Benoni Yitden
Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 20, 1895.
MUSIC.
Sweet music moves the dancing spheres;
The ocean, earth and air;
And heaven o'er all is music sweet,
There's music everywhere.
I hearitin the ocean boom ;
And in each minor tide;
‘As ever on ‘mid light and gloom
All musically glide.
I hear it on the roaring wind,
And on the gentle breeze;
As o'er the deserts vast they wind,
Or dancing ‘mongst the trees.
The humming-bird and bee 'mong flewers
Of honeyed nectar rove,
Or hum amid the woodland bowers.
Sweet melodies of love.
Thus music sweet my ear doth greet,
With love where're I go;
Love is the goal and doth my soul ;
With music overflow.
Hail music! hail immortal charm ;
Joyous infinity :
Thou art the magic voice of love,
The sol of poesy.
01d chaos felt thy potent spell ;
And straight her claims with drew ;
And at thy all pervading touch ;
Creation sprang to view.
Thou wert the magic of His voice,
Who called from darkness, light ;
And made all nature's heart rejoice,
Oh music, dear delight.
When the last sound of music dies ;
On this frail mortal ear;
Then let my raptured spirit rise ;
On wings of music dear.
And lét me soar to music’s sphere.
~ There musics, God adore.
Where music sweet my soul shall greet,
With love forever more.
Then let my soul strike unison.
With angel spirits, join
And sing His praise, through endless days.
In music all divine.
Nittany, Pa. . GEORGE W. GATES,
LINDY.
BY AGNES ELLIS,
“Lindy, guess I'll hev to git Win
Potts to take keer of you. She seems
willin’ to come, an’ all the rest of the
girls ‘round air too busy or too lazy or
sumthin; they say they can’t come,
anyhow.” :
Lindy turned her head wearily on
her pillow, and said : “Well ?”
Sam didn’t just like the way she an-
swered him, and, shifting uneasily
from one foot to the other, he said :
“Maybe you'd ruther not hev her ?”
“If you can't git no one else, I reck-
on we'll have to, fer ma can't stay here
all the time.”
“Sam's goneto git Win Pott’s to
stay with you, hain’t he ?” said her
mother, a little while after, as she laid
a little bundle down on Lindy’s arm and
tucked the covers around it. “I tell
you now, you'd better keep an eye on
that girl and Sam.”
“Why, ma, Sam aod me's married.
You don't want to talk that way.”
“Marryin’ don’t always keep folks
from actin’ the fool.”
“But ma, we've got the baby,” she
said, as she turned the shawl back
from the little, smooth head, and look-
ed fondly at the tiny, red wrinkled face.
“Don’t you think the baby looks like
Sam, ma ?"’
“No, it's too flat-nosed to look like
anybody.” And then, seeing Lindy's
disappointed look, she added : “But
it’s more’n likely "twill faver him when
it gits big.”
In a little while Sam drove up with
Win. She hurried in the house. “And
go you and Sam's gota baby,” she
said. “Why, how awful pore you air,
Liedy. Yore complexun’s jest awful.
Oh, there’s the baby. Now, ain’t it
cute ; looks the picture of Sam. Ain’t
it a pretty little toad? I'd think you'd
love it terrible, Lindy:"
“I'm goin’ home now, Lindy,” said
her mother, “Win’s here to see after
you, and Sam says his ma’s a-comin’
over Sunday to stay with you. Now,
take keer of yourself, and I'll run in to
see you every day or two.” :
“Come as soon as you can, ma,”
said Lindy, looking after her as she
went out of the door.
“Yes, I will ; keep up your spirits."
For the next few days things with
Lindy and the baby went very well.
Sam stayed around the house most of
the time, and in his bashful way petted’
them both. It bothered her to hear
Sam and Win talking and laughing
together in the kitchen at their meals.
Sundav morning brought Sam’s
mother.
“La, me, air you in bed yit ?" she
said, as ehe unpinned her shawl. “And
the baby six days old. I always got
out o' bed the fourth day. Didn’t ketch
me lollyin’ around’ like you're a-do-
in’ 3
“Well, ma, you're stouter’'n Lindy
is,” ventured Sam, timidly.
“People air stout accordin’ to the
‘mount o’ babyin’ they git. You bring
me that there chair an’ that big calico
comfort. I'm goin’ 10 hev her up right
off. Now, don’t you feel better al-
ready ? she said to Lindy, as she gave
her chair an extra jerk to make it
stand at the right angle.
*Yes'm, I guess so,” said Lindy,
leaning back and closing her eyes. The
roomed seemed to be spinning round
and round.
“I knowed it ; all you need’s to git
up. Whoee goin’ to preachin’ from
here this mornin’? Ain’t you a-goin,’
Sam ?”
Sam glanced at Lindy. She was
looking wistfully toward him. “No,
I guees not this mornin,’ ma.”
“You just scatter right out now an’
git ready. I'm lookin’ after things
here to-day. Git ready now, both o
vou.” >
And Sam, who always had minded
his mother, except when he married
Lindy’ blacked his boots, put on his
Sunday clothes, and went.
Lindy watched them drive off. Her
mother-in-law was busy in the kitchen,
and she had a little cry to herself.
“Oh, we just had the best meetin’,”
said Win, after they came home ; “an’
some of the girls said Sam and me
looked jest like married folks.”
Lindy had crawled back into bed,
and when Sam came in a few mirutes
later she was lying with her face to
the wall and he thought her asleep.
“I'll hev to go over home after din-
ner,” said Win. “I need more'n I
brought with me. Wonder if Sam’ll
have time to drive me. We might a
come that way from meetin’ but Sam
was in sech a hurry to git home.”
“Course he'll hev time,” said his
mother. “He bain’t got nothin’ to do
but pet Lindy, an’ the more he can be
kep’ away the quicker she’ll git up. I
hate to see folks spiled in their raisin’
like her, an’ it’s ’bout time she was
learnin’ differunt.” >
“Sam, you hitch up an’ take Win
home for awhile.”
“Is she ’bliged to go ?"’ said Sam.
“Yes, she's got to go while I'm here
to stay with Lindy.”
Late that evening, after he had
brought Win back and his mother had
gone, Sam went to the bed and, taking
Lindy’ hand, said : “You look like
you was mighty nigh tired out.”
She drew her hand away and said :
“I ain’t very tired-"
Lindy had never drawn away from
him before. It made him uneasy. He
was going to take her hand again and
ask her what was the matter, when
Win put her headin the door and
said : “Want sometin’ to eat, Sam ?
I’ve got a piece set out for you.”
“Where's Win ?”” asked Lindy’s
mother one morning, wheneghe had
run in for a little while.
“She’s gone out to the fleld to take
“| Sam a drink.”
“Yes. and she’s making. a plum fool
of herself, too. The hull neighborhood's
a-talking about the way she’s a sim-
perin’ and flirtin’ ’round. If I's in
| your place I'd send her home.”
That afternoon Sam came in from
the field. “I’ve broke my plow an’
hev to go to town to get it fixed,” he
said to Lindy.
“Sam, don't you think we could git
along now without Win ? I feel real
good, an’ ma could come over an’ help
me some.”
“I'd ruther you'd keep her till you
git good an’ strong,” he answered.
“I b'lieve I could git about without
her,” said Lindy.
“No, you'd better keep her another
week. When a feller’ workin’ hard
in the field he don’t want to hev to
worry about what's a-goin on in the
house,”
“I reckon I couldn’t pack 3:0 out
to rou or help you plow an’ giggle as
much as Win does,” she says.
“Why Lindy, what ails you?”
“Nothin."
“Is there somethin’ you'd like me to
git you in town ?”’
“No I don't want any thing.”
“Whre's Sam a-goin’ ?"’ asked Win,
as she saw him putting his team to
the wagon.
“To town,” said Lindy.
“Well’ I'm a-goin’, too. I’ve been
-wantin’ to fer two weeks.” And run-
Ton t door she screamed : “Sam.
old on a/minute, ’till I git ready.”
Li watched them drive away.
She saw Win look up at Sam and say
something, and Sam laughed. She
cried and cried. “I wish neither of
em would ever come back,and I could
go home and stay with ma. I wish
I'd a died when the baby come.” The
baby cried and it took her a long while
to quiet it. She wished her ma would
come over, she was 50 lonesome. She
looked at the clock. Sam had been
gone almost long enough to get back,
but she didn’t want to see Sam, and
Win—she felt as if she could choke
her. Some one knoeked at the door.
She opened it and there stood old Mrs.
Trover, the worst old gossip in the
country. She never could bear her,
but she was so lonesome she wae real-
ly glad to see her. After she had talk-
ed about the baby awhile and told
Lindy how bad she looked, she said :
“An’ eo you're still a-keepin’ Win
Potts, air you ? Well, I just come a-
purpose to tell you if I's in your place
| I'd send her an’ her traps a-flyin’. ”
Lindy grew pale, but she quietly
asked ; “Why?” !
“Why, why, you'd orter know, an’
I knowed some one must tell you, so I
took it on myself to come over. Why
she jist hangs 'round your Sam ridicu-
lous. Why, don’t they go a-trotting
off to church together an’ over to her
ma’s, an’ don’t she holler at ever’one
along the road an’ ask if she don’t look
like she’s married, and don’t she hang
‘round him all the time carryin’ water
to the field, an’ didn’t I see ’em with
my own eyes this very afternoon a rid-
in’ down theroad with his arms round
her and ber with her head agin his
shoulder. They never see me till I
turned the corner an’ was most onto
’em. An’ you orter have seen how
flustered they was when I met ’em. I
knowed you didn't know how they
wasa-actin’, an’ I came over to tell
you. The hull country is a-pityin’
you.”
“Did you say you saw 'em, Mrs.
Trover 2
“See 'em, yes, [ see em with my
own eyes, couree I see ’em. You look
terrible white, Lindy ; can’t I git you
some water ?’
“No'm, I don’t want any.”
“Well, I must go. I jist come over
to tell you about it. I thought it time
you was knowin’, an’ you with a young
baby, too. Now good-by ; come an’
see me's soon as you can, and don’t
take it too much to heart what I've
told you.” : !
Lindy watched her go down the
lane and out of sight. What should
she do ? “Oh, Lord, tell me what to
to do,” she moaned. “I'll go home
to me, that’s what I'll do, an'if Sam
wants Win Potts he can have her.
We'll go home to gran’ma, won't we,
baby ?'? she said, as she took it in her
arms. It was a mile around the road,
and about three-quarters through the
flung herself down on the bed and
fields. She must hurry or they would
be back. She wrapped the baby in a
blanket, threw a shawl over her head
tarted across the fields. !
SWhy | Wilson !”” her mother
said, as Lindy walked in at the kitchen
door.
“Take the baby, ma,” and then she
fainted.
It was late in the afternoon when
Sam and Win came home. Sam tied
his team and hurried in the house. He
had-bought a pair of slippers for Lindy.
The way she acted when he started
away had made him uncomfortable all
the afternoon. He went through the
kitchen and on icto the front room.
Win stood staring arouad‘her.
“Where is she ?”” he asked, wonder-
ingly. : .
“I don’t know,” said Win, “She
ain’t in the house.”
They searched both rooms, the
barns, aod even looked down the well,
“She’s a-playin’ some joke on you,
Sam. I wouldn’t take it so hard. The
house is warm and there's some fire in
the stove; she ain’t been gone long.”
Wins coolness exasperated him.
“Win Potts, do you know where
she’s at ?"" said Sam, laying his rough
hand on her shoulder. Win looked
up at him. His face was pale. Sweat
was standing on his forehead and he
was quivering all over.
“Honest to God, Sam, I don’t” she
said ; “but she’s likely over to her
ma’'s.”’
Sam rushed out, got into the wagon
and drove to her mother’s. He didn't
wait to knock, but walked right in.
Her mother was standing over the
stove stirring something in a cup for the
baby.
“Is Lindy here ?"
“Yes," aid his mother-in-law.
“How did she git here ?”
“Walked.”
“Walked ?"
“Yes, walked, Sam Wilson, walked.
What've you been a doin’? You've
been a flirting round with that Win
Potte, a toten of her over the country
and makin’ love to her till you've
broke my Lindy’s heart, an’ she’s come
home to stay,” and she stirred the tea
go vigorously it slopped over on the
stove.
“Can’t I see Lindy ?”’ asked Sam.
“No, you can’t. She told me to tell
you if you come that you should go
homeand have Win Potts, that she's
through with vou.”
“Can't I see her jest a minute 2’
pleaded Sam.
“No, you can't,” and the old lady
took her cup and left the room, shut-
ting the door hard after her. Sam
dropped into a chair and leaned his
head on his hands: great tears ran
down his fingers and dropped off on
the floor. His mother-in-law opened
the door. She was going to say some-
thing sharp, but the sight of him soft-
ened her.
“I'll ask Lindy again if she'll eee
you.”
A few minutes later she came back.
“She says she won’t see you, and she
wants you to let her alone.”
Without a word Sam got up and
went home. “Get your traps together,
Win, quick as you can, and I'll get
Bill Skinner to take you home.”
“Is Lindy over to her ma's ?”
“Yes,"
“She was jest playing a joke on you,
wasn’t she 27
“Yes
“He's the wickest lookin’ joked
man ; I ever see, she said toBill Skinner
as he drove her home. “And I'll bet
you ’taint no ordinary jokin’ neitifer.”
Sam tried for several daye to see
Lindy, but sbe refused to see him.
“Tell her’, he would say to her
mother, ‘that if she'll jest see mel
know I can fix it all right. If she'd
only jest let me look at her 'twould do
me so much good.”
Ounce he atked for the baby. He
took it in his arms and the tears rolled
from his eyes and dropped over it.
“Poor little feller,” he said. One day
he laid five dollars down on the table.
“Give that to Lindy, che might need
sumthin’, he said.
He tried to go on with his work just
the same. But he couldn’t plow where
he could look over at the little house
where Lindy used to be. He couldn’t
stay in the rooms where he had never
lived an hour without her, and where
every little thing was made and placed
by ber hands.
“I'll jest fix things up and get out o’
the country. I caun’tlive here.”
So he wrote to Lindy :
“DEAR LiNpy: i'm a.goin’ clean away wher
you won't hev to here about me. I never was
gude enuff fur you and i always nowed it but
I thout you liked me im a-goin’ to start to-day
i left the things at our place fur you and you
can go down and git them i thout youd need
fur the little feller. good-by -
AM.”
Lindy read the note and handed it
to her mother, who read it and looked
at her. Her face was white and set.
“Shall some of us go over and tell
him not to go ?"' she asked.
“No, ma, I'd rather you wouldn't.”
Aad she took the baby in her arms
and left the room.
Lindy was pale and quiet all day.
In the evening she put her baby to
sleep antl went out into the yard. It
was a warm evening in the middle of
May. The moon was shining, al-
though it was scarcely dusk. She
wandered out into the orchard and on
beyoud, where she could look across
the fields toward her own little home.
She would like to see it again just as it
was when she was eo happy. Her
father and mother were going down the
next day after the things, and it would
never be the same again.
“I b’leve I'll go on over the hill and
see if I can eee it,” and she hurried on.
“I would like to go in and see if things
is jest as I left 'em. I '’low Sam’s got
ibe I'll never see him again.”
i to the kitchen door.
ever'thing all upside down sence I left."
She could catch a faint outline now of
the house. She feltan awful home-
sick, lonely feeling. “I must see it
once agin,” she said to herself, and the
tegrs rolled down her face. “Oh, I do
wish Sam was there, it looks so black
an’ lonesome.” On she went, every |
little thing about the place growing!
plainer and plniner in the moonlight. '
She came to the ~ell-curb and leaned
against it. “Oh, if I jest could go in
an’ find everything like it used to be,,’
che sobbed. “If Sam only was there.
I wouldn't care if old Win Potts was
there, too, if Sam was only there. An’
' Sam’s gone—gone clean off—an’ may-
She
walked slowly on sobbing every breath.
She reached out,
opened it, and stepped in. As she
stood in the doorway, the moonlight
falling on her drew her full form out
in shining contrast to the dark room.
“Good God, Livdy, is that you 2
“Sam!” she screamed, and in_an-
other instant was close in his arms.
%Qh, Sam, Sam,” she sobbed, ‘don’t
go away. I’ve been sech a fool, but I
got so jellus of Win. Oh, don’t go,
Sam,” she said, holding tight to him.
“Why, Lindy, girl, 'm not goin’;
nothin’ could make me leave you. I!
knowed you'd come back. Lindy. I
couldn’t go til I'd seen the place agin,
an’ [ jest come over to-night to say
good-by to it, and now you've come
back.” .
“Oh, Sam, I was so jellus of Win, I
jest hated her, and old Mis’ Trover
told me things about you—zaid you
hed your arm around her, and her
head was layin’ agin your shoulder as
you were going to town, and I jest got
so mad I couldn't stand 1t, and I took
the baby and went home to ma.”
“Lindy, did you b'l’eve what Mis’
Trover said ?”
“I did then, because I was so mad,
but I don’t now.”
“Lindy, I swear to God there wasn’t
a word of truth in it.”
“I know it, Sam, I know it. I was
sech a goose, can you fergive me,
Sam 2”
“Fergive you, Lindy, can you ever
forgive me fur being sech a fool. I
orter geen it, but I thought you know-
ed how [ cared fur you. Where's the
baby ?”
“It’s over to ma’s, asleep.’
“Would you be afraid to stay here
alone, while I run across the fields and
get it ?” :
‘‘No,” she laughed, “and tell ma
I’il not be back to-night.” —Peterson’s
Magazine.
Scenes at the National Encampment of
the G. A. R.
A Watchman Staff’ Correspondent Tells of His
Visit to Louisville, Ky.,—Incidents of the
Journey and Stay in the Beautiful City of the
Blue Grass Region.
The Centre county veterans, who start
ed so jubilantly Saturday evening for the
Twenty-Ninth National Encampment of
the G. A. R., were just as enthusiastic,
when they arrived in Louisville Sunday
evening, although somewhat worn with
their sight-seeing In Indianapolis.
Two miles to Camp Caldwell? how far
it sounded! yet how soon it was reached !
Situated beautifully high and dry just on
the spot where Gen. Buell camped, in
September 1862, after his long march to
intercept Gen. Bragg. The four hundred
tents, on straight, even streets and ave n-
ues named in honor of Lawler, Lincoln,
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and Floyd—
The sanitary arrangements perfect, a
congpicuous guard house, into which a
civilian was soon thrust for getting up a
war of his own, and a well drilled guard
constantly on the beat to protect the vet.
erans from intruders.
THE ROYAL WELCOME,
Louisville, the gateway of the South
with its many schools and churche8, its
great tobacco trade, its distilleries—one
alone is said to pay Uncle Sam $25,000
revenue a day—its tanneries and Henry
Watterson, has opened wide its arms to
welcome the soldiers, whoare here by the
thousands encamped for the first time in
a Southern city since the war. The air is
full of patriotic music; the streets are rich
in red, white and blue ; miles of bunting
stretch along the buildings and such
picturesque lightning, by electricity, has
never been seen.
Never has the G. A. R. met with a more
cordial reception, but then, who is more
hospitable than the generous Southern
people ? 01d differences were forgotten
years ago and between the true soldiers
of the North and South there has been
generous charity from the day the war
closed. Some sectional disturbers, usu.
ally guiltless of the scars of warand in-
vineible in peace, have been maintaining
the strife ; but just come South if you
want to see forgiveness and charity.
Then many of our Northerners ima gine
that they alone were loyal to the Union,
look at the records, Kentucky furnished
more soldiers for the Union than Kansas
or Minnesota, more than Maine, Connecti.
cut, New Hampshire or Vermont. She is
credited with 75,760 men which follows
hard on Iowa's 76,22 and New Jersey's
78,814 and isn't she still furnishing good
old rye for all the country ?
STRIKING EVIDENCES OF PEACE.
The blue and the gray have hobnobed
for two days and two nights at reunions
and campfires hunting up comrades and
talking over old experiences. Postmas-
ter D. H. Miller, ex-county commissioner
Campbell; W. Myers and some of the other
old veterans havedrunk out of the south
ern canteens until they don’t know
whether they are ‘‘Rebs” or **Yankees.'’
The women of Louisville have been un-
stinted in their kindnesses. Decked in
silks and jewels they have warmly re-
ceived the gray and the blue at their re-
ceptions, or with their white aprons on,
they haveserved possum and taters, pork
and hominy, coffee and buscuit to the
old and hungry soldiers.
PARADES.
10,000 men were in line in the naval vet.
erans’ parade Tuesday, and while they
were cheered and hailed with enthusiasm
the greatest demonstration was reserved
for Wednesday.
Fully 25,000 G. A. R. veterans were in
line and while many showed the weight
of years, they proudly kept step and
‘tramped, tramped, tramped as though
they were marching through Georgia."
They were cheered incessantly by the
200,000 spectators along the beautifu)
streets of the route and the handsome
-Taylor's
all possible precautions were taken for
the relief of those who might be over.
come by the heat or compelled by fatigue
to fall out of the line. There was, how-
ever, but little call on the medical depart.
ment, and with an exception here and
there the divisionsremained intact from
start to finish. The column moved slow-
ly and occupied four hours in passing the
reviewing stand,
RECEPTIONS AND MEETING,
The good humor and spirit ot frater-
nity so manifest all week, was especially
noticeable at the numerous receptions
and excursions to Lincoln’s birthplace
tomb, Mammoth Cave and
other near points of interest. The wom-
en of the G. A.R. have cut up a couple of
capers as usual, and had the sheriff settle
For an d About Women .
The woman who cloaks her disagreea-
ble temper under the name ‘pessimism
will do well to remember th at each per-
son’s pessimism is known to that per-
son’s neighbors as ‘‘sourness’’ or ‘‘crab-
bedness?’,
The tendency in hair dressing is to-
ward extreme simplicity. Itis consid-
ered bad taste to make any addition to
the natural hair, and false frizettes,
puffs and switches are very little used.
The most striking innovation of the sea-
son is a distinct parting of the hair in
the middle from the forehead to the
crown of the head. This may undoubt-
edly be traced to the influence of the
one of their disputes ; buteven with their
little difficulty there has never been such
& successful and harmonious meeting of
the G. A. R.,
Henry Watterson. editor of the Louis-
ville Courier-Journal and ex-confederate
general made the address of welcome at
the big meeting. Never was a man more
enthusiastically received, and never did
a man make a better address. His hear-
ers, cheered and shouted and cried until
the meeting was one grand love feast,
and a fitting climax of a grand old rally.
THE WONDERFUL BURGOO.
Centre county could not begin to fur-
nish the beautiful Jerseys, shorthorns and |
southdowns that were brought in from
therich blue grass pasture for the great
barbecue and burgoo which took place in
Wilder Park after the installation of offi-
cers. &
The burgoo is a soup-like preparation
of a yellowish color and is com pounded of
beef mutton chicken potatoes corn toma-
toes, onions, turnips, sarsaparilla, radish-
es, cabbage, turtle and pork. It was pre-
pared at night and the fires were light.
ed at 5 o'clock in the evening. It sim.
mered all night and the fires were re-
charged Friday morning, so that by 8
o'clock it was goodand hot. There had
been ordered about 23,000 loaves of bread,
and about half of it was cut this morning.
It required the work of ten men for two
hours. The meat was cooked rare, medi.
um and well done, and the most fastidi-
ous could find no objection with the
beef, mutton and shoat.
Over 100 blue-grass cattle, 300 lambs and
290 shoats were barbecued in full view of
all the visitors. Fifteen kettles, hold ing
7500 gallons of burgoo, were made on the
ground, from which the guests were
served. A grand chorus of over 300 voices
including members of all the Louisville
colored choirs and musical associations,
made the groves ring. A genuine old
plantation cake walk, with Southern
melodies by colored citizens from al,
parts of the South, ended the out door
sports. A grand ball in the evening clos.
ed the encampment and many of the vet.
erans went direct to Chattanoogo to pro-
long their festivities.
International Yacht Racing.
The one event of the mounth talked
about among sportsmen has been the
races that have been going on off
Sandy Hook, New York, between Lord
Dunraven’s Eaglish yacht “Valkyrie
ITI,” and the “Defender,” Mr. Iselin’s
trim yacht that was selected at the re-
cent regatta to defend the America’s
cup agaiost the British challenger.
The incidents leading up to the races
have been of interest to none, but those
who participate in such luxuries as
yachts but the races themselyes, par-
taking of an inter national nature, have
aroused the curiosity of the American's
more because of their love for leader-
ship than for any particularinterest in
the fashionable fad that thus affords
another opportunity for us to display
the handicraft of American boat de-
signers and the skill of American
sailors.
The first race was sailed Saturday a
week and resulted in an easy victory for
the Defender. It was over a course
15 miles to windward and run home.
Our boat winning by 8 min. and 47
seconds.
The second race was sailed on Tues:
day. In getting off the Val.
kyrie collided with the Defeader,
breaking her topmast, causing it to
bend leeward. She sailed the race,
however, under. protest and came in
just 47 eeconds behind the English
boat. The board of racing managers
awarded the race to the De-
tender as it was shown she had the
right of way and that Valkyrie was
clearly at fault in the collision.
Lord Dunraven the owner of the
Valkyrie, refused to sail the third race
as he claimed the course could not be
kept clear of boats. The Defender
sailed over the course alone and was
awarded the cup thus sustaining Un-
cle Sam’s supremacy on the seas for
another year at least.
——————————
Captain Bassett Won't Tell.
One of the guides at the Capitol,
Washington, the other day said that he
hoped that before Captain Bassett, ‘‘the
watchdog of the senate,’ dies, he will
teil somebody which one of the desks
there it was which Jefferson Davis oc-
cupied when he wa: a member of the
senate. Bassett ie the only one that
knows, and he will not tell for fear visit-
ors will chip off splinters for souvenirs.
During the war a lot of soldiers got into
the chamber and stuck their bayonets
into the desk.— New Orleans Picayune.
A Gay Pastor Loses His Job.
Resignation of Rev. B. Dekay, Who on a Salary
of $1,000 a Year, ItIs Charged, Drove a Blooded
Iorse, Smoked Cigarettes and Associated With
Actors.
Cincinnati, Sept.15.—Rev. B. Dekay
rector of the Protestant Episcopal church
at Fernbank, a suburb of this city, was
asked for his resignation and gave it.
The objection to Mr. Dekay was that
on a salary of $1,000 a year he dressed
well, and rode a blooded horse,wore white
| trousers, smoked cigarettes, and ‘affiliated
| with actors.
girls cheered, applauded and waved their |
handkerchiefs in the most distracting
manner. The Louisville legion wearing
crape upon their sleeves in mourning for
their six unfortunate comrades, who had
i been blown up with the terrible caisson
explosion was the only sad incident of
the joyous day. Ambulances accompan-
ied each division and ice water was pro-
vided at each street in the section, and
Six Grand Army Men Killed.
LouisiviLe, Ky., Sept. 11.—Six
Grand Army men were killed here at
5.30 this morning by the explosion of
a caisson. Several members of the
Louisville jegion were wounded. The
names of the killed are: Charles Os-
trich, Hutchins, H. Irving,
A. L. Bobinson and William Adams
(colored).
1830 styles. For morning the hair is
worn in some soft, fluffy way around
the face. There is a slight fringe of
hair over the forehead, but this fringe is
Des in the middle, curling in on each
side.
|
|
| The present high swathing of the
| throat will soon give way to the collar
| cut low at the rise of the neck and fin-
| ished with a wide frill of flowing lace.
{ This is & most trying fashion, and woe
| to the woman of thin face and slender
neck. But the girl whose rosy face is
! set on a round throat like » flower ona
| stem will make a brand new hit in the
| new fashion, fascinating as she has been
I looking in stocks and swathings. Till
| really cold weather comes deep, flat col-
| lars slashed over the shoulders to allow
room for the sleeves will be worn, and
all sorts of muslin neck arrangements
will retain their vogue for disposal
about the throat. Even a clerical effect
is to be ventured by bib-like expanses
of stiff linen about the neck and should-
ers. This means that many a complex-
ion that safely withstood midsummer’s
heat will yet have a severe trial in the
autumn.
Don’t roll your eyes up into your
bead as if they were marbles. A fine
pair of eyes will be utterly ruined by
this operation. The girl with a pretty
mouth will purse it up into the pretti-
est bouton and continue the habit until
many lines form about the lips, and the
lovely mouth has to be put into the.
hands of a beauty doctor. “Nearly
every woman bites or sucks her lips.
Others contract the brows and produce
two furrows between the eyes. Others
wrinkle the forehead with frowns.
Others perpetually wear a tip-tilted
nose. The true expressive face does not
exist of a set of features hurg on strings
or wires. Do cultivate placid features.
The autumn girl how she looks as
she walks these days. The skirt swirls
and flares all around her trim form in
most fetching manner; an occasional
step a bit high shows a bit of the lace
trimmed petticoat, for line petticoats
The blouse of this brown gown is too
smart for words ; it is of golden brown
velvet, yellow Valenciennes lace and
black jet. A huge box plait occupies
the entire front of the waist and is very
gracefully arranged ; it is edged with
tiny frills of yellow lace and has huge
cut jet buttons in rows. An immense
sailor collar of velvet is frilled all about
with lace and is caught on the bust by
jet ornaments, from which dangle a lot
of jet pendants. A tiny girdle of jet
has chatelaine ornaments of the most
chic kind, including a memorandum
tablet. The hat worn with this bit of
fall elegance is large and picturesquely
bent about the back and sides, and all
filled in with masses of soft tulle chox
and all awave with nodding black
plumes, seemingly held by two immense
jet daggers.
The side decorations on crush zollars
and other neck decorations are pro-
nounced passe by leaders of fashion, so
makers of fancy neckwear are busy in-
venting new ideas.
A skirt which has become too short
may be lengthened without spoiling its
appearance by adding a bias band of
the same goods around the foot. This
may be finished with rows of stitching,
or bands of ribbon or passementerie
may be placed over the line of junction.
Where the front breadth alone is too
short, as sometimes happens when the
skirt has been badly fitted, it may be
ripped out-and lengthened at the top by
means of a narrow, pointed yoke, fitted
smoothly over the figure and stitched
down. Thisis rather an addition to the
skirt than otherwise and may be cov-
ered with pastementerie it desired, with
excellent effect.
Mrs. Daniel Stewart has served as
sheriff of Greene county, Missouri, with
marked success. She has declined a re-
election, however.
A smart coat, for cool days, to be
worn with the brown crepon skirt, is in
English box fashion, and is of the soft-
est tan shade, merging on the gray.
The sleeves are the noticeable feature,
aside from the astonishing shortness of
the garment. They are of a monstrous
size, their fullness brought in strapped
plaits from the elbow to the wrists, in
an entirely new mode. A stunning col-
lar elevates itself behind the ears and
turns over jauntily in front. Its only
adornment is the row of large pearl but-
tons, as big as good sized diriner plates.
Be a little careful how you add blous-
es to your wardrobe, for they are be-
coming blasee. The tight fitting habit
basque that shows off 8 good figure to
advantage is making such alarming
headway we already begin to realize
that the many dollars already devoted
to pretty waists will have been squand-
ered, and when the cool days come
blouses will be a pronounced thing of
the the past.
A dress that fits perfectly into the
September colorings, is of brown crink-
led crepon. The pointed bodice of
brown silk has ‘no trimming, but with
it is worn a broad, folded fichu of cream
colored laco that is gathered about the
shoulders and fastened with a bunch of
pink mallows at the waist line. The
fall sleeves of brown silk are shirred low
on the shoulders.
Large sailor and Marie Antoinette
collars of velvet will appear upon next
seasons costumes exactly in the same
style as those of lace, lawn and grass
linen are now worn.
are now all ‘the go with a natty toilet. -