Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, June 18, 1897, Image 2
Beara tan. Bellefonte, Pa., June 18, 1897. e—— FAITH. - I' cannot tell how the lilies From their beds creep up sofar; I can only pluck them gently And think how fair they are. 1 do not know how the planets Swing out into space so free But I know that One controls them, And that is enough for me. I know not whence comes music From the song-bird’s swelling throat, But I feel the heavenly sweetness That dwells in every note. I cannot read His purpose, Nor solve each mystery ; But all that He sends is righteous, 4nd that is selace to me.’ I know that the flowers must wither And the stars be dimmed some day ; The song will sink into silence And all things pass away ; But I also know of a Saviour, Whose face I hall sometime see. He rules with a love eternal, And that is enough for me. — Arthur Lewis Tubbs. POOR PARTNER 1 BY OCTAVE THANET. The lamps were lighted overhead, add- ing the fumes of kerosene to the sickening riot of smells in a crowded car in winter. To prevent any rash lover of fresh air from raising a window, the rail- way authorities had thoughtfully screwed the outside windows to the car. They rea- soned that most travelers want warm air, no matter how foul, but that the few who want ventilation are sometimes violent, and might force pure air on unwilling re- ceivers ; therefore they had kindly but firmly taken away the cause of dispute. At least this is what the pale mai in a black suit, with the black mustache, said to his companion, the portly man in th middle row. PT “‘Maybe,”” grunted”the portly man, ‘but if I come much nearer suffocation I may ac- cidentally break a window ; I paid that black scoundrel to open the ventilators, and they were no sooner open than some- body coughed, and he.shut them again. I’m waiting to get at him !”’ ‘You were always impatient, Thorne ; you were impatient at college !"’ Thorne smoothed his brown Vandyke beard and smiled a little. He looked like a genial man who might fall into fits of passion. don’t seem to have ever got into any- t by being patient,”” he grumbled. ‘‘Look at that fool over there getting the last ventilator in the car closed, confound him! I hope he'll catch a cold from the bad air. That woman in front of us has more sense ; see the poor thing huddled up to the window for more air—fairly dy- ing, I know.”’ The other man looked curiously at the woman. She was of a truth huddled as close as she could get to the window ; and she had raised the inner sash. She was not a pretty woman, except so far as youth and delicacy are pretty. Indeed, she was too thin, too pallid and too care- worn for beauty ; but she had honest, kind blue eyes, and her lips were sensitive and daintily cut. She wore a decent, faded brown stuff gown and a jacket too thin for the bitter weather outside. At intervals, warm as the intolerable atmosphere of the car was, she shivered. Yet she pressed her face the closer to the pane, while a tremor of some strong emoticn stirred every line. ‘‘Something is the matter with that woman,’’ said the man in black. ‘‘Asphyxiation !”’ retorted the stout man. ‘‘I feel it myself. I don’t blame the railway for not running a Pullman on this train, but they might give us air— that’s no expense to them !”’ Meanwhile, the woman, who had heard every word, was thinking drearily to her- self how the rich made troubles out of such trivial matters. ‘‘If that man with the fur collar once was in Pete's place,” “thought Nellie Bates, ‘*he’d think this car was heaven! Oh, poor Pete, poor Pete!” The tears welled in her eyes, but she dashed them away, hoping no one saw the motion.” “He told me I must be careful and look cheerful,”’ she remembered, and struggled to force a smile at a small tod- dler who was trying to break his head against the chairs as he staggered down the aisle. The mother, a careworn farmer’s wife, jerked him off his feet into her arms, and sank into a seat without a glance at Nellie. Nellie would have been glad had she sat beside her, and had moved her shabby va- lise off the next chair, with that purpose. ‘If somebody was here, I'd maybe get my mind off Pete for a minnit,’’ she had thought, ‘‘and she didn’t look so proud as the rest of the ladies in the car. Maybe she’d have been willing’”’—Nellie broke off with a sigh that almost made itself into a groan. She pressed her cheek her face closer to the glass, the mounting terror in her straining at her throat. She couldn’t see anything, and the terrible shrieking pound of the wheels tore every other sound to pieces. She tried to force her mind. off the terror even if it flew back to old sor- rows. She thought of their hard year in Fairport, of the ‘‘friend’”’ to whom Pete had lent a hundred dollars once, beause he was likely to lose his home that he was buying on the installment plan; and it was when Pete was going to get married, too, and he had it saved up to buy the fur- niture. She had money saved, too, for she had been a ‘second girl”’ for three years ; and when Pete told her he’d have to wait before they were married, and felt so bad, she showed him her savings-bank book, and how proud he was of her! Well, there was one thing, Pete and she had nev- ‘er had any mean times ; there never was such a kind man as Pete ; and they were so happy till the plow-works shut down and Pete went to Fairport, hearing of a Joh there. But there wasn’t any job in the plow-works, so he went into the steel mill and got a job there ; and they saved a bit of money and bought the little shelter in Fairport. She shut her eves and seemed to see the little room on which they had spent so much time. There was the table Pete made himself, borrowing Johnny Durgan’s tools. And she had felt so cross at Johnny because he came in upon the table proudly displayed in the centre of the room and laughed and hollered out, ‘Say, Pete, what amakes your fine table so pigeon- toed ?”’ But the legs did turn in a little, though that didn’t make it the least bit worse to stand. The money for the brass lamp she made by going out to help a lady with a dinner. The curtains were s0 pret- ty, too. And now everything was gone, and the baby was dead, and Pete-— she choked down the sob in her thtdat. If only there was some one she could ask to help her! At this thought she looked at -_= ‘} riehpedple didn’t care, and the mean rich wife had given the child a large brown cooky, and he was making a depressing spectacle of himsélf without let or hind- rance, while she read from the pile of books that the newshoy had deposited on the chair in front of her. Nellie did not dare to address her. Neither did she daraspeak to the stout lady in a wonderful black vel- vet hat, magnificent with plumes and crim- son roses. , This personage had been assist- ed on to the train at a small station by two stout sons and the brakeman. She had so many packages that she had called to the conductor : ‘*You'll have to help me out, or I'll have to stay on the car all night ;”’ and when the.conductor laughed, and she laughed also, in a mellow, musical peal, Nellie had gazed wistfully at her almost de- termined to speak to her ; but as she saw her wave the newsboy’s nuts and candies and enticing gum sternly away, her heart failed her. And, certainly, she should not dare intrude on the peevish invalid smoth- ered in his greatcoat, whoswore at the por- ter for opening the ventilators; while those rich men on the chairs behind her only frightened her. No, the whole world was against poor people. The best of the people were just like the men in that pict- ure Pete bought, called The Shipwreck, where the men were pushing and shoving the other men off a raft, and one poor little boy was just drifting ‘off to drown. She never liked that picture ; it gave her a bad dream once ; but Pete bought it because of the beautiful gilt frame and its being only a dollar and sixty-nine cents, marked down from five dollars. Now, they were lke those men on the raft; and the waters were over them. . Never in her whole hard-working, self- denying life had Nellie hated other people, or grudged those who had better things and softer lives than she their greater rich- es ; but at this moment her heart was hot with the unreasoning anger of gain. ‘I'd be better off, if we’d stole and cheated ; it ain’t any better than stealing and cheat- ing they’ve done to us?’ Thus she thought bitterly ; straining her ears for some other sound than the rumble of the train and the incessant pound of the trucks. The talk of the two men behind came to her, and she tried to listen. She felt that she could not much longer control her fears and Pete had warned her to look cheerful. ‘‘They talk about the workingman suf- fering’’—it was Thorne who was speaking —‘and there’s no question, the working- man out of a job is suffering like the mis- chief. The workingman with a job, a steady job, never was so well off, for his wages haven’t been reduced in anything like the proportion of other things. But the trouble is, the man with a job is often working eight hours or half-time. He'd be better \off if he were working for less wages and working full time. of the situation to my mind is that, low as manufacturing products are, they will have to come lower vet to reach the level of the agricultural products. Yet the workingmen would fight that.” *‘You see,’’ said the other, ‘‘they natur- ally fight a reduction because it is so hard to raise wages again.”’ “And right they are usually,” said Thorne, wondering casually whether that little woman in front really had turned -her head sidewise to listen ; she might be a workingman’s wife by her appearance—a workingman out of a job. ‘‘I say they are right when the cause is a transient one, a mere tumble-and-get-up-again drop in pri- ces ; but, when the trouble is a permanent reason for depressing prices, then they aren’t right, they are as wrong as possible ! Look at the cruel irony of the situation ! Here are our socialist friends howling the roof off ‘because labor doesn’t get the fair share of its product. Marx, you know, wasn’t too modest ; he claimed that labor ought to have all the product. Interest was the crime of the centuries. Well, to- day, in every business—and the Lord knows there are enough of them—that isn’t more than paying expenses, or that is run- ning at a loss, labor is getting it all! And the more labor gets, the avorse the times are, and the worse labor really is off. I tell you, David, we're partners; and we can’t cheat our partners and wreck a busi- ness and make money in the end. Not often. And to-day the manufacturer and the mer- chant and the retail man are catching as bad a blow as the workingman ; and the capitalist, the fellow with money to lend, is getting it worst of all and is the sickest of the crowd. Think of the mortgages; even farm lands in good, honest, middle Western States are shriveled all up, and stocks and honds—oh, we're all catching it, this storm. But I believe the manufactur- er is the hardest hit of the lot. If I ever pull through this year and get to a time when I don’t have to lie awake at night’ thinking how I can meet the competition of the fellows who have sliced off wages, without slicing mine, and don’t dream of the faces of men we have to turn off when they are only seeking work, can run my shops on full time with good wages— whew ! I shall go down on my uninitiated knees and thank the good Lord, and prom- ise to try to be a better man! You needn’t laugh, you cynical clergyman !”’ “I’m not a clergyman, I'm only a min- ister,”’ returned the man that he called Da- vid, ‘‘and I assure you that in my soul I am very far from laughing—it’s only your grotesque form ‘of earneitness, Thorne. Yes, I suspect that reducing wages is a painful thing, light as some’people make of it. : ‘Painful ! It’s like drawing teeth to a man who has a human heart in him ; and most manufacturers haven’t hearts of stone though I admit the most of us don’t see as much as we ought of our men and don’t keep enough in touch with them. But I'll tell you something as bad if not worse than reducing wages—that is, to have to reduce your force. I had to. It was sickening. The worst of it was I had to drop into the office at the bad time, and hear one man talking to our superintendent. We laid off the unmarried men and a few of the young- er married men. * This man was a young fellow ; he didn’t look much more than a boy, but he was married. But Balcom told me he was one of the new men. I .overheard him, with that pitiful attempt should have made me pity him more, but it did.” : front, who was resting her head wearily on the chair ; nevertheless, she heard every ness the minister. decent fellow and a good workman ; ma- chinist, not a regular iron worker—helped about repairing the rolls. go out of town that night, and. it was a He had forgotten all about the woman in word listening with an indescribable eager- “Did you take the man’s name?’’ said ‘‘¥es ; his name was Peter Bates’’—the woman shut her lips a little tigher—*‘‘very to go around to his address ; but I had to week before I got back ; and, do you be- lieve, the poor beggar had been sold out in the meanwhile. He had a little three- roomed house, owned it himself, on one of the streets the city has just paved with brick ; and the taxes came to more than the poor little place was worth, so they lost it ; and as they had put a chattel mortgage on the furniture to enable them to pay up clean on the house, it did look bad for the poor creatures. But they were gone, and I lady, with decision. and I'll attend to her. ‘And the quicker you are the better.” I looked round you were pretending to be cheerful—"’ * “He told me I must look cheerfui. Oh, Missis, you won't tell on him—" The stout lady turned on Thorne: ‘‘Are you going to find the conductor and get that man off, or am I?” “Ithink you would better let me,’ said Thorne. Now, Mrs. Bates, don’t worry any more ; we'll have your husband here in a minute.” “Yes, don’t you worry,” added the min- I took the pains ister, who had—risen as well as Thorne. “We'll 'get him.” “You let me come in there,” said the stout “You look after him Anybody could see that the stout lady was a woman of power, accustomed to command. In her own village no doubt she was the President of the Woman's Club, a massive pillar of the church, and one to whom dis- tress of any sort applied naturally for Laid, couldn, t find them.”’ “But that was unjust on the part of the city ; it wasn’t taxation, it was confisca- ‘tion.”’ : ‘Looked like that to me, but they ar- gued that the value of the property would ; Seems to me it was rather like throwing a man into deep water who could not swim ; he’d learn to swim—if he didn’t get drowned ! But municipalities do queer things. Ours, besides frightening all the poor property- owners into fits, because several small property-owners actually have lost or will lose their holdings on account of the big be increased by the pavement. tax, ran a brick pavement through a stone and from whom it would take reproof with meekness. Thorne and the minister did her bidding sway for years. They hurried out of the car. At the same moment, two or three men in other parts of the car, aroused by the stir, came forward ; and the invalid in the great coat met them. “What's the matter ?’ repeated the stout lady in a fine, sonorous voice that had often, in the Woman’s Club, drowned a dozen shrill feminine pipes with its organ-like tones. “The matter is that, rather than leave his quarry ; bless your soul when they came to | wife behind to starve alone, this woman’s that stone roadbed they didn’t turn a hair— just piled on the assessment onto the abut- husband is riding on the trucks, clinging to them, half frozen, from Fairport to Kansas ting property—which belonged to some one City ; and she’s trying to sell her wedding- out of the State and was fair game—and ran their road straight through, quarried it out ring to get a ticket for him !”’ as readily as‘if they had been uiider her. The worst |. ly a stranger to you. and laid a course of brick, as the specifica tions demanded—put a brick roadway on top of the stone ’’! “I call it atrocious—are we going to stop?” The train was jarring and making a shuddering purr as its speed slackened. Nellie threw up her head, clenching her fists unconsciously in a horrible fear Why should they stop? She could se: through the blurred windows only a win- ter-stung prairie, bare of any human sign except fences and dead corn-fields. She pressed her face closer to the pane and gasped ineffable relief as Thorne answered; ‘‘Big water-tank on the other side ; good for ten minutes here.”’ “Oh, I will do it,’’ she resolved. got to ; he talked like a kind man.”’ She turned her head. city 2’ ‘‘Half-past nine, Thorne, courteously. madam, ’’ Nellie caught her breath. There was 10. color to ebb out of her white face; buta blue shadow settled about her mouth.’ “I thought it would be sooner,’’ ste ‘‘Please, sir, how much is the fae said. to Kansas City from here?” ‘About six dollars, I think.” She tried to speak, but could not keep her mouth from quivering. “‘Haven’t you a ticket?’’ said Thorne, kindly. “Yes, sir—oh yes sir; it ain’t for me” She slipped her hand under her collar aad drew forth a gold locket, then from her left hand she pulled off a slender weddirg- ‘The ring’s solid gold, sir,”’ the said, her imploring eyes on his face ; ‘‘the locket’s just plated, but the man said it would wear twenty years, and it was a Will you—would you ring. very stylish design. give me six dollars for the two ?”’ Thorne drew back ; she misunderstood his motion, and added quickly, ‘If you will take them and lend me the money on I ain't quite exact- My husband, Peter them, I'll pay it back. Bates—"’ ‘‘Excuse me,’’ interrupted Thorne ; ‘I want to get up and come into your seat ; He had suited his action to his words and was sitting in the will you permit me ?”’ next chair before the train stopped. ‘*Now,’’ said he, ‘‘what do you want to sell your wedding-ring for ; and isn’t that hair in the locket 2?’ “Yes, sir ; it’s Pete’s and—and baby’s. I'll sure- ly pay it back if you'll buy it; and if you’d give me the money now, so I coula But I would take the hair out. get the ticket.” ‘Whom do you want the ticket for 2” *‘Por Pete, sir.”? whisper. *‘Is he stealing a ride?” She looked at him in an agony. ‘‘Don’t be frightened ; I won't give him away.”’ * ‘Yes, sir ; and it’s getting so awful cold, I’ve got out every station to see he was all right, till he told me I musn’t—they’d sus- I gave him some lunch ; but it wasn’t much, only what a neighbor lady gave me—a couple of biscuits and a sausage, and I'd ten cents I got him a cup You won’t please, say any- We never did a cheating thing before, Pete or me; pect something. of coffee with. thing to the conductor bout it. Sve ‘If you please, sir.”’ said she, her voice trembling in spite of her. ‘‘what time do we get to Kanss answerel She spoke almost in a but Pete, when he lost his job with you, “And I'm taking up a collection,” added the invalid, flinging a dollar into his own hat before he passed down the aisle. “That’s right, sir,” exclaimed the stout lady, her own purse out with her word. 2 -Nellie sat in a daze, relinquishing herself to the new guidance, with a faint comfort stealing like oil over her tumult of fears. But the train had stopped now, and her one ‘overwhelming emotion was the dread lest Pete should not have been able to kéep his hold. Yet, even through her terror, a per- ception of the kindness of all these people, whom she had thought so far from kind, was threading its way to her bewildered soul. She saw the woman with the child slip a piece of silver into the hat before she came across the aisle, satchel in hand. *‘Say, I heard it all,” she cried. ‘I've got some luncheon here and some coffee, and I've got a tin cup, and I'm going to set it right on the coals and warm it for you. Do you like your coffee pretty sweet ?”’ “I can’t eat,” said Nellie, ‘I’m—there’s something in my throat! Oh, do you think he’s helt on ?”’ “Of course he’s: held on,” said the lady in the hat, firmly. “We should have bumped if he hadn’t. I know you can’t eat ; but you can drink. And he'll be wanting some good hot drink—that’s the best thing you can do ! And this lady here’’—calmly impressing a “young girl who had come down the aisle to join the little crowd clustered about the seat —‘this lady, here, will mind your little girl while you’re doing it !”’ “Oh, you're so kind I” Nellie stammered ; and then something seemed to break in her throat, and she bust into tears. The woman beside her wrapped a strong, kind arm about her. ‘‘There, there,’ she soothed ; ‘you don’t want him to find you crying Nellie strangled her sobs instantly ; and if anything had been needed (which it was not) to clutch the grip of the stout lady’s will on the obedience of the passengersin that car, this proof of capacity would have done the trick. “It’s only because you—you are all so aw- ful good and kind, and—and we thought there wasn’t no more kind folks in the world.” sobbed Nellie, almost breaking down again. “Folks are’ kind enough if they only know,” said the stout lady, in her assured manner. ‘‘Now, you look cheerful. for—"’ But even the stout lady’s cheerful voice halted in a thrill of fear at the sight of Thorne’s compassionate face in the doorway and the grave face behind him ; Nellie stag- gered to her feet with a dreadful face of an- ticipation. But it was hardly a second, hardly the smother of a heart-beat, before her companion’s voice sounded heartily again. ‘‘There he is, a little stiff pretty well smouched ap with cinders, but safe and sound !"’ The man whom Thorne and the minister were supporting, and whom they gently pushed into the vacant chair (promptly sup- plied by the stout lady), was indeed so cover- ed with cinders and sleet that had frozen on him that he discovered hardly a feature ; he he couldn’t git another, though he’d go! could scarcely move his stiff legs, and his every day with his shovel, that ke bought, | head sagged on his thin shoulder. . . 1 » . . to the street commissioner ; and" before we | the voice, he straightened himself, feebly lost our shelter, just like you said, sir, Pete he begged the street commissioer jest to give him work and let him werk it out. It seemel like he ought to givehim work | when he’d paid taxes and when we got to | pay such a big tax ; but he sai¢ there was | men in worse need than we. how that could be, for Pete made the ba- by’s coffin himself, when it died, and we— Pete I” God knows | nice chairs,” he touch me, Nellie !”’ shook off’ his supporters, muttering, ‘I kin walk all right !” and weakly tried to smile. His wife looked up at him. ‘'‘Oh my! said she. “I'm jest too dirty to set down in these apologized ; ‘don't you But his wife laid his head recklessly. on her we couldn’t even hire a. coverd carriage ; I shoulder, and motioned for the coffee to be but that’s what he said. Ard it looked | like we’d starve, when a friexd of Pete’s | that he’d lent money toa gad bit back, he got a job for Pete in Kamas City and | handed to her. ‘All you need is a little coffee,” said she, ‘and that lady’s been warming it ready for Yet, att sent him the money. know what to do. sickness I couldn’t wash, nor go out, at nonchalance they always make, you for all the world like a child's and says he, | quickly, ‘If you jest keep me on two weeks longer—my baby’s dead and my wife's terrible sick’—I wanted to chip in | and get near enough to tip the wink to Balcom ; but that moment somebody feM | oun me with a telegram, and when I came | back the poor fellow was gone. I asked | Balcom, and he-said he couldn’t keep him | on, but he put him first on the list when we take on more men. But, confound it! I can’t get the look of that man’s back out of my head ; his shoulders had such a look of dejection, and his trousers .had been patched in se many places, and so neatly— the people on the chairs. The farmer’s 80 blamed neatly. I don’t know why that nor I didn’t know anybody told me not to worry, and cgne back smil- me in the Kansas City depe.. And I did get on; but I got out tomaybe catch a glimpse of him ; and Ifothd Zow he was riding free !”’ blue eyes fixed on Thorn¢ wavered and shrunk away. ’ “Where was he ?”’ ry ‘*He was riding on the bympers, sir—the third car back—"’ I The chair that held the slout lady in the | plumed hat suddenly whirkd round. ‘Do you mean to tell me thatjyour husband's outside, in this sleet, riding on the trucks, and that’s what’s made you get out at ‘most every station and ad like you have I thought twice you were trying, but when And théx Pete didn’t I was so weak with m§ | you—oh, Pete, folks have been so kind to i me!” | "And me, too,’ cried Pete. “Nellie. it where | was the old man himself helped me off and know, saying to Balcom, ‘Say, I wouldn’t | tO 0 3 and we knew we cotld- go to his | paid my fare ; and he’s going to give me a like to have it generally known, but if | friend’s for a day and get trusted, if we yowd pay mea dollar a day, I’d be willing | could only get to Kansas City. So Pete he to stay for awhile ;’ and, as Balcom shook '! no ] his head, the poor fellow’s voice changed | ing and’ give me the ticket he'd bought, in a quéer kind of a way. with a break in | #nd he told me he’d fixed ithe could ride | it, and a kind of quiver all over his face, | free ; and forme not to worry, he’d meet | letter to the Kansas City people. You put it | down so's we kin pay him back. Nellie, there's lots of kind people in the world, after all.” “Folks are kind enough if | know,” Nellie answered. they only Thorne caught the words as he passed, and Her words choked her ; the | repeated them to his friend. “Well, I think you have done your duty | by your partner this time,” said the minister. | “Poor partner!” . said Thorne, musingly. | ‘Labor is getting pretty much all we make {in our business, yet look at him ; and if I | were getting a little more he’d be all right. | Poor partner !"’—The Outlook. : © ——The army worm is doing great harm in the clover fields in Huntingdon county. a Europe’s Queens. Victoria, of England, is, of course, the most noted royal lady. She had a lonely and sad childhood, of which simplicity and reg- ularity were the chief features. She studied French, Italian, Latin, Greek, mathemat- ics, Anusic and drawing, and all knowledge of her future state wits carefully kept from | her. When she was 17 she first saw her cousin Albert, who was brought over to be- come acquainted with-her. It is thought some understanding was reached between them then, for to this day the queen wears a little enamel ring with a tiny diamond, which Prince Albert gave her in those early days. Some years after, when George IV. had died and she ascended the throne, she again saw Prince Albert, and, according to etiquette, was forced to take the initia- tive and propose to him. Their happy mar- ried life is known to the world, and Queen Victoria has been, since his death a re- cluse. : The throne of Holland is occupied by a blonde, bright-face little girl of 17, who has been queen in her own name since she was 10 years of age. Wilhelmina+has grown up closely guarded by her mother and gover- ness. Her life has been most setluded but she has a splendid education to show for it. She knows four or. five languages hesideg her own and English is her favorite. When she is 18 the ceremony of coronation will take place and she will be officially the chief person in her kingdom and whom she will marry has long been a much discussed question. Marie Henriette, of Belgium, is 61 years of age and a woman of a rare intelligence and sympathy. She is apparently haughty and cold, but in reality has a warm heart. She never recovered from the loss of her only son and spends much of her time do- ing acts of charity. Asa wife she cannot be said to be happy. for the notorious conduct of Leopold of Belgium is well known. She delights in horses, art and music and is an omnivorous reader. She detests luxury and prefers simplicity and the Belgian court is not a brilliant one. The queen of Italy is called the most ‘‘queenly’’ queen of Europe. She is fond of study and music, has done much for the arts and is well beloved by her people. In summer time, when she goegfor a holiday, she drops ceremonials and becomes only Margaret of Savoy, wears light summer gowns, goes for long walks alone and en- joys herself as would any lady of fashion. The queen of Denmark and her husband live a quiet, ideal life, caring more for home than the affairs of state. The family gatherings at Copenhagen have bécome his- torical. Their children are all famous and there is probably not another mother in the world so proud of her children’s achieve- ments as Louise of Denmark. Her second son is king of Greece, her oldest daughter is the princess of Wales, her second daugh- ter is the dowager empress of Russia, her grand-children are living and happy. Queen Louise, for her advanced years, is unusually active. Her life isa busy ane and with it all she is essentially a home- maker. Thrown Upon the World. A visitor to one of the Government offices where women are employed in one of our cities desires,to give in the Youth’s Compan- ion an exact account of what he saw and heard there. He was conducted by the superintendent, an old man of large exper- ience. The last room inspected was filled with women at work. The visitor remarked, ‘‘This is a higher class of women than that employed at the same work in some other kinds of business. | These women have been edncated, and have refined faces and voices. I should judge they are not used to manual labor of any kind.” “They are not,”” was the reply, ‘In! almost every case they are tte widows or daughters of men whose income died with them, but who, while living, gave to their families luxuries beyond their means. ‘‘That young girl by the window was in fashionable society in New York two years ago. ' Her father, with a salary of five thousand dollars, lived far beyond his means. The woman in mourning is the widow of a physician whose income aver- aged six thousand dollars. He probably spent eight. ‘“That pale girl is the daughter of a mas- ter builder, who lived comfortably among his old friends until he was seized with po- litical ambition. He moved into a fine house, had his carriage, servants and gave balls. He died, and his daughter earns twelve dollars a week, on which she sup- ports her mother. There is hardly a wom- an here who is not the victim of the vul- gar ambition which makes a family ape its wealthier neighbors in its outlay.” ‘That is an ambition not peculiar to us Americans,,’ said the visitor. “It is more common among us, because in other countries social position de- pends upon ually fixed by money. How many families in every class do you know who are pre- tending to a larger pecuniary wealth than they have?’ The visitor passes on the question to the reader. Died of Hicconghs. Bond's Months of Suffering—The Hiccoughs Caused by Cancer of the Stomach. William Bond, of Cedar Swamp, Long Is- land, who had been suffering with hiccoughs for four months, died Saturday morning at 9 o'clock. What caused the hiccoughs. which wore his life away, was unknown until a week ago, when Dr. J. C. Hall pronounced it cancer of the stomach. Bond was seized with hiccoughing while working around the outbuildings at his placejat Cedar Swamp about the middle of February. Or- dinary remedies failed, and paroxysms of hiccoughing wore away his strength untit he could not move from his bed. Subcutan- eous injections of morphine would stop them, but they returned when the cffects of the drug wore off. : The hiccoughs stopped of their own ac- cord about a month after the first attack, and foy two weeks he gained rapidly. Then they returned with renewed vigor. Since then he had suffered almost incessantly, with the exception.-of a day or two at a time. For a long time latterly he was unable to move from his hed. Morphine lost its effect on him. He grew weaker and weaker. On Thursday morning he lost his senses of sight and hearing, and was unable to speak even in a whisper. Still he remained con- scious until his death. ere resmese seasons Cancer Cure. Dr. Danisenko, a Russian physician, has discovered that a fluid extract of the great celadine (Chelidonium majus), admin- istered internaily or by hypodermic in- jection, is a cure for cancer. This isa new application of an old remedy, medical writers as far back as 1491 speaking of celandine as a cure for cancer, and a work published in 1644 | describing it as correct- ing vile and pernicious bodily humors. birth, while here it is us-: FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. Here lies a poor woman who always was busy ; { She lived under pressure that rendered her i dizzy, #She belonged to ten clubs and read Browning by sight, Showed at luncheons and teas and would vote if she might; She served on a school hoard with courage and zeal ; She golfed and she kodaked and rode on a wheel ; She read Tolstoi and Ibsen, knew micrdbes by name, y Approved of Delsarte, was a “Daughter” and “Dame ;"’ Her children went in for the top education ; Her husband went seaward. for nervous pros- tration. One day on her tablets she found an hour free— The shock was too great and she died instantlee ! — Philadelphia Record. * Among the great mercantile establish- ments in Omaha only one is under the supervision of a woman, Mrs. Jennie Ben- son. For nine years Mrs. Benson has con- ducted this commercial enterprise, each year enlarging her business, until to-day it is next to the largest store in the city. She is an Omaha woman and employs only women. She does her own purchasing, making trips to Chicago and New York. Mrs. Benson is on the sunny sidé~of 40; ‘and, in addition to being one of the leading merchants of the city, isa society favorite and one of the handsomest women in Omaha. She finds time from her business duties to give considerable attention to literature and to society. All of the im- mense capital she is now handling is the re- sult of her own labors. Says a lively woman in the Bazar : ‘The salon will never revive so long as gas is used. Who can talk under a conversation- killer blazing overhead ?’ Some can but few do. No room can be really cozy where all the lights are hung high ; and a room that is not cozy is never the habitat for real conversation. In the first place, conversa- tion feeds largely on the listener’s looks. Set an ardent listener under a high-hung light and immediately dark, weary shadows under the eyes, the color goes and the most responsive faces take on a more or less ghasfly, strained look. Eager eyes blind- ed by the glare are lowered ; or if raised, lose full expression, shrinking from the beating rays. All this high lights can do and undo, unless well supplemented and toned down by low lights judiciously plac- ed about the room. For cleaning the spots on the carpet ox gall or ammonia and water are excellent. The proportion is one tablespoonful of household ammonia to four quarts of water, or use one tablespoonful of ox gall to one quart of water. Apply with a sponge or flannel not too wet and rub until nearly dry. Lime spots may he removed’ with vinegar. ‘This must be used quickly and washed off immediately. For soot, cover with salt or corn meal and sweep up. To remove ink spots pour on milk, and as it becomes colored absorb with a blotting or other soft absorbent paper ; coarse butcher’s paper is good. As soon as the ink is removed wash with warm water and castile soap—nothing stronger—to remove the grease of the milk. ‘‘For grease cover with magnesia or corn starch, pulverized. Let stand a coarse paper above it, on which rest a slightly warm iron. Fuller’s earth or buckwheat may be used.’ A trig suit of wool brown canvas cloth, built over silk of exactly the same shade, is elaborately trimmed with braiding in black. The narrow skirt has its front breadth i outlined with a braided pattern, while the same design outlines the short jacket, reach- ing to the bust at the front, where it ceases in a scroll. : The coat is provided with a broad rolling collar, faced with black satin, finished with an edging of braid. With the suit is worn a shirt waist of Roman striped taffeta, fastened down the front with small gold studs and set off by a tie and crushed girdle of black satin. These shirt waists of Roman silk are new and very fetching. The less brilliant stripes are the best choice, any of them be- ing bright enough for all ordinary wear. The most popular method of trimming a dress is with insertions of lace set round- wards. You may see dozens, of these, and very pretty they are, too, looking well either plain materials or on those kilted skirts so fashionable. There seems to be a decided “inclination to trim new bodices on one side only and in a diagonal direction, and this is es- pecially the case with small gathered or accordion-pleated frills, which are arranged in double or treble rows, running from the left shoulder to the waist at the right side. The left side of the bodice in this case is left quite plain. Sometimes the silk or chiffon of which the bodice is made is close- ly tucked all round the armhole, and the frills are formed by letting loose the outer edge of the material, which is bordered lace or quillings of chiffon. Coarse Irish lace will be very fashionable this season, especially for trimming foulards and other thin materials. This lace is found on the new models in edgings and insertions, and also in the form of yokes, corselets and cuffs, allof which look par- ticularly well on blue foulards with white designs. The patterns on these silks will be smal’er this season than they were last year, and a good deal of red will be in- troduced. . I The new fronts are all made on a lining i that buttons in the back like a waist. i With an Eton jacket it is not safe to wear {merely a front with no guardntee that it | will stay down at the’ sides. Linen, with five or six rows of narrow black velvet ribbon made over a pink or blue lining is an attractive front. The i collar should also be trimmed with ribbon land with the familiar points on each side. i It is a very good idéa to point the bolero or tie Eton either up or down in the back, ras the line straight across the back is apt to he very trying to any but perfect figures. ' It may be edged with braid like that used on the rest of the.costume or trimmed with gold braid to wear with any dress. * Try putting tansy leaves in the winter blankets when packing them away. In i former generations moth halls were not | known, hut tansy leaves were freely sprink- led among the furs, blankets and woolen clothing put out of harm’s way during the {summer months, and such things always | came out fresh and sweet in the fall. | Frills are really the most bewitching | things possible. and this is certainly a { frilly season. Hardly a frock in the light wools and silks, not to speak of the mus- lis, that does not have ruffles and flounces on either bodice or skirt. And shot silk frills are set on cashmeres ddd grenadines with success. .