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.
.