Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, September 20, 1895, Image 2
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. -