FOR SOMETHING TO HAPPEN. He grubbed away on a patch of ground, “Waiting for something to happen” ; Year after year the same old round, “Waiting for something to happen’ ; The moments he had to spare he spent “In “waiting for something to happen” : His hair grew gray, his shoulders bent, Yet he grabbed and he loafed, and was content To “wait for something to happen.” His tools wore out and his ground grew poor, “Waiting for something to happen,” : But he grubbed and he loafed and he still was sare That “something would some day happen,” And many a chance he let go past, “Waiting for something to happen,” Until there came a day, at last, When clods above his head were cast— Something had finally happened ! —**Cleveland Leader.” A DAY AT LONE ISLAND. The long curve of Irish Point stretched away into the Atlantic Ocean under the sun of an August day. It was more like an Italian landscape than a New England one ; and yet these rocks of pink granite, whose deep color shone through the clear, green water and snowy foam of the great "breakers that dashed against them, as the tide rose, with an over coming and joyous sweep, where the last sentinels, the outer- most pickets, of the islanded coast of Maine. Pink boulders and a yellowish gray pebbled beach at the foot ; low pink cliffs above, a grayish green down upon their top, stretching inland, carpeted with short grass and linchen, and strewn with shells of the sea urchin dropped by satia- ted gulls, hits of drift and timber flung by the winter waves with all their roaring strength, high and far, asa defiant chal- lenge to the land ; a blue sky without a cloud over-arching all, and two white sails. far out to sea, half lost in the multitudin- ous sparkle of the ocean—these were the elements of the picture which the two per- sons seated on the lower rocks of the Point had come to see, and which had drawn them there, across the stony paths of the little island, often before. Anne had spoiled many sheets of paper in attempt- ing water colors of the Point before she had renounced the effort to do more than absorb its color and atmosphere in restful appreciation. To-day she was sitting idly gazing into a rock pool, and exclaiming over its riches. “I never saw such a fascinating collec- tion! Here is a pink starfish, and a yel- low one, and a lovely white one, and a perfect rainbow of little shells, and two sea urchins. Cousin Lydia, don’t you think it would be a good idea for Tommy to have an aquarium? That old tub be- hind the back porch would do.” “Perhaps so, dear.”” Cousin Lydia’s sweet elderly face looked a trifle troubled at the prospect. ‘Mrs. Caruthers’ boys tried it last year. They had twenty her- mit-crabs and some star-fish. But the her- mit-crabs walked round and round the tub all day, in a sort of hurried gallop, like a procession ; it was very strange—Jamie Caruthers called ita ‘cake walk 3’ of course a hoy is apt to see things in a careless light for I an sure Jamie was not really a cruel boy ; and the star-fish, being in the path, were trampled on all the time ; and so one day, after half the hermit-crabs had eaten the others up, Mrs. Caruthers and I per- suaded the boys to empty the tub back in- to the cove. If you really want an aqua- rium, though Anne¥’—and Miss Lawrence's voice had a deprecating sweetness—*‘of course you can have it.”’ She did not entirely understand her beautiful, clever young cousin, but she al- ways admired her, it being cousin Lydia’s very life to admire and follow. A gentle, timid spinster, she had all her life been ‘under the heels of one or another of her family,’’ as her energetic friend Mrs. Ca- ruthers expressed it. And now, late in life, with all her tyrants dead and buried, and a small income of her own, she hardly knew how to enjoy it. Last year' she had been introduced to Lone Island by Mrs. Caruthers, and had liked it so much, in its primitive solitude, that this summer, her friend having gone abroad, she had rented the cottage, the only one upon the island besides the houses of the natives, for her- self ; and having fouud two orphan cousins who needed a vacation and had nowhere to £0, in the persons of Anne and her young brother, she was enjoying the part of host- ess very much. In her heart of hearts I am not sure but that Tommy was Cousin Lydia’s favorite, because Lie was masterful and she loved to obey ; whereas Anne though the bread-winner, and a most capa- ble young woman, was as considerate, in spite of her cleverness, as Cousin Lydia herself. ‘‘Oh, no, Cousin Lydia, Tommy musn’t have anything that would be cruel to the crabs and starfish. DI’ll bring him down, and we’ll explore these pools together, in- stead. I only wish I knew more about zoology und all that, so as to tell him things.” Anne shook her head, with its crown of hronze gold, pensively, and her blue eyes were perplexed. ‘I don’t see how I am to manage Tommy, Cousin Lyd- ia. The problem grows every year, faster even than he does. If I had money—oh, you don’t know how I fairly long for money !—I could send him to a first rate “school, instead of a crowded public one, and then put him through college, and give him a thorough, real chance in the world.” “My dear ?”’ said Miss Lawrence, in a shocked tone. “Yes, I know it sounds mercenary. But I can’t help it sometimes, down in New York, when I am working away at m y de- signing, and Tommy is with those rough hoys at the school, or fretting for a place to play in because I try to keep him off of the street ; and when I see all the luxury around me, and other women making ex- travagant or foolish use of it, why, I just crave it for myself. If I had a fortune, Cousin Lydia, I know of 30 many lovely things todo! Money means power, nowa- days, and influence, and—oh, it is the key to everything !”’ Miss Lawrence looked gently embar- rassed. “In my girlhood, Anne,’, she said with a certain meek stateliness, “it was not considered that money meant every- thing. The Lawrences have never had money, but they have always heen the best people, and stood for the best things, you know. There is so much more talk about money, nowadays ; nobody seems to think it is vulgar to talk about it, as I was taught when I was a girl. I never can get accustomed to it.’ The girl looked up at her with amused appreciation. “Thank you, Cousin Lydia. I suppose I deserve it. You are like all the rest of Lone Island—a beautiful rebuke to the modern spirit. Nobody here wants money or strives for it—they wouldn't know what to do with it if they got it. I asked Captain Ben Staples, down at the store, the other day, why he did’t have another piece of turkey-red calico in the store—you know we used up all the last at the cottage —and he said, ‘Wal, it’s a trouble remem- berin’ to git it, 'nd then it all sells out, soon ez it’s on the shelf.” If I could only | see life that way !”’ She straightened up as she spoke, and Miss Lawrence gazed at her with mild ad- miration. Anne Lawrence certainly was a beautiful girl--not merely pretty, which means so little, or handsome, which sug- gests severity ; but with that harmonious magic of lovely color and form which is a rare gift of gods to the daughters of men. Dazzlingly fair, tall, graceful, sweet-voiced starry-eyed, she seemed like a nymph ris- en from the woods to rejoice the eyes of men. ‘“‘Such a beautiful creature,” Cousin Lydia murmured to herself, ‘‘and no one here to see her.” By ‘no one” Miss Lawrence meant the lords of creation; for the dear old lady belonged toa past generation, and was romantic enough to feel that love was the fulfilling of a woman’s life. Once, in her girlhood, Cousin Lydia had had a lover; but being ‘‘under the heels’’ at that time of a domi- neering father and a selfish invalid sister, the little romance had faded helplessly away. A quick step behind them, a surprised exclamation from Anne, aud a tall and ex- tremely good-looking young man, dressed in a rough suit, stood before them, appar- ently fallen from the skies. He was not however an angelic visitant, for Anne in- troduced him, with a suspicious deepening of color, as ‘‘Mr. Wharton, Cousin Lydia— from New York." “I came on Captain Staple’s boat this morning,’ he volunteered, ‘‘and called at your cottage, and they directed me here. I have been sketching over at Mount Des- ert, and thought I would try a week or so here, and have some fishing. They tell me it is very good.”’ *‘I am afraid you will not get anything but codfish,’’ said Cousin Lydia, apologet- ically, as if she was responsible for the isl- and. ‘‘There have been no herring or mackerel this season. But perhaps,’ vaguely, ‘‘you like flounders. Tommy often fishes for them off the wharf. I nev- er heard of any one coming for the fishing before, though.” Mr. Wharton looked decidedly embar- rassed. ‘You might make a haul of codfish,” said Anne, reflectively, ‘‘and have it dried to take back with you. They split it here and pile it up like cordwood behind the kitchen door, after it is dried. Two or three hundred weight could be easily caught in a week, if you gave your mind to it, and it would last you all winter. You chop off some with an ax, you know, whenever you need it, and boil itin milk.” George Wharton flushed. He was the sort of a man that is easily discomfited by raillery—a serious, hard-working young fellow, whose one object in life, for the last two years, had been to adore Anne Law- rence without letting her know it—a hope- less impossibility, by the way, since no girl with a pair of ordinary eyes could fail to read the constant language of true love in that sincere and expressive face of his. If Anne knew it, however, she gave no sign ; and he worshipped on in silence, for being a penniless artist, he was much too proud to offer his poverty and himself to any woman, At present, however, having just been left a handsome legacy by an un- cle, and having sold several of his pictures, he saw his way clear to a moderate—a very moderdte—competence, and had posted, at once, up to Lone Island to ask Anne to share it with him. This light reception, meeting his tension of purpose, was natur- ally confusing. : “If I cannot getany fish,’’ he said, ad- dressing himself with much deference to Cousin Lydia, as a possible ally, “I may perhaps be able to carry away some sketch- es of your beautiful island instead.’’ “You must come and stay with us, at any rate,’’ said Miss Lawrence on hospita- ble thoughts intent. “I have two extra rooms, and Captain Ben can bring your things up this afternoon. I would send for them, but you see, Captain Ben owns the only horse on the island.” ‘‘Yes,”” said Anne, gravely. ‘‘When Captain Ben takes his drives abroad, and happens to go down to the other end of the island, eight miles away—he doesn’t get that far once in a year, for the horse is kept as a sort of sacred animal—the teacher at the school-house there excuses the child- ren from their lessons to go out and see the horse pass, just as they might for a dozen elephants anywhere else, as a sort of les- son in natural history !”’ The three started back toward the cot- tage, not without many a lingering look backward at the glory they were leaving. It was high noon, and the tide was almost up to the cliffs, throwing the sparkling spray saucily against their glowing sides. A few gulls dipped and screamed over the eternal restlessness of the waves, and a school of porpoises passed by in the offing, sporting joyously in the Atlantic swell. Not a cloud, or a shadow ; only the wide half-circle of sky and sea, out of which the cool salt wind blew gently upon their faces. ‘It is perfect life here.’’ said Anne, as they walked slowly along the stony road that led across the down to the cottage. ‘Just nature, pure and simple. Did you notice Captain Ben’s face >—what a kind, weather-beaten, placid simplicity there is about it? And his six sons all look like him—big, simple-natured fellows. Do you know, after they have been out in their fishing boats, in all the dangers of a long cruise, they come home here and play croquet down on the little green by the wharf, over behind that hill—yon can’t see it from here—hour after hour. as happy and guileless as if they were ten years old. It remind: one of Victor Hu- go’s old fisherman knitting—do you re- member ? And they all chew gum—tutti- frutti chewing-gum—the boat brings over a case of it whenever it comes, and every man, woman and child buys it continually It is the one luxury of Lone Island.” “It is a very bad habit,” said Cousin Lydia, in an apologetic tone, ‘‘but not so bad as tobacco, after all, said Anne. ‘The Lone Islanders do not know what a bad habit really is,’’ said Anne, laugh- ing ; ‘they do not drink or smoke or—yes they do swear occasionally in a dialect of their own, but not in the profane language of civilization. They have the three R's, of course, and the three C’s—codfish, cro- quet and chewing-gum—and the ocean bounds the rest of their horizon.” ‘That makes a wide horizon, though, after all,”” said George, looking out medi- tatively over the broad, sparkling sweep of the sea. ‘‘Nature is the widest and most satisfyiug thing any man can know.” “You show the true Lone Island spirit.’ Anne smiled. ‘I am a child of the world myself. But the islanders—and Cousin Lydia, -too—are infinitely removed from any of the questions which we fret about in the city. “I only wish I was as simple and good as the islanders,” said Cousin Lydia, ear- nestly. ‘‘They have all the natural hu- man feelings—the best ones, religion for instance, and neighborly kindness, and— love’ (she said this last word so reverent- ly that the young man’s heart was hers from that moment), ‘‘and it seems to me that that is all that is necessary—the best of life; and most people, after all, are struggling for mistaken things.” “I entirely agree with you, Miss Law- rence,”’ cried George, enthusiastically. said mischievously : ‘‘Codfish and ‘content !—it certainly makes a good motto !”” Then, as they came in sight of the cottage, ‘‘Cousin Lyd- ia, isn’t that some one on the porch? ‘Why—oh, look at the wharf ; it must he—’’ She hesitated, bit her lip, and flushed per- ceptibly. ‘‘It must be Mr. Willis and his sister. She told me they might be at Bar Harbor this summer. This conveyed no especial impression to Miss Lawrence’s mind ; but George Whar- ton remembered at that moment, with great clearness, a bit of talk he had heard that spring in the city. ‘‘Miss Anne Law- rence ? yes, beautiful girl ; and Willis is in love with her, they say—Willis, the sugar broker, ten millions or so, you know !”” A great sense of helplessness, al- most a terror of fate, possessed the young man suddenly. Here in this primitive paradise of sky and sea, where love could speak, it seemed, without the hand of worldly prudence forever heavy on its shoulder, the omnipresent power of money had appeared hefore he could even tell his errand. He followed gloomily as the two ladies hastened forward to the house, re- volving in his mind the vital question : ‘‘Was Anne’s blush simply the result of embarrassment at Mr. Willis’s inoppor- tune arrival, or’’—the alternative thought was too painful to be framed. A scene of confusion greeted the morti- fied eyes of Cousin Lydia as she reached the steps. Tommy, the irrepressible, had two, in the middle of the porch floor. His striped bathing-suit also, he front door to dry in the sun. Miss Law- rence’s embarrassment, as she hastened in- guests, wasstill further complicated by the haunting thought of dinner-—a suitable dinner in this primitive paradise for a pair of wealthy persons who came in a yacht! best of times by the fact that the Lone Isl- anders, living exclusively upon codfish stewed in milk. potatoes, bread and tea, had no conception of a wider diet. Cap- tain Ben, indeed, had been induced to im- port for her a barrel of onions and one of pears, but she was dismally conscious that the pears had just given out, and that on- ions were hardly a dish for such visitors. Lobster, canned peas, canned tomatoes— she ran over the possibilities of lunch, as Anne introduced to her a very handsome and stylish woman and a middle-aged gen- tleman who, with his six feet of stature, his iron-gray hair, and his eye-glass, was very imposing indeed. tirely out of place in the simple little par- lor, and suggested rather Newport and as cordial as possible. “My brother is very anxious. Miss Law- rence,’’ said Mrs. Witherbee, ‘‘to take yon all out in his yacht. We only reached Bar Halifax to-morrow ; but just for this after- noon, if you will come—ywe can have lunch on board, and a little sail, and come home by moonlight. When we come hack from Halifax, I shall hope to induce Miss Anne to come over to Bar Harbor and visit me ; but to-day was so fine that we did not wish to neglect this opportunity either. Don’t disappoint us—we have quite set our hearts upon it you know.”’ Cousin Lydia's heart ‘‘leaped up’ as if like Wordsworth in his youth, she had ‘beheld a rainbow in the sky’’ as she saw the lunch problem thus eliminated. In her relief at this, the acceptance of the in- vitation was a foregone conclusion. Go? of course they would gladly go, all three of them ; she would only gather a few shawls and wraps together, and they could be off in a quarter of an hour. It was not until Miss Lawrence was heaping the shawls across her arm, upstairs, that it oc: curred to her that Mr. Willis—yes, and Mr. Wharton, too—dear me ! how sudden- ly it had all come about, and just when she had been grieving, that morning, that Anne had no lovers at all! And which would Anne—oh, Mr. Wharton, of course, Cousin Lydia decided, with only a little sigh for poor Mr. Willis, who, at his age, would find it so hard to forget ! Three hours afterward she wa: not so sure. In that time asight of the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, had dazzled Miss Lawrence’s unsophisticated soul. They had had a lunch so elegant that she blushed even to remember her own poor little larder. A stately steward had hovered around the snowy table laden with exquisite silver, and china and glass for which Mrs. Witherbee apologized, say- ing carelessly that it was only good enough to break, but which had, to her, seemed priceless. The talk had heen clever and pleasant, Mr. Willis showing himself aman of real culture and kindly nature, though a trifle formal. Then they had been taken over the yacht and seen the daintiest and most luxurious of decorations everywhere—carved mahogany panels, silk- en hangings exquisitely embroidered, well- filled bookcases, paintings on the walls—a floating nest of magnificence, but nowhere beyond the limits of perfect good taste. Everywhere, at every turn, Anne had heen flatteringly referred to, her opinion asked, her lightest speech listened to admiringly. Her beauty, harmonious, on the island rocks, with the sea and sky, was just as harmonious here with the luxurious splen- dor of silk and gold. “She ought to have it,” groaned George Wharton, despairing- ly, within himself ; “she is like a jewel in the right setting among it all. give it to her—and he can !"’ Poor George! he had come because he could not help following Anne, and now he was fiercely unhappy because couldn’t get away. He sank down upon one of the steamer chairs so invitingly ar- ranged upon the after-deck, beside Cousin Lydia and Mrs. Witherbee, and relapsed into the profoundest melancholy, while Mr. Willis showed Anne the naptha launch the engines, and all the points of the yacht. Meanwhile, Mrs. Witherbee chatted away in her pleasant voice to Miss Lawrence. She was a charming woman, and knew it ; warm-hearted, a trifle inconsequent, but with an abundance of mother-wit, cultiva- ted by education, observation, and travel, 80 as to render her conversation justly ad- mired. ‘‘Such a friend for Anne! Such a sphere for Anne! Such opportunities for Anne !”’ Poor Cousin Lydia kept form- ing these phrases in her mind, as the pos- sibilities of life for Mr. Willis’ bride shaped themselves before her. To spend the winters in New York, orin Egypt, As for Anne, having taken the position of | a mammon-worshiper, she only smiled and | left a heap of fishing-tackle, hoots, clam | bait of a most evil odor, and a dead crab or | had | thoughtfully hung upon the railing by the | to the parlor to welcome her unexpected | Cousin Lydia’s menu was restricted at the | They seemed en- | Fifth Avenue ; but they were none the less | Harbor yesterday, and are going on to And I can’t | he | California, the West Indies (Mrs. Wither- bee spoke familiarly of them all), and the summers abroad, or on this floating palace, or at Newport, Lenox or the Adirondacks ; every pleasure! And Tommy—schools, colleges, business or professional life, every development and accessory that any boy could need ! And Anne wanted all this, and appreciated it; she had said so. Cousin Lvdia torn between the strong con- i viction that George Wharton and poverty were her choice for Anne, and an equally strong enjoyment of Mrs. Witherbee’s con- versation (which seemed to her loyal soul like treachery to her young ally), passed an agitating series of hours. A wonderful sunset displayed itself upon the glowing horizon, all rose and gold and purple. The vast heaving swell about them was broken only here and there by a rocky island, near whose gray cliffs they passed swiftly, leaving them black against the sunset. Then slowly, after the great fiery disk had sunk quenched in the far waves, the colors faded to pink and pearl and saffron and lilac, and the moon rose, luminous and soft in the pale sky. It was an evening fit for mystery, for romance, for vague longings and the whispers of young lovers ; and George Wharton, irritated be- yond measure by the contrast between na- ture and fate, would gladly have cast him- self into the ocean. His sufferings were not lessened by the lingering farewells of Mr. Willis, as the yacht at last touched Captain Ben’s rickety wharf again. “*Good-by, Miss Lawrence. My sister and I owe you thanks for honoring our lit- tle vessel by your visit. And Mr.—Mr. Wharburton’’ (Mr. Willis was always a trifle hazy about names), ‘“‘we are so glad you were able to come, too!’ (*Confound him! I only wish I’d had the sense to stay away !”” muttered (George to himself.) | “Good-by, Miss Anne,” then something | | the book into a corner, and the lamp then {in a lower tone, which the young man | could not hear, but which his jealous fan- {ey readily imagined. Yes, they would i come back in the yacht from Halifax, and carry Anne away to Bar Harbor, to luxury and happiness ; and he—well, he would be | back in the city, painting, painting away | at some picture tkat would bring nothing but fame, even if successful —and what was fame but ashes and dust, after to-day ? With the shawls on his arm, the young man trudged wearily beside the two ladies {un the wooded lane which led from the wharf past Captain Staples’ store, the church, and few scattered habitations, to the cottage. The ‘‘sing’’ in the church, a weekly gathering of lads and lasses, who cultivated thus their piety, their voices, and their affections at the same time, was just over, and the couples were stray- ing leisurely along the lane toward their homes, generally hand in hand, as was the Lone Island custom between sweethearts. Cousin Lydia sighed gently as they passed each pair ; her tender heart was bleeding for the devoted but hapless lover at her side. As for Aune, she chatted away in great spirits, for the three. ‘Such marvelous moonlight ! I have al- ways longed to see the moonlight here from the sea, instead of always from the land side. and never had the chance before. | Wasn’t it wonderful—the mystery of it, {and the ocean so wide and so pale? Oh, | one can’t say it, but only feel it!” The moon beamed approval of her en- | thusiasm, but no one else responded. t They reached the house, and Cousin Lydia { vanished at once to see about the maids | and the breakfast, for Lone Island servants were Kittle cattle to drive at the hest of times. Anne still in an expressive mood, and willfully ignoring the profound mel- ancholy of her companion, leaned on the railing of the porch, ornamented yet with Tommy’s bathing suit, and gazed out upon the moonlit ocean. ‘‘Oh, isn’t it glorious!’ she cried. “And to think that you are going to start out upon that silver sea, with no soul above codfish, to-morrow ! Whom are you going out with ? Captain Ben ?”’ “I am going back to-morrow to New York,” said George, with a trifling diffi- culty in controlling his voice, but with great dignity. “Going back !”’ echoed Anne, incredu- lously. ‘“Why, what do you mean?” She turned and looked full at him, and the moonlight upon her face was too much for his fortitude, though he had determined to remain heroically silent as to his feelings. “I mean that I came here to tell you that I loved you, and that my pictures— my uncle—that I had a chance to make a home for you. But after seeing Willis to- day and his yacht—and you like him !— there’s only one thing to do, and that is to low win the prize !”’ Anne lifted her beautiful head high. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘‘a man can always—go (away! But don’t you think it'sa little hard for a woman to have no choice in the matter ?’’ “Choice !'” cried George, blindly pursu- ing his own thought, head down ; ‘‘that’s ! just it. What choice is there between Wil- { lisand me? And he’s a good fellow, too, if he hadn’t a cent—that’s the worst of it ! I don’t blame you for choosing him ?”’ Aune gave a little breethless laugh. ‘Oh, you don’t understand !”’ she said. ‘‘You’re not leaving me any choice at all ! I know just what you’ve been thinking all day, and you—you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! You're choosing for me, and—I don’t agree with you at all! I want to choose for myself, if you please! You think I am worldly and luxurious and am- hitious and all that, and so I am sometimes —this morning, for instance. the best things, after all, just as well as you and Cousin Lydia and the Lone Island- ers do, and this evening I understand my- self better. going down the lane than sell myself for a yacht and ten millions !”’ George put his hand over hers, where it rested on the railing, witha firm clasp. ‘Do you mean you would choose a fellow like me, Anne, with nothing to bring you —with nothing to offer vou—rather than Willis and all his possessions ? Oh, Anne, but he can’t love you as I do, after all. Don’t you know that I have loved you for years 2? { “You never told me so hefore,”” said { Anne, with another tremulous little langh. | “‘Do you think it is fair to expect me to de- | cide on such short notice? But, leave me | my choice, sir, and see! Perhaps—"' She never euded the sentence, for just then Cousin Lydia came to the door, and | George Wharton, with a surprising gayety | and cheerfulness in his voice, turned to- ward her. beautiful to miss, so Miss Anne and I are going to take a little walk down the lane to the rocks, if you will let us. We've all had a very luxurious and pleasant time of it among the pomps and vanities of life to- day, but Lone Island in the moonlight is my ideal of perfect happiness, after all !”’ —By Priscilla Leonard in The Lookout. ——Subseribe for the WATCHMAN. to have every opportunity, every luxury, | go away like a man and let a happier fel- | But I know | I’d rather be one of those girls | ‘Miss Lawrence, the moonlight is too The Man Who Boards. I, | Some Things That Make Him Contemplate Matri- | mony. The trouble of a man who boards begin with A and end with Z and between is a pandora box all of difficulties. Now there is a question of towels. Jones is decent enough to take a bath at irregular intervals of some 24 hours and has some fine, large ‘‘altogether’’ hath towels which he intends shall cheer but not irritate after he rises, dripping like a mermaid or a half drowned cat, from the chill morning tub. But they disappear and in their place he finds some heavy pocket handkerchiefs, with large holes in them, which he ascertained are sufficient to dry him down to the third floating rib when he uses extraordinary prudence and the remote and fringy corners. Otherwise he must start the day feeling as though he was in a heavy perspiration. It discoura- ges the aquatic duty of a citizen. Then there is the matter of matches. This is a small but at times a burning ques- tion. When a man comes in tired, puts on slippers and gets out the lightest novel on his sheif and snuggles down in a big chair for a long, quiet evening and a pipe, and carelessly reaching for the match safe finds it empty, he sits for a moment in a feverish frame of mind. Then he rises sol- emnly and goes down three flights of stairs for matches, but he finds the box is empty and the landlady gone to bed. In the darkness of the lower hall, alone with some dozen vicious rocking chairs clustered around his unprotected ankles, he murmurs a blessing on the lady and her as- sistant and laboriously ascends to search the bathroom. Foiled there he prowls in- to another’s room, which he finds has a new and feminine occupant and precipitate- ly retires, feeling that worss of anguish— humiliation. He cusses the pipeand throws displays a fading tendency. Grim, haggard, furious, he stands watch- ing the glow turn a sickly pallor and flick- er, then burn in a ring of smudgy fire at the wick. He remembers that he has asked the chambermaid at four different and fer- vid times to keep that lamp full of oil and even slipped a quarter into her hand hoping it would effect a change. Again is he in the darkness and all the evil that is in his na- ture (or has been instilled there hy having to eat warmed-over rare roast beef under the guise of steak seethes in his chest. Some of the troubles are small, like the piece of chicken at the Sunday dinner, and there are others which are great and vast like the Monadnock block. With Jones one of these latter is a difference of opinion respecting the most convenient, desirable and alogether choice place for the stand. He has certain preferences which in his timid, hesitating way he exhibits by put- ting the stand where he wants it. He takes a proud, complacent survey of his do- mestic domain as he leaves in the morning. At night he returns to find that the wash- stand is occupying another site. He puts it back and continues doing it for three successive nights and then comes a time when flesh can bear no more and he tramps downstairs and demands to see the cham- bermaid. She is out and he forgets it in the morn- ing, but that night his furniture is in the prim, maddening regulavity which he de- tests and the maid is arraigned. She could not open the wardrobe door, she explains, with the washstand where it was. Open the wardrobe door! What. was that girl going into that place every day for and getting his coats white with lint from her dust cloth ? And then Jones goes away and sulks and meditates matrimony.—Chicago News. Elkin Ordered Out. The Deputy Secretary of the Commonwealth Resigns by Request of His Chief. John P. Elkin, chairman of the Repub- lican State committee, is no longer Deputy Attorney General of Pennsylvania, having severed his connection with the office for a reason similar to that which impelled Gen. Frank Reeder to resign as Secretary of the Commonwealth, Mr. Elkin was not sur- prised at Attorney General McCormick asking for his resignation, although the chief had not given him the least intima- tion of an intention to make the request. The letter removing State Chairman Elkin is as follows : John P. Elkin, Harrisburg : Dear Sir—I herewith request your res- ignation from the office of Deputy Attor- ney General. Respectfully yours, HENRY C. MCCORMICK. While Mr. Elkin expected that he would soon follow in the footsteps of Gen. Reeder, many of his friends were surprised that he should be asked to surrender his of- fice in view .of his prominent political position in the Republican party. The Deputy Attorney General promptly replied to the Attorney General’s request by writ- ing a letter to him resigning his position. Mr. Elkin insists upon his removal and that of General Reeder as signifying a fight on Senator Quay and his friends, He pre- tends to take no stock in the story that the requested resignations were inspired by the State treasury bond transaction and says : ‘‘As no reasons are given by the Attor- ney General for his action, I piopose to ask for them to set me right before the public I simply claim the right of a plain Awerican citizen. There will he no by- play so far as I am concerned in this mat- ter, and the public will be kept in my confidence.’ Mr. Elkin sent his letter of resignation to McCormick at the executive mansion. After it had been delivered a copy was giv- en out for publication. It is as follows : Harrisburg, Pa., Sept. 10. To Henry C. McCormick, Attorney Gen- eral. My Dear Sir—I am in receipt of your communication of the 9th inst. requesting my resignation as Deputy Attorney Gen- eral, and I hereby tender the same. I desire to return my thanks for the many kindnesses and courtesies received at your hands while officially connected with your department. Inasmuch as we have never had any differences, so far as I am aware, except those of political nature. I feel that i I am entitled to know the reason which actuated you in making your request. I ask this not only for myself. but for the information of the public. Very respectfully yours, JOHN P. ELKIN. Attorney General McCormick appointed as the successor of Deputy Attoiney Gener- al Elkin, Col. W. F. Reeder, of Bellefonte. —— ‘I am going to have my name put on my wheel.” ‘Excellent idea. No one will steal your good name if yon have it on that ice wagon.”’ One Thing to Be Learned. There’s one thing needful to be learned In this rude world—to wait, Before you fish for compliments, To dig the proper bait. — Puck, FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. Mrs. S. J. Field, wife of the justice of the supreme court, and Mrs. George Hearst of Washington. have been very very active in raising money for a life size statue of Washington, which is to be pre- sented to France in 1900. Up to the pres- ent time about $21,000 has been collected. The total cost is to he $35,000. The change in sleeves is coming very gradually. So far few of the real sheath- like kind have appeared. Sudden transi- tions are difficult to accomplish, and, in spite of its doom, the full sleeve will die hard. The favorite is certainly the tiny leg-of-mutton fitting close well above the elbow, and showing a small puff at the shoulder. The extensive use of epaulettes shows the tendency to keep the shoulders broad. Asa matter of course, cloaks and jackets follow, and their sleeves, the gen- eral shape of which is little changed show diminution in size. The very severe round waist has had its day, and the first place will undoubtedly be given to the blouse. Basque additions too, are certain, both plain circular pieces and round and square tabs being in vogue. Most of the narrow vests in new models are of chiffon, made quite full ; mousseline or frilled silk. Plain vests are of cream or white cloth, or satin. The sailor of autumn is of black straw trimmed with black feathers that are put on each side so as to form ‘‘Prince of Wales”” garnitures. In front there is a rhinestone buckle, long and showy. Many of the autumn sailors turn up bus for those who like the sailor shape the lit- tle flat hat with its spreading trimming is recommended. The jacket of autumn will be the milita- ry coat, rather loose in front and longer in | front than in the back. The most brilliant red cloth is used and the braiding is a shiny black, to set off the brilliancy of the scarlet goods. Coat buttons will be pearl, largz and clear and expensive. The main cost of the coat in many cases is the buttons, which are the fine imported ones. To make these little coats it is necessary to purchase a pattern and cut exactly as di- rected. Home-made coats are not pretty unless the utmost neatness in finish is ob- served. Sew every seam as though it were a delicate bit of iracery, strong but accur- ate, and then trust to your art as fitter to make the coat ‘tailor made.”’ No art can cook a stale fish to perfection. The appearance is always flabby and dull. The fresher the fish the whiter it will fry and the whiter it will become with boiling. The fat in which fish is fried should be of sufficient heat to brown a piece of bread when dipped in it, and the fish before be- ing put in the pan should be perfectly dry. A new skirt is trimmed with six narrow flounces placed at equal distances from the hem to the belt. These flounces are arang- ed in a novel way, however ; they dip low in front, rising at each side in a graceful curve, and then dipping in the back again to the bottom of the hem in the back. The clever mistress of an inexpensive, old-fashioned farm-house, now used as a summer cottage, made its dining room de- lightful by staining the floor olive-green and enameling the wood-work ivory-white, says the Ladies Home Companion. A thiee foot dado is made of olive-green and straw colored fiber carpet of Eastern design, fin- ished at the top with a four-inch deep wood moulding ; the side walls are covered to the ceiling with a lighter olive ground hav- scroll ornament in fainter self-tones and dull gold. Half an inch (just far enough to admit a picture hook) below the angle an ivory and gold picture molding is placed. At the windows are holland shades, white on the outside and olive-green inside and over these are long curtains of fancy- weave cream net shirred over brass-tip- ped enameled poles. One pair of portieres is of figured denim in self-tones of olive- green, and the others are of old pink lattice cloth. A large Japanese center rug has olive and yellow as the dominant colors, relieved by old rose. Antique oak furniture with cane seats and backs to the chairs, hand- some dull-black wrought iron bracket lamps and several appropriate pic- tures complete the furnishing of a room that would be charming all’ the year round. For peanut cookies shell sufficient pea- nuts to give one pint of the meats. Rub off all the inner skin and chop very fine, or put through a meat cutter. Cream to- gether two tablespoonfuls of butter and one cup of sugar; add three eggs, two tablespoonfuls of milk, one-fourth tea- spoonful of salt, the chopped’ peanuts, and flour enough to make a soft dough. Roll out, cut in circles and bake in a modérate oven. “Economy and wise forethought, not nig- gardliness, stand as the first of domestic du- ties. Poverty does not prevent skill in the preparation of food. All food should have its proper flavoring, the individual ingre- dients needed for its proper preparation. These flavorings are given by using the lit- tle left overs of vegetables and spices that are too often thrown away, says Mis. Rorer in the Ladies Home Journal. Marketing economically does not mean purchasing thiugs at the cheapest rate. It really involves the higher talent of select- ing wisely and well. Small quantities and no waste is one good rule to remember. Have just enough-—not a piece too much. Never purchase the same sort of fowl for a fricasse that you would for roasting. The former may be a year and a half old. It will cost much less than the one year old, which will be repaired for roast- ing. Save every bone, whether beef, mutton, veal, poultry or game, as well as all juices in the meat dishes. for the stock-pot. In- to this storehouse of wealth, for such the stockpot is, put the tough ends from the rib roasts, which would only become taste- less and dry if roasted ; also the fat ends from mutton chops, the bone left from the sirloin steak, and the carcasses from either poultry or game, as well as the bones from the roasting pieces. Meat is the most costly and extravagant of all articles of fond. Consequently, save every bit and work it over. The so called interior pieces of meat make the best soups and stews. Where a sauce is to hide the inferiority and ugliness of the dish there is no occasion to spend money on good looks. Soup meat, tasteless as it is, may be nicely seasoned and made into pressed meas, giving a nice cold dish for luncheon.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers