do well wherever the common chestnut thrives, and the soil best suited is a clayey loam and one which has a good natural drainage. A wet or sour soil will soon kill the young and tender trees, or else cause a stunted and unprofitable growth. For the first four or five years the same care and attention should be bestowed upon the trees as would be ac- corded to ordinary fruit trees, after which the piece can be put down to grass, having a care that the trees do not become ‘‘sod-bound’” by keeping the grass away from and the soil loosen- ed immediately around the roots. In pruniog this tree, as in pruning any and all trees, we invariably adopt the ‘common sense system’’ consisting merely in removing any dead, broken and interfering branches, after the trees have been properly shaped up during steel, girlet or silver, —— the first couple of year’s growth. By planting one, two, ten or more of these trees each year—and fall is the best time to do so, so the trees can get an early start the first season—in a very short time you will have a good-sized plantation with a yearly outlay of such small amounts as you will scarcely feel. These trees, as well as all other nut- bearing trees which will thrive in this country. can be bought at reasonable prices from most of our large, well known nursery farms, and one concern, a very large one in Ohio, are now rais- ing and disposing a large quantity of young nut-bearing trees for planting in almost every State in the Union. Because of its comparative . slow growth and because it is usually so long in coming into bearing, the common black walnut is seldom planted as a nut-bearing tree. There are many stony and unprofitable spots where many of these trees could be set out. After two or three years of ordinary care they would take care of themselves and would be yearly growing into money without the further enpenditure of a cent on them. The nuts always com- mand a ready gale at fair prices, the trees usually bear well year after year and ere long the trees are worth many dollars each for the valuable and much sought after wood they contain, walnut wood becoming scarcer and dearer every day. The English walnut is unfortunately but little known in this country, in tact, we know of but few bearing trees either in this State or elsewhere. That they will do well in this section, as well as in all others not further north or in colder latitudes, is well proven by the fact that one of the largest nut-bearing trees we oversaw in this State was an immense English walnut tree, which, until a few years, grew and bore great loads of nuts in Germantown. These nuts bring good prices and find a ready sale and the cultivation of the tree is at- tended with no more trouble or uncer- tainty than ordinary fruit trees. The same soil, care and attention which is suitable for the chestnut will produce good results with the English walnut. They commence to bear in about six to eight years from planting, are only fair- ly growthy in our climate, but produce a beautifully shaped tree if properly started the first two or three years. As they grow to a very large size and un- der ordinary favorable conditions attain a great age, plenty of space should be accorded to them—not less than thirty feet each way between the trees. A first-class plantation of these of ten acres, say fen to twelve years old, should produce considerable income, though we do not think there is to-day in this country a grove of even a dozen trees 1n good bearing yet. ; _ Pecan nuts, like the common chestnut with us here, grow wild in many sec- tions of the South, and in some local- ities are cultivated or grown especially for the nut crops. While this is the case in 8 few instances, the systematic growing of this variety of the nut family could be profitably prosecuted. As to the best soil and location for their suc- cessful growth, any place where the wild pecan flourishes would do for a specially planted grove of these trees, and where this was not known, a few trees planted experimentally would soon solve the question at a trifling outlay. The almond is a native of a warm cli- mate, and to be successful in its culti- must not be attempted in the Northern States, our winters being usually fatal to their existence, unless cared for as our flowers are by being housed in winter. In the South the almond has been experimented with, but on such a small scale and under generally unfa- vorable conditions that not much prog- ress or satisfactory results have been socured. The importance, value and profitableness of the almond should, we think, commend it to the attention of planters living in localities , where it should thrive under proper handling. It is a nut which always brings large prices, aspecially: the paper-skell variety, and the consumption is yearly increas- ing—in fact, more rapidly than does the supply. A little encouragement by our Agricultural Department at Wash- ington, which now seems to be equipped -with more common sense features than ever before, would go far towards in- ducing landowners in the far South to start plantations of the almond. There is no reason why many sections of Cali- fornia should not in time produce a goodly proportion of the almonds -con- sumed in this country. ey His Depressing Thought. He had been silent in thought for some time. At length he heaved a sigh, which moved his friend to inquire what the trouble was. “This world ain’t run right,” he an- swered. “Why, you ought to be bappy You've been away enjoying yourself, I understand.” “Yes. I've been away, hut I don't gee much enjoyment—not in a world where the fish are so shy about bitin’ an’ the mosquitoes so eternally will- in.” For and About Women . % I am quite sure that men regard ‘sweet simplioity’’ as the greatest charm in women, ard especially in girls, writes Ethel Ingalls in a delightful little dis- sertation on “The Girl in Society,” in the July Ladies’ Home Journal.” This does not mean simplicity in the simpering sense, but an absenca of that affected air of boldness and mannish- ness which has lately been assumed by too many really lovable girls. Then, too, sincerity in expression is one of the characteristics that charm men. To be sincere and candid the girl in society need never be abrupt nor self-assertive. The summer girl is thegirl in white. Her hat is white, her veil . is white, her frock is white and her stockings and low shoes are snowy. The Southern girl wears white muslin, the town and Newport girl wears white duck and white pique while the Atlantic City girls affect white serge or alpaca. For young women the blazer of dark red cloth is popular ; this is made ex- tremely short, and many of them are finished upon the pockets, revers and cuffs with white pearl buttons, put on in groups of three or those of faceted Bands of velvet, satin or gros grain, cut on the bias, passed over the shoul- der and fastened on toa belt of the same, with an elongated lace square sewed under the outer edge, provide a very pretty way of making any low dress high enough for an occasion. It is also a very effective trimming for high bodices. A black velvet bodice covered with rich Oriental embroidery looked very effective over a perfectly plain white muslin gown at a garden party the other day. The sleeveless bodice was cut low in the neck, show-’ ing the muslin above, finished with a rosette on each shoulder and cut open in front half way to the waist. At, the end of this cut, a trefoil of gold and pearl embroidery ended the band of the same embroidery which edged the neck and either side of the opening, while a belt of the samye confined the waist. Bows on the shoulder gathering to- gether the folds of the sleeves are very much worn now, and are very becom- ing. The draped belt with a Japanese bow on the left side is seen on the new- est costumes. A large‘: moulinet’”’ bow placed on the left side of the skirt about eighteen inches above the hem is a queer freak of fashion that seems to be popular. Mrz. Jane Lathrop Stanford has suc- ceeded in a task which would have dis- mayed most men. She assumed the re- sponsibility of a 63,000-acre ranch, and within a year placed it upon a paying basis for the first time since it has been in existence. This has been no slight task, and it was due to her great desire to get money for the university—that same desire which has led her to sacrifice her own personal jewels and which gave her the strength of body and mind to look after the grain crops, the millions of bushels of grapes, and the thousands of heads of cattle, horses and sheep. Large sailors and Marie Antoinette collars of velvet will appear upon next season’s gowns and costumes exactly in the same style as those of lace, lawn and grass linen are now worn. They will be silk lined and interlined = with crinoline. Some of the newest sailor collars that accompany recently worn costumes fresh from Europe have tabbed or stoil fronts instead of the sharp- pointed ends that reach the belt. A very pretty way to renovate a cor- sage and make it look like a new affair altogether, is to take a wide piece of lace or embroidery, put it across the front of the dress and pass it under the arms, cuttihg it out slightly at the sleeves, so that it will come about the height of a very low-cut gown, frontand back. The fitting should be done by same under the arms where it should also hook on one side. Then over each shoulder pass a band of ribbon, either of black satin or of one to accord with the dress, and fasten it under the embroidery, This may either be left plain or finish- ed with a bow on each shoulder, both belt and collar to be made of the same ribbon, with large rosettes on either side. As the upper part of the sleeves generally remains good while that of the forearm becomes worn, the latter may be covered with lace like the bodice. Stylish costumes of pale buff-colored linen duck with small dots of black scattered over its surface are made with full untrimmed skirts and Eton jackets, with fronts slightly tabbed. The jacket turns back with revers that are finished with five rows of the narrowest black velvet ribbon, which also borders the edge of the large marine collar and the wrists of the ‘mutton-leg sleeves. The yellow straw sailor hat en suite is dec- orated with a band, and loops of wide black velvet ribbon and a cluster of field daisies of the '‘black eyed Susan’ variety. Narrow lay-down collars and cuffs of lhem-stitched linen or cambric are the atest thing for accessories on dark cloth costumes. Undoubtedly the dressmakers will display trimmed skirts next season ; whether they will be accepted or not time alone can tell. Wilkie Collins’ ‘Woman in White” would have created little comment by the color of her gown had she lived at this latter day, sinceshe would have been but one of thousands wearing that color. Go where you will, at seashore or mountain, in city or country, indoors or out, white is the predominating color in dress. Last year the men wore white duck suits, and we envied them-their cool appearance’; this year we have jnot forgotten, but wear white duck our- selves. When we are not going a- yachting, or a-wheeling, or some place where we can w .ar a duck suit, we don white muslin, and cool the surrounding atmosphere, by our appearance, and de- light our husbands and sweethearts by the seeming simplicity of our tastes. Have you ever heard the story of the woman who captivated the hearts of all the husbands as a certain fasionable re- sort with her white muslin gowns and blue ribbons ? The men thought she dressed so simply, and one husband ven- tured to suggest to his wife that she “go and do likewise,” instead of buying ex- persive gowns. She took his advice,and e became a sadder and wiser man when the laundry bills came in. .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers