rs n PRE TTI] .
Peworradic: Wad,
Beltefonte, Pa., Oct. 23, 1896.
PAX VOBISCUM.
GRACE DUFFIELD GOODWIN,
When I die, shall I dream
Of my radiant hopes all agleam,
Of the sunlight that touched the brown depths of
my stream?
When I die, shall I grieve
For the dear, bending faces I leave,
For the close-tangling meshes of love that they
weave ?
Ah, not so,
Let them go—
Hope, joy, even love that I know,
Best of all the calm feeling
Of rest that is stealing
Thro’ soul-fibres strained with the burdens we
bear.
Just to be very still—
Void of will ;
Just to lie like a stone,
. Hours alone ;
With no knowledge of Heaven, no thought and no
prayer,
With this blessed new frecdom from being,
From willing and doing and seeing,
From loving and hoping and sighing;
Done even the last act of dying;
Of all things bereft;
Nothing left—
Not even the need to draw breath,—
This, this is the resting of Death.
—Harper’s Bazrr.,
THE FUGITIVE OF TEZCO.
BY EDGAR MAYHEW BACON.
I pushed through the thicket of forest
undergrowth cautiously, and paused to
take breath only when I had crossed the
roots that bridged the morass of the Callio.
Hidden in the shadows of a wood so
dense that the eye could hardly penetrate
a hundred feet, I yet could imagine I heard
those shouts of my pursuers which had
urged me to almost superhuman speed two
hours before.
“Down with Arroya ! Seize the rebel !”’
When such greetings as these are punctua-
ted with a patter of rifle-balls one natur-
ally feels cold, even in such a warm clim-
ate as that of our republic of Tezco. He
forgets that he is wounded, and that the
hastily applied bandage does not prevent
the spilling of some precious blood drops
along the way, to decorate the leaves of the
plantain and stain the bayonets of the
prickly-pear. The cactus thorns are sharp,
and the vines are all atangle with cruel
fingers that tear and wound, as my scarred
hands and tattered clothes could testify ;
but then—DMonez was much more cruel,
and the steel of his followers much sharper.
His followers! Even asI ran for my
life I could not forbear a smile at the grim
jest which made Monez’s followers mine
for the time.
I thirsted, but I did not dare to turn
aside for any spring or watercourse, nor to
linger except to get breath. The foot-hills
with their refuge in the old Indian silver-
caves, were before me, and must be reached
before nightfall.
This was not exactly what I had pictured
to myself as the result of the day’s advent-
ure, but it was the fortune of war, and
must be endured. No doubt they were
quite right when they termed me a traitor
and a rebel, for soI was. But if any at-
tack and desperate effort to displace Monez
and reach the presidential chair had been
successful—as it almost was—I should
have been hero and conqueror and libera-
tor, and all the other fine names which we
Spaniards know so well how to bestow up-
on a fortunate general.
I did not blame Monez at all. Naturally
he did not like to have a trusted general
turn his troops against him and strike for
the presidency. It was like a bolt out of
a clear sky.
That was a brief revolution even for this
land, where no one hurries ordinarily, but
where passion puts into men’s blood the
sudden energy of a panther. How often
we have laughed at the impotent fussing
and fuming of Northerners who have vis-
ited us, as they have been met at every
turn of business with the suave, leisurely
‘‘Mangna, Senor.” But if they stay long
enough and outlive one of our revolutions
they find that we sometimes catch up with
to-morrow in a very surprising and energet-
ic way.
These things I thought over as I ran—
not swiftly : the tangled vines and masses
of fern and roots did not allow of anything
like that. My ancestry is Indian as well
as Spanish, and the ability to run all day
without exhaustion is a proverbial trait ;
but with a wound, and in the basin of the
Callio! One must sce that ground to ap-
preciate it. I passed a stream, sluggish and
dark, into which the alligators slid from
the wet banks. I had to search sometime
for a log on which to cross ; a serpent was
enjoying his siesta there, and rather than
disturb him I sought a second one. Great
red orchids brightened up the gloom of the
rank foliage like flames. On the other side
of the stream I found a wild orange-tree,
and drank its bitter juice as I ran. Itisa
rare tonic. I remember too that a flock of
parrots began to scream after me, for I had
disturbed them in that repose which all
tropical things, except the insects, enjoy at
noon. I thought for a moment that Mon-
ez’s men had found me. How vividly. all
such things are impressed upon the mind
at such a time !
Thinking about Monez and the affairs of
the morning, I did not blame him at all,
as I have said. Bat then—my position !
A general in the morning, an insurgent
chief at noon, a fugitive two hours before
sunset. That not only making history, it
was condensing it. If Monez could only
lay his hands, those red hands of his, upon
the rebel, he would make short work of
him. A priest (for form’s sake, because
no Spaniard would deny a condemned man
the consolations of the church), then a row
of riflemen, an officer who stands imper-
turbably and smokes his cigarette while
his subordinate counts, a white adobe wall
with a black figure casting a shadow al-
most as black upon it. and a long box at
his heels for him to fall into. Pah!
What makes one think of such things? I
was hot and feverish with my wound, and
that must have been why I was thinking,
always thinking, 28 I ran: and thoughts
were not always pleasant.
Of course any.one would do the same as
Monez if his enemy should fall into his
hand. I would. I have done so. If
Monez had hecome my prisoner, I would
not have been fool enough to spare him,
and he was well aware of that What I
detest in the President was not his se-
verity, but his mismanagement of the af-
fairs of the republic. He seemed to think
that the treasury was only an extension of
his private pocket-book, and everything in
the country merely subsidiary to his indi-
vidual interests. Well, we were the patri-
ots, and we struck for our country and
glory ; and people may sing ‘‘traitor”’ all
they like now: had we succeded, they
would have built triumphal arches for us—
‘the bills for which the President would af-
o terwards be expected to settle.
Monez never forgave me for aspiring to
the hand of his niece. Santiago! Does
the dotard expect to keep her always like
a bird ina cage? He boasts that he is
pure Castilian descent. Thank God, I am
not ashamed of the Indian in mine! But
Senorita Pepita loved me, and that made
it worse and worse. That would sign my
death-warrant if nothing else availed.
What hurt me more than anything else
was to think of those poor, brave fellows,
with their white faces turned up to the
pitiless sky, in the market-place where
they fell. There were only fifty of them,
but they were fifty heroes, and if I live I
will have a life for every one of them.
They were the flower of the army, and
Monez will miss them and me in the next
war.
Tor hiding or for stratagem nothing can
surpass the forests of the Callio ; hut for
flight, no. I would almost as soon think
of making speed through the interminable
meshes of a folded net. Yet there had
been some progress. My hands burned
with the cowitch-and nettles, my feet were
torn by the cactus, my clothes were in
shreds, and my head almost bursting with
the terrible heat and fatigue of the day ;
but the helt of woods that lay between me
and the foot-hills had narrowed so that I
knew that I could reach the silver caves
before the short twilight was over.
There were tracks at one point where a
tiger had trodden on the moist ground in
the morning. I could imagine his Majesty
returning that way at night, and sniffing
along my trail to discover who had the
temerity to cross his. I did not féar him :
there were arms in the cave.
An open, rock-encumbered swale told
me that I had nearly reached the foot-hills
and safety. It was a weird, terrible place,
full of haunting suggestions and symbols.
The trees that enclosed it formed a massive
wall of shadow that was like the black
sides of a tall canon. The vines that clung
to them in fantastic meshes were huge and
black, twisting in and out like snakes. But
the most singular and terrible features of
the clearing were a number of rudely carved
rocks, graven into forms that were partly
human and partly animal. There were
the symbols of the eagle, the tortoise, the
wolf, and the serpent, some half embedded
in the earth, and others overturned, but all
terrible ; while central among them stood
a monster with bulging eyes and wide jaws,
his rough tongue protruding upon his
shaggy breast. How often had that horrid
tongue been smeared with the warm hearts
of victims killed in sacrifice—war prisoners
dismembered by those savage ancestors of
mine in this their sacred grove of the gods !
I think the sight and the thought almost
reconciled me to the idea of the adobe wall
and the line of riflemen and the long hox.
The silver caves at last. The sun was
sinking as I reached them, and the twilight
is so short in our part of the world that I
made haste to secure myself against intru-
sion. Then I did not fear until the mor-
row, and with the morrow I would be
again on foot, seeking more distant fast-
nesses, where I could gather around me
again the remnant of our faction and wait
for better times. There were a few scattered
huts on the mountain-side, and the Presi-
dent had a country house not far away,
but I knew that no one could find me so
late. However, I barricaded as well as
possible against wild beasts, for I had no
desire for an interview with a tiger.
The cave was not entirely unready. I
had caused preparations to be secretly made
for such an emergency. There were wraps
in an inner chamber, where one might also
build a fire at night, when the escaping
smoke would not betray him. The air of
the cavern was very chill and damp after
the heat of the Callio basin. This was a
natural cave, into which ancient workmen
had come with rude instruments to get out
the precious metal. As a consequence there
was an incongruity between the glittering
points of stalactites that hung from the
vaulted roof, thrown into relief by a back-
ground blackened by the smoke of many
fires, and the rich peacock markings of the
emerald and indigo silver quartz that ran
like a helt across one side of the cave.
There was the drip, drip, drip of water
somewhere ; I did not care to seek it just
then—a little stream by the entrance had
refreshed me, and a bottle of aguardiente
on arock shelf close at hand was much
nearer.
I lay in the skins and puffed my eci-
garette, saw the fire light, and heard the
water with the perfect animal comfort of a
well man who emjoys rest because he had
been tired.
The events of the day seemed very far
away now that I had put the montana be-
tween them and me. I am not one to in-
dulge in emotions, either retrospectively
or in anticipation. What ¢3s moves me.
That is enough for me. If I killed a man
in anger to-day, I could hardly recall
enough of that passion to-morrow to enable
me to recollect why I did it. Like most of
my race, I feel strongly, violently perhaps,
but I do not treasure stale emotions.
So I lay half comfortable at least, in my
refuge, and considered that I was a fool-
ish fellow to try to jar the world as it
moves on its axis.
However, I must plan. Not much to do.
‘‘A short horse soon groomed, ’’ the negroes
say. At break of day to be up, get as good
a supply of food as I could, and strike out
for the mountains.
To-morrow ? To-morrow would be a
festival of the church, when thanks would
be given to celebrate the victory of my
enemies. Had I won, the church would
have celebrated my victory. How they
will avoid that dry blood in the market-
place as they parade ! Somesuch thoughts
ran through my mind. Yet I knew that
when the priests and the acolytes and the
choir and the maidens carried the Bambino
in procession, and chanted their pretence
of peace and good-will, the widows and the
children of those who had fought across the
square with me would check their tears
and hush their sobs. Would Pepita be
there? “Would she think that I was dead ?
Would she care ?
I could imagine Pepita, with that little
head of hers so perfectly poised, belonging
on her own shoulders and nobody else’s her
mantilla worn as no other woman could
wear a crown, and the jasmine in her hair,
the same ; no movement or look or pallor
to show that she was hurt. Yes, she would
care, but she would rather die than show
it. That is why I have always loved
Pepita : she is not proud—she is pride.
Of one thing I was assured—no holy
festival would prevent Monez’s sending his
hounds in search of me. I must not fail to
be off by early morning—sunrise at the
latest. My arn began to pain me a little
when Thad time to think about it, and I
rearranged the bandages. Just a bullet
wound, with no bones broken ; it'was soon
nore confortable ; the bleeding had been
slight, and fortunately it had been my left
arm.
It seemed very late, but I had really
that she always placed there for me, just
been in the cave only an hour or two,
when I heard the voice of a cat, an ocelot,
perhaps, or even a jaguar, crying outside
of my barricade. There is one peculiar
thing about the members of the tiger tribe ;
no matter how big and fierce the animal
may be, she will make the saddest crying
and moaning, like a child in pain, till I
have known men leave a camp-fire and go
out into the forest, persuaded that it was a
child crying. I had no idea of going out-
side, but I went as far as my outpost and
listened. The creature must have jumped
or fallen into the little pit in front of the
hastily made wall. It was so near that I
could hear every sound, and wondered that
the throat of a beast could so simulate the
wails of a wounded human being. AsI
tried to catch a glimpse of my visitor
through the chinks between the rocks, I
distinctly heard, ‘‘Jesu, Maria, save mel”’
Of course I did the unwise and unac-
countable thing —acted on impulse, as I al-
ways do, and tore down enough of my wall
to get out, nor ever stopped to think what
a dilemma I was putting myself into till I
was lifting a pale, black-eyed boy of about
ten years to my skin-pile near the fire. He
had fainted when I first came out, proba-
bly with fright, and when he came to him-
self was too dazed and weak at first to
think much. But I thought ; I considered
what a fool I was. Here was a sprained
ankle orja broken leg, or Heaven knows
what other injury, to take care of for a
night, when I needed sleep for my journey
on the morrow. Then what was I to do
with him? Leave him? He would starve,
of course. Put him outside again ? The
wild beasts would make shorter work of it,
but not short enough. The unpleasant
alternative, the least cruel thing, would be
to kill him myself and make sure. I do
not like to shirk a duty, but the duty of
killing a child in cold blood pained me.
I could no more run the risk of Monez’s
men finding that boy than I could risk
their not finding me. Once a wild chimer-
ical thoughts crossed my mind, only to be
dismissed with a smile at the childishness
of it. That was, to stay there with the lad
and risk capture. My life has cost so
much that it must be very valuable. It is
so tome, at least, and my pity for the boy
did not reach to any such lengths of sacri-
fice as that would imply. Having made
my resolve to kill him in the morning, I
felt easier, for it was an unpleasant ques-
tion disposed of. After that I dressed his
wound, a sprain, as well as T was able, and
then slept beside him, and the last thing I
recollect seeing in the firelight was those
great eyes staring steadfastly at me.
I woke with a sense of something un-
pleasant to be done. Ah, yes—to put that
poor little brat out of his troubles, so that
I could go on with mine with a clear con-
science.
I turned over and looked at him. He
was staring at me with those big eyes as
though he had never been asleep all night.
He spoke to me.
“You are awake,’’ he said.
Now there was nothing special in the
words but the, voice was so like
Pepita’s that I felt a thrill down
to my finger-tips. But I said, in
as quiet a voice as I could command :
‘Yes, I am awake. How is your foot ?”’
‘Better ; but I cannot move it. Did
the Madonna send you to help me? I fell
down, and then after a while I said a
prayer, and then I found myself here.”
Believe me, I found it hard to frame a
reply. I did not forget what I had to do,
but I wanted time to think. I rose hast-
ily, repaired the fire, and began to get
breakfast.
While I was thus engaged I came near
him, and he said, anxiously. ‘You will
not leave me, will you ?”’
I crossed the cave, pretending not to
hear him, but with a feeling that I could
not quite account for.
‘It is a festival to-day,’’ he said, ‘and I
know you want to go to see Bambino, but
you will not leave me, will you ?”’
Still her voice. My God! what else
could Ido? I went kneeled down by the
boy, and before I knew it the words were
out and I had given my promise.
“No, I will not leave you.”” Then things
swam around me for a while, and that line
of riflemen seemed very near, for I knew
that I had signed my own death-warrant.
They came after me—or after the boy—I
never knew which—Menez’s men. I knew
they were seeking me, but they seemed
more delighted in finding him. It seems he
was the son of some rich man, and I had
wasted my sympathy, for he would have
been cared for anyhow. I could make no
stand when they found me, for I was sitting
on the skins with the boy in my arms, and
before I could put him down and turn they
were upon me ; besides, the odds, eight
to one !
I never saw men so astonished. One
would have supposed that they had seen a
ghost, or at least that they had no thought
of finding me. And yet, in spite of all my
effort to escape, I was almost gay at heart
when they led me back—not the way I had
come, but by a more round-about route, by
the road—to the town. For just as we
were starting, the boy put his arms up to
me and said, ‘‘You are good, I love you,
and I hope you will have a happy journey.’
The boy said that, but the voice was
Pepita’s, and it sounded in my ears and
sang in my heart all the way.
In the morning we entered the town.
Pepita was there with the others and saw
me come in, and her eyes blazed as she met
my gaze without flinching, as I met hers.
Oh, I was proud of her! She would not
show those people that she was hurt, though
they should wring her heart, any more
than I would. And yet I knew that she
cared. When I was brought before Monez
I accepted a cigarette from the officer who
had charge of me.
Monez said : ‘‘Citizens, this is a des-
perado who has tried to overturn the state ;
a general who has led a rebellion. A price
is on his head, and he has been condemned
to death. Having the power to condemn or
to pardon, it has seemed to me good that
this man, who has wrought so much mis-
chief, should be shot by a file of soldiers.”
There he stopped, and while the women
stood outside and the soldiery nearer, there
was a movement to take me away, and for
a second I caught sight of Pepita’s face
again. She smiled at me, and I answered
her smile. : gate
Monez continued, in that even, unim-
passioned tone which he knew so well how
to use :
‘Listen. Although you agree with the
justice of the sentence I have pronounced,
yet you will also support me in deferring
the execution of it until the close of the
ceremonies and festivities of this holy sea-
son, which have already been too much
marred by bloodshed. We therefore remand
‘our prisoner to the charge of our faithful
Juan Rodriguez.”
For the first time I shivered. Rodriguez,
in spite of his nobie name, was as miserable
a dog as ever licked the platter of a ruler,
and I knew that in the world I had no
more bitter enemy. I had signed my own
manual upon his face once with a sword,
and as I looked upon him now, the scar
that traversed his visage like the bar sin-
ister that should have been there grew
livid., Juan Rodriguez, my enemy, who
would not hesitate at any infamy, was to
be my jailer. In other words, I was to
have no public execution. The President,
under pretence of letting me languish in
prison, and afterwards giving out that I
had escaped, would avoid the danger of a
popular out-break attending a public exe-
cution, and’I would be at the mercy of a
henchman in whom hate and ferocity took
the place of conscience.
So be it. Shackled as I was, I was led
away, amid the growing murmurs of a
large portion of the people, and I under-
stood better than ever why Monez had not
risked an execution.
Other things I may describe to you, but
not the filth, heat, suffocation, and pestilen-
tial atmosphere of one of our tails ; first,
because it would shock your sensitive ears,
and second, because you would not believe
such horrors possible. I passed an eternity
of thirty-six hours there, at first dreading
and afterwards hoping for the assassination
that I knew would end the game.
At the end of the scond day, when I had
reviewed the events of my past life, and
failed for the thousandth time to feel con-
trition that I had put many. poor souls out
of the way of such torment as this—as I
waited, I say, for the final appearance of
Rodriguez, with his scarred face and his
knife, a priest came to me. Short of stature
he was, cowled and sombre, a forerunner
of death. \
He had come from Monez, and I was ;
prepared for the confessional, only waiting
till Rodriguez, who stood scowling by,.
should respect the bearer of the President’s
ring and retire.
But the priest stopped me with a gesture
of his hand.
“Wait,’”” he said ; ‘‘the President de-
sires first your confession. You are scholar
enough to write, or shall I write for you ?
This secular confession shall in no wise
conflict with the more private account you
shall give to Mother church.”
‘‘But Rodriguez— ?”’
“Will respect this seal : besides, he can- |
not read.”’
The tone was carefully disguised ; but
there was a familiar note in it. In spite of
my shackles, I sprang to my feet.
‘‘Pepita !”” I whispered.
‘‘No,”” laughed the voice behind the
cowl: ‘‘only Pepita’s cousin. Read—
read I” He unfastened my shackles and
thrust the paper into my hands, and I
read :
“To-night, an hour after midnight, the
door will be open. Fear nothing, but come
out. Turn to the left in perfect silence
and caution, till you reach the palm-trees
by the well.”
He was gone. I tore the paper into small
pieces before Rodriguez’s return. ‘I shall
write no confession, ‘‘I muttered to myself,
but I could see that he had heard me.
At the appointed hour I rose, and cau-
tiously pushing the door of my prison,
breathed the heavy night air. To the left.
Three hundred paces and I had reached
the palm-trees by the well. There stood
the little priest. I knew him now for the
son of the President, the boy whom I had
saved. The slight limp with which he had
entered my cell and the voice—‘‘only Pepi-
ta’s cousin’’—told me all.
He took my hand and led me to where
two horses were tethered.
“Two ?’ I said, in surprise.
‘Yes. I go with you.”
‘‘But your father, the President ?’’
The little monk pushed back the cowl,
and two glorious eyes looked into mine.
“T am not Pepita’s cousin,’’ she said.
New Mouth.
Made For a Pittsburg Man—A Rare Surgical
Operation,
A wonderful surgical operation was per-
formed at the Homeopathic Hospital
yesterday by Dr. E. R. Gregg, of High-
land avenue, East End, assisted by Dr.
L. H. Williard, of Allegheny, and Dr.
Hoffman, Shadyside. In the records of sur-
gical operations very few cases of the kind
are to be found, one in about a century.
The operation was the opening of the stom-
ach from a point on the left side near the
lower ribs and inserting a tube through
which the man could feed himself.
The patient is a German named William
Affholder. He is 45 years old, and until a
year ago had never been ill. A cancer de-
veloped in the cardiac end of the stomach
and in the oesophagus, resulting in a strict-
ure of the oesophagus and preventing him
swallowing food of any kind. He wasa
strong man and when admitted to the hos-
pital two weeks ago weighed 275 pounds.
Being unable to take nourishment of any
kind, except by injection, he was slowly
starving to death, and before the operation
yesterday morning he was a mere skeleton,
weighing only 115 pounds, a loss of 160
pounds in two weeks. His suffering by be-
ing unable to swallow and plenty of food
about must have been more intense than
ordinarily in cases of starvation.
The operation was resorted to only when
the last hope of forcing food into his stom-
ach through his mouth had failed. The ob-
struction being near the stomach, the
method of using a tube and syringe could
not be resorted to. Affholder was perfectly
willing for the operation to be performed ;
he was anxious for it, so that his terrible
suffering could he ended either by placing
food into his craving stomach or by death.
As soon as he had been placed under the in
fluence of ether Dr. Gregg made an incision
betweeen two muscles on the left side, just
helow the ribs, and slowly separated the
tissues without cutting them until he
could make an opening in the stomach. A
rubber tube was placed in position and a
small quantity of nourishment injected.
Affholder stood the operation better than
had been expected, and when he revived he
showed little signs of shock.
It is not proposed to leave the tube in
the opening as a permanent arrangement.
It will be allowed to stay, however, until
the wound heals about it. It will then be
withdrawn and the abdominal muscles will
close up as tightly as he could close his
lips. When he is hungry he can insert
the tube himself, but before putting solids
into his stomach he will first have to mas-
ticate them. He will never be able to
swallow anything, but, unlike those who
are fed through a tube or an opening in
the throat, he can enjoy the sense of taste.
His life depends upon the cancer. He
need never starve to death.—Pittsburg
Post.
How He was Hoodooed.
‘Robinson Crusoe had a pretty tough
time of it in some ways, didn’t he ?”’
“Naturally.”
“Why naturally 2”
‘‘He ought to have known that Friday
was unlucky.’’—Chicago Post.
——The old silver dollar of 413 1-2
grains fills the bill exactly. So long as it
was a legal tender, it was an honest dol=-
lar wo 100 cents, and had the ring of
the true metal. Remonetize it, and it will
be again what it was for cighty years—
worth one hundred cents.—Chicago Tribune,
Jar, 15 1878.
A Candy Sale.
For the benefit of small and niodest so-
cieties-that are already planning how they
may with the least possible outlay realize
most of their Thanksgiving boxes, I should
like—sufficiently in advance of the day—
to submit a little plan.that we found de-
lightfully successful a year ago
We were just a little band of King’s
Daughters with alms far exceeding our
purse strings so that we distinctly realized
at our preparatory meeting that what ever
scheme we embarked upon must be the
least pretentious possible.
The expenditure and receipts given be-
low will give those who wish to go and do
likewise, information on every point in the
undertaking and will enable them to see
where their outlay is exceeding the amount
strictly necessary to carry out the work.
Confectioners’ sugar, 17 IbSuaceeccennne.
Granulated sugar, 9 Ibs
English walnuts, 4 Ibs
Almonds, 2 1bs
Pecans, 2 lhe
Dates, 4 Ibs,
Peanuts, 5 q
Peanuts, for salted peanuts, 4 gts.
CocoanNt, 1 ID.einisianmsienssi esr 18
Chocolate, 34 1h..
Peppermint” extract..
Vanilla,........ 05
Wintergreen 05
Eggs 14 doz 14
Indian bas 35
Boxes, 50.. 1.756
Paper bags... .10
Butter, 32 0h... on 13
7 boxes of candy, at 23c
36 clam shells of salted peant
PORE vi seens ot isn ian snide dries 528.55
Which left in our exchequer cxactly $21.00.
These are the recipes :
CHOCOLATE FUDGES.
Two cups confectioners’ sugar, one-half
cup milk, 2 squares baker’s chocolate, but-
ter size of a walnut. Beil eight minutes,
remove from the fire and flavor with one-
half teaspoonful of vanilla; beat fixe
minutes, pour into pan and cut into squares
when cool.
COCOAXNUT FUDGES.
Make the same as the chocolate, using
one-half pound cocoanut instead of choco-
late. No flavoring.
NUT CANDY.
Three cups of confectioners’ sugar three-
fourths cup milk ; boil ten minutes ; add
one pound pecans broken into small pieces ;
beat four minutes pour into pan and cut
into squares when cool.
PEAXUT CANDY
One cup granulated sugar, one cup chop-
ped peanuts; melt the sugar in an iron
skillet (which retains the heat) ; add the
peanuts and pour out very quickly. Mark
into squares when cold.
PEPPERMINT DROPS.
One cup confectioners’ sugar, one cup
water three-fourths teaspoonful pepper-
mint extract. Afterit begins to boil try
in cold water until it forms a soft ball.
Remove from the fire and set in a dish of
hot water. Beat two or three minutes and
drop quickly into buttered plates.
WINTERGREEN DROPS,
Make the same as peppermint, using one
teaspoonful of winter green extract.
CREAM CANDY.
White of one egg and the same quantity
of water. Flavor with vanilla and add
confectioners’ sugar until thick enough to
knead. Knead until smooth.
Remove the stones from dates, fill with
the cream candy and roll in granulated
sugar.
Cover the blanched almonds with cream
candy and roll in granulated sugar.
Mould some of the cream candy into small
flat pieces and press a half of an English
walnut into each side.
In addition to these one might like to in-
clude butter scotch, which was not on our
menu. If so, the following is an excellent
recipe :
BUTTER SCOTCH.
Two cups granulated sugar, one-half cup
of molasses, two tablespoonfuls of water,
one tablespoonful vinegar, butter size of an
egg, boil until brittle when dropped in
cold water. Pour out quickly and cut
into small squares when nearly cold,
Wrap each square in oiled paper.
- Except for the peanut candy a chafing
dish offers the very best possible facilities
for candy making, and for the fifty pounds
and more used at the candy sale two chaf-
ing dishes were entirely adequate. »
The Widows’s Pensions,
These promise to cuta big figure in the
pension budget. Some of them—the
majority, of course—are all right, but there
are others that are utterly without justifi-
cation. President Cleveland at the close
of the last session of Congress vetoed a bill
giving a pension to a soldier's widow who
had married again, and had noright, there-
fore, to a pension on the score of widow-
hood. The soldier under whom she had
the original claim for a pension married
her after the war, and when he died she
married again, and claimed a continuance
of the pension, with a secoud or third hus-
band on hand. Congress granted the pen-
sion. They tell strange stories about the
soldiers’ homes, as to the marriage of the
old soldiers to a class of speculative women
who frequent these places. The veterans
have not long to live, and the marriages
are for the widow’s pension that comes af-
ter his death.
In the Atlantic Monthly for October Chas.
M. Elliott has a paper discussing the pen-
sion question, with special reference to
such widows as have the happy fortune to
live long and prosper. He states that as a
cousequence of our great war, which piled
up a national debt of nearly $3,000,000,-
000, the nation has paid $2,000,000,000 in
pensions within 33 years, a single genera-
tion. At the end of last year the pay-
.ments on the national debt and pensions
aggregated about $4,535,000,000. Mr. El-
liott is not so unpatriotic as to complain of
pensions that go to disabled persons. He
thinks that, although such expenditures
are unproductive, they are ‘‘just and in-
evitable.” But pensions that go to per-
sons who are not disabled, men or women,
Mr. Elliott says, are in the main, “not on-
ly unproductive hut demoralizing.”
“A grave social evil,” Mr. Elliott con-
tends, is created by pension laws that pro-
mote the marriage of young women to old
men ‘‘as a pecuniary speculation.” He
thinks it is plain that some of the worst
evils of the pension system will go on for a
hundred years to come unless the laws re-
lating to widow's pensions are changed for
the better. In support of this opinion the
Atlantic contributor cites the fact that on
June 30, 1895, only 21 of the pensioners
of the war of 1812 were surviving soldiers
or sailors, while 3,826 were widows. This
is conclusive proof that matrimony occu-
pied the attention of many of the veterans
in their last years on earth, and the' same
thing is going on now iu a very large way
about the soldiers’ homes, and, of course,
elsewhere. The army of veteran soldiers
is decreasing, but the army of widows is
booming. The difficulty is to find a rem-
edy.—Record.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
How the Venus de Milo would have
grinned could she have seen to what favor
she would have obtained in ’96, when the
whole fashionable world is striving after
waists such as Mother Nature intended for
her women, and not the hideous hour-glass
forms so long considered beautiful.
To be ‘‘laced” is now considered the
height of vulgarity. Fashion, frivolous as
she is, does, once in a decade, strike some-
thing sensible, and this is certainly one of
the times. Faney the human figure being
expected to show the neck and waist of the
same proportion ! Those who are trying
to live up to this false ideal must have
grown into deformity. Itis quite natural
the waist should be smaller than the bust
or hips, but it need not be strangled.
I’ew of us are constructed on the lines of
the ideal woman, so that much of our beau-
ty form depends upon good zorsets. These
are of primary importance. All modistes
any preference, provided the corset is suit-
ed to the figure wearing it.
What is needed is a corset allowing plen-
ty of room at the bust and on the hips, in-
terfering in no way with the breathing and
catching one in just below the ribs. They
are injurious to health and most unlovely.
In Paris the shortest sort of corsets are
worn. Every corset should have at least
two laces, preferably three, so there will be
no straining at certain points.
The bolero at present in all its various
forms attracts all the attention of the dress-
makers ; every patron desires a bolero, and
it takes an ingenious brain to devise so
many different styles.
I have a theory that you can pretty truly
tell the state of a woman’s intellectual
powers from the style and color of the
clothes she wears. And in saying this, I
mean the women who have the time and
means to choose the garments which they
like, for often women of taste and refine-
ment are so restricted that they cannot se-
lect what seems to them suitable and be-
coming.
It is disgusting to see the extent to
which some of the sex go in this matter of
dress. I remember of seeing a woman on
the streets of one of our cities whose ap-
‘pearance exactly accorded with my idea of
‘‘dowdiness.” She wore a satin brocade of
an intense emerald hue, trimmed with a
pink approaching magenta, and I really
pitied the woman for the comment she was
inviting. :
Then some women seem to have no idea
of the ‘‘fitness of things’ They think
nothing of wearing evening dresses to trav-
el in, and the most elegant dresses to work
in. A woman whom I have met several
times on the stretts wore an all plush
gown of a crushed-strawberry color—a
beautiful dress in its place—and a white
felt hat trimmed with a multitude of long
white plumes. There may have been some
good reason for her wearing that dress at
such a time, but I cau think of none, unless
it be that suddenly reduced circumstances
left her with numerous rich gowns to wear
out ; or perhaps a wealthy relative be-
queathed this wonderful bit of apparel to
her, and she must be dutiful and show her
appreciation of the bequest.
There are too many girls in business life
who seem to be entirely regardless of the
necessity of having ‘‘quiet’’ dresses for bus-
iness hours. If I were a business man
seeking a young lady assistant, I would
make it a point to notice the general st yle
of the garments which the different appli-
cants wore, and dismiss all those who were
at all ‘‘loud”’in appearance.
If a girl is neatly dressed in an appro-
priate gown of subdued color—one which
does not attract your attention involuntari-
ly by reason of its showiness, you may be
sure she has a large stock of common sense,
and is capable of a great deal in a business
way.
On the other hand, if her hat seems about
to topple over with its load of decorations,
and her dress is of such a brilliant hue as
to make one feel dyspeptic, make up your
mind that her mental faculties are not of
the highest order.
Speaking of hats, the ‘fearfully and
wonderfully made” headgear of the past
season reminds one of the dandy of the
Fiji Islands, one who has nothing to do but
to wander idly about, plucking flowers of
every conceivable color with which to dec-
orate his head. Are we yet civilized ?
I wish our girls would think a bithls more
about the matter of their attire ;-and they
would if they fully realized the important
part it takes in others’ judgment of them.
As Dr. J. G. Holland says: ‘‘There are
few habits that a woman may acquire,
which, in the long run, will tend more to
the preservation of her own self respect
than thorough tastefulness, appropriateness
and tidiness of dress, and certainly very
few which will make her more agreeable
to others.”
In direct contrast with the wide, untrim-
med skirts of last season are the narrow,
oddly garnitured designs shown at this
week’s openings. Paneled and slashed ef-.
fects are prominent, heavy braid over satin
being used in the trimming of more than a
few woolen skirts, while the flowered and
brocaded evening gowns have the skirts
garnitured with bows of shaded ribbon,
streamers of lace or rosettes and puffings of
chiffon.
An extremely pretty sofa cushion seen
lately was of empire green denim with the
pattern outlined with white cotton soutache
and novelty braids and the corners finished
with large, soft - rosettes of white point
d’esprit. . Another one of blue satin, em-
broidered in gold, had a heavy gold" cord
all around it, finished with a trefoil at the
corners.
There is almost no limit to the use of the
jacket idea in autumn gown designing.
The jacket is seldom a real one, dissociated
from its gown, but merely a pair of wings
stitched into the side seams and rounded or
pointed to jacket shape in front. As pret-
ty a model as any isa gem in the cigar-
brown tint which has been vogued by the
latest Royal trousseau in Great Britain.
The skirt issimply cut and the vest is mus-
lin, confined by a wide black satin belt and
collar. The bolero is silk covered with
coffee-colored lace, and, instead of being
rounded off at the corners, it is brought
down to two points in front.
* =
Perhaps the prettiest fabrics of the au-
| tumn are those reddish brown mixtures
{ which present a warm appearance, temper-
| ed with threads of black, and trimmed and
| faced with black. If the complexion will
| stand it, that is the chic combination of
| the moment.
| The new sleeve is in a bad way. In its
present form it consists of a tight, wrinkled
pipe nearly up to the shoulder, where a
ridiculous little puff conceals or accentu-
ates it. Asit is, it is nglier than the leg-
o’-mutton sleeves of two years ago.
declare this, although few of them have
—