Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 14, 1896.
WHO PLANTS A TREE.
He who plants a tree
Plants a hope.
Rootlets up through fibers blindly grope :
Leaves unfold into horizons free.
So man’s life must climb
From the c¢lods of time
Unto heavens sublime.
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
-What the glory of thy boughs shall be.
He who plants a tree
Plants a joy ;
Plants a comfort that will never cloy.
Every day a fresh reality,
Beautiful and strong,
To whose shelter throng
Creatures blithe with song.
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee !
He who plants a tree,
He plants peace ;
Under its green curtains jargons cease,
Iseaf and zephyr murmar soothingly ;
Shadows soft with sleep .
Down tired eyelids creep,
Balm of slumber deep.
Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be.
x * * *
He who plants a tree,
He plants love ; *
Tents of coolness spreading out ahove
Wayfarers he may not live to see.
Gifts that grow are best :
Hands that bless are blest.
Plant—life does the rest.
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,
And his work it: own reward shall be.
—ZLuey Larcom.
SANDY'S PLUCK.
Sandy MacFabin’s parents, with a num-
ber of their companions, were murdered in
the year 1766 by the Indians. The unforu-
nate settlers were on their way from Con-
necticut to a new settlement in the Hamp-
shire grants, where they had already pur-
chased lands. :
Only four of the party escaped—a Mr.
Murkland and his wife, their infant daugh-
ter, Affie, and Sandy. whom Mr. Murk-
land found lying under a log, badly wound-
ed and hugging tight in his arms his fath-
er’s last gift, his puppy, Boone.
Though their stock was driven off, their
goods were untouched, and a large sum of
money belonging to Sandy’s father was
found undisturbed, leaving Sandy very
rich—for those times.
Sandy, who was a boy of uncommon in-
telligence and bravery, lived with Mr.
Murkland until 1771. He was then 15
years old, large, strong and well disposed,
in spite of the fact that he had his time
much as he pleased. Money then, as now,
made a difference in the treatment of boys
who had it. He roamed the woods all day
with Boone and his gun, returning at night
to pet and caress the little Affie, on whom
he seemed to have bestowed the entire af-
fection of his orphaned heart.
It became known that Sandy’s money
was kept in Mr. Murkland’s cabin, and
one night the cabin was broken into and
an attempt was made to steal the gold.
The worry that this gave Mr. Murkland de-
termined Sandy to take care of his property
himself, and though Mr. Murkland had al-
ready allowed the boy to take up his fath-
er’s land and had helped to build his cab-
in he objected to his taking the money, the
new cabin being at a considerable distance
from the older settlement.
“You needn’t worry about it,”’ was
Sandy’s sturdy reply. “I’m not going to
keep my money in the cabin. I have got
a place for it that no living man can find.”
This ended Mr. Murkland’s objections,
and Sandy was moved with all his belong-
ings to his own cabin.
About the time of the breaking in of Mr.
Murkland’s cabin there came to the place
one Hub Hanson, who immediately at-
tached himself to Sandy, hunting and trap-
ping constantly with him. He had do fami-
ly, but he had a numerous following of both
English and Indians, which drew great:
prejudice upon him.
People grew suspicious of him and ex-
pressed their suspicions to Sandy, but all
that the boy said was, ‘‘If Hanson is after
that money, he’ll have to hunt for it.”
Contrary to Mr. Murkland’s hopes, San-
dy made little progress in clearing up his
land. Most of his time was spent in hunt-
ing and trapping ; yet he had some notion
of improvements, for during the winter he
had busied himself evenings in scooping
out a cellar underneath his cabin floor.
While thus occupied he discovered by the
falling in of some loose stones and dirt a
small natural cave.
Taking a torch, he followed its zigzag
course for what seemed to him a long dis-
tance, coming suddenly out, much to his
astonishment, between two immense bould-
ers.
“My, but this is a queer find !”’ he ejac-
ulated, hastily backing in to conceal his
torch, for bubbling from between the rocks
not more than two feet from where he had
come out was the very spring into whose
friendly mud he had consigned the box con-
taining his money.
‘Faith !”” muttered the boy as he hur-
ried back to remove all traces of his work,
“I'll take precious, care that Hanson
don’t find out that I've been digging a cel-
lar.”
As spring opened rumors of Indian
depredations reached the settlement, and
the blockhouse in the middle of it became
the scene of many an anxious discussion
among the inhabitants for their mutual
safety. It was whispered that renegade
Englishmen usually led these attacks, and
Sandy, though he said nothing to his mates
about it, took it upon himself to watch
Hub Hanson. In spite of the watching,
however, he and all his followers suddenly
disappeared.
This happened about the middle of June
The next day after their mysterious flight
Sandy returned from a long tramp over
the common hunting and trapping ground.
His usually impassive face was clothed and
anxious, for not a trace of the man’s where-
abouts could be found.
After finishing his supper and raking up
his fire he said, taking down his gun,
‘Boone, we’ve got to go over to the settle-
ment, for Hanson has gone off for no goed,
and the folks must be told.”” As he closed
the door after him he murmured, ‘‘there
ought to be scouts out, and I'll offer my-
self to go as one to hunt the wretches away
from here.”’
Sandy had gone no more than 50 rods in
the now rapidly darkening woods when he
was suddenly surrounded by the very
wretches of whom he had heen speaking.
“They’re bound for the settlement !”
flashed immediately throngh his mind.
The next instant the half circle of men and |
boys in front of him was knocked into con- |
fusion by a powerful blow from the butt of
his gun, and he had bounded far in front
of them.
‘Stop him!” shouted one, and added
immediately after.
all in good English.
But scores of arrows chipped among the
trees as Sandy fled for his cabin, intent on
leading the chase away from the settle-
ment, It was a race, swift and noiseless,
but one befeathered wretch bounded into
the cabin side by side with Sandy, saying
in broken English as he shut and’ bolted
the door after them.
*‘Y ou—my—prisoner ?’’
“Ho! Am I, Hub Hanson?’ was San-
dy’s quick retort.
“Waugh ! Waugh !”
Sandy’s blood was up. His long famil-
iarity with Hub Hanson had bred contempt
for him, and now that he had caught him
in a false position his anger and contempt
blazed above his fear. ‘You may ‘waugh
waugh’ and paint yourself as much as
you’re a mind to you sneaking tory,” he
cried, ‘‘but you’ll never be half as decent
as a redskin !”’
Angered at the scathing denunciation,
Hanson threw off all attempt at disguise.
“Well, then, as you know me so well,”’
he said coolly ‘‘perhaps you can tell what
I want of you?”
“You want the money you failed to get
when you broke into Mr. Murkland’s
house, more than a year and a half ago!”
‘Sho, .now ! Then light up’’—advanc-
ing and kicking open the smouldering
coals—‘‘and get it. You’d better be spry
if you want te eep your skin whole, for I
can’t keep those dandies out there waiting
very long.”’
“My skin isn’t whole now,’’ retorted
Sandy, possessing himself of his towel and
winding it around his hand to stanch the
flow of blood there, ‘for an arrow nas gone
through my hand.”
‘‘Hae? That’s bad. Then tell me where
your pitch knots are, and I’Il light one.”
That was just what Sandy wanted, and
while Hanson was rummaging for the knots
he glided to the trapdoor. Leaping into
the cavity he closed the trap softly after
him, and the next moment he was feeling
his way rapidly through his ‘“‘queer find.”
“There,” he muttered as he emerged in-
to the open air, ‘‘you may hunt now, and
I'll get to the settlement without your
help.”
When he reached Mr. Murkland’s cabin
he was surprised to find it filled with
women and children, and amid sobs, ejacu-
lations of pity and incoherent explanations
ble finish to the desperate condition of af-
fairs— Affie was lost.
She had strayed from the other children
while they were up in the ‘‘stump piece’
strawberrying, and the men had gone up
the mountain with torches looking for her.
There w=3 not a moment to be lost.
The boy told them that the Indians were
coming, adding, raising his voice above the
cries of alarm : ‘‘Get to the block-house !
Give the alarm to everybody, and then get
in as fast as you can !”’
For a moment, as the last figure disap-
peared in the darkness, the poor boy stood
as if stunned listening to the sobs of Mrs.
Murkland, still crouched upon the floor too
overcome by her loss to heed aught else.
A sudden swish was heard outside, and
the next instant Boone leaped through the
open door to his master’s shoulder. A
thankful cry that his dog was not killed,
as he feared, a passionate kiss on the big,
ugly face upturned to his, and Sandy had
recovered from his boyish panic. ‘
Turning to Mrs. Murkland, he said, shak-
ing her sharply by the shoulder. ‘Get up
and get me something to write with !”’
The 1 gr women arose with a dazed,
scared look on her face at the unusual tone
of command in the boy’s voice, butin a
moment she brought him what he wanted.
‘Now get me Mr. Murkland’s red silk
handkerchief and a shoe of Affie’s.”
She obeyed, the energy in his tone com-
pelling her, without question, and Sandy
knelt before the fire, resting the coarse pa-
per on the towel bandage of his wounded
left hand and making with a goosequill pen
the tortured pothooks that had cost Mrs.
Murkland so much teaching :
Indians! Put on your torches! All in the
blockhouse. Give Boone Affie’s shoe. Come to
the trench trapdoor. Saxby.
Giving the handkerchief a rub across
Boone's nose, Sandy proceeded to secure
the note and shoe in its folds, talking to
the intelligent old fellow the while, and at
the word ““Go !”’ he bounded out into the
darkness. :
The blockhouse was built by the first
settlers who came to the place, and their
cabins were clustered around it. Sandy
was relieved to find that Mrs. Murkland
and himself were the last to enter it.
Even those living farthest had come in.
Everything was in the most pitiable con-
fusion. No one—though every gun in the
place was brought in—had thougnt of mak-
ing any defense, :
“This won’t do!’ thought the brave
boy who was trying to save the settlement,
and his voice presently rang out over the
din, ‘‘Every man and boy that can bear a
gun, come to the roof with me !’
As he reached the roof he saw a light
which he knew was that of his burning
cabin, and though he at first intended to
consult with the few old men, that sight
put everything out of his mind, except the
protection of the women and children and
the immediate steps'to be taken.
By tacit consent, though he was one of
the youngest there, Sandy took command.
He assigned every man, gun and boy to
a special place until every loophole was
manned. Then, leaving the old men on
the roof, Sandy appealed to the women for
help. :
“‘There,”’ said heas he ranged them on
the wide, flat stone covering the mouth of
the trench, which, as in most of the block-
houses of that period, led undergound to a
secret opening within the settlement out-
side. “You must keep a sharp lookout
that none but our friends get in, for the
Indians will surely find the trench.’
The boy realizing the great necessity for
silence, muttered Br to himself as
he made his way to the loophole in a large
plank door, ‘Now, the poor things can’t
cry for listening.”’
There followed half an hour of the most
horrible waiting. This was the first time
since the alarm that Sandy had had to think.
All of the ablebodied men were gone.
They and his dear little Affie were proba-
bly murdered ere now.
The cold ‘sweat broke over his trembling
body as he thought of the responsibility
resting upon him, and smothering in the
bandage of his wounded hand his mortal
cry for help, he sank upon the stone floor,
where he prayed as one prays seldom in a
life time.
Sandy arose, calmed and strengthened,
and it was well that he was so, for almost
immediately the man on the roof an-
nounced in a hoarse, shaking whisper as he
leaned over the opening, “Indians among
the cabins !”
The only way by which their presence
could be detected was by the alternate shin-
ing and darkening though the open doors
and windows of the hearth fires of the
“Don’t shoot him !"”
he learned to his dismay what put a terri-
suddenly abandoned cabins as the Indians
moved about rummaging for spoils.
Though some of the cabins were within
easy range of the loopholes, Sandy com-
manded ‘‘No firing I’ for fear of bringing
on the attack. It was better to watch and
wait, for he well appreciated how fearfully
inadequate his few old men, women and
children were to cope with their cruel foe.
Sandy judged rightly that the door
would be the principal point of attack, and
when the fires were put out in the cabins,
and silence reigned, he knew that the
enemy were coming.
A sudden shuffling of stealthy feet was
heard outside, and the boy fired. There
was a stnmble, a fall, and Sandy saw the
white end of a log roll over in the path.
“The idiots don’t know that I can see
the white end of their log,”” muttered he,
as he dodged back to reload. The spatter
of bullets and arrows for a few minutes
was fearful, and when he next dared to
look out, the white edge of the huge bhat-
tering ram was perilously near the door, he-
ing borne with a rush for the blow.
Sandy’s next shot, aimed just above the
white end, told with fearful effect. There
was a shriek in mingled voices, and the log
swayed and fell, followed by the sound of
retreating feet and dragging bodies, as the
wounded were horne away.
The attack had now become general, the
bullets and arrows flying through every
loophole, till no man dared take aim, but
Sandy, by poising his gun through the
leophole at about the angle of his last aim,
managed, for the whole hour of rapid firing
to prevent another attempt to break in the
door.
The withdrawal—after the manner of In-
dian warfare, to take counsel and arrange
for a more effective attack—Ileft the occu-
pants of the blockhouse in a dazed silence
by its very suddenness, but Sandy, who
was the first to recover, had commenced to
call the names to find if any were killed or
wounded, when he was interrupted by a
sharp whisper of alarm from the women at
the trapdoor, ‘Sandy, there’s somebody in
the trench :”’
Sandy hurried to the place, and placing
his mouth close to the edge of the stone
asked in a clear, ringing tone, ‘‘Who's
there 2”?
‘‘Murkland, Sandy,’’ came back.
Then the shrill voice of a child cried un-
mistakably : ‘Mother ! Mother, let me in!
| but we did, and then we started, single file |
Affie’s comed back !”’ |
Instantly the heavy flat stone was re- |
moved, and the next moment Affie was sob-
bing out her fright and grief in her mother’s |
arms. :
Each man answered to his name as Sandy
helped him clamber up, and thank |
heaven, they were all there ! |
The last to come up was Boone, the good
dog, who bounded in with an ugly growl
that meant mischief.
‘Indians, Boone?” asked Sandy in-
stinctively reaching out his hand to the |
dog’s bristling back.
‘Quick, men! Put back the stone !”’
A savage yell from the baffled Indians
beneath told how narrow had been their
escape as the stone slid to its place.
Without a moment’s hesitation the stone
was filled to its very edges by the women
and older girls, for they knew that the at-
tack was renewed and that the men must
be left free to use the guns.
There was no time to change leaders,
even had any wished it, nor to inquire for the
wounded—though it was known that none
were yet killed—for the roof sentinel was
already descending the ladder, shouting,
‘‘They’re on the roof !”’ ;
‘Pull down the ladder !’’ rang out San-
dy’s voice, ‘‘and stand where you are !”’
Calling rapidly by name a number of the
returned men, he bade them form a circle
around the opening, and in like manner an
outer circle was formed with the remainder,
himself among the latter.
“Fire at the first sound,’’ he said, ‘‘then
jump back to load, and we’ll take your
places.”
The opening, not more than eight feet
from the ground, was large enough to ad-
mit six or eight bodies, and the Indians’
probable intention was to make a rush, but
the rush was met by a concentrated fire
from beneath with terrible effect.
Following the terrible death screams
which told of the awful work of the guns |
as the bodies fell, gasping their last on the |
stone floor, there came a deafening report |
from the roof, and a score of bullets bat-
tered and glanced upon the stones. The |
men, recognizing the danger from the |
glancing bullets, bounded into a wider cir-
cle, but returned with their deadly fire at
every attempt of the infuriated Indians to
make an entrance. Though the conflict
carried on there in the dark was short, it
was fearful. Many of the men were
wounded and were rapidly weakening from.
the loss of blood. But even after the re-:
treat was sounded from the roof, they were
left with the horrors of the conflict, in the
heap of dead . and dying Indians. No one
had the heart to fire into the groaning mass
to dispatch_the sufferers. Nothing could |
be done with them but to watch and see
that they did not crawl away, and this they
did, the men taking turns in going to the
women to have ‘their wounds bandaged
with strips torn from their gowns and |
aprons. |
They had not long, however, to work in |
the dark, for a light suddenly streaked up.
| ships have been busy all summer hauling
| $85,000,000, and since June 1st, 1895, no
All firing had ceased, for the Indians,
feeling sure of their victims, had with-
drawn toa convenient distance to enjoy
the torture they were inflicting.
But what was that! Sandy raised his
head, and an unmistakable spatter of rain
struck his face.
“Will it come?” he gasped as his eyes
caught the distant flash of lightning. Ah,
here it comes ! The dark rainclouds, pierced
by swords of vivid lightning, emptied their
welcome contents down upon the devoted
little band.
They were saved. Aye, and better than
they knew, for when the rain had passed
they found that the superstitious savages
had fled from the terrific storm, *fearing
they had offended the Great Spirit. :
The settlers found their way to Bradford
in the morning, where they obtained help
to bury the dead and care for the wounded
and got much needed provisions.
The next year found their cabins re-
built—the older boys taking the places of
their slain fathers—and Sandy with his
money establishing a trading post—the
first store in the township.
None ever tired telling of the part Boone
took in saving them, and Mr. Murkland,
though seriously wounded, lived to tell it
many times ,always assisted by Affie, who
bad the most unbounded love for the old
fellow.
“You see,”” he would say, we went right
up through those woods to the back stump
piece thinking she had got bewildered with
the woods all around her, and that in her
first fright when she found herself alone she
would just as quick goto the mountain.
We'd been calling her name and waving
our torches for an hour. I should think,
and had got back down into the hollow be-
»
The Vatican.
Marion Crawford Describes the Great Papal Palace
—The Visitor Comes Out of It with a Sense of Hav-
ing Been Walking in a Labyrinth—The Atmosphere
of the Place
To the average stranger ‘‘the Vatican’
suggests only the museum of sculpture, the
picture-galleries, the Loggie. He re-
members besides the objects of art which
he has seen, the fact of hat¥g walked a
great distance through straight corridors,
up and down short flights of marble steps,
and through irregularly shaped halls. If
he had any idea of the points of the com-
pass when he entered, he is completely con-
fused in five minutes, and comes out at
last with the sensation of having been
walking in a labyrinth. He will find it
hard to give any one an impression of the
sort of building in which he has heen, and
certainly he cannot have any knowledge of
the topographical relations of its parts.
Yet in his passage through the museums
and galleries he has seen but a very small
part of the ‘whole, and, excepting when in
the Loggie, he probably could not
once have stood still and pointed in the di-
rection of the main part of the palace.
In order to speak even superfically of it
all, it is indispensable to classify its parts
in some way. Vast and irregular it is at
two ends, toward the colonnade and toward
the bastions of the city, but the interven-
ing stretch consists of two perfectly parall-
el buildings, each over 350 yards long,
about R80 yards apart, and yoked in the
middle by the Braccio Nuovo of the muse-
um and a part of the library, so as to inclose
two vast courts, the one known as the Bel-
vedere,—not to be confused with the Bel-
vedere in the museum,—and the other call-
tween the mountain and strawberry hill
when Boone hounded in among us.
“Iknew the handkerchief, and I tell you |
it wa'n’t many seconds before the
torches were out and the shoe thrust into
Boone’s mouth. Boone bounded off, leav-
ing us standing there like men of stone. ;
But that trace of stunned misery saved |
us a deal of anxious worry, for we heard |
Boone bark and the next minute Affie’s |
scream. {
‘I haven’t any idea how we got to them |
—though it wasn’t more than forty rods— |
for the blockhouse. I had Affie in my |
arms, and I tell you it was awful, stumb- |
| ling along there in the dark. Boone kept |
in front, and by dint of whining and brush- |
ing against the leading man’s legs he kept |
us going straight. But the progress was
slow, and we all got many a tumble, until |
once, when the leader went down, accident- |
ally he caught hold of Boone's tail. |
“The old fellow made no attempt to get
away—and each man taking hold of his |
neighbor we were led silently and swiftly |
to the trench. i
“Yes,,” he would finish, ‘‘when the
struggle for freedom came, Sandy went into |
the continental army, and it was there
that he saw Hub Hanson suffer his just
doom at the end of a rope for having led |
the Indians on our settlement in ’71. |
—Emile Egan in Romance.
A Lesson from Statistics.
Figures which Show a Loss of $500,000,000 to the
American Farmer within four years.—Who Has that |
Money ? |
The total value of all cereals, tobacco
and cotton grown in the United states in
1891 was $2,539,434,676.
The total value of these same products |
grown in 1895 was $1,810,712,527. !
This shows a shrinkage in values of farm
crops in 1895 under those of 1891 of $728 -
721,949. (Crop values and farm values
have been steadily shrinking since 1873.)
The cost of labor, taxes insurance, intei-
est, repairs, etc., were nearly as great. in
1895 as in 1891, so there must be a loss of
at least $500,000,000 to the American far- |
mer in the year 1895. Now, we want to
know who has that money ?
By a careful study of statistics, native
and foreign, we learn that nearly all the
governments, and national and private
banks of Europe, have been increasing their
stock of gold, in the aggregate a sum not
less than $250,000,000; that the English
exchequer is full and running over, that
the profits of Great Britian alone from her
foreign trade was $250,000,000 greater last
year than in previous years, that she is
spending $109,000,000 of this sum in battle |
ships and naval armaments, and that steam-
gold out of the United States.
000 in eleven months. .
Much complaint comes to us from all
parts of this country of a great scarcity of
money ; crops are abundant but prices
very low : many of the exchanges of the
people are being carried on by barter, by
trading eggs and butter for sugar and cof-
fee, fruits and «vegetables for boots and cal-
icoes ; and it is a well-known fact that
there was withdrawn from circulation dur-
ing the first six months of the present year
($74,000,-
less a sum than $154.,000.000.
Therefore, in behalf of the farmers of the
United States, who are great suffers of the
above conditions, we demand to know
WHO HAS THAT MONEY ?
We want those $500,000,000 accounted
for, and we want Our Folks to help us find
way, as that of St.
ed the Garden of the Pigna, from the bronze
pine cone which stands at one end of it.
Across these parallel buildings, and to- |
| ward the city, a huge pile is erected, about
two hundred yards long, very irregular,
and containing the papal residence and the
apartments of several cardinals, the Sistine
Chapel, the Pauline Chapel, the Borgia
Tower, the Stanze and Loggie of Raphael,
and the courts of St Damascus. At the
other end of the paralellogram are grouped
the equally irregular but more beautiful
buildings of the old museum, of which the
windows look out over the walls of the city,
and which originally received the name of
Belvedere on account of the lovely view.
This is said to have been a sort of summer- |
house of the Borgia, not then connected |
with the palace by the long galleries.
It would be a hopeless and a weary task
to attempt to, trace the history of the build-
ings. The Pope’s private apartments oc-
cupy the eastern wing of the part built
round the court of St. Damascus ; that is
to say, they are at the extreme .end of the
Vatican, nearest the city, and over the col-
onade, and the windows of the Pope’s rooms
are visible from the square.
which rises above the columus to the right
of St. Peter's is only a small part of the
whole palace, but is not the most modern
by any means. It contains, for iustance,
the Sistine Chapel, which is considerably
older than the present church, having been
built by Sistus IV, whose beautiful bronze
monument is in the Chapel of the Sacra-
ment. Itcontains, too, Raphael’s Stanze, or
halls, and Bramante’s famous Loggie, the
beautiful architecture of which is a frame
for some of Raphael’s hest work.
But any good guide-book will furnish all
such information, which it would be fruit-
less to give in such a paper as this. In the
pages of Murray the traveler will find, set
down in order and accurately, the ages, the
dimensions, and the exact positions
of all the part of the building, with the
names of the famous artists who decorated
each. He will not find set down there,
however, what one may call the atmosphere
of the place which is something as peculiar
and unforgetable, though in a different
Peter’s.
development of churchmen’s adininistration
to an ultimate limit in the high centre of
churchmanism. No doubt there was much
of that sort of thing in various parts of Eu-
rope long ago, and in England before Hen-
The vast mass |
It is quite
unlike anything else, for it is a part of the
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. a
|
| Many women believe that the fine com-
| plexions which Irish girls are noted for are
| due to the potato and milk diet on which
| they thrive in the Emerald Isle. A recent
| bride lived for some months before the
| wedding day on milk and potatoes alone.
| This she did to ensure a dazzling red and
| white complexion for the momentous
| church ceremony. The end was accom-
| plished ; she was really radiant in her
white satin and lace veil.
For women desiring to get a gown on
their return from their summer's stay they
will find they have made no mistake in
| getting tweed, cheviot, shepherd’s plaid or
| a silk and wool mixture.
New skirts for autumn wear have their
fullness flowing farther to the back and
sides and the front less flaring.
J
Platonic friendship can never exist where
the woman is anxious for the admiration of
the man.
Lawns and hatistes are almost a dog day
madness. They are considered elegant
| enough for any wear. At the same time it
| may be observed that their part is rather
| that of a transparency through which the
| color of a taffeta is intended to shimmer
and cool.
|
| “
| For the summer girl who elects for sim-
i ple styles, the open tailor-made jacket,
i double-breasted pique vest, and five-yard
untrimmed skirt are selected as being close
| to the regulation masculine severity of
| style. The inevitably plainly handed
! sailor hat is then en suite.
| An invalid’s room should be neat and
nicely appointed, but for obvious reasons it
| ought not to be clustered up with a super-
fluity of trifles. The collection of vases
rand small objects which need constant
| dusting is not appropriate in a room where
fuss and fidget must be avoided. Vials and
| bottles, glasses, cups and spoons and the
| imposing paraphernalia of illness should
‘equally be kept out of sight in the invalid’s
apartment. A few flowers, a book or two,
‘an easy chair and the atmosphere of use, of
comfort and of tranquility should pervade
the chamber where pain indeed must be
borne, but where patience often reigns, and
whigh is to be regarded, not as the prison
cell of illness, but as a way station on the
highroad to health.
Many of the most fashionable sleeves are
now tight from the wrist to at least a cou-
| ple of inches above the elbow. Above this
point the arrangement of drapery seems to
be optional.
| Eighteen new young women law students
|of New York have been admitted to the
(bar. Of these Mrs. Julia A. Wilson and
| Miss Ruth N. White have very promising
| careers.
—
A dentist, who was doing some work
| upon a woman's teeth the other day, was
| complained to by her about the peculiar
| sensitiveness she felt in them of late. ‘‘It
{is always so,”’ he replied, ‘‘during the
| Summer months, when one is eating more
i acids in fruits and salads. The teeth are
continually ‘on edge’ as it were. It 1s a
good thing to clean them frequently with
| powdered chalk, and to rinse out the mouth
| with lime water. I know of no better way
| of counteracting the action of the acids upon
the lime of the teeth. And unless you do
i something of this sort you will find that
(the teeth will be very perceptibly eaten
into.”
|
|
Undoubtedly the pompadour is the fash-
| ionable mode of dressing the hairat pres-
{ ent, and this style, being simple, and pull-
I'ed back from the face, is certainly as com-
| fortable looking as itis pretty. To pro-
: perly dress the hair a la pompadour make
ry VIII, and it is to be found in a small | & part from behind the tip of the ear up
degree in Vienna to thisday, where the tra- | Over the head, about a span from the fore-
ditions of the Holy Roman Empire are not | head at the top to the tip of the other ear,
quite dead. It is hard to define it, but it | and all this hair—nearly half the head—is
isin everything ; in the uniforms of the | the pompadour. This is washed at least
attendants, in their old-fashioned faces, in | tWice a week, though the rest need only be
the spotless cleanliness of all the Vatican— | Washed once a month. It is all combed
though no one is ever seen handling a | down over the face in manipulating ;
broom—in the noiselessly methodical man- | every morning it is soaked with colagne,
ner of doing everything that is to be done, | bay rum or any perfume that is not sticky
in the scholarly rather than scientific ar-: When drying ; it is fluffed with the comb
rangement of the objects in the museum | till dry, and then fluffed more. The fluff-
and galleries—above all, in the visitor’s | iDg is done in the sunshine if possible ;
own sensations. | if not, by fire heat. The back knot is
No one talks loudly among the statutes | Made, then the pompadour is combed
of the Vaticon, and there is a feeling of be- down over the face and turned back.
ing in church, so that one is disagreeably | This makes a soft loose roll ; the comb
shocked when a guide conducting a party | adjusts it so the forward combing of the
of tourists, occasionally raises his voice in | under part does not show ; part of the
order tobe heard. Itisall very hard to | central lock is allowed to fall loosely on
define, while it is quite impossible to escape | the forehead in its turn back, or this one
feeling it, and it must ultimately be due | lock may be cut. :
to the dominating influence of the | The result is becoming tothe oldest and
churchmen, who arrange the whole place | the youngest face, emphasizing the eyes
as though it were a church. An American | and bringing the forehead line in har-
lady, on hearing that the Vatican contains | mony. Thisstyle of hair best suits a. cer-
eleven thousand rooms, threw up her hands | tain simplicity of gowning, and positively
and laughingly exclaimed, ‘Think of the must take high collaring of the throat.
housemaids !” But there are no housemaids | The entire oval of the face should be out-
in the Vatican, and perhaps the total ab- | lined, the collar line completing in front
which was immediately followed by the | Out what has become of them and how they
cry, ‘‘They’re firing the cabins !”?
“My God !” cried Sandy, snatching the |
half wound bandage from his now badly
wounded right arm, ‘‘they’re going to
burn us!”
Through the commotion that followed
his alarmed cry he saw his error in thus
raising a panic, and like the brave heart
that he was he commanded kindly but
firmly, ‘‘Each keep his place.’
‘We'll have to go to the roof, men,’’ he
added, “all but those at the loopholes.”
‘‘Probably. said Sandy, as they reached
the roof and were crouching behind . the
low breastwork, ‘‘while we were fighting
the wretches on the roof others were piling
brush around the blockhouse, and we must
prevent their setting it afire.”’
It was an awful thing to do, plainly visi-
ble to the Indians as they would be from
the lights of the burning cabins, but the
dread alternative braced each man to his
duty. For it was found to he as Sandy
had said, and worse, since the trenches had
been filled with straw, from the beds.
‘Going to smoke us out!’ muttered
Sandy as he made this discovery.
The men fought with the madness of de-
spair. Many fell mortally wounded, and
yet those who still stood rallied again and
again to repel the attempts from different
directions to set fire to the brush.
But all was to no purpose against so
many foes. Presently the brush was burn-
ing in a dozen places. To add if possible
to the horror of the situation, the women
and children at the first sight of the flames
cane screaming to the roof.
The scene was awful. Screams of an-
guish rose incessantly as one after another
discovered father, son or brother dead,
wounded or dying. Then a voice rose in
prayer, and they all sank down, subduing
their sobs and cries and bowing to the very
roof —to pray and to wait.
. Down goes the Carpenter,
| may be recovered.
Possibly the Corner in Gold has some-
thing to do with it! If the farmer’s crops,
when they came to be sold were measured
by the gold London Shylock owns, might
this not be the reason the price is so low ?
The dollar now seems to be able to buy two
bushels of wheat instead of one ; soon it
will buy three bushels. As Shylock tigh-
tens his grip on gold, which measures prop-
erty, down goes the price of crops, and
Down goes the Farm.
Down goes the Farmer,
Down goes the Merchant,
Down goes the Manufacturer,
Down goes the Laborer,
Down goes the Doctor,
Down goes the Blacksmith,
Down goes the poor Debtor,
Down goes Independence,
Down goes Liberty,
Down goes the Flag,
Down goes everybody else and every-
thing else but the Dollar and—London |
Shylock. ;
Once more, we demand to Know
WHO HAS THAT MONEY ?—From the
Philadelphia Farm Journal. |
A Dissenter.
“The voice of the people,’’ said the man
' who was aching to talk ahout the coming
election, ‘‘the voice of the people is the
voice of God.”’
‘Beg pardon ?”’
‘Rats, I said ; r-a-t-s, rats.
home player out at third a few times and |
then you will know how much ice the
voice of the people cuts. Yes.” .
EE
——Jerusalem has 60,000 Jows.
sence of even the humblest feminine influ-
ence has something to do with the austere
impression which everything produces.—
“The Vatican,” by F. Marion Crawford, in
the August Century.
—1It is interesting to observe the sym-
pathy of Wall street for the workingman.
Wall street is awfully afraid the restoration
of silver will greatly benefit the monyed |
| view the outlining the hair makes to the
‘ears, and some modifications of the stock
and fall of lace at the neck is the most
‘suitable. A properly cared for pompadour
, should need no curling or crimping, should
| be silky, gleaming and soft, and show all
| the best points of the hair for color and
| texture.
| ——
| Is the American woman getting taller?
people by cutting down the wages of labor, This question, always interesting, is being
and Wall street is so considerate of the | Put again upon the carpet at seaside places,
poor workingman who under the gold | where fair Summer girls are vieing with
standard is loaded down with the gold he | each other to be considered athletic—that
receives in payment of his high wages, that | attribute upon which their grandmothers
it is doing its level best to keep him. from | looked with undisguised horror in ‘her
rushing off with the ‘silver craze,” Wall | Young days.
street's heart bleeds when it looks and sees | Everything tends to show that the eal-
the working people sacrificing themselves | ly up-to-date girl is mightily interested in
to the money power—in advocating a doub- her fine physique. Witness the myriads of
le standard even after heing warned by machines of all makes and descriptions to
| Wall street that silver is not for the interest | be found where the ocean wave rolls in, all
| of which propose to tell the American girl
- me | how tall she stands in her stockings i bow
gai {much to a fraction she weighs before
—= good deal has Toon said abent ithe | breakfast, before lunch and before dinner ;
abject condition of Mexico under the silver | haw nnoh che Tos gained and lost to the
os ann relly equal in 3, protective | minutest part of an inch when she donned
tariff against English importations of 100 her natty bathing suit and entered the
per cent ; how about Egypt? Egypt is | brine:
of the poor but of the rich.
under the single gold standard, and if the |
logic is correct, Egypt ought to be a pros- |
| perous country in which the working peo-
| ple go about loaded down with the gold
they get for wages. But do they ?
‘Rats !”” said the man he had cornered. ——Thomas Jefferson was denounced as
| the most notorious anarchist of his time,
Just wait | and Andrew Jackson was hated by the
until you have been compelled to decide a | money power
——XNow see that your blood is pure.
Good health follows the use of Hood’s Sar-
| saparilla which is the one great blood puri-
fier.
‘Whether women are growing taller or
not,”” ‘‘is of minor importance. The real
| question is, Are they growing stronger ?
Do they hold themselves hetter than they
did in the good old times ?”’
* Luckily for the American girl this ques-
tion can easily be answered in the affirma-
tive. The great impetus given to the study
of physical training for girls has really
opened the way fora deep reform, and
actually set hosts of young women in
| search for the perfect heauty of develop-
ment which is more pleasing to the eye
than any amount of mere charm of
face.