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 <ide, leaving abit of the throat
exposed. The feature of this frock is a
fiechu of white mull trimmed with black
lace edge and insertion, rounded and
shaped to the shoulders and held in the
middle of the back with a square, stiff
bow of the fancy ribbon. This tichu
passes about and holds down the tull-
ness of the sleeves, and is caught and
held on each side of the bust with a rib-
bon bow like the one in the back. The
ends fall free down on the skirt.
Wise precautions and proper personal
care will do wore to banish wrinkdes
than all the cream and lotions in the
world. Given the causes, which are al-
ways worry and fatigue, a woman
should go her best to avoid them.
Wrinkles come like the creases in a
carelessly folded garment. The firs) or
second time the wrinkles are made they
shake out, but oft repeated, they can’t
be ironed into lasting smoothness.
Frowns bring wrinkles, and the often
knotted muscles, like thread that has
once been crocheted, refuse to straighten
out after a time.
One of the most approved ways of
trimming woolen costumes consists in
marking the seams of the skirts and the
outlines of the bodice with pipings of
satin or velvet and some of passemen-
terie. Velvet, particularly, will be
greatly used for panels, facings, wide
collars, cuffs, jockeys or caps—which
are in style again—surmounting the
sleeves. ;
The new passementerie is woven in
small patterns, after the manner of fine
guipure, and is often picked out with
fine beads or spangles. Rows of spang-
les—dark brown, blue or other deep
color — fastened to an invisible cord,
will be used not only to trim gay toil-
ettes, but also comparatively quiet cos-
tumes, : :
While it advocates vertical trim-
mings, especially for skirts following
the lines of the seams, fashion 1s go far
from restricting itself to this course that
some of the first dressmakers finish off
the skirts of smart toileites with box
plaited ruchings several inches wide,
carrying them entirely round the skirt.
Narrow lace insertion with ribbon run
through, is much made ‘use of, black
silk and guipure insertion being
used for the trimmings of dark ma.
terials,
Buttons will continue to hold a very
important place in the decoration of ail
garments, and some elegant designs
bave been brought out for the coming
season with incrustations of metal, bone
or pearl and 1n gilt or silvered metal.
Bands of velvet or of the dress material,
little tabs, pointed collar and plastrons
seemed to be designed especially for the
use of these buttons, which rarely have
any utility, but are merely worn tor
ornament.
Pallid women may in time bring
color to their cheeks by bathing the
face in benzine water or in the toilet
preparations known as last virginai. To
prevent thatshine upon the complexion
with which many are annoyed in warm
weather, use a little camphor in the wa-
ter when bathing the face. If the face
is roughened by the wind, sponge it of-
ten with equal parts of rose water and
brandy. = Toilet washes containing
alcohol are likely to produce harmful
results. The alcohol parches the skin,
renders it brittle and lowers its vilality.
Tan may be measurably removed by
the use of lemon juice and white.of egg.
Place the juice of a lemon and the un-
beaten white of an egg in a thick earth-.
en cup or bowl and set it on the stove
for halfan hour, taking care not to let
it get hot enough to crack the cup and
stirring often. Apply every night to
the face and hands. "To bring color to
the cheeks, bathe the face in tepid wa-
ter in which have been mingled a tew
drops of benzoin ; rub briskly with a
Turkish towel and then apply every
night the following preparation : One
ounce of diluted liquid ammonia, four
ounces of rose water and two ounces ot
glycerine. Rub this well into the skin
for at least three minutes; then wipe off
with a soft towel. If any irritation is
felt add a little more glycerine to the
mixture.
The best dentifrice is. alkaline and
antiseptic. A dentist’s advice to his pa-
tient with tender teeth is to rub them.
about the roots and insides with. precipi--
tated chalk on going to bed, which pre-
vents the mouth acids from working on’
them at night. For whitening teeth.
and keeping them so nothing equals fine
French charcoal, which comes so impal-
ably fine that it can be used without in-
jury to the enamel. Pure soap is excel-
lent for cleansing the mouth, and for-
general purposes no routine exceeds
brushing the mouth first with soap and
water, washing the tongue and gums
searchingly, then dipping a clean brush
into powdered charcoal and polishing
the teeth well, brushing once more with
plain water to remove specks from the
crevices, and rinsing the “mouth well:
with half a glass of water and one-third
teaspoonful of tincture of myrrh, the
best antiseptic in common reach. * As
much more water and myrrh may be
swallowed with benefit in keeping the
breath and inside sweet. .
\