Se That
Bellefonte, Pa., April 24, 1896.
a ——.—.———..—..————.—.—
DE PROFUNDIS.
The waves were beating along the shore,
And the wind swept by with a hollow moan,
As I entered the silent house once more,
And groped ndy way to her room alone.
I had seen the pageant, and heard the prayer,
And had watched the priest at the solemn rite,
But I could not think that my love lay there,
Robed for the tomb in her garments of white.
And I sought her chamber with one sole thought,
To find my love with her gentle face ;
I could see the pictures her hand had wrought,
And her bird still hung in its wonted place.
A knotted scarf, and the fillet which bound
Her hair, lay there with its glittering pin;
I opened the leaves of a book, and found
A rose I had given her pressed therein.
And I said, she will surely come, if I call—
She is only waiting to hear her name; ~
And I breathed the one she loved best of all
But the way was dark and she never came.
I was dazed and dumb, and my eyes were dry,
And I watched and watched till the break of
dawn ;
Then the rain of my tears fell fast, and I
Knew well that the life of my life was gone.
—Boston Evening Transcript.
AFTER TWELVE YEARS,
BY LOUISE WELLINGTON.
‘When the maid left her to seek the per-
son for whom she had inquired, she took a
long, curious look around the plain, stiffly
furnished room. The parlor it evidently
was, and that the parlor of a boarding house.
She found herself wishing that she could
rearrange the chairs, which were set
around the walls as if for a funeral. Then
she smiled to herself—half nervously, half
humorously—as if she were some one else
and there were something ludicrous in her
present call.
The room was dark and cold, and she
walked over to the fireplace and held out
one small, daintily gloved hand toward the
blaze. She was a dainty little person alto-
gether ; rather below the medium height
with a slender but perfect figure, and car-
rying her head haughtily, as if to make up
in dignity what she lacked in statue. Her
hair and eyes were a brilliant brown ; the
eye proud and a trifle hard in their expres-
sion, though just now the red lips—a little
too thin for beauty, perhaps—are quivering
with suppressed nervousness. Her dress is
plain and simple, as is also the cloth cape
she has loosened at the throat, thus reveal-
ing a pretty silken waist with faint touches
of red in it. There is a suggestion of red
at one side of the small dark hat. The
hand holding her muff has dropped to her
side, but she raises it as though to shield
her face from the fire when she hears the
door open. A man came forward, part way
to the fire, but as her face was in shadow
he did not recognize her.
‘A woman wishes to speak with me,’
he said with polite surprise ; then as she
turned toward him, ‘‘Anne!”’
The woman looked at him calmly, see-
ing almost at a glance that the clustering
dark curls were tinged with gray, that
there were deep lines around the firm
mouth and piercing gray eyes. After a
moment she said quietly.
‘‘You are surprised tosee me here. I
did not send up a card. I was afraid, if
you knew, you might not come down.”
He did not answer her ; he gazed at her
with a sort of dazed astonishment, while
she looked out of the window. The blus-
tering March afternoon was drawing to a
close ; the few straggling pedestrians seem-
ed to move in the midst of a thin, gray
mist. Tho woman turnad her head slowly
and held her hand out to the fire again,
saying.
‘It is bitterly cold.”’ :
‘‘How beautiful you are still Anne !”
the man replied. ‘‘Nota gray hair, and
you are almost forty.’
The woman’s eyes softened in their ex-
pression, but only for a moment. Still,
she had enjoyed the compliment.
“I see you have grown gray, Albert.”
she said calmly. ‘‘Twelve years make
changes in most people. Eleanor is nine-
teen now.”’
‘‘Eleanor !’’ repeated the man.
‘“Yes, Eleanor ; my daughter and yours.
Have you forgotten her ? It is twelve years
since you have seen her.” The woman
spoke slowly, his evident confusion keep-
ing hercalm. ‘Time does not stand still
with children; and Eleanor has grown
quite pretty. I think”’—with a quick
glance at him—*“I think she resembles
you.”
The man gave himself a little shake, and
came nearer the fire. He seemed to shake
off his astonishment at the same time, for
he said, with a cynical smile, which came
go, easily that it must have been habit-
. “May I ask to- what -I am indebted for
the honor of this visit ?”’
The woman's cheeks flushed painfully,
but her voice was as hard as the expression
in her eyes when she replied.
“I should not be here if it were not
that I would do anything for Eleanor. She
is your child too, yon know ; she has some
claim on you still, even if you have given
me up.”’
‘“Then why not send Eleanor, since you
are so loath to come ? To be sure I should
not know her.” He spoke carelessly indif-
ferently.
“I think you would ; as I said, Eleanor
is very much like you.”’
“Ah, she is !”’
‘The woman wondered whether it was
merely an exclamation or a ‘question.
Suppose it were the latter? Well, she
would answer it.
“Like you, Eleanor is tall and dark,
with beautiful gray eyes ; they are soft in
expression, though she has also your dis-
position—and temper.
‘‘Ah, she has !”’
This time it was only an exclamation,
and as such she lgt it pass unanswered. At
length he spoke again.
‘‘How unpleasant. for you that she
did not inherit yours,’’ he said ironically.
The woman moved her muff uneasily.
“IT am glad she did not. Still it has béen
hard. It was bad enough to have,been—
‘but to have a—"’
She stopped abrutly, and walked over to
the window. He noticed that she moved
«quietly, without the usual accompaniment
of silken rustle that had always jarred upon
him. As he stood looking at her, sil-
houetted against the gray light of the win-
dow, it took no great stretch of his imagi-
nation to fancy her young again. The day
he asked her to marry him she had worn
some such little hat. - How well he re-
membered it ! They had been out walk-
ing, and the crisp autumn winds had
brought the bright color to her cheeks, and
the confession of his love to his lips, even
before they had returned to the cosy little
_parlor of her home: What ‘a fool ‘he had
made of himself ! And the last {ime he had
&
& ~
\
seen hei—twelve years before—he had no-
ticed the usual hat with its scarlet wing,
though he saw it through a midst of heart
broken anger. Now she turned her head a
little, and he saw that her cheek was no
longer rounded softly ; it had grown thin.
Yet she did not look faded to his eyes ; he
saw the reflection of her youth.
She walked back from the window, and
stood 1 upon her muff on the table.
‘‘Eleanor is going to be married,’’ she
said slowly.
“Yes? he said absently. He seemed
not to be interested ; he was thinking not
of the girl, but of the girl’s mother.
‘‘He is a very nice young man. and will,
I think, make her a good husband—as
husbands go.”’
‘You were unfortunate in the choice of
yours,’’ he 8 .
- “I like the young man,” the woman
continued, ignoring his remark. ‘We
have seen a good deal of him ; and he has
fancjed Eleanor from the first. She—she
loves him.
‘‘That last is, of course, necessary,’’ said
the girl’s father with a light laugh.
“It is” said the woman firmly. ‘‘My
daughter would not marry without it.
And I hope she will never suffer as I
have suffered.” She spoke bitterly, and
as if to herself. The man looked at her
earnestly, and said more gently than be-
fore.
‘‘Has your life been so hard, then ?’
‘A divorced woman does not lead a par-
ticularly pleasant life. =~ You have been
quite generous’’—she looked at him grate-
fully—‘‘but you could not make some
things any better, you know. I don’t
wish to complain ; I did not come for
that. We agreed to it long ago, and it is
better so ; you have done your share, and
I should not ask for more.”
She paused. The man raised his eye-
brows interrogatively.
‘Does Eleanor complain ?’’ he asked.
‘Why should she ? I try not to give her
a chance. But for her sake—"’
‘ ‘Yes o”
‘‘For her sake I have come here. I do
not wish, if anything should happen to me
—if I should die—you must know that
Eleanor is married, and to know before, so
that you can never blame me. I will give
you the young man’s name ; and if there
is anything you know or hear about him
You do not approve—well, Eleanor is your
child too, you know.’’ Na
*‘This 18 very generous, Anne,’’ the mal
said gently. ‘And you are willlng to
abide by my decision even if it be con-
trary to your wishes—yours and the
girl’s 2”
“It is nothing,” said the woman, for
cing herself to speak quietly. ‘‘There was
no one I could come to but you—bhut her
father. A man has so much more chance
to find out things about men, and a young
man shows only the good side of his life to
the girl he loves.”’
{Was this the only reason for your com-
ing, Anne ?”’ What did the note of plead-
ing in his voice expect for an answer ?
‘Certainly, ’’ she said brusquely. ‘‘You
as Eleanor’s father, had to be told ; and I
could not send her.”
‘No, I suppose not,”’ he said, ironically
again. ‘It would not be proper for a
child to come to see her father ; and in
this case it would be especially embarrass-
ing, as we might not recognize each.
other.” - :
The woman did not reply, but she drew
her cape up around her shoulders, as
though she were cold. ;
“I suppose you have given the girl a
pretty lively impression of my character,”’
she continued. °
The mother shivered slightly.
“I have talked aboutyou,’’ she said
coldly.
‘‘No ? Well, what else could I expect ?’’
He did not look at her, so she did not
feel it necessary to answer him. They stood
in silence for some minutes. When a
piece of coal dropped with a slight noise in
the grate, they both started, and the man
said abruptly,
‘‘Have you had enough for your needs ?
I am richer now, you know.”’
‘I have heard of it,”’ she said. ‘We
have had enough, but——’ She hesitated,
and turned slowly, painfully red. He
looked at her inquiringly, but his mascu-
line mind failed to grasp the situation.
‘‘Eleanor is going to be ‘married,”’ she
added lamely.
‘‘Yes ;you said so before.’
Then for their first time during their in-
terview, she smiled.
‘‘But,’’ she said bravely, ‘‘a hundred
dollars a month will not provide a very
elaborate trosseau ; and Eleanor is your
only daughter.” -
The man smiled too.
“Ah! I see. A financial difficulty !
Eleanor must have clothes.”
‘Yes. The girl is fond of pretty things,
and has not had many of them in her life.
I would like to have them for her now.’
She spoke impulsively, ‘looking at him
with frank, appealing eyes.
‘Yes ?”” He looked slowly, thought-
fully, over the daintily clad figure before
him. “‘Do'you wish me to give her the
wherewithal for them ?’’ he asked.
The girl’s mother drew back.
“I have no wish in the matter,” she
said, without a trace of her momentary
impetuosity.
‘Then why did you come tome?’ he
asked, almost angrily.
‘‘Because I think it your duty to pro-
vide for your daughter. I believe I told
you I would do anything for Eleanor—
even coming to you.”’
There was a hint of petulance in her
tones, and he looked at her intently for a
moment before he asked.
‘‘How would a thousand dollars do ?”’
‘“If you can spare it.” She paused, then
added, “It will please Eleanor.’’
By the sbft light in the woman’s eyes he
saw that she was pleased too ; but he asked
in pretended surprise,
‘Would she be pleased with anything
coming from me, a hated father ?”’
‘‘She does not hate you,’”’ the woman
said gently. ‘‘I have not talked about you
to her at all in the past twelve years. She
probably has a natural fondness for you
deep down in her heart.
“I hope 80,”’ said the girks father husk-
ily, as he turned away half regretfully.
‘‘Will you take a check for the thousand
dollars ?”’ :
“Now ?’’ she asked.
Yes.”
“Very well.”
‘‘May I trouble you to wait here for it ?"’
He moved toward the door.
“It will not trouble me.” The woman
made her answer quietly, but she felt odd-
ly oppressed, as if she had found some-
thing lacking in the interview, aside from
its being painful. With his hand on the
door knob, the man turned to say lightly.
‘Of course I may expect an invitation to
the wedding ?”’
' The woman gave a little start, and
dropped her muff. He came and handed
it to her. =
© “You will com. “”’ she asked.
“I should like i. -ce her again ; besides,
a man generally lil.c: to be present at his
paused—*‘I am sorry she does nor resem-
ble you more.”’
« - The woman raised her head, looking at
him with a Songs [Bese Some-
thing com: er to say,
*‘She xsi ble me at all. She
loves this young man.”’
"The man came nearer her.
“Did you never love me, Anne?’ he
asked softly.
A shadow li across her face, and
her voice trembled as she said,
“I neverdid. You know I married you
for your position.”
“I know it,” he .said bitterly. ‘And
because you didnot love me, you had no
patience with my faults. I have over-
come some of them, Anne.’’ .
“I was too ready to find fault, I am
afraid,’’ she said. ‘I have grown wiser,
too, Albert.”
“Anne,” he said abruptly, fiercely—
‘‘Anne, despite it all, I love you—I have
always loved you.” She leaned heavily
against the table. “I shall always love
you, Anne,”’ he continued more quietly,
‘‘though we have been separated twelve
years, and may live so to the end.”
‘‘You love me still ?”’ she asked, looking
at him with wide open eyes. ‘‘After all
these years ?”’
‘‘Yes, Anne,’’ he replied bitterly. He
was not looking at her now. ‘You may
think me a fool, but I do.”
“After all I did?’ she continued con-
tritely. ‘‘Listen’’—as he looked at her in
surprise—‘‘I knew—after our divorce—I
knew then that I loved you ; I must have
loved you all the time. My wretched
pride kept me from telling you then ; be-
sides, I had Eleanor to live for, while you
—you had nothing.”” She stopped with a
little catch like a sob in her throat.
‘You loved me, Annie ?’’ he asked,
scarcely believing what he heard.
‘I have loved you for twelve years, at
least,’’ she went on softly ; ‘and shall I
think, forever.”
He took her hand quickly, firmly.
“Do you mean it, orare you trifling
with me ?’’ he demanded, almost fiercely.
She looked up into his troubled face,
and he saw something new and very ten-
der in her moist eyes. Then he took her
in-his arms and kissed her.
Presently she drew herself away from
her husband.
“It is growing late. Eleanor will be
expecting me,’’ she said.
‘Had you not better have some tea be-
you go ?’’ he asked.
She looked around the dreary parlor.
‘‘Wouldn’t you rather,’’ she asked with
a tender smile—‘‘wouldn’t you rather
come home ?’
‘When he put on his greatcoat, and they
stood equipped for the windy night, he
said, looking down with a little laugh :
“I did not draw the check I promised
you ; I can pay Eleanor’s bills so much
better as they are sent in.’’—Munsey’s
Magazine.
Hayes and the Farmer.
President Hayes had for one of his Ohio
neighbors a testy old fellow who kept a
small truck farm. During Mr. Hayes’
four years in the White House, on one of
his visits home, he passed the old man’s
farm and found him planting potatoes,
says the Cincinnati ‘‘Enquirer.”” The
President, being somewhat of a farmer
himself, noticed some eccentricity in his
neighbor's style of planting, and, after a
little chat, called attention to it. The old
man defended his method, and finally Mr.
Hayes said, as he started along ‘““Well, I
don’t think you will get the best kind of a
crop if you plant in that manner.” The
farmer rested his elbows on the fence.
‘They ain’t neither of us above havin’
fault found with us,” he said, ‘but if you
‘jest go on Presidentin’ the United States
your way and Igo on plantin’ pertaters
my way, I guess we won’t be no wuss off
in the end.”
A Legal Joke.
Judge Gary has a dry wit with him that
is occasionally the cause of his grim court-
room being pervaded by a very audible
tittering.
The other day -one of the attorneys was
airing his indignation. He had been rob-
bed. Yes, sir, robbed. It was shameful
the way things went there right under the
eyes of the law.
Finally Judge Gary noticed the fuming
and fretting one.
‘What's the matter now ?”’ he asked.
‘‘Matter ? It’s confounded outrage. Had
my overcoat stolen right from this room.”
The Judge smiled a little.
‘‘Overcoat, eh ?”’ he said. ‘‘Pah, that’s
nothing! Whole suits are lost here every
day.”’—Green Bag.
All the Vowels.
There are but six words in the English
language which contain all the vowels in
regular order, viz : Absteminous, arsenious
anenious, facetious, materious and trage-
dious. There is but one word which con-
tains them in regular reverse order, and
that word’is- j
rte tien
} DOULITERAL [
Besides the above there are 149 English
words which contain all the vowels in ir-
regular order.
A Schoolboy’s Composition.
Here is a novel composition from a pro-
gressive schoolboy :
‘‘One day I was in the country.I saw a
cow and I hit her with a rock a dog bit me
a sow chased me I fell out of a wagon and
a bee stung me and the old gobbler flopped
me and I went down to the branch and I
fell in and wet my pants.’’
There’s a whole novel for you in seven
lines.—Atlanta Composition.
Insane Man’s Fatal Leap.
Philadelphia, April 19.—While being
brought to this city to undergo treatment
in the Pennsylvania hospital for the insane
John E. Pattison, 34 years old, of Reading
jumped from the train near Manyunk this
morning and received a fractured skull asa
result, of which he died in the Hahnemann
hospital half an hour after his admission.
——According to Representative Tracy,
the average cost of the Keeley cure to in-
mates of the Soldiers’ Home at Leaven-
worth, Kan.,* is $100. At this rate
the Home, which clears $13,000 a
year off its beer saloon, ought to
be able to keep its comparatively few
inmates who may need it pretty well
cured.
——“It don’t allus pay ter put on too
much style,’” said Uncle Eben ; ‘de dog
dat hab er blue ribbon ’roun’ ’is neck am
de one dat's mos’ likely ter git stole in de
daughter’s wedd; =: Iam sorry—’ he
hop e of er reward.”
Wilkes Booth’s Death.
New Light on the Last Hours of the Assassin. A
was the last Person to Whom Booth Spoke.
In themean time the troop of cavalry
sent from Washington on Monday reached
Port Conway. About five p. m. on Tues-
day the officer in charge met Rollins, ask-
ing him if he had seen a
zen’s clothes cross the river, and showed
him a photograph of Booth. Rollins said
the photograph resembled the man who
had been there on the previous day, whom
he described accurately (of course he had
no knowledge of Booth’s identity ), and was
pressed to guide the troopers to Bowling
Green, whither, he stated, Jett, who seem-
‘ed to be the guide of the assassins, had
ne. :
i Rollins has lived a hermit’s life
ever since. His neighbors charge him with
the Betrayal of Booth, and have conse-
quently ostracised him completely during a
period of thirty years. The claim was
made that he received money for his part
in the transaction, which Rollins stanchly
denies ; and the records at the Treasury
Department do not substantiate the charge.
As the body of cavalrymen passed the
gate leading to Mr. Garrett’s residence, on
their way to Bowling Green, Booth plainly
saw them from the porch, but exhibited no
emotion whatever ; and Herold, who at
this time was in the lane leading from the
road to the house, saw the soldiers and was
seen by them. i
Asgoon as they disappeared from view,
Booth left the porch of the house, where he
had been sitting, and went to meet Herold,
and in his conversation with him, at a
short distance from the house, exhibited
the only excitement which he displayed
while there.
That night the assassin attempted to
leave Mr. Garrett’s. Jack Garrett was of-
fered one hundred and fifty dollars for his
horse, which he refused to sell, but he
to take the two the next morning to
Guinea’s Station, a distance’ of about
eighteen miles, for which Booth paid him
ten dollars'in advance. Booth explained
to Mr. Garrett’s family that he had had ‘“‘a
little brush with the Yankees over in
Maryland’’ to account for his excitement
after the cavalry rode by, and stated that
he and Herold would like to sleep in the
barn that night. The actions of the fugi-
tives had already aroused the suspicions of
Jack Garrett and his brother Willie, and
they interpreted the wish of the assassins
to sleep in the barn as a ruse tosecure their
horses during the night. After Booth and
Herold went to the barn, therefore, the
horses were secretly led into the woods half
a mile distant, and Jack and Willie Gar-
rett, after quietly locking Booth and
Herold in the barn, slept on their arms in
the corn-crib near by.
The cavalry, guided by Rollins, who was
not informed of the name of the man whom
they were pursuing, rode on to Bowling
Green, which they reached about one
o'clock Wednesday morning. Jett awoke
to see by the dim light of a candle four
men at his bedside, each of whom held a
large cocked pistol levelled at his head. A
voice gruffly demanded. ‘‘Where did you
leave those men ? Tell us quickly, or
we'll blow out your brains.”” Only half
awake, and much frightened by the sight
before him, Jett stated that he had left
them at Garrett's. Under the threat of
death he was forced to lead the soldiers
back about twelve miles to Garrett's,
which was reached between three and four
o'clock Wednesday morning. For Jett’s
connection with this affair he was jilted by
his sweetheart, ostracized by his friends,
outlawed by his family, and finally obliged
to leave the neighborhood. This was not
because he guided Booth, but because he
‘‘betrayed’’ him. He died in an insane
asylum in Baltimore.
Upon reaching Garrett's farm the cavalry
were picketed before each window and door
of every building on the place. Jack Gar-
rett, when awakened, without hesitation
informed the soldiers where they would
find the two men, whose true names of
course he did not know ; and was direct-
ed to go into the barn, and tell the men to
surrender. He aroused the assassins, who
were asleep on the straw ; and when he
communicated the message as directed,
Booth turned on him angrily and -said,
‘Young man, your life is in danger. Get
out of here !”” Young Garrett did not
waste any time in retreating. Booth was
then called upon to surrender, which he re-
fused to do ; when informed that if he did
not the barn would be fired, he remarked,
* “But there is a man in here who does want
to surrender pretty bad,”” whereupon Her-
old presented himself at the door. .
In the meantime Jack Garrett had been
instructed to pile brush about the barn.
While doing so he was discovered by
Booth, who, putting his mouth to a crack
where the young man was, whispered, ‘I
advise you to keep away from here for your
own safety.” Sr
A few minutes afterward the barn was
fired by one of the detectives in the party,
and a soldier; Boston Corbett, in direct dis-
obedience of orders, shot Booth through
one of the cracks in the barn while the as-
sassin was standing in the full light of the
flames, which then encircled him complete-
ly. The bullet entered in almost the same
spot as the shot he had fired two weeks be-
fore at the President. Corbett was after-
ward court-martialed. for his insubordina-
tion.
For this interesting account of the
assassin’s movements on Tuesday and Wed-
nesday, the writer is indebted to Mr. Jack
Garrett, who now lives within a few miles
of his father’s old home. The old home-
stead still remains in the hands of the Gar-
rett family.—[‘‘Four Lincoln Conspira-
cies,” by Victor Louis Mason, in the April
Century.
Man’s Worst Habit.
The worst habit a man can fall into is
that of habitual ill humor. To meet a
man with a scowl on his face makes you
feel more or less gloomy, while smiles are
contagious-and send a ray of sunshine to
the heart. Many a man gets the uta-
tion of being ‘‘a Taj iling goo) fellow?’® just
because he speaks cheerfully to people and
smiles. His melancholy brother may have
a more sympathetic heart and a higher
moral nature, but people don’t like him
because he is gfoomy. Therefore my son,
smile.
——Miss Sweetly—‘‘How did you know
I was going to wear my hair curled this
evening ?'’
Mr. Plainman—‘‘I saw it in the papers
this morning.’
——Pennsylvania has more postoffices
than any other State in the Union. With
her 4,680 on June 30, 1895, she led New
York by 1,268 and Ohio by 1,479.
——Prof. George J. Becker, after half a
century of service as instructor in Girard
college, Philadelphia, will retire at the end
of the present month on an annual pension
of $2,500.
Sey
8tory Taken from the lips of Jack Garrett, who |
lame man in eciti-
‘ knows that a schooner is hollow.”
Clippings on the Holmes Confession.
A STANGE CRIMINAL.
District Attorney Graham proved conclu-
sively that H. H. Holmes is the monu-
mental mnrderer of the age, and Holmes
has supplmented that illustration of his
character by proving himself to be the
monumental liar of the age.
..The falsity of his detailed confession was
self-evident ' from. his description of the
slow-burning and torture of Pietzel. The
evidence was conclusive that Pietzel was not
tortured at all, and that he was murdered
before the match was applied.
Although he succeeded in swindling the
newspapers from time to time ever since he
has been in prison by a torrent of state-
ments and confessions, the public were not
deceived by any of the half dozen confes-
sions sold by him during the last week.
Each one bore the unmistakable impress of
falsity. :
In all the history of noted criminals we
cannot.recall one who combined Holmes at-
tributes for committing murder and then
multiplying his murders by the most re-
volting statements which are utterly false.
It is natural that a great criminal should
be a great liar, but Holmes stands out sin-
gle in the achievement of having magnified
the number and atrocity of his murders to
swindle publishers and gratify the morbid
tastes of the public.
It is now known that several and proba-
bly half a dozen of the persons claimed to
have been murdered by Holmes are yet liv-
ing. Why he should make sale of such
falsehoods knowing that they must be con-
fronted by the living testimony of his al-
leged victims, is one of the many incompre-
hensible features of his abnormal character.
Phila. Times.
HOLMES’ CONFESSION.
The importance the Philadelphia news-
papers give to what is called “The Confes-
sion of Holmes,”’ is as disgusting as the
‘“‘Confession’’ is brutal. Three different so
called ‘‘Confessiony’’ were published, each
differing from the other, and, we are sorry
to say, were read with astonishing eager-
ness. This shows a very depraved taste,
something the newspapers have no business
to cater to. - If the public press feel obliged
to cater to every depravity, they may not
be able in the future to draw the line on
murder or other crime. = Newspapers are
an useful medium, but’ they have it in
their power to do a great deal of harm, and
do it by catering to a depraved taste as in
this instance. To spread Holmes’ relation
of murders, almost without number, before
the public, cultivates a taste for that sort
of literature. That he indulged in the
highest known crime twenty-seven times,
we doubt if one person in a thousand hon-
estly believes. The newspapers that pub-
lished his brutal, disgusting recital of crime
have done their best to make him the Na-
poleon of murders.-— Doylestown Dem.
HOLMES’ ‘‘CONFESSION’’ WAS FICTION.
PHILADELPHIA, April 14.—The suppo-
sition that Holmes’ ‘‘confession’” was
largely a fabrication is strengthened by
dispatches received from Chicago. While
the police authoritics of that city believe
that he killed the two Williams girls,
Emily Cigrand, Mrs. Julia Conners, B. F.
Pitezel and the three children they do hot
think that he got away with twenty-seven
victims.
Neither do they believe that he killed
most of the people in the way he described.
For instance, Holmes claims that he killed
Nannie Williams the day she arrived in
Chicago. As a matter of fact, she was
known to have lived there several weeks
before she disappeared. The Chicago po-
lice also assert that several of Holmes’ self-
claimed ‘‘victime’, are still alive. Robert
Latimer, the ex-janitor of the ‘‘castle’’ is
flagman at a Chicago railroad crossing, and
others who are known to be still in the
land of the living are Warner, the origina-
tar of the Waruer Glass Bending Company,
and Dr. Thomas Russell, of Grand Rapids,
Mich.
¢She’s Hollow"
Congressman: Jack Robinson, of Penn-
sylvania, brought down the House lately
in his speech on the naval appropria-
tion bill, by describing Mr. Cannon’s emo-
tions on first beholding a warship. The
Illinois statesman, who, by the.way, was
fighting a provision which Robinson was
advocating, he said, sailed down the Poto-
mae river one time, and at Norfolk was
taken aboard one of the battleships. He
had just come to Congress from Illinois
and his experience had all the charm of
novelty. He looked around him on the
deck with a bewildered airat the arma-
ments and the smoke stack, and finally he
cast his eye down the hold. One peep was
sufficient ; throwing up both arms in pro-
found astonishment, he exclaimed :
‘Great God ! she’s hollow I’?
Before the House quieted down, and
while Mr. Cannon was making his reply,
Mr. Mahon, of Pennsylvania, asked the
Illinoisan if he might interrupt him.
~~ “I am sure’’ said Mahon, ‘‘the gentleman
And
there was another outburst of laughter.
‘‘Yes,” returned Cannon, ‘‘I know a
schooner is hollow, after the gentleman
from Pennsylvania gets through with it.”
CARD OF THANKS.
Our old big yaller cow tuck sick,
And then she up and died,
Of all my cows she wuz the pick,
In her I tuck grate pride.
Tho she’d bin allin’ quite a spell,
’ I made of it quite lite, .
I never thought but she'd git well,
And come again all rite.
I s’pose I fed her too much meal,
Or mebbe brewer's grains,
For when she walked she'd sorter reel,
And seemed to have grate panes,
My nabers, they dropped in on me,
As all good nabers do,
And tendered me their sympathy,
And hoped I'd pull her thru.
One sed she had the holler horn,
And so her horns I bord,
Another sed she must be bled,
I bled her till she snored.
Wolf in the tail some thot she had, »
And now I think so tu,
No livin cow that gits that bad,
«Will ever pull safe thru,
She went off sloly by degrees,
My nabers aid wuz vane,
Til deth did pleze to give her eze,
Aud eze her of lier pane.
And now dear nabers every wun,
Whoz kindnes fils my hart,
I thank you all for what you dun,
When flichsun waz my part.
And 1 éspeshully thank agin,
Thos culled pussons, who
Turned in, and on shares helped me skin
: My good old yaller cow.— Mr. Jooezer Jones.
Independent Republican.
hs)
——We are thinking of getting even with
a few people by joining a church, and of-
fering their names for public prayers.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
The Norfolk jacket will be the mode for
tailor-gowns of dugk and lined crash, and
when worn with white chemisette cuffs and
belt, make an appropriate morning dress
for seashore and country wear.
The bigger the bow at. the back of the
neck the more chic the girl, and when the
brim of her hat is filled with roses and
tilted well over her nose, then, indeed,
may she rest content, for she is demonstrat-
ing the very latest Parisian mode. ;
The tip-tilted hat, unromantically dub-
bed the nose hat, has come to stay, for it
has not only demonstrated its becoming-
ness, but its usefulness as well, being an
ideal headgear for driving, as the most in-
quisitive sunshine cannot penetrate beneath
its brim. -
Silk waists are quite plainly made—a
little fullness in the middle of the front
and that in the back shirred both at should-
ers and waist and bishop sleeves with nar-
row cuffs. On some straps of the material,
stiffened and lined with pretty silk, come
from the shoulder seam to the waist. One
or two ornamental buttons are put on each
strap, or they are edged with narrow jet or
with one or two rows of white, cream-color-
ed or black lace. On some satin ribbon
two and a half inches wide forms the strap,
ending in a full bow on the shoulder.
For very tiny tots the old-fashioned mus-
lin sun-bhonnet is revived. They are much
shirred and have, as of old, the regulation
curtain hanging over the neck, thus com-
bining comfort with the quaint and pic-
turesque.
The daintier the woman the less likely
she is to use perfumes—the really fastidi-
ous absolutely taboo extracts, affecting
only the fragrant violet water, and that
solely for bath and toilette—her handker-
chief gives no slightest hint of any scent.
The number of white pique or duck
gowns is legion. They are made in all
sorts of fanciful ways. One gown of pique,
much too dressy for common wear, has an
open-work insertion set in at all the seams,
and the whole is worn over an underslip of
pale-tinted silk, with it is worn a white
kid belt, and a wide stock or smart Per-
sian ribbon at the neck.
There are two things ina woman that
the man of refinement admires equally as
much as, if not more, than beauty, and
those are a pleasant voice and a cheerful
disposition. There is not a. man in the
world brave enough to cope with a woman
who whines. He will put himself to any
amount of trouble to avoid her. Fortunate-
ly, though, whining is going out of fashion.
It is now considered, and rightly, more
womanly to meet trials and troubles, both
small and great, cheerfully. If your trou-
ble is a great one, however, you may risk
telling it to your best man friend, be he
lover or brother, feeling sure that he will
‘do his best to aid you, but never venture
meeting him with a bundle of imaginary
woes. With such you may be sure he will
never trouble you, and why should a wom-
an feel it her privilege to ask more than
she can return simply because she is a
woman ?
Batiste is beyond doubt the pet material
of the season. It is made up in an entire
gown, or is used as a trimming on a gown
of silk, but the typical Summer gown is
made over a lining of silk. . This is a
splendid opportunity to use the soiled
or worn silk gown, provided it has a bright,
pretty color. “This material is shown in a
variety of weaves, plain or interlined with
narrow open work lines showing the color
of the silk through. The all-over open
work batiste is altogether too expensive to
use much of, and is seldom seen save as a
yoke or some other decoration.
A fetching Summer frock of this sort of
stuff is made of the open-work lined sort
over a groundwork of leaf green taffeta.
The skirt is extremely plain, but wide and
full. The bodice is laid smoothly over the
shoulder, but gathered softly into the belt,
around which was crushed a narrow twist
of leaf green velvet finished at the back
with ‘‘d key ear’’ ends. A deep crushed
stock is made with a sharp point at the
front, also of leaf green velvet, with tiny
points of embroidered batiste at either side,
The sleeves are in the leg-o’-mutton style,
with but little fullness at the top and fin-
ished with a point of the embroidered -
batiste at the hand. ;
A black serge, is the smartest thing this
season. The skirt was absolutely plain,
but the bodice was a revelation of the
dressmakers’ art. It was of black satin
laid in deep tucks in the back, forming a
pointed effect, over whicha V of the serge
was placed from neck to waist. This V
was edged by narrow lines of black mohair
braid. “In front the fullness of satin was
enhanced by square revers that grew into
a small square collar at the back. These
revers were of serge and were covered with
narrow lines of black braid, fringed out
when they reached the edges. A box-
plaited front of rose-strewn black mous-
line de sole was held at the beginning of
the revers by black rosettes and a black
satin stock finished the neck. The sleeves
were of satin, covored with fine lines of
braid running perpendicularly. A jaunty
little turban completed an ensemble that,
while not being as essentially spring-like
as the one first described, was far more
stylish. e
The unprecedented size of the coat but-
tons worn during the past season has had
its influence upon other belongings. The
new boots are closed with buttons twice the
old-time size, and gloves are fastenad by
large clasp buttons the counterpart af those
worn by men. The large white buttons
recently seen on gloves had an ephemeral
popularity because of the likelihood of
their pulling from their fastenings. The
patent spring clasp is handy and secure.
The size and bulkiness of feminine belong-
ings nowadays is a matter of note. But a
few years ago every accessory enhanced the
petiteness of women, but now, when the
popular girl is decidedly a substantial
creature, her pomps and vanities have
taken on a corresponding degree of mag-
nitude. It used to be whispered about
with bated breath if a woman of fashion
wore a numer five boot, but nowadays a
girl unblushingly calls for a number six,
and even a number seven is not unheard
of. Stylish boots are narrower and longer
than formerly, the pointed ends requiring
an additional size to make them easily fit
the feet. . In lingerie the lace fichu is larger.
and more elegant than ever, while the
stock collor has a bow at the back that
reaches from on: shoulder seam to the
other. There is no canting of material in
any of woman’s beic.cings in these days of
substantials.
Do pee
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