with much impressment.
Bowe item
Bellefonte, Pa., May 15, 1896.
IN SCHOOL DAYS.
Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning,
Around it still the sumacs grow
And blackberry vines are running.
Within the master’s desk is seen,
Deep scarred by raps official ;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jackknife's carved initial,
The charcoal frescoes on its wall ;
Its door’s worn ill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school.
Went storming out to playing.
Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting,
Lit up its western window panes
And low eaves’ icy fretting.
It touched the tangled golden curls
And brown eyes full of grieving
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.
For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled,
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride aud shame were mingled,
Pushing with restless feet the. snow
To right and left he lingered
As restlessly her tiny hand
The blue checked apron fingered.
He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt
The soft hand's light caressing {
And heard the trembling of her voice, i
As if a fault confessing, |
“I'm sorry that I spelled the word
I hate to go above you,
Because —the brown eyes lower fell—
“Because, you see, I love you I”
Still, memory to a gray haired man
That sweet child face is showing.
Dear girl! The grasses on her grave
Have forty years heen growing
He lives to learn, in life's hard school,
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss-
Like her—hecause- they love him.
Whittier.
MATCHMAKING.
Seven rooms and a bath.
‘Good locality ; three flights up ; steam
heated. Inquire on premises,” added
Dorothea after announcing the above title
Rosalie set down
her coffee cup with an animation which
threatened serious damages to the frail
china, while Evelyn in her sunny corner
looked up from the cluster of ferns she was
painting full of the liveliest interest.
‘That sounds very plausible,” she ob-
served, leisurely mixing two shades of
green upon her palette. “What do you
think of it Dorothea ?”’ 7
“What do you think of it Rosalie?” in-
quired Dorothea, parrying as was her cus-
tom, one question with another.
‘Seven rooms are really too many for
our needs,’’ said the prudent eldest sister.
“So much to keep in order without a ser.
vant.”
“Don’t worry. We'll keep the place
tidy somehow. Evelyn can dust on dark
days when the light is poor for her pictures
and I during those black periods when in-
spiration fails, and so betwixt us both, like
Jack Sprat and his wife of ancient fame, |
‘we’ll lick the platter clean,’ ”” interposed |
Dorothea.
“And with you at the helm, dear, we
can’t get stranded,” remarked Evelyn in-
sinuatingly. } :
“But seven rooms,’ grinned Rosalie,
“and two are not always what they should
be.” :
“Don’t flatter yourself that fate has ve- !
served for us seven barns the size of this |
apartment,’’ said Dorothea, with fine
scorn. “From Flora’s description I should
judge that an overabundance of space was |
not a leading feature of our embryo estab- |
lishment. Then I’ve calculated, with nee- |
essary parlor, dining room and kitchen, a |
bedroom each maiden unto herself and a
little den where you can make your mud
pies in peace, is not too much to take care
of, and I move that we set our seal upon |
Flora’s discovery as soon as possible,’
“TI second the motion,” cried Evelyn, |
springing up with alacrity. el
“Well, so be it,” said Rosalie, with a |
resigned air, as she put on her hat.
And so it was in less than a week. The |
three sisters, with their numerous belong-
ings had taken possession of their new
quarters, well satisfied with the change
jo the dull monotony of their former
ife.
It was a novel sensation to these girls to
find themselves once more in a real sub-
stantial home, however small and unpre-
tending, for years since their mother's |
death they had struggled on in their dreary |
lodgings, ekeing out their meagre income |
by a practical application of their various |
talents. Rosalie fashioned cornices and ar- |
tistic plaster molding for the interior deco-
ration of buildings while she waited for
that golden opportunity for which she |
longed—the leisure to model the figure of a |
woman that should only lack the breath of
life to crown her perfection, a creation that
should possess more than the sensual
beauty which caused Pygmalion “to fall in
love with his own work. She wished. to
show the world a woman in all the glory
of her nineteenth century development and
a foreshadowing of future possibilities.
orothea wrote short newspaper articles,
with her treasured novel hidden in her
desk awaiting the few crumbs she was able
to fling to it from time to time, some of her
best thoughts, probably, but in a crude
state, just as they slipped off her ready pen.
She had longings, too, though her ambi-
tion took no definite shape, like Rosa-
lie's. It was not one woman that she
wished to picture, but men and women
without number, who posed in many posi-
tions before the world. But all this would
take time, which could ill be spared when
the monthly bills came down upon them
like so many crows to pick the hones -of
genius. N
And Evelyn, a passionate lover of nature
was ambitious too. She wanted to scatter
the odor of gardens and fields through the
flowers and grasses she so skillfully paint-
ed. “If I could make my roses smell, I
believe I should die happy,’”’ she would
often say when her sisters or friends ex-
pressed their admiration of some specially
good effort. Meantime the dainty crea-
‘tions found a ready market, and practical
Evelyn went cheerfully on with her work,
adding more than her share to the family
exchequer and patiently waiting for the
happy day when she might roam through
the smiling country under the blue sky
and paint nature at ber best.
And such was the tri¢ that settled down
to enjoy life in seven rooms and a bath.
A truly remarkable family, one might say.
Not at all.. They were merely anxious
each to reap the benefit of her one gift, and
working truly for that end succeeded, as
earnest workers often do, and enjoyed with
all the zest of youth the fruit of their la-
bors
But the space was cramped, as Dorothea
predicted, and when genius simmered it
was apt to be brought to a sudden halt by
some bodily bump, the result of personal
contact with odd corners and jutting ang-
les. After a week’s sojourn, however, in
spite of various bruises and other mishaps
of little interest to the uninitiated, they
unanimously voted their miniature house-
keeping a great success.
‘‘Even though Rosalie lets in pheumonia
through all the windows or Dorothea goes
to the other extreme and smothers us with
steam heat,’”’ commented Evelyn as they
sat in family conclave, adding up accounts.
“I must have air,”’ said Rosalie, with an
expressive gesture of her shapely hands,
of the firm, strong hands of the true sculp-
tor. :
“And I my money’s worth,”” put in
Dorothea. ‘I hate to think of paying for
seven rooms and a bath, steam heated with-
out enjoying the full bill.” :
On the principle that you would prefer
a street car ride from start to finish for the
sake of getting as much as possible for your
fare. Dorothea, I'm ashamed of you,’’ ob-
served Evelyn severely.
‘It is not that Iam niggardly,” urged
Dorothea apologetically, ‘‘but I firmly be-
lieve the world could be worked on a much
more economical plan. Take, for example,
your street car ride. Nine-tenths of the
people who ride neither start from the be-
ginning nor finish at the terminus. Were
I a reformer with power I would suggest
that as each passenger reached his or her
| destination the conductor should say :
‘“‘Sir—or madam, as the case may he—
I find you still have some distance due on
your fare. Allow me to return the amount
owing you by the company.’
‘And suppose the amount is - the
fractional part of a cent, what then?”
asked Rosalie, laughing. a
‘Oh, they might give bills of credit,
payable at any time on the line.”
‘And institute a system of bookkeeping
| to complicate the simplest transaction.
I’m afraid your plan wouldn’t work, Doro-
thea. Your idea is too far ahead of the
times and the people, and meanwhile”’—
“There is Flora’s knock,” interrupted
Evelyn as she hastened to open the door.
HWell, girls, are you settled ?”’ asked
the newcomer as she took her seat among
them.
“Quite comfortably, thanks to you.
There is nothing more to be wished for lo-
cally,” returned Rosalie. ‘‘The rooms, I
must admit, have not the airiness you so
enthusiastically advertised, and I am seri-
ously afraid that the space in which I work
would scarcely hold a fair sized model.”
‘Ah. but you are only on arms and legs
now, so don’t crank,’ interrupted Doro-
thea. | ‘“‘You haven’t finished the head
either, and you know how proverbially
long it takes a woman to have her hair
dressed. The discussion of the style of the
twentieth century coiffure will take us
months at least,”” added Dorothea wicked-
ly. ‘‘Bangs or no bangs, its a serious
thing to be immortalized in clay. Rosalie
picks us to pieces and takes the best of us
for her fell purposes. Your ears, Flora,
don’t they burn you? Evelyn’s nose and
my mouth—which is my most unoffending
feature—and so for the figure that will be
a composite production of her 500 friends,
a little of everybody beaten together and
shaped in a fashion midway between a Ve-
nus and a Jenness Miller ideal.”’
Rosalie flushed. She seldom spoke of
her work, though Dorothea would bring it
forward in every conversation, being im-
mensely proud of her sistér’s talent.
‘We have a musical family below us,
said Evelyn.
‘‘And a menagerie above,” put in Doro-
thea. “I think: the Smiths stable their
| horses on the premises, such a tramping and
| going on from morning till night.”
“But the music, as I said before,” pur-
sued Evelyn, undisturbed by the interrup-
tion, ‘sounds familiar. It’s above the or-
dinary tone of apartments, and if the Ever-
etts were not supposed to be traveling
abroad I should imagine—indeed I should
be almost sure—well, Flora, have you—
what is the matter ?”’ she broke off inquisi-
tively as she saw Miss Westbrooke turn
| scarlet, evidently a prey to the most vio-
lent emotion.
‘No, no ; but, girls, do you know who
does live just helow you 27’
An expectant silence was her only an-
swer.
“Well, I really didn’t hear myself until |
| yesterday, but Will Everett and his sister
They came |
moved in just three days ago.
home very suddenly and were settled be-
fore their friends even knew they had re-
turned. Will is much changed, they say—
not sociable at all like he used to be;
pleasant enough when one can get at him,
but that is so hard, for he ties himself to
his piano nowadays, you know. Will was
always a good musician.”
Flora Westbrooke had talked on for the
sake of filling an uncomfortable pause.
Rosalie had grown quite pale, and rising
had gone to the window, where she stood
absently drumming on the pane and look-
ing down upon the busy strect scene helow.
Dorothea’s sharp tongue for once had
failed her, and Evelyn gave a troubled sigh
as she took up her brush. !
‘How could he have known?’ she said
in a low voice, glancing apprehensively at
the figure at the window.
“Quite easily, if you will consider. Be-
ing interested, he inquires for the Misses
Norton at their old home, finds them flown
obtains their address, and coming here pre-
sumably to call sees an apartment vacant,
puts off his call, consults his sister Mary,
and they move in. The Everetts were nev-
er laggards, you know. That is, of course,
merely a surmise of mine and may be en-
tirely incorrect. There is no telling—
stranger accidents have happened. Did
you go to the flower show ?”’ asked Flora,
adroitly turning the conversation, and by
degrees it drifted into a more natural vein.
Then presently Rosalie joined the group,
and the little cloud had seemingly van-
‘ished.
But when their visitor took her leave she
was very thoughtful-as she went slowly
down stairs. Almost against her will she
had been drawn into a plot, which, how-
ever innocent of guile, savored strongly of
matchmaking. She doubted seriously if
she had shown wisdom in allowing her
heart to run away with the strong common
sense of which she had such a goodly store,
but it was too late to draw back, so she
contented herself with shaking her head at
the young man who stood waiting for her
at the front door.
“It’s a very poor showing you will have,
Will, and very little I can say to encour-
age you,’’she began in answer to his eager,
questioning face. ‘‘Rosalie is as salient as
one of her clay figures, and the other girls
unusually reticent. They are simply un-
approachable through any ordinary chan-
nel.”
“I do not intend ever again to ask Rosa-
lie Norton to be my wife,”’ returned Ever-
ett proudly. ‘‘I shall force her to love me.
My will is strong enough. This time I
shall woo her through no spoken word,
and then when I am sure—well, I cannot
tell. I could scarcely answer for myself.’
“I think it is her art—her desire to be
famous—that stands in your way,’’ said
Flora.
‘‘But her course is a mistaken one. The
very fire that love kindled would light her
genius.” :
“‘A very practical way. of stating the case
but not up to the standard of those practi-
cal girls. You are too idle. Will, if you
will excuse my candor, some purpose in
your life, however lowly, would irresisti-
bly appeal to them. Would you gain
Rosalie’s love you must work up to her no-
tion of what a man should be. You are a
+ natumal musician. Then why do you not
stretch out those skillful fingers of yours
and draw some of your wandering brothers
into the path of harmony ? You have nev-
er known a want. Give to them that in-
struction the want of which has barred the
world from some most perfect music. But
there, I am moralizing, and you no doubt
are wishing me out of the way with my
tiresome chatter. Well, then, goodby,”’
and with a smile and nod Miss Flora West-
brooke went rapidly down the street.
‘“‘Aha, my fine woman,” solilsquized
Dorothea from an upper window, ‘‘you tar-
ried long enough to button a dozen gloves
at that front door. The plot thickens,
heighho ! There’ll be too much fire with-
out the steam heat in seven rooms and a
bath.” ?
But life went on apparently unchanged,
though a close observer might have been
aware of an intense undercurrent that
stirred through the everyday homely cares.
Rosalie spent long hours in her tiny work-
room when she was not busied with the
simple housekeeping. She had now before
head that should portray her conception of
physical power, combined with that high
moral beauty which would be strong, yet
feminine ; firm, yet gentle ; generous, no-
ble, loving all in one.
Day after day she labored, untiring in
her earnestness and with unflagging energy.
Yet she was never satisfied. There was
something lacking—a certain softness, an
indescribable touch, the want of which her
quick eye at once detected, but she dread-
ed lest her hand should ruthlessly mar
some salient point. She could not tell
with all her skill, just where the trouble
lay, and after much perturbation she called
in her sister for criticism.
“Your face needs color,” announced
Evelyn after a careful scrutiny. “Of
course I donot mean the real application
of pigments, but a certain life quality
which makes you forget that you are look-
ing at clay. I think now that this is clev-
er work of yours, executed with an ac-
curacy of no common order, but I would
rather recognize in this woman’s head a di-
vine inspiration, which I must say, I can-
not find here. . Were it put into marble it
would never appeal to me as flesh and
blood.”
“Brave, Evelyn ; you argue well from
your colorist’s standpoint!’ cried Dora-
thea approvingly. “You are right and
wrong, howev True, the color may be
lacking, but it Wzathep a soul tint than a
flesh tint. R #’S woman has never
loved. When &he does, nono voyono.
You see, I study faces, too, quite as keen-
ly and as critically as you do, and I know
the symptoms,”” with a shrewd glance at
her sister. ‘‘Now, Evelyn has given you
the guide and I the goal, but remember it
must -be love crowned with fulfillment
which shall irradicate that face. Cupid
must not be defrauded of his lawful
spoils,” and Dorothea escaped with a laugh
from the reproachful gaze the young sculp-
tor sent after her, only to enjoy with re-
doubled zest the pretty romance she was
her the most puzzling and the most inter- !
esting of artistic studies, the modeling of a
weaving out of real life.
A ‘“‘true and true’ romance grew under
her pen, though the climax of the tale was |
withheld through force of circumstances, |
and is she watched the silent bit of love- |
making her impatient spirit waxed wroth |
at what she deemed a needless delay.
Will Everett kept his word, and between |
these houscholds, once on terms of in- |
timacy, only the most formal calls were
now exchanged. His sister Mary did most
of the visiting, for the girls held aloof, and |
the young man devoted himself with great
ardor to his music.
Dorothea, ever on the alert, soon discov: |
ered that the sound of his piano traveled |
up through the pipes of the steam register, |
and she also observed that while Rosalie |
still eraved air at odd minutes she often un- |
consciously lingered by the heater, drink- |
ing in the melody like one athirst. Such |
music as it was! And she stood at times |
listening with rapt attention.
It seemed |
as if one soul was speaking to another, and |
the airs were plaintive, sad, wild, despair-
ing, often with @ happier touch of tender- |
ness—never joyous, yet always strangely |
beautiful and moving at least one listener |
until the tears stood in her eyes and she |
was forced to hide her glowing face, from !
her sister’s penetrating gaze.
For she loved him, she was sure of it |
fo, though she had thought differently a
short while back. But Flora was right. |
So carnest and full of purpose in her art, |
it made her unhappy to see him wasting |
his own great gift, and even as his love
came swelling up in waves of harmony she
would fly from the spell of it and feturn to
her *‘mrud pies’ with redoubled vigor.
Then presently to the dwellers up three |
tion was going on below. Will's playing |
grew more desultory and finally ceased al-
most entirely, and instead of the exquisite
snatches which were borne to them from
time to time the. fine piano responded only
to a tiresome round of musical A B (’s and
some unskilled hand stumbled oyer the
scales and five finger exercises.
“Will is busy,’” said Flora in answer to
several discreet inquiries. ‘‘You see he is
much interested in the erection of a free
conservatory of music, and meanwhile he
is teaching a few the first steps. It is very
good of him, I am sure, for nothing could
be more painful to a well trained ear.’
“It is no more than he should do, you
know,”’ said Dorothea sententiously, with
a side glanee at her sister, “‘only I'm sorry
I can’t give my unqualified approval, but
really it sounds dreadful through the heat-
er, its ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding, one-
two-three, one-two-three, all day long. It
nearly runs me mad.”’
“It makes no difference to me. I have
no nerves,’'’ said Rosalie, but a faint flush
belied her words, and under that calm ex-
terior a rebellious heart was beating vio-
lently.
Is was a most annoying affair to the look-=
ers on, and had not Providence intervened
in the guise of an unlooked for accident the
1 question might never have come to a final
settlement.
A quick ring at the hall bell brought
Rosalie from her work room.. Opening the
door, she found a shabbily dressed litt»
girl standing outside, with a small roll of
music in her arm.
‘Mr. Everett lives down one flight,’’ she
said in answer to the eager question.
‘Take care of the stairs. It is -rather
flights it became apparent thata revolu- |
dark,” but her warning came too late.
and fell from the top to the bottom, while
Rosalie, pale and frightened, hastened to
the rescue as fast as her feet could carry
her.
As she reached the motionless little fig-
ure and raised it in her strong, young arms
the door of the lower apartment was flung
open wide, and Will Everett stood upon
the threshold. :
‘‘Come in here, he said authoritatively,
relieving her of her burden, and Rosalie
followed him meekly. He laid the child
upon the couch as tenderly as if he had
been a woman.
‘‘She has fainted !” he exclaimed as he
hurried off for some water. Rosalie bent
over her anxiously and gently felt for any
broken bones. She gave a relieved sigh as
Will came back.
‘I think it is only the shock of the fall
and probably a few hard bruises,’’ she said,
rubbing one cold hand, while the young
man on his knees beside her vigorously
rubbed the other. Then they worked in
silence until the little one opened her eyes
and tried to sit up.
‘Not yet, Madge. You had a bad tum-
ble, and you must keep quiet for a while.
I will go and tell yonr mother. She is an
invalid,” he explained to Rosalie; ‘and
meanwhile Miss Norton will get you to bed
—that is,” he added, “if you do not mind.
Mary is away spending a few days with
Flora Westbrooke, and I am a dunce about
these matters. Just put her away in
Mary’s room and rummage about there for
anything you might need. Call the maid
if you are in trouble. I’ll be back in a few
minutes.’’ : :
Rosalie half smiled as he gave this volley
of orders and made good his escape. Then
with a glow at her head. she could not un-
derstand, she set about her preparations.
By the time Will returned her charge had
been made quite comfortable in Mary’s
room.
Then ensued an awkward pause, during
which Rosalie stood undecided whether to
beat a hasty retreat or accept the situation
more gracefully and exchange common-
places with her quondam lover, who sat
carelessly twirling himself on the music
stool, watching her with a dangerous light
in his eyes. It was a crisis they both knew
yet both were too proud, too obstinate, to
force it by word or glance.
The situation could only have lasted a
few seconds, though it seemed of intermina-
ble length to poor Rosalie, who felt her de-
fenses giving away when Dorothea’s voice
outside and her peremptory knock at the
door brought them both to their senses.
She glanced sharply from one to the
other as she came into the room. ‘The
smell of burning soup permeating through
seven rooms and a bath led me to investi-
gate,”” she remarked. “I found the cook
flown and the brew scorched. You needn’t
go Rosalie. I have opened all the windows
and performed the last offices for the soup
—that is, I have thrown it out—and I do
not know what inspiration led me here un-
less it was an intense desire to wind up my
romance. Iam writing one from real life,
you understand.” Then suddenly her
manner changed.
‘Bless you for a perverse pair of mules !
Here is happiness staring you right in the
face, and you dodge it as if it were some
new form of a bad plague. Go to, bad
children, and mend your ways!” Then
half frightened at what she had done, Doro-
thea turned and fled.
Rosalie walked hastily to the window.
Everett rose from his stool and followed
her, and together, still in unbroken silence,
they looked out at the gray clouds and the
wayward movements of the first scurrying
flakes, the heralds of the approaching snow- |
storm. Then suddenly, as if by a common
impulse, their eves met and their hands
and their lips.
story ? :
‘Rosalie,’ said Evelyn that night, push-
ing her sister gently in front of the mirror,
“put into your woman’s face half the light
and radiance reflected there in yours, and
the work will be the perfection of ideal
»
womanhood.”
“You might call it ‘Love Crowned,” ob-
served Dorothea, wiping her pen with evi-
dent satisfaction, for the tale was finished.
“Do you know, Flora,” said this irre- |
pressible young person the next day, ‘we |
find the premises very erowded—In fact,
we think seriously of taking in the lower |
apartment, which will give us 14 rooms and
two baths, you see.”
jut Flora had caught the contagion of
this all pervading happiness.
“Really,” she cried delighted.
“Yes,” said Dorothea quite soberly,
‘with one or two extra conveniences, a cook
and a husband being among the added
luxuries.” Then they laughed as only
light hearted girls can laugh, and Flora
never repented her first and only bit of
matchmaking. —Philadelphia Zimes. °
—————————————
A Newspaper Helps.
The effort of any newspaper to build up
a town is practically nullified unless it is
backed up by the business men. A stranger
turns from the news columns of a paper to
its advertising pages, and if he fails to find
there the business cards of the merchants
and professional firms, he comes to the con-
clusion that the publishers is not appreciat-
ed, in which case it is a goed place for him
to keep clear of. No town ever grew with-
out the active assistance of its newspaper.
Nor can papers grow and build up their
localities without the assistance of the
town. Business men should realize this
and remember in giving support to the
newspapers they are not only building up
their own business, but helping to support
that which is steadily working for the
growth of the whole town.—Franklin
Transeript. ‘
The Book of Greatest Circulation.
The Bible yet leads all other books in
the number printed and distributed an-
nually. ‘More than 1,500,000 Bibles, tes-
taments and portions thereof were printed
by the American Bible Society during its
last business year, a very large share. of
which went into Anmierican homes. The
English Society for ‘Promoting Christian
Knowledge printed 500,000 Bibles and
prayer-books. These form, however, but a
fraction of the Bibles printed in the world,
every enlightened nation having establish-
ments devoted to their publication.
She Hiccoughed to Death.
An Ohio School Ma'am, Who Could Take no Food.
Winchester, O., May 8.—Death from hic-
coughs was the fate of Miss Lydia Fergu-
son, a teacher in the public schools at
Rainsboro. -She was attacked with hic-
coughing, which continued for two weeks.
To-day she died in great agony. She had
not taken nourishment for two weeks.
——No School.—Mrs. Higbee—*‘I think
you had better go for the doctor, George.
Johnny complains of pains in his head.’
Higbee—‘‘I guess it is nothing serious. He
has had them before.” Mrs. Highee—
‘‘Yes, but never on Saturday.’’—Brooklyn
Life.
The child lost her footing on the landing
But why repeat the old |
Holmes Hanged.
The Infamous Murderer Finally Pays the Penalty.—
His Death a Quiet One—The Crowd Present to See
the Final Swinging Off Was by No Means Large.—
Kept His Nerve to the End.
PHILADELPHIA, May 7.—Herman W.
Mudgett, alias H. H. Holmes, was hanged
at Moyamensing prison last Thursday in
Philadelphia. The drop fell at 10.12}
o’clork. It was not until a half hour later
that he was officially pronounced dead.
His neck was broken by the fall.
The execution was in every way entirely
devoid of any sensational features. To the
last he was self-possessed and cool, even to
the extent of giving a word of advice to As-
sistant Superintendent Richardson as the
latter was arranging the final details.
He died as he lived, unconcerned and
thoughtless, apparently, of the future.
Even with the recollection still vividly be-
fore him of the recent confession, in which
he admitted the killing of a score of per-
sons of both sexes and in all parts of the
country, he refuted everything and almost
his last words were a point blank denial of
any ‘crimes committed, except the
death of two women at his hands by mal-
practice, Of a 1 er of the several
members of the Pletzel family he denied
all complicity, particularly of the father,
for whose death, he stated, he was suffer
ing the penalty. Then with the prayer
of the spiritual attendants still sound-
ing in his ears and a few low spoken words
to those about him, the strap was sprung,
and beyond a few incidental post mortem
details, the execution which culminated
one of the worst criminal stories known to
criminology was ended. :
Mr. Rotan was early at the prison, but
he had been preceded by Rev. Father
Dailey and Father McPake, who adminis-
tered the last rites of the church to the
condemned man. They arrived shortly
after 6 o'clock and only a few minutes
after Holmes had arisen.
So sound were his slumbers in fact that
twice he was called before awakening when
the arrival of Rev. Fathers Dailey and Mec-
Pake was announced. He greeted them
watmly, but with no show of undue
emotion, and with the same air of self-pos-
session that has marked his conduct
| throughout the entire case. They were
come to administer the sacrament of com-
munion. For nearly two hours they re-
mained in the cell with him, and then
were almost immediately succeeded by
Lawyer Rotan, the legal advisor of Holmes.
Pleasantly also he greeted him. There
were several matters pertaining to his world-
ly affairs that will have to be settled up
after his death, and this time was taken
for giving the final details and explana-
tions.
was served, and he seemed to heartily en-
joy the meal. ‘“‘He enjoyed it more than
i could, even though only his attorney,”
remarked Mr. Rotan, after leaving the
cell, and to the end he maintained the same
stoicism. It was not blustering braggado-
cia or the foul-mouthed bully or desperado
| who curses the hand that offers spiritual
solace, but the calm demeanor and quiet
bearing that are compelled by a will of
iron, When the morning meal was ended,
Holmes prepared to dress himself. Con-
trary to the general custom he refused to
don a new suit, but arrayed himself in
trousers, vest and cutaway coat of some
dark mixed goods, of a pepper and salt ef-
fect, that had been worn hy him frequently
before. Even in this he was careful, giving
details of his toilet. Collar and necktie
were, of course, not worn, but their piace
was taken by a white handkerchief knotted
| carelessly about the neck.
| At 10:02 o'clock the sheriff called togeth-
I er the official jury, and after each man had
I answered to his name and subscribed to the
| certificate, the solemn march to the gallows |
| was begun. The suspense was almost
{ painful, brief though it was, and then pre-
| ceded by Sheriff Clements and Superinten-
| dent Perkins, Holmes stepped on the trap.
| On the vight was Father Dailey, to the left
| Father McPake and bringing up the rear |
| Lawyer Rotan and Assistant Superin-
tendent Richardson. The little party
| stood for a moment looking down then in
response to & sign from one of those beside
{ him Holmes stepped forward and spoke.
| Pallid, naturally, after his incarceration,
| there was no other evidence of any fear or
| disquiet. He spoke slowly and with
| measured attention to every word ; a trifle
‘low at first, but louder as he proceeded,
| until every word was distinetly audible.
“(rentlemen,” he said, “I have a very
few words to say in fact, I would make
| ho statement at this time except that by
| not speaking I would appear to acquiesce
{in life in my execution. I only want to
|.say that the extent of my wrongdoings in
| taking human life consisted in the deaths
{of two women, they having died at my
| hand as the result of criminal operation. T
| wish to also state, however, so that there
| will be no misunderstanding hereafter, I
| am not guilty of taking the lives of any of
| the Pitezel family, ‘the three children or
| father, Benjamin TF. Pitezel, for whose
death I am to-day to be hanged. That is
”n
As he ceased speaking he stepped back,
and kneeling between Fathers Dailey and
McPake, joined with them in Mois Sonver
for a brief minute or two. Againstinding,
he shook the hand of all those . about him,
and then signified his readiness for the end.
| Coolest of the entire party, he even went
to the extreme of suggesting to Assistant
Superintendent Richardson that the latter
not hurry himself. ‘“Take your time ;
don’t bungle it,’ he remarked, as the offi-
cial exhibited some little haste, the evident
outcome of nervousness. These were al-
most his last words. The cap was adjust-
ed, a low-toned query. ‘‘Areyouready ?’’
and an equal low response ‘Yes, good-
bye,”’ and the trap was sprung. The neck
was not broken and there were a few con-
vulsive twitches of the limbs .that contin-
ued for about ten minutes. The trap was
sprung at precisely 10:12}, and fifteen min-
utes later Holmes was pronounced dead,
though the body was not cut down until
10:45.
After the body of Holmes had. been low-
ered from the serffold and placed upon the
stretcher, the black cap was taken off.
The face was but little distorted. It was
slightly discolored and the eyes were half
open. The lips were drawn back and the
teeth protruded. A bruise and an abrasion
around the neck where the rope had tight-
ened was visible above the coat collar.
After the body had been viewed by the
physicians and the manner of death deter-
mined, the stretcher was wheeled out of
the corridor into the jail yard. Here it
was placed in an ordinary cheap pine
coffin. One noticeable thing about the
coffin was that it was wide enough and
deep enough to have held two men of
Holmes’ size. The coffin was put aboard
an undertaker’s wagon and conveyed to
the Roman Catholic cemetery of the Holy
Cross. The only persons at the cemetery
were the undertaker and his assistant, two
+ (Continued on page 6.)
While - discussing his affairs breakfast |
eyery attention to even the most minute |
%
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
The stock of our grandfathers is the
standby of fashion.
A word as to belts. The formal black
that served the purpose of every gown is
now only e pluribus unum. The kind
most in vogue is white kid or leather.
These are exceptionally striking with dark
blue and black suits. The buckle is also
of kid or leather. Some of the more ornate
have tiny gold, silver or enameled buckles,
but the smart girl will wear her’s plain.
For the universal grass cloth and tan
covert cloths some belts made of linen over
canvas, with the square buckle covered
with canvas.
I haven’t heard of pink and blue belts,
but green, brown, bronze, yellow, crimson
and white are to he had.
The white and linen ones
low as 25 cents.
Don’t be beguiled or tempted by false
pretences of econmy to wear a ribbon or a
silk one with broad jeweled buckle. These
are decidedly out of vogue. The only ex-
cuse for them is with the fine white muslin
gowns of summer. Then a broad satin belt
with the buckle of last summer will be
passable.
The shopping woman wears chatelaines
of leather like the leather helt on account
of its staying firm and secure. The silk
belts are weighed down by the bag into a
string. :
are selling as
Green. No color is more popular though
all the soft shades of purple are also in high
favor. They have a chic, and a dash, and
a finish, not always found in the ordinary
gown. The smart skirt flares and flares
until there seems to be no end to its flaring,
but one and all fit like a glove over the
hips. While the thin gowns for later wear-
ing are elaborately trimmed, both skirt and
.
bodice, absolute plainness reigns in the...
cloth skirt, unless it be that a braided dec-
oration is used. Then the hips often bear
a part of the plan, and some times the foot
has the fiuishing touch.
Novelty rules the bodices ; no two are
alike, even though the difference but lies
in the matter of revers or sleeves. The
Norfolk jacket is the bodice par excellence
of the moment. It is made up in all sorts
of goods, usually to match the skirt,
though often it is of entirely different ma-
terial and color. Sometimes the jacket is
made to reach- only to the belt, though
more often it extends below, and sets out
in full, short ripples over the hips.
A smart gown having such a bodice is
made up in cedar-brown homespun, over a
foundation of scarlet taffeta, very rich in
quality, and alive with a most delicious
frou-frou. The wide skirt has eight gores,
shaped as sharply as possible at the top and
flaring broadly at the foot.! Here a set of
pink dust ruffles give a smart finish. The
Norfolk jacket has the regulation three
pleats, and comes below the belt, which
latter consists of cedar-brown kid, edged
with narrowest gold and scarlet cord.
The box-pleats also bear this decoration.
The full bishop sleeves are gathered into a
wide, loose cuff, fastened with two round
horn buttons of brown. A deep, flaring
collar is built up high about the neck, and
is completed by a stiff bow of scarlet satin.
With this gown is worn an Alpine hat of
satin straw, in brown, banded simply with
ribbon, with two stiff quills at the side. A
sunshade of vivid scarlet finishes the toi-
let.
It is a sanitary recommendation that in
all basins and tubs, especially those con-
nected with or near the sleeping apartment
the opening into the waste pipe at night
should be stopped, and fresh water left
standing in the basin.
Iam asked by a girl friend to give my
opinion about a pretty foot.
or a long foot, a broad or a narrow one, and
do I recommend a particular shoe. How is
one to avoid ingrowing nails, corns and
bunions ? ;
My dear child, these painful deformities
are caused, as a rule, by ill-fitting shoes.
A shoe too short for the foot or a very high
heel will cause an ingrowitg toe-hail, as
source of endless trouble and suffering.
Wear low heels, and have your shoes a lit-
tle longer than your fect, and you will not
be troubled by bunions, which are swell-
ings of the joints. Change your stockings
very often, and bathe the feet twice a day
to prevent corns. A pretty foot is a foot in
the right proportion tothe rest of the fig-
ure. It is not always a small foot. Indeed
a tall, large girl should not care for a foot
fit only for a wee midget who needs a tiny
boot and an elfin slipper. Never be asham-
ed of the sizs of your foot, hut keep your
shoes and boots in the nicest possible or-
der.
Be very careful about buttons. A shoe
with one or two yawning spaces where all
should he neatness and trimmess gives a
disagreeable impression of its wearer.
Whenever you can manage it, have several
pairs of shoes at a time. They last” much
longer if relieved by one another ; and
when not in use keep your shoes in a box
or bag away from dust, and with tissue-
paper stuffed inside their toes to preserve
their shape. Wear the nicest stockings you
can procure. It is true economy to pur-
chase the best foot-gear one can afford. —
From Haiper's Round Table.
With the return of all large shops’ buy-
ers, who have been in Europe selecting the
cream of the modistes’ and milliners’ art
for their customers, women will not lack
the material to made themselves look their
prettiest. But it is a fact to he regretted
that many women follow blindly a fashion,
without considering its adaptability to
their particular style. It is this desire to
be in fashion that makes many a women,
who could otherwise be attractive, com-
mon-place and unnoticed. Women should
wear that which fashion proclaims as stylish
only when it is becoming to them. Looks
should never be sacrificed to style. A be-
coming gown is always stylish, ‘while a
stylish gown may be decidedly unhecom-
ing, Some women look well in anything.
They are fortunate beings, and should be
thankful. There are other women who
think they look well in anything, while,
as a matter of fact, nothing looks well on
them. These are to be pitied, and if some
kind friend could influence their selections,
and in a quiet. way impart to them the
knowledge that it requires some little care
and judgment to select becoming gowns, it
would redound to their benefit.
Perhaps the general run of women show
worse taste in hats and bonnets than in
anything else. Goodness knows, they
spend enough time in the millinery shops
‘trying on” hats to make a desirable
choice, but it seems that fashion rules there
with a scepter that is not to be disregarded.
Someone says that a hat pushed away down
over the nose is the proper thing, and im-
mediately all hats are pushed down, no
matter whether the position makes frights
of the wearers or not. Fashion is a power-
ful ruler, but the advice of one who has
made a study of the subject is to be inde-
pendent, without being odd.
Is it a short -
/
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