Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 16, 1895. " ENDURANCE. "Tis bitter to endure the wrong 2 Which evil hands and tongues commit ; The bold encroachments of the strong, The shafts of calumny and wit, The scornful bearing of the proud, The sneers and laughter of the crowd. And harder still is it to bear : The censure of the good and wise, Who, ignorant cf what you are, Or blinded by the slanderer’s lies, Look coldly on or pass you by In silence, with averted eve But when the friends in whom you trust, As steadfast as the mountain rock, Fly, and are scattered like the dust Before misfortune’s rudest shock, Nor love remains to cheer your fall— This is more terrible than all. Yet even this, and these—aye, more— Can be endured, and hope survive ; The noble spirit stili may soar. Although the body tail to thrive ; Sorrow and want may wear the frame— Thank God! the soul is still the same. Hold up your head, then child of grief, Nor longer to the tempest bend ; For soon or late must came relief— The coldest, darkest night will end, Within the heart hope dies ; Irust on! your day star yet shall rise ! Conscious of purity and worth, You may with calm assurance wait The tardy recompense of earth ; And e'en should justice come too lat> I'o soothe the spirit’s homeward flight. Still heaven, at last, the wrong shail right. —— THE PASSING BELL. ‘But the spe.l of the old-time tone Brings unawares unto lip and brow I'he light of another zone.” No oneseemed to think of the incon- zruity between the style of the build- ing and its occupants. [t was on the beautiful main street, and was built in the jauntiest, most inconsistent style of conglomerate architecture. It was de- signed for the Old Ladies’ Home, and was the pet charity of the moneyed wowen of the little town in Vermont where it was situated. All the build- ings near were homesteads of ‘a cen- tury’s standing, which had apparently grown from the earth as naturally as the trees surrounding them, thus mak- ing more conspicuous the garish new- ness of the Home, which sheltered three old women. Two of them were sitting in the window looking on to the street—a diversion that to one of them never failed— watching the movements of the neighbors. “There goes James L. Haight, full again,” said Mrs. Upton, with a pleas- ed smile at her own reiterated joke, as she peered out of the window at the smallest size of street car, slowly drag- ged by a languid horse, which knew too well the certainty of hills in the village to hurry over the levels. “There never was a straighter man than James L. Haight, and it does seem a shame that after he’s had the favor of havin’ the new horse-car nam- ed for 'im, you should take oft from his glory by your jokin’, ” responded Mrs. Marden ; but she smiled to soften the worde, for although she had plentv oi pepper in her composition, she al- ways softened to Mrs. Upton. Every. body did, just as instinctively as one handles with tender touch & morning- glory. “Who's in the car this noon 7" agk- ed Mrs. Upton, trying to indicgt€ by removing her glasses that her inability to eee was merely temporary. “Them glasses of yourn seem to al- ways have some fillum on ’em just when you most want to see,” respond- ed Mre. Marden, with hard hearted mischief. “I believe it’s the School Board or somethin’ ob the car, there's 80 many men aboard, an’ there's one stranger. 1 wonder if they can see in?” she said, preening herself a bit at a mirror between the windows. There was a scarlet bow on her hair, which was black and abundant, for all her seventy years; and there were scarlet bows on her slippers which half concealed the prunella. “Red's my color, you -know,” she always said, with a pleased laugh, if any one tried to remonstrate with her about her dress, and their attempted reform rip- pled away on the sound of her laugh- ter, : “I don’t know why I'm looking, as though [ expected somebody,” mused Mrs, Upton, positively. “The folks that belong to me don’t travel in horse- cars.” “Nor didn’t neither when they was alive, for, even though I'm a few years vounger'n you, I can remember all about the horses and rigs you and your folks had. I needn’t do no look- in’ on my own account, neither, for if I saw Cory comin’ right here to this Old Ladies’ Home, I'd never speak to her. She deserted me ounce, and now I'd disown her.” “She’s your own daughter, Myra, and she only leit you because you wouldn’tlet her marry Jim Leeds.’ “But where is she now ? I wrote to her three years ago, to that town out West, jest after we got them new let- ter-boxes put up, and mailed it myself in one of 'em, . Why didn’t she answer it ? An’ what doesshe care for her old mother ? I'd be town poor if it warn’t for them ladies that runs this house, an’ that's the truth. We may try to hold up our heads here because we live in a Queen Ann house right on the main street, with all the fine peo- ple for neighbors, but we're paupers for all that, an’ some days myself re- speck it ‘most gone.” She stopped a moment in her excited monologue to pick up the red bow, which had fallen “from her head in violently walking to and fro. “It was only this mornin,’ she continued, with swelling indigna- tion, ‘that our housekeeper, Mary Bartlett, whose freckled face I've wash- ed many a time when her mother was | helpin’ with my kitchen work—it was only this motnin’, I say, that she tried | to talk to me about the sinful extrav- sgance of a lace ruffle about my gar-' ter. As thought it was any of her business, anyhow! Who's she, I'd like know!” Mrs, Marden rocked her capacious person violently in the wooden rocker, and shook out her skirte in anger: Her bright eyes snap- ped, and enough red flew-to her cheeks to rival the bow on her hair. Poor, brave, faded Mrs. Upton slip- ped out of the room, lest Myra Marden should see the agitation she had un- wittingly produced and catch a glimpse of her filling eyes.~ Tears lie very near the surface when they have been meat and drink for years. What Mrs. Mar- den had rudely blurted out was true, | sadly true, but the only way life at the home was endurable was to build about it that hedge of self-deception without which all happiness is incom- plete. It was impossible for this pride | preserving, selt-deception to live in the i ruthless light of Myra’s plain state ments, so Mrs. Upton crept away. Once in her room, she prepared her- self for the street, thinking a walk would set her straight. She put on the black cashmere shawl with narrow border, that had been for years her richest possession, a black bonnet with the widow's line of white next her soft gray hair, which strayed in tendrills when the wind brew, and a pair of black silk mitis. Out beyond the village, on a lovely hill side, with the wooded river run- ning near, was an old house of solid unornamental construction, generous in size, dignified and elegant in pro- portion. Around it were old fashioned flowers, and over it hung the graceful branches of high elms. The place had been Mre. Upton’s home before fate played its grim pranks on her and hers. Whenever her amour propre had received a wound, she found a rein- stating comfort in walking the old familiar road and fancying once again that she was -on the way home—the kind of home that is written with a small initial letter. On the way she stopped to visit at almost the only house she ever entered now—a small bouge which was pseu— donymed the “Shoe,” because the mother there found her prototype in that other woman who had so many children she didn’t know what to do. This was one place where Mrs. Upton | felt herself not” only welcome, but.an actual benefit, for when she amused the little ones there an hour she knew their overtired mother had that hour for rest, or at least for employment without interruption. One of the sad- dest things in growing old is to lose the feeling of being necessary to some— body ; the transition from a caretaker to an object of care. Mrs. Upton never felt superfluous at the “Shoe.” As she left the crowded house she lifted her head tothe grand hills about her, and felt their inspiration. She would like to be even as they, patient, strong, her head high in heaven, then she would do great things for all the world. She reveled in the feeling, for it bad been. common to her younger days, and it‘ made youth seem nearer now to resume its habit of thought. The sidewalk had lost all pretence to a name, and was now a wavering always by a solitary pilgrim, or by “its DArrowness separating groups unsocia- bly into Indian flle, Mrs. Upton trod it in reverie, with her head lowered, and Btopped in surprise as a man step- ped aside to let her pass. She looked at him with interest. He was a stranger — she had looked on all the village too many years not to know its own.” He was well dressed, albeit with a graceful attention to the fashion of twenty yesrs ago rather than to that of the hour, and he was, like herself, far past youth—so far beyond it that even middle age was counted within its happy compass. He raised his hat slightlp as he waited for her to pass, that he might step back into the path, and she passed a0 ig Sati ing her- self with a searching glance that she had io known him. She mused about him idly as she went along. Her life was so absolute ly colorless that even the sight of a stranger was almost an event. Then, too, the interest was increased by his age, for we are all most interested in our contemporaries. We have odds against us in competition with those younger or older, but we stand on a level with those whose years are even as our own. When she had almost reached the old house she saw nthe path a large freshfolded handkerchief. With a natural impulse she picked it up, then noted that it was fine, and embroider- ed with two initials in the corner. “L. H..” she read aloud, then smiled a gentle retrospective emile, as though that combination of ivitials was pleas- antly known to her. She hid the handkerchief lovingly in the bosom of her dress, and stepped on her way with mote altertness than common. “I've heard tbat thers a rage for antiques,” Myra Marden was saying, as Mrs. Upton went into the general sitting room of the Home, “an’ it we don’t watch out some one’ll be buyin’ us right under our noses an’ takin’ us off to the city.” “Wouldn't it do just as well to leave us here and call this a museum of an- tiquities ?”’ responded Mrs. Upton, at- tempting to wound herself, that she might not feel s0 poignantly the wea- pon ber less sensitive friend was using. ‘There's been some one here already to-day tryin’ for you,” continued Mrs. Marden. ‘“Leastways he asked for Elizabeth Hunt, an’ that’s the name I first knew you by. He said he know- ed you was married, but he'd forgot the name. I told him you was out, an’ he’s to call again. Except from benevolent ladies of the town, Mrs. Upton had not had a visit since she entered the Home, nor did her pride allow her to want any. ~ “When did you say he was coming, Myra 7" she asked in agitation. “He didn’t quite say, but I think he meant te-morrer. You're tuckered out,” ghe added sharply. “Go an’ rest a spell. Whatever do you want. to walk your legs off for 2” Her ten- deger feelings always irritated her, for they were in contradiction of her esti- mate of herself as a hard-hearted shrew, “I'm goin’ out,’ she continued, “to gee the new fire department that James 2 > L. Haight takes 80 much pride in. It low. Each word drove mercilessly nity. thread-like path by the road-side, trod goes off at six o'clock, when the town- clock ritige, an’ they say them horses is ready to leave the stable in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Mrs. Upton climbed wearily to her room, after Mrs. Marden and the uan- popular Mary Bartlett had disappear- ed down the wide elm-shaded avenue. The only other occupant of the house was old Miss Greene, as she was call- ed even by her contemporaries. She bad never been young in spirit, and now her body had caught up, as it were, and there was harmony between her physical and psychical natures. She was silent always, and unsympa- thetic, and knitting endless numbers of slumber slippers, during which absorb. ing occupation she resented interrup- tion ; so Mrs. Upton, even with her longing for companionship, had but small temptation to enter her half. closed door. Once in her own simple room, which she had touched here and there with tasteful fingers- -much to the disgust of the inexorable Mary Bartlett, who, before all things was a rigid house- keeper- she sank into a large rocking- chair and wandered into a delightful haze of reminiscence, in which the men were always young and the maidens al- ways beautiful. Tnere seemed to be in her mind one figure of which she was almoet unconscious, so linked it was. with her own personality, and that was her own younger elf ; and always near her was another, a man, but he was always out of reach. He was an ignis Jatuus , the brightest light in her young life, but always beyond her. Tired at last and chagrined, the girlin the day-dream relinguished her hopes, and united her life with one who persist- ently sought her, and from that time the light that had so long led her went out in hopeless distance. The old woman in the chair was looking far away to the mountains, and reminiscently singing, in a low gentle voice not quite under control. “Love wasonce a litttle boy, heigho, heigho! Then 'twas fun with him to tey, heigho,heigho!’ when the sound of wheels, and then the front dcor bell, told of an arrival. The dream of vanished years flew away, confronted by the necessity of the moment. Miss Greene's rheuma- tic knees would not allow of her de- scent, and all the others were out, so she must open the door. She glanced hastily in the glass to straighten her eoft lace cap, but quite missed seeing what was patent to all who looked on her—a sweet, unselfish soul shining from her eyes and making pleasant marks about her mouth, quite in har- _mony with the lines etched there by SOITOW, She opened the street door, and in- dicated to the entering visitor the way to the sitting-room, around the walls of which Myra Marden had arranged il- luminated texts brought from the last home she had owned. Her amiable intent to please the visitor was express ed by “Welcome,” in shaded blue, placed where the eye would meet it on entering ; “God Bless Our Home,” shone resplendent in red and yellow where all could see; and “Come Again,” in subdued purple, uttered the graceful wish of the ectablishment as the visitor passed out. Mrs. Upton followed the tall form into the room with a trembling curiosi- ty. He was the man she had met on her walk. “I want to see a lady whose name wag once Mies Elizabeth Hunt,” he said, courteously bowing to the lady before him. [have been to her old home, where I used to know her, and was told that I should find her here. I tried once before to day, but she was oat. May I ask of you if she is now at home, and if she will receive her old friend Lauren Hamilton ?" The slight trame of the little woman trembled, and the color flushed her delicate pale cheek, Her sweet dream of by-goune years, from which so com- mon a thing as the door-bell had awak- ened her, was being linked with the present. Ste.nding before him, with her face upturned to his so far above her, she clasped her hands to control their tell- tale trembling, and with all her sweet soul shining from her eyes, she said simply, “I am Elizabeth Hunt, Lau- ren |” The moments that followed were too filled with emotion to be reckoned by the ordinary annotations of time. The man stood mute before the woman, his arms folded across his breast, breath- ing deeply, with his head thrown eag-- erly forward. Motionless eave for his .dead hopes as it would seem impossi- things we love. «develop 250 horse powcr. into the heart of the woman before At Harrisburg. him ; but, consumed “by the grief of his own disappointment, he, all unsee- ing, left her with a heavy step, youth dropping from him as a loosened gar- ment. And so he passed from out of her presence for the last time on earth, taking with him such a bundle of What is Going on in the Governor's Mansion — Delaney’s Dreams of Splendor—The Erecutiue Mansion tobe Furnished in the Style of Louis XV.—Marvels in Costly Decoration—Raving Received Unlimited Power as Purchasing Agent of the Commonwealth, D¢laney is Deter mined to Do it Handsomely and Not St'nt Himsclf—His Schedules of Furniture, Carpets and Curtairs That Would Make Aladdin En- vic us. ble to have raised in so short a time. “Can’t you hear me. Mrs. Upton 2” asked Myra Marden, vending over her as she lay in bed the third day after Lauren Hamilton bad left her. She had lain quiet on her narrow white bed ever since they found her 1nsensible on the floor of the sitting-room. Now she opened her eyes, and Mrs. Marden was trying to rouse her. “Don’t you know me, Mrs. Upton ? Its me, Myra, au’ I've heaps to tell you. My Cory’s come back with Jim Leeds, an’ is a rich woman, an’ has found out that the mail-box wasn’t nev- er opened that had my letter ia it, an’ she's goin’ to make a home for me, an’ you're to come too. Do you hear? A home of our own, with no visitin, com- mittee, just ourselves, an’ flowers, an’ Won’t you please wake up, Mrs. Upton ?” The early sun purpled the moun- taing, putting brightness and color in- to all earthly things, and reddening | ang his best efforts are called ints play the messes of cumulus clouds, but | in s manner he never conceived possi- Elizabeth Upton awoke to a far great- | ble when Register of the Land Office of er glory. | Oklahoma, a section of country that Under her pillow they found a large | takes to plain hickory and tin and glass- folded handkerchief which had on it: wae Asa matter of course M+ De- the crinky spots of many tears, and in laney gives his best effort to this kind of one corner were the embroidered initi- ' business, with the same character of als “L. H.” Myra opened it with tend- ; profuse energy that marked his well er hands and laid it over the silent! Sowa el for vigerous action when heart. tate Librarian. _ The solemn bell of the church tolled DELANEY'’S BUSY DAY. for the dead, one stroke for each year, These are‘busy days with Custodian sounding over the yillage and reaching | Delaney.” An office has been opened in far out to the everlasting hills which | the great room in the Capitol formerly had surrounded the scenes of this com ; devoted to the Supreme Court. Under pleted life. The whole town seemed {the terms of the bill creating the new to pause to count and listen. department of Custodian u wide and al- The first stroke fe!l upon the ajrwith | Ost absoiute latitude of puwer is con- a joyous ring, as it told the happy year Sars on hg Tiesayve pa He is ot babyhood. A score more ot sirokes, | \P© source of supply for every depart which sent their gladness away off to | 2¢1t of the State Government. Tae a Lo the little life to | BW 18W names the Governor, Auditor the grim hills, earri elite lile L0) General and State Treasurer as the womanhood, and thiere the tones began | Boag of Commissioners of Public to lengthen and” deepen with an omi- Grounds and Buildings. This board nous hum. It was the utterance of a passes upon the work of the Custodian, disappointed life, one depressed, and ppo 1G | appointed by the Governor for a term deprived of the love that makes life | of three years, and the Custodian acts livable, Forty strokes were .sadly | as general agent in the purchase of all reached, and culminated almostin a supplies, with nominal responsibility. groan. After that the knell was slow, ’ REFURNISHING. regular, impassive, and at fiity seemed To begin with, Custodian Delaney to say, “Who enters here leaves hope | 3 been all over the Executive Man- behind,” so flat and lifeless were the = sion facing Front street and the broad tones, with dreary waits between. The sweeping Susquehanna—an ideal home bell struck in accord with the hearts r with ideal sunsets, in which a dozen of women at work in homes where la- | Governors have had more or less of a bor and privation were not made en- stay since Porter first dwelt there in durable by love and encouragement, | 1838—and his cultivated taste and fine and awoke in them a sympathy with sense of the artistic were shocked at the the finished life they had never known | dreadful condition in which he found when Elizabeth Upton was a fellow- | things. To think that Governor Patti- worker. At s:veoty-five the une son was content with common glass willing bell lagged feebly, as the added | goods and silver plated ware! Pattison years had done, and every one in carried his own basket to market and weariness had stopped counting the | entertained in modest fashion, and the strokes save a little boy in school, who refreshments were served in bowls and found in them distraction from his task. | 818sses that appeared just a bit chipped, And the last stroke of all—it was not a even if they were not, so roughened popnded pra) o voor Sisaging “out aL > ay aay riumphant to the sky; rather it rung | _.= © Ro like those preceding it, and hung ques. gion in Pattison’s day and throughout tioning in air with an upward tone— Beaver’s term was 8 home rather than : ay a palace, conducted in lain, domes- an unfinished phase, awaiting its com- | 135 ro! ® Da pletion in the other world. tic way, with no offense to public ex- ectation and no slight to the proprie- Helen Churchill Candee, in Harper's P g prop Bazar. Oriental lace curtains at $200 a set acd draperies at $18 to $20 a yard are a new departure in the line of furnishings for the Executive Mansion, but they figure as an ordinary part of the luxur- ious system under which State Custo- dian Delaney is signalizing. his return to power here in Harrisburg, upon a scale of splendor perfectly dazzling even to those who know him best. C. Dclaney—the first and only Custo- dian of Public Grounds and Buildings the State of Pennsylvania has ever had —if the Executive Mansion at Harris- burg does not provide an exhibit of lux- nry rarely met with outside the palac's of Persia and the dreams of the ‘““Ara- bian Nights.” > Mr. Delaney is now engaged in a scheme of rejuvenation that embraces a series of marvelous things beyond any previous conception in the glory line, ties of private or public life, and the visitors felt rather a pride over the State residence of their Gover r. But that is another story. Mr. Delaney has taken hold, and plated forks and ironstone china will figure no longer in the domestic econo- | my of the Governor’s household. The finest Wiltons and rarest of Assyrian and Turkish rugs are under contract for the parlors and hallways, for Brussels and Axminsters are common and taw- dry, and this administration wants style and impressions. The days of Louis XV. have been recalled, and that pe- riod so celebratod for-its gilt decorations and silk damask eets are pace in the de- signs. ———————————————— Perpetual Motion. A Puncsutawney Man Invents a Machine That Will Run Indefinitely by Gravitation. A. L. Mott, agent for the McCormick harvesting machinery, is the inventor of a wonderful little machine. It runs by a system of sliding weights and will run | until the machine wears out. It is pro- vided with a governor and a brake and when both are taken offit will fairly spin, its speed seeming to be accellera- ted with each sacceeding revolution. Our best mechanics looked at it in as- tonishment. That which they had re- garded as a myth quite as chimerical as the Philosopher's Stone or the Elixer Vitae, wa: an * accomplished fact. There was a machire that would run by the same power that sways the solar svstem and whirls suns and worlds about on their paths—gravitation—and would never stop of its own accord until it was broken or worn out! The model is a crude one, but it works per- | poem the parlors of the Executive Man- fectly. Mr. Mott says he can build a | sion will be, Starting with a centre machine on the same principle that will | cluster of chairs down in the furniture Think of it ! | schedule at $186, a sum in itself many a Without the cost of a single cent for | farmer and coal miner would be glad to AN ERA OF MAHOGANY. Mahogany is everywhere in the plans. t is said in Harrisburg that Custodian Delaney has such a passion for this wood of ruby grain and polish, that be- fore he gets through it will take a Cen- tral American forest to meet the de- mand. And Louis XV. bad a ma- hogany passion too. What a delightful eyes, these‘ scanned piercingly every lineament of the face before him. He | noted the soft white hair with straying tendrils, the refined contour of brow and cheek and chin, the piteous eyes upraised. His eyes travelled over the | | little figure, upright, though theshould- ! ers drooped a bit, the clasped hands | appealing. Within him rose such a | tumult of thought that it needs must | find an outlet. His heart was young ; the image of this woman which he had | cherished within it was also young. | He could not in one brief moment tear | it out and in its place set the picture | be saw before him now. - Elizabeth Upton waited. She had | waited through life ; she well ‘might | wait a little longer. The silence was | like a mighty cavern in which each ! beart-beat sounded an infrequent bejl. | Sbe quickly traced on the smooth- | shaven face of the man some of the | fulfilled indications of his youth. And | she. chided herself for her failure to | recognize them in that quick glance of | first meeting. Later, when this dread- | ful mutual scrutiny and endless silence | were over, she would beg forgiveness. | He had come now as her deliverer 3 she felt that. He would once more ! i { which bas not a railroad within its bor- | give her 3 Lume of Ler oW3, and Yer ders. The population of the county is | few remaining days would be spent | within its happy retirement. At the | thought her lip trembled, her eye brightened. Lauren moved as though to speak, and she listened with both as large now as it was in the latter year. | soul and sense, | “I do not see any trace of what you used to be. I never should have known you,” His voice was deep and ' i same. gyivania. It is the only one of them ! | small decline in the decade between | ol in Pennsylvania, and will probabiy |... be’ never anything else than what it is | Jest, niako to-day —a peaceful agricultural commu- | fuel a manufacturing establishment can | have to furnish his whole house, this be run! And bythe same power that ' same schedule calls for sofas at $175 hurls the earth through space with | each, armchairs at $135, window loun- more than Rx a eAnA0p ball, ges—to properly set off the $200 cur- and spins it around like a op! Sim- | tains—at $100, although it must be said phe Jnr yr a 83 Yoo for the lounges thai while not a pure on by Hise ine for I 7s goa le: damask. they are very Louis Quinze in ts Te pi hal) head ure chlissiin Hoe parler, tvgive made, $ sed | the house a tone 200 ; an on i only for running toys or very light ma- | table at $130; glass frame a) 8250, chinery, it will yield royalties all the mantel and glass at $200, and so on 2 fit odiite nm % ; through a schedule whose wonders nev- ut why should it not become the ' er cease. ; universal motive power ? It isa natu- In keeping with the Louis XV. par- ral, simple principle, which has been | Jor—there aro two parlors in reality—an mn Forest triad Sonn wil “a” provilal 3, - | eal rilles, such as Louis . ha; fore correctly applied. A wheel could | jn his iy at Versailles. With a be built on this principle as large as the | $500 cover for a $1,000 piano the sched- Ferris wheel at the World's Fair, which | ule and outfit should be very complete. would develop as much power as the | The cover will match the ceiling fres- HT as Lannie! = ise ors #4 fo Louis XV. carved grilles r. Mo as never said anything | when the $200 curtains are drawn back about his invention nor shown it to any- { to the sunlight, and it is presumed that body, because he did not want to be th ill : fad : v, becaus i they-.will not fade. * A - looked upon as ‘a ‘perpetual motion! > THE GUEST CHAMBERS — Sprit. 5 ! : erank.— Punzsutwonty Spiri Then the third floor bed rooms have Vilton costs sill vetains a dit an important share in the outfit. Some tinct’on which it has had for some time ! efarence is made to thé second Baan i but it is very rightly supposed that the among the sixty-seven counties of Penn- | Governor has a few articles of furniture {of his own and wants them to have a chance even in all this munificence of i splendor. For the first time also Louis | XV. is missing, gilt damask and ally: | when it comes to third floor ; but his ab- sence is made up by an array of ma- hogany enough to keep a factory busy for months. Custodian Delaney’s keen | taste touched up the floor in almost end- gany shapes, sizes and forms. The exception is in beds. These lat- between 10,000 and 11,000, and is not on the increase. Indeed it showed a 1880 and 1890, and it is probably about | Fulton county is out of the line of trav- Continued on page 6. And it will not be the fault of John | For and About Women . For early autumn street suits diago- nal twilled cheviot ina coarse wale, made with a plaited, very close-fitting Norfolk bodice and gored skirt, abso- lutely plain but for a silver belt clasp and a silver throat clasp, is among the designs shown by an English firm whose agents are in this country now taking orders for leading firms. Batchers’ linen in artistic shades of old blue and dull red is one of the fa- brics shown among the English impor ed models for all kinds of outing suits. One high-priced store shows an orignal costume of blue dotted .with white. trimmed with white braid and finisheu with belt and collar of satin ribbon. The Tam O’Shanter, intended to accom- pany this, is made of dull blue satin, ornamented on one side with ear-shaped bows and a steel buckle. A blue and white dimity with irregu- lar broken stripes is very becoming to a pretty blonde, and the trimming carris out a very novel color scheme, The skirt 1s cut very full #nd finished by a nrrrow bias ruffle. The sleeves are sim- ply buge elbow pufls. The bodice has a surplice front ending under a belt of fancy striped ribben in two shades of green and white” Long ends of the ribbon fall to the hem of the skirt in | the back. “The neck has a high ribbon collar in‘the back, ending in a chou on each