=n
an. 31, 1896.
»
AT LAST.
When on my day of life the night is falling.
And, in the winds from unsunned spaces
blown, md
I hear far voices out of aarkness calling,
My feet to paths unknown.
Bellefonte, Pa.,
Thou who hast wade my home of life so
pleasant,
Leave not its tenant when its walls decay ;
O Love divine, O Helper ever present,
Be Thou my strength and stay !
Be near me when all else is from me drifting,
Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade
and shine,
And kindly faces to my own uplifting
The love whizh answers mine.
I have but Thee, O Father! Let thy spirit
Be with me then to comfort and uphold ;
No gate of pearl, no branch of palm, I merit
Nor street of shining gold.
Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckomed,
And both forgiven through thy abounding
grace—
I find myself by hands familiar beckoned
Unto my fitting place
Some humble door among thy many mansons
Some sheltering shade where sin and striv-
ing cease;
And flows forever through heaven's green ex-
pansions
The rivers of thy peace.
There, from the music around about me steal-
ing,
I fain would learn the new and holy soug,
And find, at last, beneath thy trees of healing.
The life for which I long.
— Whittier.
DADDY JOHN’s NEW CLO’ES.
There had been a royal firein Dad-
dy John’s cabin, and there were still a
great bed of glowing coals when his
daughter, Liz, called bim to dinner.
Daddy warmed bis thin, blue hands
at the fire and the sweet smell of the
cornpone and the fragrance of the cof-
fee were very pleasant to him. His
old, thin, wizened face wrinkled into
gomething meant for a smile.
“The Doctor woman's bar'l hes
come I’ he eaid.
“I gedn it on Jule Fraley's wagon,”
replied Liz, her dark, weather-beaten
face lighting.
“Come an’ eat yer dinner, Dad!”
she added. L
“I’m a’comin’,” quaved tie old man
tottering forward and pulling along an
old splint chair. :
“Whar’s thet piece er saddle-blank-
et?’ he croaked.
“I hed it er ridin’ Pomp,” declared
Bud.
“You git it mighty quick,” said his
mother.
Bub brought a tattered sheepskin
. which the old man carefully folded in
the chair and then sat down.
That part of Daddy John’s apparel
which came in contact with the sheep-
skin was attenuated as to the fabrics
that the interposition of the worn fleece
was most comforting.
“I've got ter hev some new clo'es
Liz,” eaid Daddy, presently.
She looked at Bud.
“Bud wants some new clo’es power-
ful bad, too, but he eats such a heap,
pears like I cayn’t never git him
noan.”
“Bud kin git erlong,” said the old
man testily.
“Don’t yer reckon the doctor’s wo-
man’s got clo’es in her bar'l 2 asked
Liz.
“I reckon. But mebby ther ain't
nary thing fer me.”
“Ef you should go up thar’——
“I ain't er goin',” interrupted the
old man, almost angrily. “Doctor
woman's al’ays been good ter we uns
an’ I don’t aim ter ax her fer ary
thing.
His feeble hands trembled as he took
his torn hat.
“She’s got plenty of everything,”
said Liz sullenly.
“It dou’t differ I ain’t er goin’ 1”
Daddy John went out.
“Daddy ol’ays wuz a fool,” mused
Liz, as she lit her pipe.
“You go an’ help yer grandad pick
up taters,” she called to Bud.
Bud, sauntering lazily toward the
potato bank, saw eomebody swinging
along down the mountain toward the
eabin. | —
“Thar’s the doctor woman’s nigger
er comin’ attar you, grandad,” he
called.
Daddy Jobn set his spade dowa
pars and leaned forward on the hand-
e.
‘Comin’ attar me ? You'se a plum’
idjit, Bud.”
But he stared from under his shaggy
brows aod breathed hard as the hand-
some yellow woman came up.
“Howdy, Sally I”
“Howdy, Daddy John !”
“Bankin’ up ver tatters ?’
“1 reckon.”
. is was shaking all over and felt
sick.
“Got some permaters yit, Daddy?
‘Gi’ me some | I wants a permater pie
I does.”
i “Yis, vis,” said the old man, short:
y. ;
“Doetor wants you to come up thar,
Daddy. She’s got sumfin fer you’se
outen her bar’'l.”
#Yessum. I'll come attar I gits my
taters dose banked up.”
Sally started off with her tomatoes.
“Tell her I'm obleege to her,” called
Daddy’s cracked voice. ;
“What my missis wants to throw
away good clo’es on that pore white
trash fer, I don’t know,” grumbled
Bally. “Me an’ Jake could er made
use 0’ all 0’ them things.”
Daddy John went on with his work.
“Ain't you er goin’, Grandad ?”
cried Bud.
“Yis, I'm goin’ right now.”
He toddled off to the cabin washed
his hands at the porch and dried them
on a bit of burlape.
The doctor was watching for the old
man. He gave a queer pull at his tat-
tered hat brim as be came near.
“Howdy, Daddy John! I'm right
glad to see you. Come in.”
He stood at the edge of the hearth
gazing at the barrel.
The doctor smiled.
“Your bat is getting pretty old, Dad-
dy. Tbe brim is torn and there's such
a big hole in the crown.
_| saw him jump off the train.
Daddy John looked down at the hat
in apparent surprise.
“Yessum | Hit’'s plum wore out,
sure 'ouff.”
“Never mind,” said the doctor. “I
have such a nice cap for you,” show-
ing it to him.”
“Made of soft fur and with ear-lap-
pets to tie down.”
The old face altered.
Weary years.
“Try iton, Daddy | Now, is it not
nice ?. You won’t freeze your poor
ears this winter.”
“No, malam! Thank’ee, ma'am |
I reckon I'd better go now.”
“Wait a bit. u needsome shoes,
Daddy. Here are some—good ones.”
“Mighty fine shoes, mighty fine,”
mumbled the old man.
“Now, you need some soft; warm
socks, Here they are. You want to
put them on, don’t you? Come ‘in
here, And now I must go—go—oh,
yes—go to feed my chickens. But
there's one thing more. Here is a nice
pair of trousers |” .
“Doctor !”
“It's all right, Daddy! They will
just fit you, I’m sure.”
Such a droll figure awaited the doc-
tor’s return. A litle gray old man,
his small spindle legs rattling round in
the fine black trousers, his ragged,
faded calico shirt abashed in such
company.
He looked at her speechless, his
wrinkled face working.
She smiled at him, :
“I have a vest here for you, Daddy,
and I'll give yov a clean white shirt to
take home.”
“Doctor I" the old man gasped. “I
cayn’t” ——
“Don’t worry, Daddy.
vest.”
He put it on, tugging weakly at the
buttons.
“Jest what I needed,” he muttered,
huskily.
“You look very nice, Daddy.
There's only one thing more, and here
it is—the finest, warmest coat in Bun-
combe county.” ;
She held it up by the shoulders and
he drew it on, ;
“Now, is not that a lovely coat ?”’
He stroked the soft cloth gently,
pulling at the front with his stubby
fingers. :
“Tvs lined with silk,” said the doc-
tor, “Daddy, I should’nt know you.”
He looked down at himself in a
dazed way. Then he started.
“I'd better go home, now,’ he said,
hurriedly.
But at the door he stopped, his griz-
zled faee flushing. :
“I never hed nary suit o' clo'es
afore. God bless ye, doctor.”
He caught her hand.
“I'm so glad to give them to you,
Daddy,” she said, softly with tears.
The next day Jule Fraley came up
to mend the roof, and while he warm
ed himself at the fire be told the story
of Daddy’s return home.
“We wuz a pullin’ corn, me an’ Liz
an’ Bud, an’ [ seen the ole man er
comin, down the hill, an’ I says:
‘Look you Liz! Is thet yer dad ?
“Naw! says Liz. ‘Thet ain’t dad.
Looks like old preacher Freeman.’
“Sure nuft—he did look pint blank
like ole preacher Freeman. An, we
watched ‘em tell he cros=ed the branch
an’ when he clim’ up the bank he
staggered a bit—ye& know daddy's
mighty onstiddy on his legs—an’ I
koowed who hit was, an’ I said :
“Tig yer daddy, Liz." An’ Liz was
plum outdone 'at she didn’t know her
own daddy,” concluded Jule, indulg-
ing in one of those silent laughs pecu-
liar to his kind. z
He went up on the roof presently
and the doctor came out from time to
time to overlook the work, always
charmed into lingering by the wonder-
ful beauty of the landscape.
The house sat upon one of the foot-
hills of the great Appalachian range,
east of the French Broad,
Looking west one saw a wooded,
undulating country rolling away to the
valley. and.there stayed by the mas-
sive wall of a great mountain that
rose far into the blue,
Along the mountain side the rail-
road made its way over high trestles
and red clay embankments, and at
times one caught the sound- of the
whistle, the rumble of wheels and saw
the train rush along, small in the dis-
tance, like a child's toy.
All at ouce there was a shout from
Jule Fraley, and at the same instant a
shot rang out.
“Thar’s a convict got off,” cried
Jule when the doctor appeared. “I
It lost ten
Try on the
The doctor shivered
“And they didn’t stop 7”
“Why, no, but the guard fired on
him. They'll send a party back when
they gits to Baltmore, an’ offer a $100
reward fer him, likely. Don't I wish
Icdgitit.”
“Will he
think ?"
“I reckon. They gin’ally does.
He's tuk ter the woods now. They
"al'ays does when they makes a break.
But he'll git an outing, anyhow. Dog-
goned ef I biame ’im.”
“Mr. Fraley, where do they go when
they escape like that ?"’
“They lays in the woods. Mebby
they knows niggers that'll feed ’em
and give ’em clot'es. They're al’ays
in a mighty hurry to get shet o’ their
striped suit, and ef they do sometimes
they git away fer good.”
Daddy John came once to visit the
Doctor, wearing his new clothes, and
then he paid visits to all his kinsfolk
and old neighbors, and the queer path-
etic figure in the fine black suit, weak-
ly climbing over the hiils, became a
familiar sight.
Then one night a terrible calamity
befell, and the next morning it was
known all over the settlement that
“Daddy John's new clo’es’ at come in
the doctor woman's bar'l had been
stole.”
get caught, do you
Horseman, riding to town, drew
rein and discussed the theft for hours. |
Every other woman put on her sun-'
bonnet and called on her next neigh-
bor and then the two went together to
see Daddy John.
So it’happened that when the Doc-
tor arrived she found the house so full
that two of the women arose and sat on
the floor to offer ber a chair.
There was a curious stillness in the
bouse. One of the-women whisper-
ed:
“Hit’s jest like a buryin’, only thar
ain’t no corpse.”
Daddy John was sitting by the fire,
huddled together, the picture of mis-
ery.
Ive los’ my new clo'es,” he
quavered.
“I'm eo sorry, Daddy John,” said
the Doctor, taking his hard, bony
hand.
“I never hed no new clo’es afore,”
he croaked, piteously.
A few frosty tears dropped on his
grizz'ed cheeks.
Liz took up a corner of her apron
and wiped her eyes. All the other wo-
men solemnly dipped snuff.
“They-wuzsech fine clo’es I" mused
the old man, “The coat hed a silk
linin’. Doctorsaid it war silk. An’
the purtiest buttons I”
“An’ them clo’es could a’ been fixed
up fer Bud when Dad “got done with
'em,” said Liz. Vo
The old man paled with sudden pas-
sion. ~
“ILain’t er goin’ ter git done with
em !"” hesaidin a high voice. “Bud
shan’t have 'em. Doctor woman give
‘em to me. I never hed no new cloes
afore. But I aio’t got=’em now.
They’re stole.”
He broke down into tearless sobs
that shook the old chair.
“Don’t cry, Daddy!” all the wo-
men called io unison, and they shed a
few perfunctory tears and passed the
snuff box around.
“You don’t uce tobacco in any form,
do yer, doctor ?”’ asked one.
The doctor admitted that she did
not, and they all looked steadily at her,
trying to realize the phenomenon.
Weeks passed and Daddy still
crooned over the fire in utter dejection.
Oid age, poverty and loneliness, un-
bappy trio, were his ecole companions,
It was now believed that the clothes
would never be recovered.
Out in the woods one frosty morning
a heavy foot crashed into the dead
leaves, and a big chestnut, falling,
struck the owner of the foot on the
nose. ?
“Hi! Dey's drappin’ all de time,
an’ dey’s a heap better’n co’n.”
He sat down in bis tracks and filled
his pockets and shirt-front, eating vor-
aciously the while.
**Reckon I'd better be gwine now,”
he said presently.
Rising he picked his way, like a cat,
through the underbrush, climbing con-
stantly till be reached a spot where a
huge bowlder cropped out and over-
bung the mountain side. Its crest
commanded the whole valley, and its
shelving underside made a cosy shel:
ter. Thick pines crowded up and con-
cealed the entrance.
The convict had been so sharply
buated that he had been unable to es-
cape from the neighborhood, and it
was in the boldness of desperation that
he had chosen his retreat 80 near the
state road that he could hear the
voices of the country folk as they pass-
ed to and from town.
He sat down to cogitate. “Ef I
could git word to Rosy, or git ter
Rosy, I'd be all right ; but Lordy! I
can’t do nary one on 'em.” 7
The train whizzed out from
ting and whistled sharply
along.
The negro grinned with pleasure.
He was so much a eavage that this
nomadic existencesthough hunted and
tortured by fegr, was sweet to him.
“Howdy, gemmen !"” he chuckled,
as peering through the pine boughs,
he recognized some of his fellow-cor-
victs on the train.
“Don’t you wish you was me?
Plenty grub, heap 0’ pew clo’es and
no work to do. Ho, ho!”
He rose and drew out a bundle, un.
did it. viewed its contents with a ser-
ies of laughiug explosions, and then
presently doffed his stripped suit and
arrayed himeelf anew.
“Mighty fire clo’es fer a fac’; costa
heap o’ money.”
He soltly patted his limbs, twisted
his neck to get a glimpse of his back
and creaeed all bis black face into one
big smile. A mirror would have made
his rapture perfect.
“Rosy won't know me in dese yere.
She'll tek me fer a preacher jest from
confunce.”
He change back to his striped suit,
and tied up his bundle.
A sharp wind sprang up and drove
before it drops of icy rain.
“Golly I” muttered the darkey,
“Ain’t it cold ? I'll resk a fire arter
dark.”
Down on the doctor's farm every
body was hurrying to get the erops
under shelter. The last load bad gone
in when Jule Fraley looked up at the
sky.
The clouds were rolling up like a
curtain, showing the far mountains a
deep intense blue etched with an am-
ber sky.
“Durned efit's going to storm, after
all,” said Jule.
Suddenly he straightened himself,
“Bud I” he called, sharply. “Look
you—on the mountain. Ain't that yer
smoke ?"’
Bud could see as far as an Indian.
“Yes | Thet's smoke.”
“Ther ain’t no bouse thar ?"’
“Naw. Narry house.”
Jule walked away briskly.
Two hours later five men parted the
umbrageous pines and tip-toed cau-
tiously toward a small opening under a |
great rock on the mountain side.
A whiff’ of warm air stole out to
them.
A great bed of coals glowed redly,
and with his feet to the fire, a negro in
convict dress lay eound asleep,
The men had their guns ready. One
pointed his piece upward and a shot
tore through thegtree tops.
The negro was on his feetin an in-
stant.
jesty’s plots and machinations, judging
“We've got you !” said one,
He looked from one to the other
and his face grew a shade lighter.
“I eurrender, gemmen ?”’ he said
very calmly.
Shortly alter this event Daddy John
reappeared in his new clothes. He
wore them almost constantly for a few
weeks and then they were suddenly
retired from public observation, and
Daddy went about looking as if the
ecarecrow in the cornfield had stepped
down from his perch and toddled off
to seek winter quarters.
The doctor was puzzled. When, at
last, she questioned Jule Fraley, Jule
shook his head mysteriously.
“I reckon I kin tell yer ef yer won't
be put out about if"
“Well, well! Do so!”
“I reckon,” in a bushed voice, ‘“’at
he’s keepin’ of em ter be buried in.”"—
New York Tribune.
EATER
Cured by Sun Baths,
Happy Recovery of a Paralytic Through a Re-
sort to Exposure.
The liveliest passenger on board the
steamship City of Peking was Hum-
phrey Kendrick, of Los Angeles. He
had just returned from Japan, says
the San Francisco Chronicle, a country
that he loves, because a few years ago
it completely cured him of paralysis.
When Kendrick found that he had
lost coutrol of his limbs he determined
to.spend all the money he had to get
relief. It was easy enough to tell
what brought the paralysis upon him,
for the first stroke came soon after he
had a bad tumble on horseback. The
animal fell i a way as to catch
Kendrick squarely beneath it, severely
wrenching and spraiot his spine,
Kendrick found that be >was much
better in hot weather, and this led
him to go to Hawaiian islands. He
was 80 much better there when it was
hot that he concluded to go toa till
warmer place. Somebody told him
that the south coast of Japan in the
summer was the place.
For many months duriag that bot-
test of hot summers Kendrick engaged
in a most unique attempt to regain his
health. For days at a time he would
lie positively stripped to the skin in
the hot sand on the seashore of Japan.
He got so that he rather liked it. As
the days passed he kept getting .bet-
ter. Then he took to seeking exerciee.
A donkey was secured and Kendrick,
stark naked, would ride the animal
up and down the beach. It was al-
most too hot for the beast, but Ken-
drick did not eeem to mind it. The re-
sult was complete recovery. Kendrick
came back feeling like a schoolboy
and much infatuated with the country
of the Japs,
Churches in Mexico.
They A ppear-to Be a Particular Object for At-
tacks of Satan.
The churches of Mexico seem to be a
particular object of His Satanic M
the
month
of a feast
from the manouvers made ab
premises for his benefit.
or 30 before the day or we
an old man with a fife,
boys with drums, a
population with stfCks and tin pens, as
are inclined follow them, march
round and
while co)
ore often the volunteer part of the
tchestra does not amount to more than
two or three boys, yet the commissioned
portion of the good army never cease
their laudible work, but solemnly con-
tinue their noise and pedestrianism ur-
til relieved by another trio.
And the object of all this good work,
the less Christian part of the neighbor-
hood who have not temporarily moved
will tell you, is to keep away. the devil
and his imps from the sacred precincts.
The priests who dictate the cantations
and the peopie who support them never
seem to think that so much monotonous,
uncouth jangling would more probably
drive off the patron saint, with his re-
fined musical ear, than frighten an un-
cultivated imp by nature adapted to
such entertainment.
e————————
- “A Lean, Long, Gray Old Rat.”
The shrewdness and sagacity of aged
members of the rodent family have been
demonstrated in numberless instances,
but an incident recently witnessed by
Superintendent Tyler of the City Hall
is worthy of remark. The yard of a
house adjoining a stable on Seventeenth
street, above Fairmount avenue, has
been infested with rats for a long time,
and a few days agoa member of the
family set a large wire trap in the yard.
Mr. Tyler was seated in a rear room of
a Grayson street house and watched re-
sults with great interest. First one rat
scudded across the grass and took an ob-
servation. In another minute a dozen
little rats came trooping along with the
evident intention of sampling the cheese.
Just then a lean, long gray old rat, with
his tail chopped off, probably from a
previous experience with traps, appear-
ed and chased all the little rats away.
The old fellow kept watch all the after-
noon, and effectually prevented a single
rat, young or old, from entering the
trap.— Philadelphia Record.
He Stacked.
A traveling man just home from a far
western trip has brought with him
something new 1n linguistic noveliies.
“I was eating dinner ina restaurant
way out west, he said, ‘and as I fin-
ished the bustling waiter girl scorched
up to me and asked in a fast express sort
of tone, ‘Do you want any dessert ?’
‘Yes, I will take some,” I answered.
‘Well, then, stack I’ she demanded in
an imperative tone. ‘Stack!’ T re-
peated, thinking it was something new
to eat. ‘What's that ? ‘Why, pile
your dinner dishes up,’ she impatiently
explained. - So I ‘stacked’ all the little
dishes on my plate, and she scorched
off with them and brought me three
kinds of pie, two kinds of pudding and
some frozen custard.” — Louisville Cour-
ier Journal.
Shopping.
“Aren’t these beautiful 7’
“Exquisite. What are they—buttons |
or dessert plates 7”
Economic Value of Biras, |
The economic value of birds is un-'
told, says the Fortnightly Review. This
fact might be placed beyond dispute if
it were possible to prepare two tables— |
one showing how many wire worms it
would take to destroy a mile of turnips, :
Sow many grubs to ravage the wheat |
harvests of a dozen farms, how many |
insects to strip the leafy glades of a
forest bare, how many to spoil the fruits |
of wide orchards—-the other recording !
the faet that these very numbers of in- |
sects are eaten by a few bumble birds in |
the course of a year. That the result |
would be conclusive evidence of the!
bird’s value may be safely foretold by a |
glance at a few facts which bave already |
been brought to bear upon the question. |
In the spring, when there are clamor- |
ous young birds in the nest, the house
sparrow returns every three or four !
months, each time bearing spoils in the |
shape of insect food. Calculated at its |
lowest possible value—that is allowing |
only one insect to each journey—this '
thankless task represents tens of thou- |
sands of captured insects as the work of |
one pair of birds as one month. Swift
firers like the swallow that hawk for
food 1. the air may rank higher, they
slay their hundreds of thousands. But
Mr. Fowler quotes an instance which
will show how far below the maximum
is this computation :
“Ope day a martin dropped a cargo
of flies out of his mouth on my haty
just as it was about to be distributed to
the nestlings; a magnifying glass re-
vealed a countless mass of tiny insects,
some still alive and struggling.”
‘Who could vie with the birds in such
feats as these ? It is a sorry sight to
see men trying to do their work. One
gardiner by dint of continued watch-
fulness and patient endeavor, with his
own two eyes, dim compared to those of
a bird, and his own ten fingers, clumsy
in such work in comparison with bird’s
beak, may contrive to cope with the in-
sects in a conservatory, but a hundred
en, each argues-eyed and equipped
wih the arms of an octopus, could not
protect the crops on a-large farm. The
arts and the craft and the sciences have
tried, but they fail to supply any insect
killer balf so sure as a flock of hungry
N
birds. N
SS
What is Home S$
A prize was offered recently by Lon-
don Tit-Bits for the best answer to the
question. “What is Home ?” re
are a few of the answers which were re-
ceived .
Home is the blossom of which heaven
is the fruit. a
A world of strife shut out, a world of
love shut in. 7
The golden setting ip” which the
brightest jewel is mother!
The only spot earth where the
faults and failings“of humanity are hid-
den under a tle of charity.
The place-wWhere the great are some
times small and the small often great,
The-father’s kingdom, the children’s
For and About Women .
Few women raise their gowns grace-
fully.
Velour is the most artistic of drapery
stuffs. =
Don’t forget to cover up the canary
at night.
Flowers and wings figure largely in
millinery.
If you have a good maid, don’t im-
pose upon her.
The summer gir! promises to bea very
fluffy creation.
The petticoat that rustles is a joy to
the wearer’s heart.
The new taffeta silks are perfect
masses of woven bloom.
Veils are no longer worn with their
superfluous width gathered in folds
under the chin, but must be draped a
tiny bit below the chin, care being
taken the edge is always evenly trimmed.
A badly worn, untidy veil can literally
destroy every virtuea forty dollar hat
may posses.
Blouse bodices are most fashionable
for ball and evening toilettes made of
transparent material, but dresses of
richer and heavier stuffs have tight-fit-
ting bodices with a wheel-shaped,
plaited or gathered basque, cut long or
short, and divided in front.
BANGs RETREATING.—The photo-
graphs of a decade ago or even of half
that period back look curiously old-
fashioned now. Itis the heavy bang
which then prevailed and which. has
now almost disappeared that gives
them their air of antiquity. The straight
bang departed long since. The heavy
curled bang belongs to past history.
And even the light fringe, to which
the possessors of high fore heads have
clung, is retreating. It is being thinned,
trained back, pinned off the forehead
with’ side-combs and all that will re-
main on most brows before long is a
| light curl or two to break its severity.
, —
QUEER EcoNoMy.—“The most amu-
sing instance I can recall of the effect of
of a suddenly acquired fortune upon a
pet meanness is that told by an English
author about an old woman in an alms-
house who came into & million by a
chancery decision that had been pend-
ing a hundred-years, says Miss Baylor
in “Lippincott’s.”’. She bought every-
thing that money could buy—silks, vel-
vets, laces, furs, estates, carriages,
horses, soi-disant friends even. She
threw away her bank notes every.
thing imaginable, in a kind of a frenzy
of possession. But when it came to tea
she suffered, she debated, she chaffed,
ise, the mother’s world.
Where. you are treated best and you
grumble most.
A little hollow scooped out of the! blagk Bohea.’
windy hill of the world, where we can
be shielded from its cares and annoy-
ances.
Wives Should Remember.
That air and sunshine are potent aides
to good cheer.
That the home should be a republic
and not an autocracy.
That a good cook is the root of health
and happiness.
That cross words spoil the home more
than muddy boot-tracks.
That upholstered furniture and heavy
hangings are germ collectors.
That there is nothing which makes
the heart grow fonder of home than oc-
casional absences from it.
That better is a room where there is
disorder and cordiality than a dustless
apartment and cold welcome.—New
York World.
ER RT II.
Leading Him On.
“Josiar,” aid Mrs. Corntossel,
“would you fight ef they was a war ?”
‘Yes-sir-ree,” was the earnest reply.
“Every time.” ;
*‘An’ git up in the gray dawn ter the
sound of a bugle an’ not make any fuss
‘cause ye didn’t hev nothin’ but hard
tack fur breakfas’ ?”’
‘Course
“Well, I'm glad to hear it. Ef ye’re
willin’ terdo all that, ye surely won’t
have no fault ter fin’ ’bout gittin’ up at
$ o'clock ter-morrow morn’n an’ light-
in’ the fire, s0’s I kin cook ye some pan-
cakes that wouldn’s be despised by no-
body.”
His Own Figures.
Heard at a heap of dry goods labeled
$1.69 . .
Irish Woman (with a baby in her
arms) —Phwat is the price of them ?
“One dollar and sixty-nine,’’ politely
answered the proprietor.
“Which are the $1 and which are the
69 cint wans 7”?
“There are none at those prices,
ma’am.”’
“Shure, thin, ain’t thim yer own fig-
ures 7”
Migjudged.
" “I hope you will not spend this dime
for rum,’’ said the generous man.
“Rum !” rejoined the grateful recip-
ient. ‘Do you take me for a Yankee
sailor? I'm a bawn Kaintuckian,
sah.”
Just Wait Till He Puts It On,
“I’ve planned such a delightful sur-
prise for my husband.”
“Really 7’
“Yes; he has a summer cuit nearly
a8 good As new hanging in the ward-
robe, and I've put a quarter in one of
the vest pockets!”
Awfally High.
‘Was it 8 high tea ?”’
“Well, I should say so; nineteenth
flat—seventeenth door frow the ele-
vator.”’
—— What is that which increases the | unfastened,
more you take from it ? A hole,
i but never could make up her mind to
buy and pay for, at one time, more
than a ‘quarter of a pound of good
She would have felt
beggared by a pound of any tea at any
price ; it has always been so precious
to her that she had lost all sense of its
intrinsic value. Perhaps it represented
to some extent the bright unattainable,
without which life has no zest.”
So long as sleeves do not decrease in
dimensions capes will lose none of their
deserved popularity. Jaunty garments,
reaching only tothe waist, are worn
even on the coldest days, a chamois
jacket worn under the waist making
this possible. The richest materials are
employed in fashioning these garments.
Following a popular English caprice,
costumes of red corded silk of the
‘“'stand-alone’’ quality, red Terry velvet,
and rod bengaline are made into fur-
edged tailor costumes for receptions,
calling, and even for bridesmaid’s cos-
tumes at church weddings. Very many
people have a decided antipathy to this
color, but on a dull leaden winter's day
red in some of its tones has the effect of
a tonic. :
Very bright colors appear upon the
fronts of gowns worn upon the prome-
nade. Brilliant cherry, orange, yellow,
green and other striking colors are used
in velvet for stock collar and vest or
plastron front. Instead of velvet, how-
ever, very fine qualities of ladies’ cloth
or broadcloth are used, the cloth being
braided or overlaid with spangled gimp
or silk appliques dotted profusely with
iridescent beads.
Goon CoFFEE.—Some one asserts
authoritively that percolated coffee, or
coffee made after the French fashion,
possesses none of the nerve-stretching
qualities of the drink when it is boiled.
A cup of drip coffee is really soothing,
and puts one to sleep rather than sets
every sensibility to the tingling notch.
Most expert coffee makers look upon
the boiling of coffee as they do upon the
boiling of tea—a killing process that
should never be permitted. Says a
French woman: “When a woman
boils her coffee she sends the aroma to
the attic and a .muddy and bitter sub-
stance to the dining room.” Coffee
should be bought in the browned berry
and ground just before use. Chicory
has no place in a coffee mixture ; they
claim that a'little, judiciodsly blended
with two or three varieties of the coffee
berry, is an improvement, is not sus-
tained by the best authorities. An ex-
cellent blend is one peund of Java, two
to four ounces of Mocha, and the same
quality “of Rio, Maracaibo or “Mar-
tinique. The best substitute for coffee
is ground wheat. Rye is harmful, and
should never be used.
A color of muslin and lace, with
cuffs to match, can hc made very easily
by cutting muslin strips of the desired
width and edging them with cream lace
on both sides. Then lay the muslin in
triple box plaits and fasten them in
place about three-quarters of the dis-
tance with a little silk stitching, allow-
ing the fullness to spring out between
the plaits. These make very pretty fin-
ishings for any house dress, but should
always be kept perfectly fresh. If made
of good material, the plaitings can be
the goods washed and
' plaited up again, as good 8s new.