Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, June 18, 1897, Image 2

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    Beara tan.
Bellefonte, Pa., June 18, 1897.
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.
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
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
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
“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
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
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
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,
“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
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.
‘‘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.”?
*‘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.
‘If you please,
sir.”’ said she, her voice trembling in spite
of her. ‘‘what time do we get to Kanss
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
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
“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
“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.
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
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-
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
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
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-:
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
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-
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
‘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. .