Bellefonte, Pa., Dec. 6, 1895.
GONE TO HIS LITTLE BOY BLUE.
(Written Upon Reading of the Death of Eu-
ene Field.)
That Littie Boy Blue who wandered afar
At sound of the angel's song
Stands still by the beautiful Zales ajar,
While around him the children throng.
There's a smile upon the little boy’s face
As, waiting for papa, he stands
And welcomes him there with ababy grace,
And holds out his little hands.
Like the little toy dog all covered with dust
Who kept his vigil so true, :
And the little toy soldier, all red with rust
So has waited the Little Boy Blue.
He has wondered why papa has stayed away
From where all is pure and bright
For he wanted him so to join in his play
In the beautiful Land of Light.
Ah, deep in the hearts of world-weary men
Is the tale of the Little Boy Blue,
And gentle tears come to their tired eyes
when
They think of the toys so true.
As the little boy went at the angel's call
In his dreams at the end of day, ;
So the Master, who loved the little ones ali,
Has gone to his own, far away. :
—N. A. Jennings, in the Evening World.
JINNY GREEN'S JEALOUSY.
The Greens were the aristocrats of
Whittaker’s Row, and this, aside from
the intrineic merits of the case, made
Jinny Green's jealousy an interesting
epectacle to her neighbors and friends,
especially her friends. Whit-
taker's Row iteelf is rather an
aristocrat, in a comparative way—
which is the only way any of us get to
be cousidered aristocrats at all—among
the small streets which hem “it in,
Spruce and Locust, Fifth and Sixth, is
a square fairly honey-combed with lit-
tle alleys which try to be courte, and
courts which try to be streets, and
threading through those unsightly
strips of pestilential-looking houses,
flanked by ash barrels and garbage
heaps, and an occasional stable or two,
youcome upon Whittaker’s row with
a gaep of surprise.
It has a picturesque, foreign look—-
not owing so much to the houses,
which are merely pocket editions of
the conglomerate red-brick-and-white-
marble style of architecture for which
our city is juetly celebrated. It is
partly the (again speaking compara-
tively) abnormal cleanness of these
dwellings, and partly the long, low,
whitewashed wall opposite them which
bounds the ancient graveyard of St.
Mary’s church, lying in its gray grim-
nees and green freshness under the
very windows to remind the occupants
that in the midet of life they are in
death. So far from disliking the rather
close proximity to tombstones, the
people of the Row consider it rather
an addition to the landscape, and Jin:
ny Green’s mother often eaid that it
was the “bit o’ green” which first led
her to move into No. 5, five years ago.
Five years ago Jinny had been a
slip of a “teever,” distinguished from
the rest of the girls who romped arourd
the square playing “London Bridge"
by her neat even stylish
clothes, her good manners and
her quaintly precise way of speak-
ing. Now thatehe was 19 and work-
ing in a laundry, where she earned $5
a week, she wasa full fledged lady,
which made the thing she afterwards
did seem the more dreadful. No par-
lor in Whittaker’s Row could approach
the eplendor (principally made up of
cleanliness) of the little nine-foot room
in which Jinny eat at the machine by
the window sewing on her trousseau
summer evenings, while it was etill
light, while Charlie McLane leaned
over the window &ill and talked to her
and the Morrison woman watched him
hungrily from her doorstep.
“Stop sewin’ an’ come out on the
front with me, Jinny,” he would beg
time and again, and Jinny’s hazel
eyes would snap roguishly as she obedi-
ently stopped the wheels and answer-
ed with alacrity.
“Cert’n’y, Cha'lie: it's only puttin’
oft the weddin' a day or two, an’ it
suits me ag well.”
“But it don’t suit we!” Cha'lie
would declare with much positivenees.
“Nothin’ short of death’s goin’ to stop
that weddin’ from comin’ off on the
second of September. Just, the same,
I want you to come outon the front
with me. We'll buy dresses an’ plenty
for Jinny McLane.”
So matters would be compromised
by Jinny’s putting away her work and
‘Charlie's coming inside and spending
an evening full ot felicity and shy un-
seen hand-squeezing in the dusk of the
spotless little parlor. Not that Jinny
was ashamed to sit “out ou the front”
—i. e., the doorstep—with her lover;
but she knew that if she did it was ten
to-one that the Morrison woman would
stroll down to them, and, failing of an
invitation to sit down on the step,
staod conversing comfortably and at
.great length with Charlie for the pure
"pleasure of seeing Jinny’s face shows
more and more white in the fading
light and her elight shoulders tremble
with impatience and "her lips quiver
with hurt pride. Why this exhilarated
her like a draught of flery liquor,
Maude Morrieon _ possibly could not,
and assuredly did not, explain to her-
self -
Charlie McLane earned good wages
and wae much respected of men and
desired of womaun in Whittaker’s Row,
though Jivay and her mother might
easily have been the only one who
knew that be made them by “working
round the whart'’ at Dock street. In
the lenient and philosophical environ.
ment of Whittaker’s Row, the question,
“What does he or she do ?* Is not so
frequently asked in some otlrer circles,
for there are those whom it might
embarraes. Of these were the Morri-
son woman, who lived next door to the
McLane’s and the Hendry man, who
rented a room from her andj was said
her (and sundry other
ions.) He had bad eyes
and a heavy\moustache like a theatre
illai ye carried about #im
ent odor of liquor.
liquor sometimes
a more or less
The quality of“
1 other beer, and quite frequently some-
with the Morrison woman again and
pain, and yet again, their feet seemed
treading down the fruit and flower of
poor Jinny’s love-dream and pressing
out the dark wioe of hatred--a draught
which had not yet become sweet to the
lips of “that there saint,” as Maude
mockingly termed the girl who thought
it wrong to dance.
To make up for Charlie's defection
Dolph Hendry was overly attentive to
her, a sight which added fuel to the
flame of Maude’s recklessness. To.
night she fully lived up to the remark
of crippled Mrs. Carr, who lived next
door to the Greens, and knew every-
thing that happened and a good deal
that did not, that “that Morrison piece
was a devil,”
“You'll lose that hat,” said some-
one to her as she flung her great white
flaunting-feathered leghorn around by
the string on one agitated finger. She
smiled into Charlie's face. *‘I guess
Charlie here wouldn’t let it get very
far, would you 2’
- “Course not,” said Charlie gallantly
but thickly, Dolph Hendry’s promise
of “no liquor’ having been broken, as
was to be expected, and Charlie, to
Jinny’s acute anguish having appar-
ently forgotten his intention of taking
the pledge on his wedding day.
How much a minute can hold ! It
was barely twenty seconds after that
that a piercing scream burst from Jin-
ny Green's pale lips. A quick turn of
a supple, wicked brown wrist had sent
the hat over the railing and almost
simultaneously Charlie McLane had
leaped after it. A moment’s breath.
less suspense, while the echo of Jin-
ny's shriek quivered in the air around
them,and Charlie's face and outstretch-
ed arm appeared above the surface of
the dark Delaware. ‘Here’s—your—
hat,” he gasped, holding it out to
Maude with a triumphant, adoring
smile—for her, and her alone—and
even more trinmph, though no love,
shone in thesmile Maude flung back
to Jinny over her shoulder.
“Take care,” called someone, “he’s
slipped again |” and with that smile
still on his face—all in that long, aw-
ful minute—Charlie McLane tell back-
ward into the river, followed by the
heavy plunge of Dolph Hendry’s body
and Jinno’y cry: ‘Oh, save him, and
I'll do anything in the world for you!”
Jinny Green sat out on her front
with vacant eyes looking out on the
long ranges of semi-neglected graves
beyond the little white wall, going over
two things again and again in her
mind. Since Charlie McLane’s death
a month ago she had not been able to
realize any fact save these two, and
had stayed away from work in order
to be better able to grapple with them,
“My girl's not long for this world,”
Mre. Green would say to Mrs, Carr,
wringing her hands, while the more
outspoken comment of Whittaker's
Row was that there was danger of Jin-
ny Green's going “silly.” She was no
longer the trim, bright-eyed Jinny of
other days; her hazel eyes looked out
hopelessly on a desolate world from a
haggard face, and one of her hands. was
always smoothing the other as aimless.
ly as they did now, while she mur-
mured : :
“No grave ; no grave!”
This was one of the two thoughts
which poesessed ber mind, turn and
turn about. Her lover lay neglected
and in darkness, in soine unknown spot
in the bed of that all-devouring river.
No stone to have cut with somecom-
forting inscription ; no eoft green
mound to cry over and deck with flow-
ers—while here were graves on graves,
unvisited, uncared for, unknown save
to the angel of the Resurrection, lying
wasted under the unjust sun !
The other thought was that she must
forgive Maude Morrison. She often
laughed aloud as she told herself this,
it seemed go absurdly impossible. Any-
thing but that, good pastor ! who paid
80 many and such anxious visit to
Number Five, going away with a text
in his mind: which he did not quote to
Jinny, for whom be reserved the Gold-
en Rule and some of the Parables :
“Love is strong as death; but jeal-
ousy is cruel as the grave.”
Those two smiles! She always saw
them before her—the one tremulous
with a tenderness that was not for her,
the other flashing in insolent recogni.
tion of that tenderness—both aimed
like two stabs at her heart. Take
those two smiles away from her vis-
ion, her memory, and then she would
forgive Maude Morrrison as a ‘“‘profes-
sor’’ should.
A night or two later a night police-
man, strolling through Whittaker’s
row about 3 o'clock saw something
which sent his none too courageous
heart in a flying upward leap to his
mouth. Now, it there were ghosts.
but the white figure which lay prone
emong the dark grass on one of the
amcient graves in St. Mary’s yard,shak-
ern with terrible sobs, was moaning
very humanly.
“No grave ; no grave I” she wail.
ed. “Che’lie, it she was to find you
ard give me a grave for you--and stop
that smiling--I'd never say a word. I'd
forgive her, willin’ly. Cha’lie, you're
smilin’ yourself that way--an’ you un.
buried—an’ 1 just can’t bear it!”
The policeman knew Jinny and her
story. He lifted the delirious girl very
carefully and carried ber quietly to her
owa door with a few whispered words
to her mother that the sharp neighbor-
ly ears might not overhear. The next
day Jinny was tossing in a raging fever,
murmuring incoherent nonsemse. It
took the fever but a short while to set
its deadly seal of possession’on the deli-
cate frame ; it seemed to her mother
only a day or two before the doctor
formally gave her up and the pastor
came on a hasty summons to comfort
the afflicted parent and endeavor to
assist Jinny to make her peace with
God and Maude Morrison.
quite rational now, and listened with
varied—one day it might be gin, an-
thing as pretentious as brandy or fine
wines ; but there was an overpowering
sameness about the quantity. He was
said to be rich and to live in Glou-
cester, and in confirmation of both
these statements he frequently came
over from that festive town in his own
yacht, in which be took the mere care:
less feminine spirits for short dails. He
had once asked Jinny Green, but she
had declined with precipitancy and
trembling.
The Morrison woman was a bad one,
go Jinny said when the bitter poison
of jealousy bad begun to work in among
her Christian principles. There is no
telling whether this remark preceded
or followed the sneering one of Maude
Morrison that Jinny was “‘a good un—
too much of a good un’’—this referring
to Jinny's conscientious attendance at
the Methodist Mission, where she was
a pillar of the Sunday school class.
Yet, set in the midst of a solitary wil-
derness—or the exclusive society of
her own sex, which she would have
considered much the same thing—
Maude Morrison would have been a
fairly good-natured, well-meaning,
well-behaved individual. But “seems
like I cyant eee a man ’thout takin’ an
interest in him,” as she herself ingen-
uously put it. She was one of those
who loved some men more than oth-
ers ; that was the only difference.
Some women are made that way. The
one she loved inteneely, wildly, openly
above others was Dolph! Hendry, but
that did not keep her from laying siege
to Charlie McLane's heart until Jin-
ny’s jealousy became the talk of the
neighborhood and everyone watched
with deep interest to see how it would
end.
If eyes were stilettoes it would have
ended with a death-stab to Maude
Morrison the night she kept Charlie
from an appointment with Jinny,made
within her hearing, by detaining him
on his doorstep with a request to tie a
strip of rag around her finger, which
she had just burned over the fire, ‘and
bein’ my right hand, seems like I can’t
do nothing with my left,’”” as she plain-
tively explained. It seemed a case on
which to exercise common humanity,
and Charlie bungled over it long enough
to feel the fascination of close proxi-
mity to a brilliantly, dangerously
beautiful woman, beside whom Jin-
ny’s pink girlish prettiness was a poor
and a pale thing. He did this while
loving Jinny with all the strength of
his feeble fickle heart. Some men are
made that way.
Jinry stood waiting on her step for
just five minutes, with her hazel eyes
sending messages of unfathomable hate,
love, scorn and fury toward the two
absorbed figures at the end of the row.
Then she turned slowly, coldly, toward
the door—for the “fronts” of Whit-
taker’s Row were encompased by a
cloud of witnesses-and lingeringly clos-
ed it ; and she threw herself down on
the pretty rug of raveled rag carpet,
snatched her little Bible from the ta-
ble and laid her face against it, as if to
silence the lips that trembled with
words of rebellious hate with the re-
membrance of the religious vows that
had passed them, and her slight form
shook in a very whirlwind of dry sobs.
“My poor pretty I” gighed her
mother---an old-country woman unsuit-
ably stranded in Philadelphia slums.
“My poor Jinny 1"
“0, I'm wicked !” * gasped Jinny.
“Mother, when I see that woman plas-
tering over Cha'lie, I feel murder in
my heart ; but, oh, she’s a sight wick-
eder'n me!”
“They have their reward,” quoted
Mre. Green from the little Bible,
brely fitting the words to the case of
ber cherished daughter's rival. Just
then a face appeared at the window-—
Charlie's. “Ready yet, Jinny ?” he
called cheerily.
Jinny sprang to her feet and faced
him. It was too dark for him to see
ber tears. “Take Maude Morrison,
Cha’lie McLane! I'll have none of
your money spent on my circus-going.”
He had wanted it to be a theatre, but
Jinny would not go. “No, you've
missed your appointment. I've anoth-
er, here at home with my mother 1”
She had a third person, however, to
talk to after Charlie had disconsolately
walked away with his hands in his
pockets. This was Dolph Hendry,
who removed his hat.
“Even,” Miss Green. Fact ig, I call-
ed to ask if-if you would like to go up
the river tomorrow night on the Twi.
light. I've bought ten tickets, an’a
party of us is goin’ to take the plea-
gure trip. Maude Morrison's goin’,
an’ Charlie McLane, an’ of course,
since he’s your intended, I though
that you...”
He paused diplomatically.
“Will there be anythingto drink ?”
asked Jinny waveringly.
Maude Morricon had asked him the
self-same question, oddly enough, but
Dolph Hendry promised that there
should not, and Jinny agreed with
some palpitations of conscience to go
and save her one ewe lamb from the
clutches ot the wicked wolf, who, she
wished with all her heart, would ap
propriate Dolph Hendry and be satis.
fied therewith.
That mext night's trip! None of
the ten who went will be likely to for-
get it. The beauty of the scenery
made faintly appareat by the thousand
specks of light which twinkled along
the dusky shores of the Delaware, the
rollicking strains of the band music
were little appreciated by the party
from Whittaker's Row, most of whom
resolved themselves into passive epec-
tators of the drama which they dimly
surmised was deepening from comedy
into tragedy. Hazel eyes against black,
youth and simplicity. against exper-
ence and guile, burning jealousy and |
unconcealed misery against cruel cool- |
ness and self-control--iv was hard run- |
ning, and the battle almost foreordain- '
ed to the swifi.
Charlie McLaneseemed to have lost
her spiritual director, interspersed with
mother’s quivering voice joined in,
hig head completely, and as he danced It was a scene which sunk into the
k
mind, and as much of Whittaker’s
row as could be accommodated in the
tiny bedroom looked longingly at the
dying girl, who seemed already of
another world. Only that slight bond
of human jealousy kept her kin to
them and now, as ata breath,it was
to be dissolved, for in obedience to the
clergyman’s fervent appeal she'at last
bowed her head in resignation. Some-
one was hastily dispatched to bring
Maude Morrison to receive Jinny’s ab-
solution, and the hymn swelled trium-
phantly.
“The dying thief rejoiced to see
That Fountain in his day,”
but Jinoy’s mother broke down and
hid ber face in the white coverlet, leav-
ing the minister to sing no alone,
Maude Morricon had been more
than horrified at Charlie McLane's
death, and repentant, too, though
“bardly green enough,” as she would
have eaid, to give expression to her
regret. Had she not been in supersti-
tious fear of a dying person’s eye, and
had not her mind been very much tak-
en up with Dolph Hendry at that mo-
ment, she might have returned a dif
ferent answer to Jinny’s messenger
than that she “wasn’t hankering fer
anybody’s forgiveness, that she knew
of ; Jinny Green could die or get well
without her ; she wasn’t coming.”
Being very young, and knowing no
better, the envoy tiptoed into the room
where Jinny lay waiting for the silver
cord to be loosed and the golden bowl
broken, and whispered the brutal mes
sage into her ear while the singing
went softly on :
“And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away, wash all my sins
away—"
“Stop!” screamed Jinny. All eyes
turned to look at her, as she sat up in
the bed like a pallid figure of venge-
ance. “I ain't agoin’ to forgive her
now ! I ain’t agoin’ to die! I'll live
to make Maude Morrison’s heart ache
as she’s made mine ache, and hreak as
she’s made mine break. Oh, you
needn’t look at me that way, Mr. Scott ;
I don’t want to die and go to heaven
now ; I’ve better things to do!”
There were those who said that the
devil entered into Jinny Green from
that very hour. Certainly health en-
tered into her, and in ao incredibly
short time she wae about again, as
changed a girl as Whittaker's row,
which stood by and marveled, had ever
seen. Her mother wept silently and
out of sight and waited in miserable
certainty for a judgment to come upon
Jinny. The pale, pious, timidly pretty
girl was transformed into a young Juno
with erect and rounded form, an inso-
lent ease of manner unmatched by that
of Maude herself, a brilliant color,
which Mrs. Carr whispered was paint,
and splendid hazel eyes in which smold-
ered an ever-present ambition which
made them shine like living coals. The
Methodist Miesion never saw her again;
she went freely to the theatre, and
learned to dance like one inspired. The
men of the neighborhood, who had
scarcely ventured on a word with the
old Jinny, were captured and kept in
tyrannous attendance on the new one.
She grew handsomer and more reckless
and more incomprehensible every day.
“Jinny,” croaked Mrs. Carr, “there’s
such a thing as cutting off your nose
to spite your face.”
“S’'posing you hate your nose more’'n
you love your face, what then ?" was
the query.
“Jinny,” moaned her mother, “you'll
come to a bad end, an’ you a perfes-
sor 1"
“I ain’t a perfessor no more,’ she
retorted, “an’ I'll come to the end I'm
aiming at.”
What that end was, Whittaker’s row
was not slow in surmising, and it was
rather pleased. This was the perpetra-
tion of an eye-for-eye, tooth-for tooth
revenge on Maude Morrison, by taking
Dolph Hendry away from her. He
bad always had a lingering liking for
Jinny ; in her new role she was even
more to his taste, and Maude, whose
whole tempestuous being bowed down
before him with an adoration hardly
less than that which Jinny had lavish-
ed on her dead and apparently forgot-
ten lover, was well-nigh frantic. A
few of the neighbors warned Jinny to
beware of knives and poison, and she
laughed, lightly and insolently, said,
“Dolph, do you hear that ?"’ and made
room for him beside her on the door-
step.
That night he dared to put one heavy
arm across her shoulder and give her
a sounding kiss, whereat she gave an
inarticulate cry and fled before his as
tonished eyes up to her own room.
Here her mother followed to find her
lying face downward on the bed, sob-
bing as if her heart would break.
“Jinny,"eaid her mother with des-
perate calmness, “I want you to listen
to me for a minute. You want to take
Dolph Hendry away from Maude Mor-
rison. You know yourself—'' this was
the first time Mrs. Green had been
cruel—*‘there’s only two ways a wom-
an can get another woman’s man away
from her—to kill him or marry him. I
don’t suppose you've set out to kill
Dolph Hendry. Be you going to marry
him 9”
“No, no—yes—no, a hundred times
over !” moaned the girl on the bed,
the sickening memory of that hot kiss
still fresh on her. “I don’t know,
mother |”
“Don’t you know ? Don’t you know
what your life would be after you’d
married him ? A swearing, drinking,
quarreling man, that'd beat you eyen
while be loved you, and stop loving
you for a whim; desert you, like
enough, and till then lead you a life
She was!
the hymns which he raised and her .
that you can’t imagine now. You
can’t imagine it, because I’ve brought
you up to be a lady, and nice, and edu-
cated, and religious—and you that |
i never kissed any man but Charlie Mec. |
' Lane, to let Dolph Hendry be the next! |
won’t marry |
Oh, promise me you
( ! him 1”
a meek calmness to the persuasion of |
Jiony trembled violently as though
under a spell, and the voices of her
mother, her dead lover, her forsaken
church friends, and all who had link-
ed ber to her old quiet, pure life, eound-
r————
ed in her ears like a trumpet-call of
warning which she dared not resist,
Like onein a dream she answered, ‘|
promise you, mother ; I'll not marry
him.” Lg
Dolph Hendry heard of this some.
bow; likewise Maude Morrison. Maude
almost trembled with a joy which her
experience told her would be of uncer-
tain continuance, being founded on
nothing more stable than a girl's word.
She, too, realized that only death or
marriage could make her sure of the
man whom her hungry affection covet-
ed. A royal revenge indeed had Jinny
Green's jealousy conceived ! It was
the moment for a master-stroke; Dolph
Hendry, burt, sulky, disappointed, and
even drunker than usual, listened of
morose compliance to her plan that Ye
should take out a license immediately
and marry “the only woman that ever
loved you, Dolph ; that will-o’the.
wisp of a Green girl don’t know a man
when she sees him,”
Whittaker’s Row was disappointed
—not at the wedding, but at the bride.
Its sense of poetic justice called for
Jinny Green at the altar, even though
it felt her after-matrimonial unhappi-
ness to be more than assured. The
wedding took place at the Methodist
Mission at 12 oclock at night—this
was Maude’s fancy, and Dolph was in.
different ; after which the guests were
to escort the happy pair to the wharf,
whence they were to set out in Dolph’s
yacht, for Gloucester, where they would
make their residence for a while at
least. Time was too precious to waste
in formulating more precise plans.
Jinny, alone of Whittaker's Row,
did pot come tothe wedding. Had
she not vowed never to cross the thres-
hold of the Mission again ? Mr. Scott
thought, as he united the well-assorted |
couple, that now there might be some
hope of this old-time lamb of the flock
shedding her black fleece and coming
back to him. Maude’s voice, from
excitement and triumph, was scarcely
audible asshe made the necessary re:
sponses.
There was something almost weird,
however, in the still darkness of de-
serted streets into which they emerged
after the ceremony, and it almost
seemed a funeral procession which
wended its way to the pier by the river,
where the white sail to Hendry’s boat
showed like something eerie. “Sing,
can’t somebody ?” cried the bride-
groom, sharply, and a boisterous song
was commenced at the end of the line.
At the landing Hendry spring into his
boet to see to the sail before handing
in his bride, and started back with a
superstitious scream as a woman's
figure darted up from the shadow of the
cabin, in which she had been ecrouch-
ing, and cried exultantly, “Dolph,
wouldn’t you rather have me?”
Maude stared like oue fascinated at
Jinny Green, robed from head to foot
in white, which wonderfully set off her
splendid figure and sparkling young
beauty. Jinny took outa knife--not
for Hendry, as they thought for one
startled moment, but for the rope
which tied the boat. “Shall I?” she
asked the stupified Hendry. “Quick,
choose--it’s me or Maude !”
Jiony was ine younger and more
beautiful, the more daring, the less ex.
acting of the two, His resentment by
a dim consciousness that he had been
dragged into this marriage by Maude.
Snatching the knife from Jinny, he
cut the rope and set the boat free—not
a moment too soon, for Mavde had
frantically thrown herself forward al-
most into it.
“Give me back my husband,” she
shrieked. “I'll have the law on you,
Jiony Green; he’s just married we
with.this ring!”
“That's all you'll ever have of him!”
t.unted Jinny. “As for the law, we're
off, and 1t’s not smart enough, nor you
either to find us.”
The wedding party looked helpless-
ly about them. Secretly, most of their
sympathies were with Jinny. Also,
there were no boats with which to pur-
sue the reckless pair, who were even
now drifting from on the current.
“Remember about Charlie McLane!”
called Jinny to Maud, who stood
watching the white sail like a statue
of despair.
For this a blow from Hendry struck
her face. ‘Shut your mouth about
that,” he growled jealously, and at
the same moment a voice called from
the shore, “Jinny Green, think what
you're doin’!” and her soul in her
turned sick—the soul she had sold for
the fearful revenge which she knew
would henceforth enwrap her in burn-
ing flames of shame and pain and poi-
n her life like the robe of Nessus,
+he days and years which were to
come rose before her like a vision of
horror, from which she shrunk tremb-
ling. What of the black river water
as a refuge—the bed wherein Charlie
slept? She bent forward, to see in
fancy on the dark glassy surface that
fondly-loved face—but, oh, the smile,
whose memory had once driven her
almost mad] And Maude's cry rose
faintly from the shore, ‘Jinny Green !"
give me back my husband!”
No. never! was it not for this hour
that she bad fought against death and
conquered ? “Faster!” she urged Hen-
dry in a shuddering whisper, without
looking at him.
“I'm the most miserable woman
that ever lived I” sobbed Maude Hen-
dry, flinging herself down on the
boards and burying her face in her
arms. : .
“No, you're not,” said one of her
neighbors, gazing atthe boat whose
swift keel cat the waters with guilty
haste, and the figures that showed
dark and defiant against the dim gray
sail, till both were out of sight.—By
Louise Betts Edwards in Phila. Times.
An Honest Answer. 2
“Any insanity in your family ?’’ ask-
ed the examining physician.
“Well,”” said the man who was
applying for life insurance, “my wife
says she must have been crazy to have
ever married me.” !
a EE A AA ES A TE AR
For and About Women .
—
The public building at Milwaukee, a
more extensive institution than many
larger cities can boast of, is managed by
Miss Theresa West, and she has a corps
of assistants composed exclusively of ex-
perienced young women.
ne
Children must be taught what the
parents wish them to know. Teach
them truthful, gentle ways, and they
will be true and gentle. Ifa boy hears
bad language from his father he will re-
peat it just as certainly as he has a
tongue 11 his month’; and if a little girl
hears her mother gossip, she will gossip
the moment she meets a playmate.
People who devour their food like cattle
must not expect their children to have
nice table manners. Gentlemen and
good women are home-made. There is
nothing on earth for which one ought
to be more thankful than for having
been brought up in the atmosphere of a
pure home. Such a home may be defi-
cient in material comforts. A man as
sturdy 8s an oak once said : “I was the
son of poor parents, and from my youth
up was inured to self denial and “hard-
ship, but I do not remember ever to
have heard a word from the lips of eith-
er my father or mother that was not
as it should be.’ Better such recollec-
tions than a great inheritance,
Great use is being made of small but-
tons for trimming, for outlining lapels,
sewing down the edges of folds, and in
the tight portions of the slesves. several
dozens being frequently lavished on a
single garment.
A distinguishing feature of some of
the new bodices are the short basques.
Fancy velvet and figured silk coats are
much worn with plain skirts, and for
these buttons of a very elegant sort in
cut steel, simill, painted china and
enamel, are needed.
While most people admit there is
nothing better for the scalp than a
thorough brushing of the hair morning
and night, many will not persist in this
and are constantly asking: what will
make the hair come in when it is fast
falling out. - Many of the best hair
dressers and barbers are recommending
rubbing pure greasein very thoroughly
every night. In several instances this
has proven very effectual and a new
growth of short and strong fuzz all over
the head has been the result.
Many children and some of an older
growth areseverely troubled with dan-
druff'in the scalp, which always makes
the head and hair look dirty. "This can
be removed by rubbing pure greese in
every other night, washing thoroughly
once a week with hot water and tar
soap. For one who has a heavy head
of hair, the remedy is nearly as hard as
the disease.
Worth has made yellow the color par
excellence for the beautiful and those
not blessed by the gods. He said one
day to some prominent ladies gathered
in his saloon that a homely woman was
beautified by yellow and a handsome
one became radiant in the reflected rays
of the sun’s brillinncy. .
Dress a sweet-taced elderly lady in a
modish gown of black crepon, a coat of
astrachan, with a muff to match, and
put on her beautiful silvery hair a smart
bonnet of royal purple velvet, decorated
with a rich white lgce and a cluster of
black ostrich tips, and she is gowned fit
for any cccssion. A distinguishing fea-
ture in muffs for middle-aged women
are the tassels of silk hanging from the
sides ; it is a revival of the quaint old
fashion, and exceedingly fetching.
What we used to call the three-quar-
er length coat, only two years ago,
hardly exists now. Practically there
are three lengths for the winter cloaka.
First of all the jacket, coming only to
the waist, and always provided with
enormous sleeves ; then the short sack
double-breasted as a rule, huge slecved
and made of chinchilla or some rough
hairy cloth, with full but short basque
effect at the waist ; and then there is the
long cloak. But where the jacket and
sack admit of little variety in shape, the
long cloak is infinite in its variety, from
the loose and lace-decked opera wrap to
the snug and military looking coat,
broad-braided and big-buttoned and
flapping at the skirt. By all odds the
most popular investment of the season
is the sack coat in chinchilla or
rough cloth, coming barely to the hips ;
and for the very good reason that it is
not immoderately expensive. A better
reason commends it. Less short as it is,
it weighs enough for a woman to car-
ry.
Hot milk for the complexion has
proved to be of the greatest benefit and
many women say they owe an improve-
wen of their complexion to the constant
use of hot milk applied every morning
and night to their faces. Here is what
a8 woman prominent in the literary
world, and whose complexion 1s equal to
8 young girl’s says: “When I am
frightfully fatigued from the rush of
the life I lead, I get a gallon of milk for
30 cents and put it in my bathtub, add-
ing sufficient hot water to cover the
body. I lie in this mixture for ten min-
utes and come out feeling. thoroughly
refreshed and with a new life to the
skin, which, previous to the bath, had
a dead look.”
A little kerosene is an excellent thing
for cleaning a zinc bathtub. Apply
with a soft woolen cloth, then wash off
with hot water—no soap init—and pol-
ish with powdered bath brick.
A novel costume is of brown cloth
with touches of black. The skirt hangs
full and plain to a trifle below the knee
where three tiny piping of black satin
head a broad yokelike piece that flares
about the feet. At intervals the satin
pipicg, placed legnthwise appears upon
this flaring piece, accompanied by rows
of tiny black satin buttons. The bodice
is especially graceful. It consists of a
close-fitting brown velvet corsage with
abbraviated skirt and belt. In the front
the velvet is gathered at the throat to
form a full yoke effect, below which
there is a pinafore front of the cloth
piped all around with the black satin.
The sleeves are leg o’mutton, the tiny
black buttons reappearing at the wrist.
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