Bellefonte, Pa., April 16, 1897.
THE LEGEND OF THE EASTER LILY.
BY KATHERINE NEWCOMB.
In the gloom of early morning
Which precedes the coming day,
Ere the fuller rays of sunlight
Fade in lingering stars away,
Came the two with spices laden,
Perfumes rich and rare and sweet,
Love's last offering brought the Marys,
Love's last gift for His dear feet.
»
Forth they came in swift confusion,
For the stone was rolled away
And the empty tomb and graveclothes
Found they where the dear Lord lay,
As they ran to tell His loved ones,
‘‘Christ, the Lord, is risen indeed,”
Mary Magdalene wept softly,
And her tears fell like the sced—
Like the seed along the wayside
Fell her tears upon the sod ;
Forthwith sprang the Easter lily, »
Lifting high its head to God.
“He is risen I” sang the Marys,
As with flying feet they speed,
And the nodding lilies answer,
“He is risen—is risen indeed.”
AN EASTER GIFT.
“How are the lilies coming on? Oh,
‘beautifully! There’ll be a hundred at
least by Easter, if the temperature doesn’t
fall in the flower-house. It’s so hard keep-
ing the gasolene just right. The altar of
St. Martin of the Cloak will be a bank of
living bloom if all goes well. They're as
fresh and busy with their buds now as if
they knew what they were growing for.’
It takes you to imagine things, Sally,”
said the doctor opening his paper.
‘‘But don’t you suppose flowers mean
something ? They are emblems anyway—
the seed, the stem, the spirit in the bloom.
When the altar is dressed at Easter with
the great St. Joseph lilies T always think
of angels with their gold harps in their
hands. Ever since the baby died—what a
dead world this would be without Easter !
Deader than the moon, wounldn’t it be Louis?
For that has the sun to shine on it—There !
there she goes now !”’ suddenly exclaimed
Mrs. Dane, in quite a different tone.
‘‘The sweet creature! Look at her, Louis,
the poor, pretty thing! Could you believe
80 dark a skin could have so clear a blush ?
What is it your Browning says ?
** ‘As when of the costly scarlet wine
They drip so much as will impinge
And spread in a thinnest scale afloat,
One thick, gold drop from the olive's coat
Over a silver plate whose sheen
Still through the mixture shall be seen.’
“I don’t believe you would have remem-
bered that if it had been a moral maxim,’
said her husband.
‘‘Well, that is this woman’s skin. And
then a pair of eyes, so large, so black, so
tender! I always did like dark people—I
suppose because I'm so frightfully fair.
There ! she caught my eye and smiled.
What pearls of teeth! ‘what a lovely
mouth! I’ve seen her go by before. Oh,
she’s a beauty ! She’s one of those very
Transylvania gypsies of the poem, or an
Armenian, or something—'"
“Very evidently the last,’ said Dr.
Dane.
“See ! she’s holding up her tray for me
to see. Oh, you poor little dear, I don’t
want any of your trinkets—glass candle-
sticks, heads, crosses, little saints’ images.
What a frightful cough she has! She has
to lean against the lamp-post. And, oh,
Louis, she has a baby ! How ever does she
contrive to carry a baby and that tray too?
She doesn’t usually ; she leaves it at home
or somewhere, I suppose. Oh, Idon’t care
—I must see it. I mean to have her in.”
And directly afterward Thomas, in a very
disapproving manner, had opened the door
and beckoned the young woman, and ush-
ered her into the sunny breakfast room,
where Mrs. Dane was then pouring a cup of
coffee.
The woman smiled, and said something
in a strange tongue, poi nting at the objects
on her tray. ‘No, no,’ said Mrs. Dane,
“I don’t want to buy. Thomas take that
strap off her neck, and set the tray down.
I want to give you a cup of coffee, and to
see the baby.” The young woman looked
a little bewildered ; but she saw that the
meaning was kindly, and suffered Thomas
to set the tray aside, but she hesitated be-
fore taking the seat to which Mrs. Dane
pointed, till that lady’s white hand gave
her shoulder such a distinct pressure that
she laughed with her—Ilaughed gayly, like
a child that has long been forbidden to
laugh, and sat down and took the bundle
lying across her breast and began to unfold
and unswathe it. ‘‘Let me have it,”” said
Mrs. Dane.
That the woman did not understand a
word was very plain : but she kept mur-
muring strange sounds, much like a soft-
breathed multiplication of z's and y’s and
h’s, and presently she lifted out a tiny mor-
sel of a child, and kissed it, and re-arranged
the chain about its throat, from which hung
a little tinsel cross. Then she held up her
left hand and laid the long, slender brown
finger of her right hand upon a ring on the
third finger. “Oh, I see!” cried ‘Mrs.
Dane. ‘‘She means to tell me she is mar-
ried. Yes, yes,” cried Mrs. Dane, holding
up her own hand and touching her own
ring, “I’m married too. And that is my
husband,” and she indicated Dr. Dane
with a rather glad and triumphant look.
‘Oh, what does she mean now ? What is
she kissing her ring for? What is she
wringing her hands for ? See, she is cry-
ing! Oh, you poor little thing! I know
what she says. Her husband is dead,
Louis.” :
“They will have to send for you as in-
terpreter for the police court when she is
arrested for stealing the spoous.”
‘For shame, Louis! She may hear you.
Haven’t you any sympathy ? The poor,
Louis, can’t you do something for that
cough?’ For thelittle foreign woman had
set down her coffee cup and leaned back ex-
hausted with another paroxysm.
“She ought to go home and go to bed.
She is going tohave an attack of bronchitis.
Some functional heart trouble there too,
perhaps.’’
‘Poor little soul » No wonder—coming
across seas, and losing her husband, and all.
I suppose she has her own people to take care
of her. She ought to be glad she has the
baby, though. I should be. I wonder if
she cares. The dear little mite—it’s suck-
ing my finger for all it’s worth. I don’t
believe she’s weaned it yet. How it is
swaddled ! It looks like a gorgeous chrys-
alis in this Oriental sort of something. I
mean to see—oh, if she only would !”’
“If you only would be a little more co-
herent 1’? :
“I mean—I was thinking—it is the very
baby—if, possibly, she would sell it !’
“What in the world are you thinking of,
Sally 2” :
“Where's my purse? Here, Thomas,
take that tray, please. Bring it here.
Clear a little space there. Yes, that way.”
And then Mrs. Dane laid the baby down
in the tray very gently, and opened her
purse, and took out the bills and the gold
and the silver, and pointed at the tray and
extended the money to the mother, saying
over and over, as if the poor little woman
might understand broken English, that be-
ing the kind foreigners generally use:
“Want sell? T buy baby! Give money !
Much money !”’ : -
"What in thunder are yon about, Sally ?’’
cried her husband.
But before Mrs. Dane could say another
word the little dark woman had compre-
hended, had sprung to her feet, and
snatched the child from
caught up its wraps and rolled it over and
over in them, had bound it across her
breast, had seized her tray and bent her
head under the strap, and was out of the
house in a torrent of what sounded like ob-
duration, and certainly was not blessing.
“Well, isn’t that too bad?’ cried Mrs.
Dane. ‘“‘And without her breakfast!
Did she think I was going to steal her ba-
by? Oh, I should like to Louis! The lit-
tle darling—I can feel its soft face under
my chin now.”
I really think, if I were adopting a child
I would not take a little gypsy brat, a
wandering thing off the streets.’
“And why not, if it is just the very, par-
ticular thing you want?’
‘“When you don’t know anything about
t or its people ?. It might belong to a race
of murderers—"’
“What if it did? I should bring it up
so that there’d be one less murderer, then.’’
‘And break your heart when it began to
develop its family traits.’
“It would be my family. It would de-
velop our traits—yours and mine. Virtue
is catching. I should a. great deal rather
have it fresh from the lands of poetry over
there than some—"’
‘“I don’t see the need of either,’ folding
his paper at last. ‘‘We are certainly very
happy.”
‘Oh yes, we—are—very happy—I—oh !”’
‘‘There ! there! just forget that small
Armenian angel, or whatever it is—Scyth-
ian or barbarian of some sort—’’
*‘Oh, Louis, if the little sky-baby looked
like that, how hard it is to have lost it !"’
“Yes, it was hard—it is. But come, I
should be going, and you should be mind-
ing your lilies There’ll he enough to trim
ten churches by Easter.”
“‘If there's enough for the altar down in
my poor little St. Martin’s of the Cloak,
I’m content ’’ she exclaimed, with one of
her mercurial changes. ‘‘Oh, if that boy
were mine, I'd have him christened down
there with my poor people's children.
And, oh, what a christening gown I would
make—the very frost’s embroidery !—'*
“Ido believe you think more of that
part—’’
‘Oh no, I don’t. I think of it all—the
cooing voice in the morning, the loves, the
little mouth, the first steps—oh, the dear
first steps !—the singing it to sleep, the
waking at night to see the deep sweet: rest,
and all the perfect wonder of it, you know!’
‘Yes, I know. But if Heaven—"’
‘Oh. heaven helps those that help them-
selves!” °
“And you would like to help yomself to
that little mother’s baby ! Well, Heaven
help you if she—"’ :
“Oh, she’s a great deal richer, she'sa
great deal—"’
‘Happier ?’
‘Oh, no, no, Louis! I—I—am perfect-
ly happy. Oh, me, me, me—"’
‘‘Come, come,”’ said her husband. ‘I
will bring you home a big wax doll. But
as for picking a child from the slumis—?’
‘I haven’t asked you to, have I?’ she
cried, tartly, wiping her tears and smooth-
ing her tumbled curls. ‘‘There! you had
better go before we really quarrel over this
suppositious infant. Good-by. I hope
you wilkfind Mrs. Grinnell better. There
goes the office bell I” And then Mrs. Dane
went to the greenliouse to regulate the sun-
shine on her lilies there. ‘Well, if these
things are all I have, I must make the best
of them,’’ she said to herself. “They’ll
just be in their glory at Easter, I do hope
it will be pleasant. Easter with sunshine
and blue sky seems a day set apart from
other days, as if it were a day thrown in,
and didn’t belong to the year. When the
sun shines at Easter the sky and the day
seem just away straight up into Heaven !
Yes, Thomas,”’ as that functionary came in
to lift the pots, ‘‘you ought to be glad to
do anything for Easter. We keep the
earthly birthdays of those we love ; and
Easter is their birthday in heaven.”
*‘It is that, mum,’ said Thomas.
But the thought of the child with its ra-
diant smile went- with Mrs. Dane all the
time, and she could not help pitying her-
self, a woman who had to take up with a
lily instead of some little child, pure and
white as all the lilies in the world together
and wondering why Heaven had been
kinder to that poor dark foreign woman,
especially when she herself had the means
little sad lonely woman in a foreign country
with a fatherless child, and not a word to |
speak with!”
“Well, give her that chop and some hot !
toast and egg, and she won’t want to speak.”’
“Oh. I knew you felt for her, Louis! |
Aud now let me have the baby, dear,”’ and
then the woman suffered Mrs. Dane's
impatient hands to take it. “It’s a little
dear!” cried Mrs. Dave. “It’s a little
beauty—sound asleep. What dark, fine
hair—oh, what a sweet, soft, pale skin!
Took at the eyelashes, how black, how
long, how silky! Oh, how Icould love it!
I'must kiss it! I wonder if it will wake
up ? Oh, what wouldn’t I give—''and
then Mrs. Dane buried her mouth in the
sweet cheek, and the child opened a pair of
great night-black, star-shining eyes and
looked at her with a radiant smile, and as
she carried it over for her husband to see,
smiled again at his bending face, and
clasped the finger of his outstretched hand.
“I declare, Sally,” exclaimed Dr. Dane,
“It made a thrill run up my arm to my
heart !
“I knew it wonld—oh, I knew it! Oh,
why is it—when we love them $0—Oh,
to bring up the child so much better. Buf
the next time when, looking from the win-
dow, Mrs. Dane saw the dark foreign
woman, she had left her baby at home.
The poor little foreign woman was not so
dark as she had been, and the color did not
come back to her cheek as readily as dice
when some one smiled at her or some rude
boy jeered. She had been at home for sev-
eral days with her heavy cold and her la-
boring heart. She had felt very ill, to be
sure, but she had felt gJso a certain comfort
of rest alone with the baby on her poor
straw bed. A kind old woman of the same
nationality had come up from the floor be-
low with milk and broth, and she had a
rapture in the midst of her distress and sor-
rows to think the baby was hers—a thought
accented by the wish of that white witch-
woman to have him. There was nothing
in the tiny room but the bed and the stove
and her chest, except a rude little altar she
had fitted up with some of her embroider-
ies and crosses and candlesticks ; and there
when she was the loneliest she had gone
and knelt, feeling nearer to the dead father
of her boy, feeling in a dumb way a loftier
companionship, that gave her strength and
promise of joy. When she was able to
creep about with her tray again, she put
the baby safely in the middle of the bed
and locked the door behind her, giving the
old woman the key and asking her to lend
an ear to any cry. ’
The Easter season that was at hand was
a time of especial significance to this little
woman. It had been a festival in her own
country ; and it meant, moreover, that her
husband still. lived and was glad and well
—her beautiful young husband ! She sap-
posed it was such a season with every one.
She burnished her crucifixes, and sat up at
night making artificial flowers ; and know-
ing that in the wealthier quarters they had
the real blossoms, when she went out she
turned her steps in a different direction,
where there were poorer people who might
be glad of her wares and the wonderful
flowers unknown to any latitude but that
of her own fancy.
In this strange country where she had
come with her young husband, full of hope
and not a word of whose language she
knew, she was a timid little being. But
for her baby’s sake she called upon her
soul and filled it full of courage. It took
a great deal of courage to overcome the bit-
ter homesickness that went with her every-
where, longing for the hills and the sheep
and the singing shepherds, for the little
chapel in the rock, for the home, ‘and the
father and mother by the hearth there.
And she felt so miserable, too—but for the
baby she would so gladly have lain down
and died but when she went out with her
tray on the morning of Holy Thursday,
and took her way down into regions where
she had not been before, it needed all this
courage to smile cheerfully at the first small
boy that hooted at her. It needed still
more when another boy added himself to
the tray, had |
the first. She spoke pleasantly to them,
but nothing could have been more unfortu-
nate for her than those soft sibilant sounds.
She hurried on uneasily ; and the little
ruffians easily saw that they had intimida-
ted her and scampered after her with a cry
and a call that summoned a mate from the
next alley ; and then the ragamuffins
swarmed at every corner, till a horde of
them ran with her, mocking, hooting,
joggling, making snatches at her tray, and
not a policeman to be seen. She left off
smiling, her kindly words, her pleading
and imploring and commanding. All that
was what they liked ; it was as good asa
play—almost as good as tylag two cats to-
gether by the tails, or tormenting a stray
dog. They were suddenly frustrated when
she stepped into a doorway and disappeared.
But the janitor of the poor lodging house
was on the alert, and in a moment she
came flying out again, and the urchins who
had hung off, half balked, were flying after
her full tilt. Then another doorway of-
fered relief, the boys stood outside yelling,
and another janitor, who objected to this
foreign element, cried, “Git out wid ye!”
rand again the sally and onsetand the flight
took place.
If she had been a little longer in the coun-
try, been a little stronger, her heart would
not have beaten so like a flying hare’s ; she
would not have wrought herself up to such
a pitch of excitement. As it was, she was
nearly frantic with fright ; and then the
hurrying brought on her cough, and mak--
ing for another doorway, she fell against it
with her tray, and the glass panels of the
door went shattering into splinters, and
Mrs. McFinn instantly appeared upon the
spot with all her ire blazing in her face.
And then a policeman was handy enough,
the boys scattering like chaff, and only the
little panic-stricken and exhausted strang-
er was left to feel his power. No matter
what she said, he could not understand it.
But he could understand Mrs. McFinpn ;
and he marched the culprit and her ruined
tray off to the station-house, where she was
locked up till she could be arraigned for
making malicious mischief. In vain were
her tears and her exclamations, her appeals
about her baby, her gestures. No one
knew her language ; there was no inter-
preter there ; one woman crying and assev-
erating was much like another. The bolt
was shot upon her with no more ado ; and
when her sobs and cries became too impor-
tunate, an officer put his head in the door
with an angry threat, and she “signified
nothing more till her wails again disturbed
them.
What a cruel country was this, that had
taken all she had but her baby, and now
was robbing him of her; where the boys
in the streets were allowed to persecute her;
where she was shut away from her nursing
child! Oh, her baby, her baby! She
thought of him waking and hungry and
cold ; she cried herself sick for him’; she
suffered with his little suffering—his suf-.
fering, that included all the suffering of
which he could be conscious—cold, uncared
for, unfed—and she his mother, his heaven,
the only thing he knew, away from him.
She was in a high fever by midnight. In
the morning, however, some one discovered
it, and she was moved to a larger cell.
She clung to the hand that helped her up,
looking into the man’s face imploringly,
uttering her simple cry about her baby
over and over again-as if he must needs un-
derstand, her cheeks burning, her eyes
blazing—it seemed to her, her heart break-
ing. They all supposed her cries referred
merely to her loss of liberty ; and one
laughed, and put his tongue in his cheek,
and they locked her up again ; for it was
Good Friday, and the police court was not
in.session. She ate nothing, only drank
the water and. the milk some one brought
her. Before the next morning she was
aware of nothing except a depth of misery
of which she seemed to be a part, some-
times emerging just enough to be conscious
of a pervading pain and horror, and lapsing
into blank stupor.
The sun rose on Sunday as if full of the
gladness with which the old legend made
made him leap in the East. The blue sky
of the Easter morning shone with a high,
bright serenity that made one feel glad to
be alive ; the air was full of promise, a cer-
tain joyousness in the very sunshine, as if
all the elements of sky and light knew
that the day stood for life—more life, and
lovelier, larger, loftier life. Mrs. Dane
fall of happiness in the day, and of happi-
ness in bringing the doctor with her down
to her little church of St. Martin's of the
Cloak, came airily along, a little before the
first service in the early morning. Thomas
following with some huge boxes containing
the lilies with which she was going to dress
the altar. She was happy with a sweet
solemnity ; for looking out before daybreak
as a mist of gold welled over the pearly
dawn, she had seen the morning star melt
away in it, and the day score up and fill
the sky gloriously as a soaring soul.
‘‘Every day is a type of the risen spirit,”
she thought. ‘‘Every day, whether we see
it or not, the Lord renews the promise of
immortality, shows us with the sign and
symbol of sunrise the soul’s birth into life.
And every sunrise, and, of all, the Easter
sunrise, is a sacramental service.”’ And
still feeling as if she had had a moment of
some high communion, as if she had almost
seen her little child in Heaven, whom she
had never seen on earth, dying with its
first breath—her sky-haby, as she some-
times called it—she came down by the sta-
tion house, and just as they reached the
steps there stood policeman O’Brien, puz-
zled out of his scanty wits by the words
and gestures of a gaunt old woman with a
bundle in her arms. ‘“Divvle a word she
do be saying, year anner, that has a scrap
of sinse inti} it, she’s that outlandish, so
she is ; but two words of American’s all
she has, begorra ! She’s a babby here, and
there’s a mother there, and that’s all there
is to it. at all, at all.”
‘‘Let me see,” said Dr. Dane ; and he
turned to the woman, who volubly poured
out her broken talk, and pulled the wrap
away from the face of the child she was car-
rying—the pallid, pinched and purpling
little face of a starving baby, which she
had done her best to feed in the absence of
its mother. > 3
“Louis ! Louis !"’ cried Mrs. Dane. “It
is—oh, it is!’
“It is what ?’’ said her husband shortly.
“The little foreign woman’s baby !
something has happened to her ! Oh, give
it to me !”’
‘‘Be the powers!” said Mr. O’Brien, a
slow light dawning across his face. ““How-
ly saints! something has happened her.
It’s meself wouldn’t be surprised, so I
wouldn’t, if that’s what the craythur’s cry-
ing in the cell was after. Don’t ye be teil-
ing me,’’ he exclaimed, stoutly, to the old
woman, ‘‘it’s her baby, and she shut away
from it!" ’
But Mrs. Dane, pushing past the doctor
and oversetting Thomas, whose lilies went
all ways together, had caught the baby and
was running up the steps into the building,
and was having the door of the cell thrown
open in a rash and whirl that carried all
before it.
But as she entered the cell she stopped
awe-struck at the foot of the cot—Thomas,
feeling it no place for his mistress without
himself, having gathered up his lilies, and
now with his arms full of them, towering
behind her—while she looked at the poor
little woman who lay with her eyes closed,
her face sharpened, as if she had passed the
extremity of suffering. The doctor step-
ped quickly to the cot’s side and lifted the
wasted hand. The little creature opened
her eyes slowly—just before her stood this
beautiful woman with the tender pitying
eyes, a baby in her arms, the people about
her holding tall white lilies. Some shad-
owy memory came to her of kneeling in a
dark rich church where incense curled and
joyous music breathed. She closed her
eyes, but opened them again; a rapturous
smile lit up her face. ‘‘It is the Mother of
God,” she murmured, in her soft sighs.
*‘She has taken my haby to herself.” She
tried to lift her hands and fold them in
prayer to the beatific vision. ‘‘It is the
blessed Easter morning,” she thought.
“There are the Easter lilies. It is the way
they grow in Heaven—so many, so sweet—
oh, so sweet !’* and a recollection of fragile
sweet field lilies at home drifted over con-
sciousness. She could see nothing with
her fainting, failing eyes but the woman
and the lilies and the child. “Yes, it is
Easter. It is the day they rise—the dead.
I have risen. I am there. I am tired
—the way was so long, so hard. So are
the butterflies tired ; they rest when they
have broken from the chrysalis ; I have
seen them. Soon an angel will come and
take me by the hand—maybe—it will be
St. John. He will give me back my baby
then. It will be so sweet, having rested
on his bosom.”” And then Mrs Dane had
darted to her side, and had laid the baby
.on her breast, and delirious dazzle of joy
bewildered her, and the little woman knew
nothing more till she woke, fever and pain
and terror gone, in the soft white light of
the room that was to be hers at Mrs. Dane's
as long as she lived. “I died,’’ she whis-
pered, with the ghost of a smile, to the in-
terpreter who had been found. “I am in
Heaven.”
“You are in Dr. Dane's house, ’’ said the
interpreter.
ways, if. you will. You are going to be
cared for and taught, and your boy is going
to be your boy, and their boy too. He
will be a man like the doctor who has
saved your life.” And just then Mrs.
Dane, blushing, light-hearted. glad, looked
in, with the bright, wide-eyed baby on her
arm—a baby that had risen from the ashes
of the ping thing she had found on Easter
day—and came and sat down by the little
woman in the bed, and put the baby on the
coverlet, and took the mother’s slender
hand and kissed it. “You have given her
such a joy!” said the interpreter. ‘She
never can make you as happy as you have
made her. =
“I told you,” murmured the little
woman, gazing at Mrs. Dane, who half
thought she understood her, so tender, so
thrilling, was the smile, as if those clear
eyes would always see some of the aureole
that once had been a moment worn—-‘‘[
told you that I came to Heaven.’’ Then
the little woman beckoned Mrs. Dane to
stoop, and in the fashion of her own coun-
try she said, ‘“The Lord has risen,’’ and
kissed her on the lips. And she took the
child’s hand and put it in hers. ‘‘Easter
gift,”” she said, and the interpreter re-
peated it after her. And Mrs. Dane felt as
if another little hand were clasped with the
baby’s and her own, as if the little sky
baby loved the earth baby too—perhaps
had brought him to fill the place in her
heart. And still holding Mrs. Dane’s hand
and the baby’s and it maybe that shadowy
other one, the little woman fell into that
sweet sleep of weariness, waking now and
then to smile and murmur over, ‘‘Easter
gift ?”’—By Harriet Prescott Spofford, in
Harper's Bazar.
ei ——————
Saw the Point.
Teacher (holding switch in his hand )—
Now, boys, who can tell me what it is that
‘‘biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an
adder ?”’
Little Dick
(quaking)—Please,
you’ve got a hold
of it now.
sir,
——One of the obsidian cones a few
miles south of Mono Lake, in Nevada, is
smoking and fuming furiously, and at night
a red glow is perceptive at the summit.
There are three of these cones, all being
dormant volcanoes with deep craters.
em eter vm ite
——‘‘He must not see too much
mused the wise virgin.
Accordingly she was very careful to Have
the stripe of her gowns run up and down,
for besides wisdom she had embonpoint.
re ———————
"AFTERNOON,
of me,”’
Lookin’ at the sunshine,
Slant’n’ on the wall,
Watchin’ where the shadders
Uv the maples fall.
Jest a lazy swayin,’
Wav'n’ to an’ fro
Where the sun 'n' shadders
Kinder come 'n’ go.
Ain’t a-thinkin’ nuthin’,
Jest a-layin® here,
Soakin' in the gladness,
Soak’n up the cheer:”
What's the use o’ doin’
Anythin’ at all?
'D ruther watch the sunshine
Slant'n on the wall.
— Thad Stevens Varnum,
“You are to stay there al-|
Easter Superstitions,
Old French Methods of Reading the Future.—
Counting Apple Seeds.—Bathing in the Dew.
If young people want to try their for-
tunes on Easter morning the. following su-
perstitions are gleaned from an old French
seeress, who vouches for the infallibility of
each and every receipt.
The most powerful cosmetic and love
potion, she asserts, is Easter water ; and
while to procure it requires a great amount
of courage, yet if the love that is to live
always is only to be secured in that way,
we give the young people a chance by
unfolding these mysteries.
Easter water is‘the water that has been
taken from the river on Easter morning
before the sun has risen. The person wish-
ing to test its efficacy must rise while it is
quite dark, walk to the river, fill their
phial or pitcher, and return home in per-
fect silence, and without looking back even
once. She may then return to bed and
finish the interrupted nap.
The water thus obtained, so runs the
legend, will keep sweet throughout the
year, and is considered invaluable as a
remedy for diseases of the eye. Bathe
your face with it every year and you will
never have wrinkles. The dew gathered
at sunrise from crocuses is also a prevent-
ive against wrinkles. :
If you stand silent and alone and watch
the sun rise, fixing your eyes on the radi-
ance until dazzled, then closing the eyes
say three times :
“Beautiful sun! oh, show to me
The face of my love that 1s to be,”
then let imagination do the rest, you
will see the face of your future husband.
Yellow garters, worn on Easter day,
every woman knows brings luck, but the
maiden must get up at midnight and put
them on, then she must go back to bed
and she will dream of her future husband.
A widow must put a purple and a’ yellow
pansy on with hers to diggm significantly,
and the woman who is either separated or
divorced may wear purple garters with
yellow pansies. If she dreams of her
former husband they will be reunited and
live happily ; but if she dreams of another
she will very likely marry again.
If a small spider is found near you at
any time on Easter it will bring you luck
and money the rest of the year.
A present on Easter is a good omen.
Always wear something new—a dress or a
bonnet, if procurable, if not, some article
next to the person.
To prepare a love potion gather in
silence, while the full moon is in the heav-
ens, three white rose leaves, three red rose
leaves, three for-get-me-nots and five blos-
soms of Veronica. Place them in a vessel
and drop upon them 595 drops of Easter
water. Place the vessel overa fire or a
spirit lamp and boil exactly the sixteenth
part of an hour, then'remove and pour into
a phial, corking it tightly. It will keep
for years without losing its power. Three
drops swallowed by the person whose love
you desire will make him your devoted
slave.
Eat an apple on Easter morning as soon
as you awaken and repeat all the while :
“As Eve in her thirst for knowledge ate,
So I, too, thirst to know my fate.”
Then count the seeds, and if they are
of even numbers your sweetheart will
prove true; if uneven, he will prove
false.
Another test : Break an egg at mid-
night, carefully separating the yolk and
the white, pour the white into a cup, and
let it set until you rise in the morning.
The particles will separate ; examine
them well, and if any letter has formed it
will be the initial of your future husband’s
name.
A Beautiful Easter Custom.
The Advent , of Resurrection Day Hailed With
Respect.
‘No more divinely appropriate expres-
sion of the Moravians’ love of music and
their appreciation of its inspiriting power
is to be found than in their sublime annun-
ciation of the Resurrection day,’’ writes
Clifford Howard, descriptive of “A Mora-
vian Easter Dawn,’’ in the April Ladies’
Home Journal. Through the quiet
streets (of Bethlehem, Pa.,) in the early
morn the trombonists walk from place to
place, pouring forth their grand, inspiring
anthem that arouses the slumbering town
to the welcome knowledge of the advent of
this glorious day. Now here, now there,
now everywhere the lights appear within
the windows of the dwellings, and the
streets are thronged with people, young
and old, wending their way from all direc-
tions towards the church, and greeting one
another with loving salutions of the day.
The Easter service is begun within the
church and is continued there until the
brightening sky announces the advent of
the dawn. Then the people pass without
the doors, and headed by the tromboyists,
solemnly ascend the winding hill to their
beloved and quaint old burying ground.
“Within the closure of this consecrated
spot the congregation assembles and stands
in a large semi-circle facing the eastern
hills in fond anticipation of the emblem of
its cherished faith. A little apart stand
the ministers and the trombone choir.
Thus assembled the service of song and re-
sponsive readings, begun in the church is
continued. A sense of deep, religious awe
prevades the gathered throng, as on this
cold, gray morning of the early spring
they await, in spiritual communion with
their departed loved ones, the resurrection
hour. Above the hill the dawning light
appears. Then from the voices of the as-
sembled host there bursts a melody of rap-
tured song, a heartfelt hymn of praise and
adoration, a spontaneous symphony of joy,
that starts in glad expression of triumphant
hearts, and, mingling with the full, re-
sounding strains of sweet-toned trumpets
and resonant trombonists, arises with the
warbling song of joyous birds in glad ho-
sannas to the splendent sky. For see! a
radiant light o’erspreads the earth. A
wonderous glory hails the new-born day.
The sun appears in fulgency sublime—
God’s symbol of the resurrected life ; and
earth and heaven in exulting joy peal forth
in glad accord : ‘“The Lord is risen ! Hal-
lelujah, praise the Lord !
——Commenting on the New York
World's statement that ‘the Republicans
have given the Democrats an issue on which
they cannot fail to win—the tariff, with its
logical corollaries of trusts, monopolies and
public prodigality’’—the Atlanta, Ga., Con-
stitution says that ‘‘this issue was made by
the Republicans at St. Louis,” and that
‘‘the Democrats accepted the challenge, but
the World and many other Democratic
newspapers and individuals refused to sup-
port the candidate.’
——Little Willie—Say, pa.
Pa—Well, what is it ?
Little Willie—Why do they always
weigh the babies as soon as they’re born ?
Do peopls pay for them by the pound, the
same as for raw meat ? >
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
It is said that every hearty laugh in
which a man or woman indulges tends te
prolong life, as it makes the blood move
more rapidly and gives a new and different
stimulus'to all the organs of the body from
what isin force at other times. There-
fore, perhaps the saying “Laugh and grow
fat’’ is not an exaggerated one, but has a
foundation in fact. No truer words were
ever uttered than those which state so clear-
ly. “Laugh and the world laughs with
you ; weep, and you weep alone.” The
jolly, wholesome, happy-hearted people are
those who have most friends and see the
best that life holds out to them.
. —
Pique and linen suits are to be very much
the rage this season, and there area great
many beautiful shades of pique to choose
from. They will all be made in the jacket
and skirt, and trimmed with embroidery or
braid—preferably braid. It is much better
always to have these goods shrunk before
making them up, as they are very apt to
shrink in the first washing. The same
rules of braiding apply to them as to the
cloth gowns, only when embroidery is
used the material is cut away underneath.
The revers on the jackets must be arranged
with due regard to the figure. The narrow
ones are, of course, more becoming to stout
people, while the broad ones will give the
desired breadth to slender figures. Very
often the revers are braided and the jacket
itself left plain, and again the jacket is
braided and the revers left plain. All these
matters have to be decided by individual
taste. With these suits either the false
fronts and belts or shirt waists will be
worn, and the dimity and Madras waists
which are on exhibition at present are cer-
tainly extremely attractive. Dimity, by
the way, is one of the materials greatly in
favor. It launders beautifully, and in
white has a pretty silky look. The false
fronts and girdles worn with jackets are the
coolest of all styles for midsummer wear,
but they also must be made to fit. Rather
a clever scheme for making them satisfac-
torily is to buy a cheap corset cover, sew it
‘up in front, attach the false front to it, and
then arrange it to fasten in the back. Even
the cheap corset covers are well shaped,
and this gives the effect of a dress lining,
and for very much less than it would cost
to have a sleeveless waist lining made.
Hot water has far more medical virtues
than many believe or know. Because it is
so easily procured, thousands think it
valueless. The uses of hot water are, how-
ever, many. For example, there is noth-
ing that so quickly ¢uts short congestion of
the lungs, sore throat or rheumatism as hot
water when applied promptly and thor-
oughly. Headache almost always yields to
the simultaneous application of hot water
to the feet and back of the neck. A towel
folded several times and dipped in hot wa-
ter and quickly wrung out and applied
over the painful part in toothache or neu-
ralgia, will generally afford prompt relief.
A strip of flannel or napkin folded length-
wise and dipped in hot water and wrung
out, and then applied around the neck of a
child that has the croup will sometimes
bring relief in ten minutes. Hot water
taken freely half an hour before bedtime is
helpful in the case of constipation, while it
has a most soothing effect upon the stomach
and bowels. A goblet of hot water taken
just before rising, before breakfast, has
cured thousands of indigestion, and no
simple remedy is more widely recommend-
i ed by physicians to dyspeptics. Very hot
| water will stop dangerous bleeding.
To clean last year’s hat. Make a paste
of pounded sulphur and cold water, wet
| the hat or bonnet and cover it with the
| paste till you do not see the straw ; rab
hard ; hang the hat up to dry ; when dry
brush the sulphur off with a brush till the
straw gets beautifully white. This method
is easier than the sulphur bleaching box
and can be done very quickly.
Have you observed the multitude of
ways in which the sheer fabrics are being
tucked ? Take a tour through the large
shops and look at the new sleeves, skirts,
{ yokes, boleros and c¢ven révers—some with
tucks and eighth of an inch in width, oth-
ers fully an inch and a half wide. Bias
folds, simulating tucks, are sometimes used
on skirts from hem to belt.
Who was it that said that the fancy
bodice was on the wane? No one, surely,
answers the New York Sun, who knew
anything about the fashions that are im-
minent. This bodice seems likely to enjoy
a kind of perpetual popularity. At all
events, there is no present sign of its losing
favor. A pretty shirt waist is of peri-
winkle-blue silk. The taffeta fronts are
laid to fine tucks, in clusters of three. A
plain fold of the silk, three inches wide,
extends from throat to waist line. It re-
ceives a trimming of silver buttons small
as studs, and arranged in groups of three.
A knife-pleated frill of taffeta extends down
each side of this plain strip, but the frill is
broad as a jabot above and narrows down
to the waist. The crush collar is ‘‘boned’’
beneath the chin. It is finished at the
waist with gauntlet cuffs, edged with a
narrow pleated frill of the silk. The hat
to match is of dull blue straw. It is trim-
med with folded loops of black velvet rib-
bon and curly black ostrich tips.
One might imagine that the possibilities
of trimming a choker were exhausted, but
new devices constantly appear, particularly
on cloth or wool costumes, where chokers
take their cue from the masculine cravat.
There are few prettier fashions than the
cravat of soft satin or ribbon wound twice
about the throat, and tying under the chin
in square bow or four-in-hand knot, with
tiny turn-over collar of embroidered mull
or stiff linen over it. A recent street gown
cut with jacket basque shows a pretty neck-
tie effect. There is a high, rolling collar.
lined with lace, on the jacket, and it is
slashed so that a broad .atin ribbon may
he run through the slashings and tied in a
large square lace-trimmed bow under the
chin.
On another tailor-made gown we have a
loose figaro opening to show a waistcoat of
ecru cloth, fastening to the throat with a
row of small cut-steel buttons. In this
case there is no linen collar, the choker
being covered by a scarf of black satin,
ending in foar stiff loops under the chin,
and separated by a steel buckle.
It is a matter ®f comment that for the
coming hot season red is to be so extensive-
ly used in millinery—brilliant scarlet, and
not alone the deeper shades in Jacque rose,
begonia, geranium, damask, claret and
other tints that have been so popular.
Even the mauve hats with gilded basket-
work erowns and green straw tops are em-
bellished with vivid lebelia blooms or gor-
geous field poppies, whose uniform we all
know, and trails of trumpet-creeper and
loops of cerise satin ribbon aid in the con-
spicuous decoration of the dreadful chapeaux
Tof 1897.