. literary sinse.
=
Bellefonte, Pa., Nov. 6, 1896.
THE CHOICE.
[Sarah K. Bolton in Judge.]
Two Jagqueminots were in the vase,
One bud with leaves unsealed,
And one whose velvet open face
Its yellow heart revealed,
Two women in the vacant room
Sat at the sunset hoar;
One delicate in girlish bloom,
One rich in grace and power.
To one the world was all untried,
A dream, a hope, a joy ;
One knew that bliss has pain allied
Like gold with its alloy.
Another entered—one whose name
Had graced his country’s scroll
Of honor ; bravery won him fame ;
A man of brain and soul.
The girl's face into welcome broke
Like sunshine after showers;
“Which will you chcose ?° she smiling spoke,
And proffered him the flowers.
He pressed the roses to his lips;
The woman bent her head;
The blood surged to her finger tips ;
“The full-blown rose,” he said.
MOLLY'S BLUNDERS.
“Sure, Molly’s the most unfortunate
crayther that iver you see,”’ said Donal,
“for misunderstandin gintale conversay-
shun intirely. Sure, no matther what
you're pleased to say, she’ll take it in its
Like as whin, in spakin of
the great shower of rain we had, the praste
said ‘the windys of heaven were opened.’
‘It’s right your riverence is,’ says Molly,
‘for, faith, I heard the smashin of one of
the panes.” And if the stupid gurrl wasn’t
afther gazin up into the skoi to see if the
windys had been shut !
“‘Molly’s me cousin, sorr, as we make it
out in Ireland, and very aisy reckonin it is,
‘or in straight descint backward me great-
grandfeyther and Tim O’Gorman’s great-
grandmother were brothers, and Tim's
wife’s grandmother and Molly’s stepmoth-
er’s feyther’s uncle were sisters.
“So you see that whin Molly’s feyther
was transported and her mother died me
feyther couldn't let his own flesh and blood
perish with hunger, and he took her in,
and we were brought up like two twinses,
in the same cradle. Well, there was niver
enough of anythin in the shanty- for two
babies, and whin Molly had the sup of
milk I hollered with an empty stomach,
and whin I was covered up with the bed-
quilt she ran around to keep herself warm,
which is my understandin of how it hap-
pened that I got all the brains and she got
all the good looks. There wasn’t enough
of ayther for the two of us.
“And sure it’s a beauty Molly is intire-
ly, with the purtiest rid cheeks and black
hair that reaches down to the knees of her.
And great rollin eyes, soft and gentle and
set wide apart in-the honest face of her,
like these of a little Kerry cow—eyes that
always looked you straight in the facean
yet niver seemed to see nothin. She was
niver sinsible that you were pokin fun at
her, and she hadn’t a mimory long enough
to remimber ad onkaindness.
‘She nursed me feyther when he died of
“the faver, and she cared for me poor bedrid
‘mother and kept me at school and dug the
pertaties and did all the work there was to
be done, till I was grown a man in size.
Sorra a bit of thanks did she get for that
same. For, by the same token, the more
you give a bye the iddication of a gintle-
man, the moie he’ll look down on thim
that slaved thimsilves to death to raise
him ; leastwise it was that way with me,
sorr, and me pet name for Molly in thim
days was. ‘You blunderin ignyramus of a
grane cabbage head !” And sure it would
have angered a saint to have seen the stu-
pid things that Molly did, all the time try-
in her very best to moind what I said—all
through the thick headedness of her under-
standin.
‘Well, one day I brought home a piece
of mate, and it’s not often we had the
luxury of a beefsteak in thim days, and
by the same token Molly had no more idea
how she should cook it than if it was the
dinner of an emperor. ‘Put it on witha
cabbage head I” says I, ‘and sure an ille-
gant biled dinner we’ll be afther makin.’
With that I took me hoe and went to work
at the end of the lot. But, howly saints !
when I came back hungery for me dinner,
what did I see but the pig munchin the
beefsteak forninst the. cottage and Molly
going about her wurruk singin as merrily
as a lark in the mornin.
‘* ‘Why, Donal, dear,’ says Molly, ‘you
said put it on a cabbage head, and first I
thought it was my own head yees was
manin, for that is what you’re always eallin
me, and thin I thought it couldn’t be that
sure, and so I laid it on the biggest cabbage
in the yard. It’s thinkin about things
that muddles me up, and afther Donal,
dear, I’ll niver think about anythin’ and
the tears riz in her eyes as she spoke. ‘And,
oh ! Donal, do yees think it will do the pig
any harm ?’
‘Well, I was that mad Icould have bate
her, buta Malloy is always a gentleman
and niver bates a lady—savin and exceptin
his lawful wedded wife. ‘Molly, Molly,’
says I, ‘this is past all bearin ! Sure, it’s
P’avin you I am, for his holiness the pope
couldn’t live with you afther this,’ says [.
‘ ‘Just as you plaze, Donal, dear,’ says
Molly, ‘but if you're goin away I'll go wid
ye, for sure I couldn’t live widout you.’
“I made no answer, but just struck out
across the fields, not rightly knowin or
carin which way I wint, but happenin to
look round I saw her following afther.
* ‘If you will be comin,’ says I, ‘draw
the doore to behind you,’ for I misthrusted
that while she went back to shut the doore
I could get well out of sight of her. To
do this the better, I made straight for a bit
of boggy woods and lapin into the midst of
it, I went crashin me way through till be-
fore I knew it I was in the open bog and
a-sinkin deeper with every plunge in the
bad ground. This brought me to me sinses,
and I tried to turn round and come back,
but I was in a sort of quicksand, and the
more I struggled the more I sank, till I
was up to me waistband in the cowld,
clammy mud. T hollered and I bellered.
without any likelihood of making mesilf
heard in that lone place, and with the ille-
gant prospect of having me mouth soon
stopped with the mud, and I had about
given mesilf up to me fate when I heard
Molly callin, ‘Donal, where are yon,
Donal ?
‘* ‘Here, Molly darlint,’ says I, ‘but look
careful where you’re steppin, and forgive
me for all the evil things I’ve said of you,
for it’s dyin I am.’ ;
‘ ‘Whist ! Donal, be aisy.
out,’ says she.
‘“‘Ye can’t do it,’ says I, ‘for even if you
should lay down a log for me to catch on
to, I misthrust it wouldn’t bear me up.
I'll git you
What I need isa flatboat, and there’s no
time for the gettin of that, for I’m sinkin
deeper ivery minute.’
“(By the same token, it’s this that I’ve
brought the doore for,” says she. With
that she laid the doore of our cottage flat-
wise on the bog, and I managed to crawl
upon it and to get safe to sound land.
‘“¢And how, in the name of all the
saints, did you happen to have the doore
wid ye?” says I, as she scraped the mud
off me trousers. ‘Why, Donal, dear,’ says
she, ‘don’t you mind how you towld me to
draw the doorc too behind me? Sure, I'd
have been here the sooner but for the
thrubble I had gettin it off its hinges and
tyin the halter well around it and draggin
it afther me.’
“I was sinsible enough that it was Mol-
ly’s blunderin that had saved my life, and
she looked so purty with her cheeks a-flam-
«| in and her eyes a-shinin that I kissed her
thin and there, and as I did so I minded
how she said that she couldn’t live widout
me, and a new idee come into my head
and nearly knocked me sinseless. I thought
that Molly might be even more satisfac-
thory as a wife than as a cousin, and what
a fool I had been not to have thought of it
all these years. I was afraid to ask her
right out would she marry me, knowin
how much it would surprise her and mis-
thrustin that no one had iver axed her be-
fore, soI waited till we had eaten our
pertaties that avenin, and as I was sittin
on the dooresill smokin my pipe and Molly
was washin the dishes I says, careless like :
‘Molly, did you iver think of bein
married ?’
¢ ‘That same I have, Donal,’ says she.
‘ ‘Well, what have yees thought about
it?’ says I.
‘(P’ve about made up me moind,’ says
she, ‘that’s it’s married I'll be.’
“ “What!” says I ; ‘yees don’t say that
yees already promised ? Who is the gos-
soon ?’ says I ; ‘tell me, an I'll break his
head for him. How long has this been
goin on, ye desateful crayther ?’
“ ‘Don’t be angry, Donal, dear,’ says
Molly, ‘but I’ve been thinkin about it iver
since yer mother died. Sure, it isn’t da-
cent for me to be kapin house for yees in
this lone way.’
‘ “Whin are yees afther bein married ?’
says I.
“ ‘What do yees think of Christmas day,
Donal?’ says she.
¢¢ ‘Make it Michaelmas,” says I, ‘and
maybe by that time I can scare up a wife
mesilf, for it will be lonesome widout yees.’
‘¢ ‘Just as ye plaze, Donal, darlint,’ says
Molly, and we settled back again into the
ould ways.
“But though I kept watch for him, niver
a peep could I catch of Molly’s young man,
they were that sly, the craythers.! And
though I considered in me moind all the
gurrls in Tipperary, there was not one of
them that I wanted for a wife. And I had
no money to go courtin with, and whin I
considered how hard it was to make me
livin with Molly, I wondered what should
I do when she was gone.
‘‘Those were sad days for Ireland, for
by the same token what with the landlords
livin in London away from the estates and
the agents carin only how they could
squeeze the rint out of the tenants and
turnin thim as were behind out of‘ their
cottages and farms to starve on the roads,
no wonder the byes, with the discourage-
mint, got wildlike and did crazy things
intirely. They made a society amonst
thimsilves, ‘Ribbon Men’ they called thim-
silves, and they helped the poor people
that were thrown out of their shanties and
they bothered the bad landlords.
‘But I niver had any doin’s with thim,
for by one way or another I had always
had the rint ready, though the pig wint for
it one quarter, and sorra another bit of
mate did we have that winter afther the
steak that Molly put on the cabbage. No
more had Molly a new dress or a bonnet,
and she had denied herself the amusement
of ivery wake that had been held in the
parish till her spirits were growin as heavy
as her understandin.
“There was a fair at Cashel, and one fine
day, ‘Molly,’ says I, ‘I'll take what eggs
we have in me handkerchief, an I’ll sell
thim at the fair an bring you home a rib-
hon,’ says I, and with the eggs in one hand
and me shillaly in the other, off thrudges
I to the fair.
“Now, while I was gone, who should
come to the cottage but one of the hyes to
get me to meet with thim the night at the
crannach to help thim with some of their
diviltry.
‘Now, they were not that sure of me
that they could out with their business to
once, so Murtagh began in a roundabout
way, and ‘Whist, Molly!” says he, ‘is
Donald a ‘‘Ribbon Man ?’’ says he.
‘ ‘Not yit,” says Molly, thinkin of the
ribbon I had promised to bring her, ‘but
by the same token he’s thinkin of bein one
when he comes back from the fair.’
‘ ‘That's good,’ says Murtagh, ‘and if
it’s sure you are that he’s with the ‘‘Rib-
bon,” tell him to meet with us midnight
in the skirts of Ballymoran forest.’
‘I will that same,’ says Molly, and to
be sure that she shouldn’t forgit, knowin
her talent for twistifyin a message, the
made her repeat it three times—‘Midnight
in the skirts of Ballymoran forest.’
‘‘Now, it’s right you are in thinkin that
Molly made a mess of it intirely, but be-
fore I tell you the how and whyfore of
that, you must know the luck that came to
me on the way to the fair.
“I was thrudgin along whistlin to me-
silf, when I heard a great rackit behind me,
and whin I looked around there was a gin-
tleman’s dogeart a-runnin away with his
horse, and the gintleman himself a-runnin
afther, and by great exartion losin a rod or
two the minute. I planted mesilf in the
middle of the road, and droppin me eggs I
grabbed hould of the bridle and hild on to
the baste till he tired of draggin me, and
the gintleman came up pantin and blowin.
‘“The horserit quieted down afther a bit,
and prisently the gintleman’s footman
came up a-rubbin of his showlder, which
had been hurt with bein tumbled in a ditch.
‘Ye’d better go back to the hall, Terry,’
says the gintleman, ‘an have the dochter
look at your showlder,” says he. ‘I'll
drive on to the fair, if this honest lad will
get up beside me and hould the horse when
I get down,’ says he.
‘Thank you, your honor,’ says I, ‘and
it’s just what I'd like, for I'm goin to the
fair mesilf to trade me eggs for a ribbon for
Molly,” and then I looked around, and
there were me eggs all scrambled ready for
the atein, into what the Frinch cooks to
the gentry calls a epaulet; or an amulit, or
the likes of that.
‘Well, the gintleman, when he see the
condition of the eggs, first he laughed, and
thin he said it was a pity, it was. But
niver moind, Molly should have her rib-
bon, and the best he could find at the fair.
With that we rode on togither, an a right
pleasant spoken man I found him, barrin a
great trick of askin questions about the
tinants, and the agent, and how much’the
pertaties sold for, and how much I could
save when the rint was paid, and this, that
and the other. And at the fair he was
here, there and iverywhere, takin with
ivery one and askin and askin more ques-
tions than a praste with the catechism.
“But he didn’t forget Molly’s ribbon,
don’t you be talkin—an illegant one it was,
with a rid satin shtripe and roses blossom-
in all over it. Thin he said, ‘Donal,
come in ; let me see you take a turn at the
dancin,’ but though there was a harper an
a fiddler on the grounds there was no one
dancin’ ‘And why is this ?’ says hishonor.
¢‘ ‘If your honor pleases,’ says I, ‘it’s be-
cause the poor people of this country have |
little time, money or heart to spend on the
dancin.’
“It doesn’t please my honor at all,’
says the gintleman. ‘I’ve heard so much of
the blithe village games of Ireland, I fan-
cied a fair would be much gayer.’
¢ ‘You should have seen our fair in the
ould days,’ says I, ‘whin
“The byes were all in muslin dressed,
And the girls in corduroy.’
“Thin we set out for home, and on the
way we stopped at a schoolhouse, and it’s
empty we found it aud no glass in the win-
dys, or floor barrin the ground.
“Feyther McClosky, the parish priest,
saw us comin out of the schoolhouse, and
he came over from the church, and his
honor bowed to him andl asked him a mort
o’ questions, ashe had me, and gave him
some money for the church poor. And
whin Feyther McClosky tould him the ray-
son the children didn’t go to school was
because they had not time for the work,
and besides it was no one’s business to send
us a tacher or rid’ up the schodlhouse.
‘It’s my business,’ says his honor, ‘an
what that agent of mine’s been doin these
ears I can’t concaive.’
“With that they shook hands friendly,
and in a short time we reached the cottage,
and there was Molly standin in the door-
way with the surprise knocked into her to
see me come drivin up like a lord.
*‘ ‘Is this where you live?’ says his
honor. ‘Why, it’s on me own land.”” And
thin, whin he come to a stand, so that he
could look into the cottage :
*‘ ‘Is it possible that human craythers
live in sich a hovel ?’ says he.
¢‘ ‘Please your honorto look in ; you’ll
find it clane,’ says I. ‘It’s not much that
Molly has brains for, but scrubbin is not |
above the measure of her understandin.’
¢“‘I thought the Irish kept their pig in
the parlor,’ says he.
‘ {Please your honor,” says I, ‘the pig
wint to pay the last quarter’s rint, and
Molly has been lonesome enough without
the darlint.’
“With this he says, ‘Come up to the
hall, and I’ll send you back with one of
me best Suffolks.’
‘As I was climbing into the dogcart, he
noticed that there was no door to the cot-
tage, and av coorse he asked me the why
of that, and I tould him how we lost it in
the bog, and I thought he would ’a’ died
laughin.
‘“ ‘She’s a good girl, is Molly,’ says he.
‘A faithful heart like hers is better than
the best intellect in the world.’
¢ “Sure it’s truth your honor is spakin,’
says I. ‘If I could find out who the spal-
peen is that has the ownin of her heart,
sure it’s a good drubbin I'd give, for I mis-
thrust he’s not treating Molly right, for
they were to have been married last Mich-
®lmas, and it’s two months gone.’
“ ‘Find him out,’ says his honor, ‘and
give him a good batin, with me compli-
ments.’
*¢ ‘I will that same,’ says I, and was the
first and only promise that I iver broke to
his honor.
‘‘He sint me home with a basket of vict-
uals and a beautiful little spotted, black
and white pig tied by the hind leg of him,
which gave me such a chase that whin I
reached home again I was worn out intire-
ly. But it was a lucky day for us both,
and Molly was taken with admiration,
what first with the pig and thin with the
victuals, and thin with the ribbon, and
lastly with the thought that our own land-
lord had come home to live among us like
a Christian, that she clean forgot to give
me Murtagh’s message until it was nearly
bedtime. x
“Now if she had given me the errant as
it was given to her, divil a bit would I
have stirred out of the shanty that night,
but says she : ‘Whist! Donal and you
haven’t caught all the good luck that’s
stirrin yet, says she, ‘for Murtagh was here
the mornin, and he says for you to come to
the crannach in Ballymoran forest at mid-
night, dressed in me petticoats, and you
will see some fine fun the night.’
‘ ‘Dressed in your petticoats!” says I,
‘and what rayson did Murtagh give that I
should rig meself out as a woman, as
though it was a Candlemas procession ?’
‘‘Niver a bit of a rayson, but belike,
it’s some fun of the byes, for its particular
he was about it and made me say over three
times ‘‘Be sure he comes in skirts to the
forest." ’
SWell, I felt gayer that night than I
had for many aday, and thought I would
like nothing better nor a frolic with the
byes, so I let Molly disfigure me by put-
ting her Sunday dress on me—one with
big flowers onto it, a stoilish kind of caliky
that they cover sofys with in the houses
of the gentry—an I tied a kercher over me
Y | head, an I hardlyknew whether I was Molly
or Molly was I.. Tein I took the remnints
of our supper along in the basket for I
thought I'd treat the byes, and we’d all
drink to the health of our yound landlord.
“Well, I went on gayly enough til I
come to the hedge forenist the forest, an
thin $wo of the byes jumped up from the
ditch, with guns in their hands, and pinted
thim at me. ‘Give the password’, says
they , ‘or you're a dead woman.’ With
that I threw one of ’em a hunk of mutton
pie and the other a piece of plum puddin,
and they lowered their guns and let me
pass. ‘It’s Molly Molly,” says one.
Whin is your cousin comin ? says the other.
‘He’s not far off.’ says I, imitating me
cousin’s voice. ‘Where are the byes?’
‘‘ ‘They're in the crannach,’ says one, and
I wint on, but I mistrusted now what kind
of a frolic I'd fallen into, and purty soon
I found meself amongst a dozen or twenty
of them all talking amongst themselves.
‘What have you let that woman come here
for ?, ays the leader to one of the guards.
‘‘ ‘Sure, she’s the bearer of important
dispatches,’ says he ; ‘an,’ he says in a whis-
per,, ‘it’s only half witted Molly Molly,
ar? she’s that thick headed she’ll niver
unuerstand nothing’, says he.
‘‘With that I dropped them a c’urt’sy
and thanked the gintleman for their kind-
ness and said that me brother who had
come home from the fair with a broken
head, had sint them some pervisions to tes-
tify his kind fellin’s. They grumbled to
thimselves, and some one said, lowlike, if
Donal had come he wouldn’t have got off
that night, for there was work to be done,
and thim that were not moined to help
should have their mouths shut. Thin they
sint me away, but not till I had heard by
bits that there was an attack planned for
that very night, come two hours, when all
were asleep at the hall, an that they meant
to give the new landlord a house warmin
that should not be of a welcome. Afther
this they hustled me out of the wood, and
I took to me legs with all me might for the
hall and informed on them—the villains!
owe - - es -
*‘But his honor didn’t have the house
ut into the state of defince, at all at all.
nstid of that, he ordered it lighted from
garret to cellar, and tould the servants to
hurry and set out a big supper, and me to
run for Fayther McClosky to come in and
make a speeche of welcome for his company.
And Fayther MecClosky arrived in the
nick of time, and come out on the balcony
with his honor just as the byes marched up
foreninst the house. ‘And,’ says he, ‘his
honor has heard of your kind intintions to
give him a surprise party,’ says he, ‘and
has pervided a little supper, to which he
bids you all welcome.
‘‘Well, whativer Fayther McCloskey
tould the byes to do, that they did, and
whin he tould thim to eat first, one slip-
ped his blunderbuss into his coattail pocket,
and another threw away his shilaly, and
another hid his shotgun behind the hedge,
an’ so they all came into the hall and ate
their fills.
thim his intintions of doin’ his best by
thim, and they inded by giving him three
cheers. :
“The school house has been rid up, and
Mollie has took to the larnin. By the same
token she makes fewer mistakes than for-
merly, and a better behaved or more peace-
able parish than ours you’ll not find in
Tipperary, or a kinder landlord, and all
through the twistifications of Molly.
“And the weddin? Sure, a finer was
niver seen in the parish, for his honor sint
the band from Cashel, and we had dancin’
on the green and a barbecue, at which the
spotted pig had the pleasure of being roast-
ed, and other good victuals galore. For
it’s meself that would give Molly a good
send off, more cspecially as I had no fault
to find with her swateheart barrin his slow-
ness in the courtin. It was the day afther
the house warmin at the hall that 1 had the
pleasure of making his acquaintance.
‘“ ‘Molly,’ says I (we were workin in the
field togither), ‘Molly, that swateheart of
yours is a bit backward in comin forward.’
‘ ‘He is,’ says she.
‘* ‘Spake the word, and I’l larrup him,’
says I.
‘Don’t throuble yourself, Donal ; he
can take his time.’
‘+ ‘Oh, give him up, Molly, bad luck to
him! Sure it’s not much you care for him,
I’m thinkin, that there’s others waitin to
take his place. Sure, I'll marry you me-
silf if ye’ll tell me who he is and let me
give him his walkin papers, the villain.’
‘* ‘Sure, I'll niver give him up,’ says
Molly, ‘not if his honor himself axed me to
be lady of the hall, for I love him more
than the wurld besides. And yeesneedn’t
look so black, Donal, for it’s you, darlint,
that I'll marry, and no other, at all, at all.’
‘“ ‘Molly, Molly,’ says I, when I could
spake for kissin her, ‘this is the worst
twistification of all, for who could have
thought that I was your swatcheart ?
‘* ‘Thin it’s you that has twistified the
matther,’ says Molly, ‘for it’s meself that
knew it all the time,” says she.’—Eliza-
beth W. Chapney in Home Maker.
Unlucky to Find Gold.
In the gold mining districts of this coun-
try there is a superstition that the discov-
erers of great mines always come to violent
ends. It is said the belief is founded on
the fact that the finders of 40 of the richest
mines in the world have died in this way,
12 being shot, 3 engulfed in their mines
and the rest unaccountably disappearing.
George H. Fryer, of the Fryer Hill mine,
committed suicide. Two years before his
death he was worth a million, yet the
authorities buried him. The discoverer of
the Standard mine, in California, was kill-
ed in an avalanche ; Colonel Stoey was
killed by the Indians ; William Fairweath-
er, of the Alder Gulch mines, came to his
death through riotous living. The owner
of the Homestake mine turned highway-
may. He was shot dead. John Horner, of
the Horner mine, finding himself penniless,
shot himself. ‘Doughnut Bill,” ‘Old Eure-
ka,” and ‘Ninemile Clark’ were killed in
bar room rows, and Montana Plummer,
who found one of the richest mines in the
world, died on the gallows.
She Knew Willlam’s Style:
A slender, pale-faced little woman in
mourning attended a spiritualistic seance
at the rooms of a Market street medium
the other evening.
Materializations had been advertised
and the little woman confidingly whisper-
ed to the medium that she would like §o
see the departed William. She was over-
joyed to learn that William was on hand
when wanted—the first time since she had
known him—and, when a few minutes
later a shadowy form appeared in the
cabinet, she trembled with mingled fear
and joy.
‘Is that you, William ?”’
a faltering voice.
‘‘Yes, dear,”” was the hollow response.
“That’s a fraud. I don’t believe it,”
she exclaimed. ‘William would have
said, ‘Who in the dickens do you think
itis 2? 2
she asked in
Put Out Your Tongue.
A female patient presented herself at a
French hospital for a very rebellious hic-
cough which had resisted -all treatment for
four days. She was asked to show her
tongue, and it was noticed that with the
putting out of the tongue the hiccough
ceased. The same thing has since been
tried and with success in other cases. All
that is apparently necessary is to push the
tongue strongly out and hold it so, for a
minute or two. It is also suggested to try
the same thing in suffocative cough, as
whooping cough, and choking by irrespir-
able gases.
‘‘A new source of revenue is to be open-
ed to the farmers of America, and especially
to those of the eastern and middle states,
in the European demand for apples, which
is growing rapidly. Last year 35,000 bar-
rels were exported, while the exports this
year already amount to more than 600,000
barrels. The fruit brings good prices, but
only the best of it can be sold in competi-
sion with the foreign product. It will pay
eastern farmers to give more attention to
their orchards, and learn to make the most
of a fruit which they have rather neglected
hitherto.”’
Difference in Degree.
Tommy—*‘‘Uncle John, what's the dif-
ference hetween a honeycomb and a honey-
moon ?"’
Uncle John (a crabbed old bachelor)—
‘‘Considerable. Honeycombs that I've
seen are made up of little cells ; but some
honeymoons I’ve heard of were big sells.”
—New York Times.
——Mrs. Rebecca Packard, of Tioga coun-
ty, Pa., who was 101 years old last week,
possesses all her faculties unimpaired.
She remembers when the Indians swarm-
ed through Tioga county.
Se
“Thin his honor talked to thim, an tould |
The Leaves of Autumn.
Why They Take on Their Gorgeous Variegated Col-
ors.
‘What causes the leaves to turn red and
yellow in the autumn ? Nine persons out
of ten answer hastily, ‘‘the frost.”” As a
matter of fact, the frost has nothing to do
with it. Leaves turn in color simply be-
cause that is the natural way for a leaf to
ripen. A leaf turns just as a peach, a pear
or an apple does.
Sprays of brilliant maple, gum, oak and
huckleberry leaves may be found in the
any suspicion of frost. When the frost does
come it is likely to turn a red or a yellow
leaf brown.
Modern botanists say 3 a plant to be
in perfectly healthy condition must pro-
duce nothing but green leaves. Color is a
sign of degeneration, whether that color
| take the form of bud, flower, fruit, bract or
| autumnal leaf. Color results from a defi-
ciency of chlorophyl, or green coloring
matter.
All this is contrary to the old ideas on
the subject, when the flower was consid-
ered the crown of the plant and the pro-
duction of fruit the end and aim of a
plant’s existence. Such thoughts may sur-
vive in poetry. Science says that a plant
is doing well only when it produces ‘‘noth-
ng but leaves.”
The principle is recognized in horticul-
ture, when the gardner pinches off buds in
order to prevent a plant from blooming too
soon or too profusely. The Japanese use
this process in order to produce large chrys-
anthemums, retaining the chlorophyl as
long as possible and allowing all the defi-
ciency thereof to settle into one flower.
The tree butchers have a crude concep-
tion of the idea when they chop off hand-
some limbs, unsightly stumps at the ends
and turning the tree’s natural shape into
monstrous deformity. They know that
the tree will sprout out again with a thick-
er crop of green leaves than ever.
There must come a time in the life of
any plant when its strength is inadequate
to the continuous production of chlorophyl.
In that case the deficiency is shown in col-
ored leaves. Sometimes these are petals,
sometimes autumn leaves.
But all brilliant leaves are not necessa-
rily autumn leaves. There are plants that
start out with a deficiency of chlorophyl—
hence display a gorgeousness of foliage at
other seasons of the year. Among such
plants may be mentioned the coleus, so ex-
tensively cultivated for carpet and ribbon
beds. Itis easy to see that the frost has
nothing to do with the coloring of plants
of this variety, The same phenomenon ap-
pears in many tropical and hot-house
plants ; as begonias and pitcher plants.
Sometimes the deficiency in chlorophyl
shows in bracts, or secondary leaves ; and
in calyxes, or flower cups.
sage has a scarlet calyx, as well as a scarlet
flower. The poinsettia has a bunch of
i scarlet leaves at the top of its green-leafed
| stalks, immediately beneath its little yel-
| low, inconspicuous blossoms.
Among the most beautiful of our autumn
leaves may be mentioned those of the scar-
let maple, the scarlet oak, the sour gum,
the sumac, the Virginia creeper, the dog-
wood, the beech, the hickory, the tulip
tree, the huckleberry, the blackberry, the
wild strawberry, the wild geranium, the
scarlet thorn and the burning bush.
The variety of gold and crimson, garnet
and amber, orange and lemon, sulphur and
russet, cardinal and umber tones could not
be reproduced by any painter, however
skillful. An ‘“‘impressionist’’ would be
most likely to give you an idea of a vol-
canic eruption or the burnfpg of Chicago.
It may be interesting to note just here
that some astronomers have thought that
the foliage of Mars might be red. It
would require only a deficiency of chloro-
phyl to make it so, just as a large propor-
tion of our own foliage appears in autumn.
Atmospheric conditions only a little differ-
ent from our own would keep it a perma-
nent red.
Imagine the delicate red of spring foliage
on Mars—such red as appears in our own
oaks and maples, before the trees are suf-
ficiently alive to produce chlorophyl. Im-
agine the expanded red leaves of summer,
as seen in our own copper beech and Japan-
ese maple, which never grow green. Im-
agine red blossoms appearing before any
leaves at all, as in our own scarlet maple
and Pyrus japonica. Imagine red fruit in
abundance, like our own cherries, straw-
‘berries, raspberries, currants, apples, cran-
berries and ponregranates.
Let the chemical composition of the ma-
jority of our earthly plants be changed
even a little, and our own fruit, flowers
and leaves would always be red. Another
change, and they would always be yellow,
as witness the early twigs of the water wil-
low, the blossoms of the spice-bush and
forsythia ; the leaves of the Japanese honey-
suckle and the golden periwinkle ; the
fruit of the pear and the apricot ; the au-
tumnal foliage of the hickory, the walnut
and the tulip tree.—by Margaret E. Harvey.
= Some Good Lotteries.
Those people who are in the habit of con-
demning lotteries indiscriminately might
not be so severe if they knew that Harvard
and Dartmouth colleges, Leicester Academy,
Rhode Island college, and inany other great
institutions of the kind in this country,
owe their existence wholly and in part to
this much abused lottery. It is also to be
remembered that Benjamin Franklin was
manager of the Philadelphia Steeple Lot-
tery ; that the famous Charity Hospital of
New Orleans was partly supported by she
money it received from the Louisiana
State Lottery ; that the original settle-
ment of a large portion of the United States
was due to the lottery grant given to ‘‘the
Virginia Company,’ and even so great a
patriot as Thomas Jefferson advocated she
establishment of a public lottery shat the
ideas of the first Continental Congress
might be carried out. It is also a fact that
the celebrated preaches, Increase and Cot-
ton Mather, lived and © 1 in houses buil$
by lotteries, and tha ev. Dr. Eliphalet
Nott, of Union College, was the author of
the best and most truthful defense of the
lottery system ever written.
Two Strange Languages.
Among the queerest languages used by
human kind throughout the world are
those of the Gomeros, inhabitants of one of
the Canary group of islands, and the Came-
roouns, of West Africa. The Gomero whis-
tles what he has to say to his neighber,
using both fingers and lips so expertly as
to express all the signals that are required
to make the conversation intelligible. A
Cameroon man uses a drum. The instru-
ment is rather peculiar, its surface being
divided into uneven halves so that when it
is struck it yields two different notes. With
a code in character not unlike the taps of
the telegraphic system, the people make
this drum express every syllable of their
language. A Cameroon chieftain can sum-
mon anyone of his subjectsand at the same
time intimate the purpose for which he is
required by the mere use of the drum.
The scarlet”
i CREE
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
Skirts are not much more than half as
wide as they were, perhaps, a couple of
years ago ; three ané a-half yards around
the hem at the bottom, and with no godet
at the side, is now the correct proportion.
There is no wane of the popularity of the
jacket, bolero and Eton, still very short
and worn in self colors over vests and
blouses of fleecy texture and light tints.
The wide corselet is as much in favor as
is the pearl neck chain, only the pearls are
reserved for the few who can afford them.
Anyone can have a belt
woods as early as July, Jong before there is-— An odd detail of the Paris fashions of
the present autumn is the common custom
of wearing drab cloth sack-back coats with
skirts of entirely different hue, of which
the lighter is always reserved for the coat.
A skirt trimming which will not be relish-
ed by stout women is a heavy stitched nine-
inch hem with five rows of braid around
the bottom of the skirt
Except in coats, where the retention of
fairly generous sized sleeves is desirable,
they are much smaller than they have been.
Somnie slight protection is needed for the
shoulders before it is time to don the wrap
or coat. One grows so weary of furs, that
it is best not to put them on until one is
compelled to, and then, with collarettes,
there is small need of furs.
If one is an adept with the needle, one of
these contrivances will be as easy as rolling
off a log. One needs a good pattern, some-
thing with all the flare possible ; and by
flare, I do not mean fulness. A chic little
collarette is made of mode, colored melton,
as heavy as a board, lined with rose pink,
dresden taffetta, and trimmed or finished
with strapped pieces of broadcloth, and sets
of tiny, flat pearl buttons. This, with the
high flaring collar is sufficient protection
from early chills, and is a smart protection
to any toilet.
Pretty ones are made of velvet preferably
black, with large ruches of black tulle and
ostrich feathers, so arranged as to stand up
high at the back of the head.
A fetching collarette in black is made of
dozens of frills of chiffon set on double, as
close together as they can be placed, with a
tall Marie Antoinette collar, composed of
the same.
With such a collarette may suitably be
worn one of the broad-brimmed, tip-tilted
hats in black, either a fur-felt, or velvet,
massedgwith ruches of black tulle or chif-
fon, and bristling with spiky blackbird’s
wings.
One of the finest accomplishments for a
woman to master is the acquisition of a
low, well-modulated - voice. It must be
clear and distinct ; it should have individ-
uality. It should not distract the atten-
tion’and worry the nerve. Children would
often obey quicker if they were not rasped
and irritated by the harsh, excited com-
mand. that gives hint of a great lack of self
control in the one issuing the order.
If a woman adopts either the profession
of a physician, surgeon, clergyman, lawyer
or nurse, she, of a necessity, would be ab-
sent from her home much of the time, if
the profession was followed. And yet, with
either of these professions, as well as others
there perhaps would come a time when her
professional knowledge would be useful to
her in her domestic life. A divided “atten-
tion is only half attention, and if her heart
is in the profession it cannot be entered in
the home. If she desires to follow a pro-
fession let her follow it as she is capable of
so doing as a man ; but let her leave the
domestic duties to women who love to cook,
bake, sew and darn” for the loved ones,
keeping a place at our bright fire-side for
the professional woman. The world
honors her and ever will, as it has
ever honored true worth and womanliness.
There are hosts of new and dainty ad-
juncts to both street and house toilets for
the beautification of woman.
In sleeves there is an endless variety of
styles, all of which are more or less be-
witchingly lovely and quite easily copied
by one whose fingers are clever.
The body of all new sleeves is snug at
least, and generally quite tight, with more
or less wrinkles extending from the elbow
to the shoulder decoration.
Occasionally we can see an entirely plain,
tight sleeve, but they are ugly and unbe-
coming ; it will be a matter of education
with us before we grow sufficiently accus-
tomed to them to like them. A draped
sleeve is chic, if well handled. A stunning
one, belonging to a gown of tobacco brown
homespun, has the wrinkled sleeve reach-
ing to the shoulder, over which is draped a
full breadth of deep-toned brown velvet,
caught up into a snug knot at the shoulder,
‘with the ends falling in a soft jabot as the
drapery is of the arm. This velvet drap-
ery is faced with turquoise blue tafetta,
while the wrist is finished in a deep net
standing out at either side.
Another odd, smart sleeve, seen on a
gown of black crepon, has a snug body,
falling over the hand in a full flare, edged
with a triple frill of black mouseline de
soie. As the top are too pointed tabs of
the crepon, stiffened and edged with frills
of the mouseline de soie.
En —-
A great many women convinced that
flesh is inimical to beauty—is the ‘‘death-
blow of grace,’’ as an arbitrary oritic puts
it—injure health in the endeaver to reduce
weight. They put themselves to great
trouble and inconvenience, swallow all
sorts of preventives and remedies in order
to get thin, and then stand aghast at the
spectacle of their wrinkled,flabby faces and
throats, the resuls of falling away of flesh
under the elastic skin. As a matter of fact,
a number of the notable women of the
world, famous not only for their beauty,
but for the rarer charms of intellect and
subtle fascination, women who have helped
to make history and been a power in their
day, were of distinctly generous propor-
tions.
Cleopatra, she whose ‘‘infinite variety
of charm and temper could win stern-
hearted warriorers to forget their ambitions,
was small and stout.
Marie Antoinette was of the plump order,
though tall, and of fine bearing, and, to
eome down to the present day, view the
widowed Victoria, sovereign of the ‘‘Unit-
ed Queendom ;'’ the increasing proportions
of Queen Marguerita of Italy and the gen-
erous outlines of Queen Isabella of Spain.
It is worthy of note that most of the great
interpreters of song are gtout, or bordering
on that condition, and there have been
lights in the literary world decidedly fat,
whether tall of stature or the reverse. Geo.
Sand was fat and small, and likewise Mme.
De Stael.
——1Its Location—Facetious Traveler
(poking his head out of the car window )—
What place is this? Native (leaning
against the depot)—Paradise, Kentucky,
suh. Facetious Traveler—It is, eh ? Well,
this is how far from where? Native—Half
a mile from the distillery, suh.