FAREWELL TO THE OUTGROWN.
Good-by old legs! The days are gone
When I might wander forth with thee
Ilown pieasant lane, o'er dewy lawn,
Sunset or rise of moon to sce.
I ne’er will run with springing knees
What time I hear the dinner bell,
Nor stretch thee out with blissful ease
When [ have sauntered long and well,
Good-by, old pegs,
Giood-by, old legs! Long years ago,
When “prunes and prism” ruled our whims,
Vulgar it was to call thee so—
We even blushed to call thee limbs.
But time's revenges come around
And right all things sometime, someliow ;
Now lost to sight, as then to sound,
Thou wert not then, thou art not now,
Good-by, old twig.
Good-by, old legs ! Old limbs, adieq !
For buzzing trolley, flying wheel,
Have broke the tie "twixt me and you
And rent thee from me, hip and heel.
Shrink up, thou poor, untrousered things !
What boots it now what name you bear ?
Small need of legs hath one with wings,
Go, join the tail I used to wear,
Good-by, old legs.
—Judge.
—————
A MALE FLIRT.
Jack Edson was a male flirt. There
wasn’t a girl in Dayton who hadn’t re-
ceived attentions from him, and just those
attentions which, when a young lady re-
ceives them from a young gentleman, are
-generally considered to ‘‘mean some-
thing.”
But the Dayton girls—or all of them but
one at least—found out that such atten-
tions, when they came from Jack Edson,
instead of ‘meaning something,’”” meant
precisely nothing at all.
Lucy Brown couldn’t believe that all
Jack’s pretty speeches and fine compli-
ments meant nothing. He had walked
with her more than with any other girl in
Dayton, and she had begun to think a
zood deal of him. He was so devoted and
kind, and all that sort of thing, that she
had faith in him.
*‘Better be careful,’’ said Maria Spooner
warningly. ““He’s the biggest flirt in
Christendom. He don’t mean half what
he says.”
“I don’t believe all I hear about him,”?
said Lucy stoutly. ‘‘He’s nota flirt.’
‘Yes, he is I’ said Maria in a tone that
indicated that no arguments would change
her opinion on the subject. ““Isn’t he al-
ways paying attention to every girl that
comes along, Lucy? Isn’t he always ready
to make love to a new face? You know
he is.”
“No. Idon’t know any such thing,”’
asserted Lucy. ‘‘He’s genteel and polite,
and if the girls will insist on taking the
attentions which are prompted by polite-
ness for attentions of another nature, he
isn’t to blame, is he 2’
*‘Fiddlesticks !”’ exclaimed Maria in
disgust. *“Talk to me about its all being
prompted hy Jack Edson’s politeness.
Humph !” And Miss Spooner gave her
nose an upward turn, thereby expressing
her opinion of Lucy’s argument, if not
adding very much to her beauty.
When Jack came to London to live, he
kissed Lucy after a very lover like fashion,
and made her promise to write often,
which Lucy, putting implicit faith in him,
was quite ready to do.
She couldn’t help feeling a little disap-
pointed to think he hadn’t ‘‘spoken out.’
He had known her a Year, but never had
said a word about marriage in all that
time, and if he hadn’t had the idea of
marriage in his head, what had he been so
devoted and so loverlike for ?
* ‘Perhaps he wants to get started in busi-
ness before he settles down,”’ thought
Lucy, and that thought comforted her.
Jack hadn’t been in London a week be-
fore he struck up an acquaintance with
Miss Grant.
Miss Grant was tolerably good looking
and had a rich father.
Jack began to be serious in his atten-
tions at once. Those attentions Miss Grant
received cordially.
‘‘Business is business,’’ thought Jack.
“A few thousands won’t come amiss to
me, and if Ican get a good wife and a
snug bank account at the same time I
ought to think myself lucky. I say, Jack
Edson, old fellow, go in and win.’
And Jack Edson did ‘go in”’ according-
ly, and for a month devoted himself whol-
ly and unreservedly to Miss Grant.
Then fate or accident or some other
means threw him into a dilemma by get-
ting him acquainted with Belle Graham.
Miss Belle Graham was a very pretty
young lady. with bold black eyes and a
mischief making disposition, and as Jack
had not flirted for some time, he proceeded
after his old fashion to lay his heart at
Miss Graham's feet, metaphorically speak-
ing, and for a month was her most devoted
cavalier.
Miss Graham liked a flirtation as well as
Jack did. and was in nowise backward in
playing her part.
Jack was always looking for and expect-
ing sincerity in others, and concluded at
once that Miss Graham had found his
fascination irresistible and was ready to
capitulate and surrender whenever he
chose to speak the word.
By and by Miss Graham went out of
town on a visit, and then he packed up
his devotions and necessaries of lovemaking
and returned, like a prodigal son, to Miss
Grant.
He had been so busy ! Work had been
unusually driving for the last month. He
couldn’t get away from the office, Jack
invented a score of excuses to account for
his absence, and Miss Grant graciously ac-
cepted them all and reinstated Jack in her
good graces, and ‘“‘Richard was himself
again.”
In August Miss Grant went out of town,
and Jack had a sorry time of it for want
of some one to pay attention to. While
she was gone he thought over the matter
seriously.
Here he was, young, good looking and
making a nice sum of money, hut in need
of a home. The first step toward secufng
a home was to secure a wie. Why didn’t
he get married ? Sure enough, why didn’t
e?
The more he thought of it the more firm-
ly he made up his mind to take the deci-
sive step, and accordingly he cast about in
his mind as to whom he should honor by
giving the privilege of becoming Mrs. Jack
Edson.
Jack knew of three who would be glad
to have him—Miss Grant, Miss Graham
and Luey Brown. All he had to do to get
one of them to he his ‘for better, for
worse,”” was to give her half a chance to
say yes.
“I like Lucy,” he soliloquized, ‘‘but
she’s a plain little country girl, and her
father isn’t worth much, and I don’t think
ll throw myself away on her. There’s
Miss Graham. She’s smart and handsome,
and her father’s worth a great deal, but
she’s got too much temper for me. I'm
afraid I don’t want any of these high fliers.
Miss Grant’s the most desirable person,
after all. Old Grant’s bank account is one
very satisfactory feature about the trans-
action. When she gets back, I'll speak to
her about it and have the thing off my
mind.”
Miss Grant came back the next week,
and Jack wended his way to her home
shortly after her return to inform her of
the decision he had arrived at during her
absence.
Miss Grant was rather cool.
‘‘She’s miffed to think I haven’t spoken
on the important subject before,’ thought
Jack.
A good chance presenting itself, Jack
proceeded to offer his heart and hand to
Miss Grant after the most genteel manner
possible. :
He expected her to burst into a flood of
thankful tears or perform some other equal-
ly original feat to demonstrate the glad-
ness of her emotions, but she did not do
anything of the kind.
“You do me a great deal of honor, I
suppose, ’’ said she in a tone which seemed
to imply that she hardly considered that
she was speaking truthfully, “but I don’t
feel like accepting it. I would refer you
to Miss Graham.”
Jack was thunderstruck.
He had never dreamed of anything like
this. It flustered his wits up terribly for
a minute or two. Then he rallied them
and tried to explain matters, but Miss
Grant was obstinate as a woman ever was
and would not listen to a word from him.
‘‘Go to Miss Graham,’’ was all she said,
and Jack at last withdrew from the field
discomfited.
“It’s plain as the nose on my face that
she’s heard something about my flirting
with Miss Graham, and she’s mad about
it. Confound Miss Graham !”’
But after sober second thought on the
matter he concluded to accept Miss Grant’s
advice and go to Miss Graham.
Accordingly he set off to inform Miss
Graham that he had concluded to marry
her.
Miss Graham was all smiles and pretty
words, and Jack felt that he had but to
say the word and the thing was settled.
And by and by he proceeded to inform
her of the honor he had decided to confer
upon her.
“Marry you!” exclaimed Miss Gra-
ham. “Why, I couldn’t think cf such a
thing.” And she laughed as if it was the
best joke of the season.
Jack began to feel scared.
“Why not ?”’ he demanded.
“Because I'm engaged to one man al-
ready, and the law objects to our marry-
ing two, you know!’ And thereupon
Miss Graham laughed again as if it were
immensely funny.
For the life of him Jack could not see
the point.
“How long have you been engaged ?”’
stammered Jack, feeling cold and hot,
@ud, to use a handy old phrase which is
very expressive if not strictly elegant, ‘‘de-
cidedly streaked.’
“For as much as—let me see’’—cooly—
‘as much asa year, I fancy. Yes. It
was in October that it happened. Just
about a year ago.”
‘And you never told me!’
Jack.
“You never asked me,” said Miss Gra-
ham.
PoorJack ! He gathered up his lacerat-
el heart and withdrew from his second
battlefield completely routed.
“I won’t give it up!’ he decided.
‘‘There’s Lucy Brown. She'll have me
and jump at the chance, and she’s worth
40 Miss Grants and a train load of Miss
Grahams! I'll write to her and ask her
this very afternoon.’
And write to her he did.
He had not answered her last letter, re-
ceived three months before, but he put in
a page of excuses for his negligence and
smoothed the matter over to his satisfac-
tion, if not to Lucy's.
The letter was ‘sent, and he awaited a
reply with considerable anxiety.
At last it came.
“It’s favorable, of course,’’ he said as
he tore open the letter. “Lucy’s always
thought her eyes of me.”
But his opinion as to its being favorable
changed something as he read it.
MR. Jack EDsON—I am very thankful for
the honor, ete., but I don’t take up with
second hand articles when I can get them at
first hand. John Smith says : ‘“‘Tell him I
have something to say about it now, and I'm
not going to forego my claim on Lucy Brown
for all the Jack Edsons in the world, and it
isn’t quite the thing down in Dayton to pro-
pose to other men’s wives.”
Love to Miss Grant, also to Miss Graham.
Yours,
Lucy BROWN SMITH,
‘Good gracious! Lucy married !”’
Jack’s eyes were like saucers when he
read that name.
Then he suddenly dropped into the near-
est chair.
“Well, I’ve gone and done it this time!”
he groaned. “Jack Edson, you’re a fool !”’
Poor Jack! He isin the market vet.
Who bids >—Spare Moments.
Se ——
The Sure Thing.
groaned
Three negroes not long ago made a bet
among themselves that each could name a
supper that would be better than the oth-
ers could name. They put up $1 each
and the one that named the dishes that
would constitute the best supper should
take the $3. They drew straws as to
which ones should be the first and the last
to make up the menu for the imaginary
meal. The first man said he couldn’
think of anything better than greens boiled
with hog-jowl. For side dishes he would
take corn bread, souse, black eyed peas and
wash them down with buttermilk. The
other two smacked their lips.
‘“Well, for me,’’ said number two, ‘I'd
take fried chicken, hot biscuits buttered
and spread over wid preserves—and den,
'n den—let’s See—yes’n, ’simmon beer and
ginger cakes.’
The mouths of the other two spilled
water, and it was apparent that they were
hungry. It came number three’s time.
“W’y youse niggers don’t know what's
good,” said he. “‘Tell me fools, what’s
better’'n possum baked wid sweet ’taters
scattered all ’round it, swimmin’ in de
gravy? Hey? ’N den after youse done
nibbled de bones tell dey ain’t no more
meat on ‘em, dere set de watermillyon
starin’ you in de face lik’, Hey ?”’—and
with that he started to pick up the money.
“You leaves dat money alone,” the
other two yelled in chorus.” “We warn’t
bettin’ agin no sure thing.— Chicago- Times
Herald.
——Well, all the schools and colleges
are open, and the educational movements
is once more in full swing.”’
‘Yes, all over the country foot-ball
elevens have started to train,"’
———
| joy the spanking.
town.
That Dear Nephew.
One Day With Him Was Enough for Uncle.—A
Four-year Fauntleroy Who Was a Terror—His Ice
Diet—S8tolen By Gypsies.—Crape on the Door—
The Return of the Uncle and What Caused It.
‘To land in the old village after an absence
of many years and find myself personally
interested in a small nephew with fat legs
came in the nature of a shock, though it
was the most natural thing in the world.
In a vague way I had heard of this neph-
ew. I recalled the receipt in a letter some
time previous of the photographic nude in-
fant seated in a large bowl. The inserip-
tion said the nude infant was my nephew.
This I understand, is the popular method
of starring a firstborn. Later on they take
themin groups. I arrived in the village
bent on a long season of peaceful rest and
thinking only of this nephew in a casual
way.
His mother, who was little more than a
kid when I left home, received me and for
at least ten seconds utterly refrained from
saying anything about my nephew. He had
soaked overnight in the bath tub, I after-
ward learned, in order to properly impress
his uncle, and was still in the upper regions
of the house. Presently I heard him fall-
ing down stairs, having repudiated the
nurse after getting his clothes on, and the
first view I had of him was a bright red epi-
glottis from which issued sounds that jarred
me considerably.
When the overture ended, I beheld, with
secret pleasure, a really handsome boy of
4 years, with soft brown eyes and hair.
He wore a pink silk Fauntleroy waist,
with ruffled front and cuffs, white linen
knickerbockers creased in the latest style,
black stockings and tan shoes with pointed
toes. Taking him as he stood, my neph-
ew quite eclipsed what I had expected,
and I really felt proud of him. His moth.
er seeing me beam upon her offspring, kiss-
ed the child and said :
“Come, darling! Here is your uncle.
Won’t you speak to him?’
Fixing his bold brown eyes upon me,
nephew spoke :
‘Say, gimme three pennies. I’ve got
two now, and I want to buy a popcorn
ball.”
I shuddered. Hoboes who possessed one
nickel and want another to round out a
night’s lodging often made similar requests
of me: Had this cherub already developed
the instincts of a Bowery bum, oris this
only the ingenuous habit of extreme
youth? I asked myself. But I vielded up
the pennies.
*“What do you say for that?’ his mam-
ma whispered.
‘Thank you !”’
‘Thank you, what !”’
“Thank you, man !”’
‘Oh, no! Not ‘man’.
cle, and he’s fond of little boys. Call him
Uncle Charlie, and he’ll like you very
much.”’
Again my nephew fixed those hrown
eyes upon me. A confident smile, super-
induced by the three pennies, hovered
about his mouth, and a little hand stole in-
to mine.
‘‘Uncle Charlie,” he said,
uncle door for me. I want to go on the
uncle street and play with my uncle
dog.”
I opened the door and slammed it when
the nephew had passed out to play with
his uncledog. My sister looked embarras-
sed at first. Then she laughed.
‘“You must excuse the little dear,” she
said. ‘‘He is not accustomed to the word
‘uncle’ and doesn’t know how to use
it.”
But I felt hurt to think that my nephew
classified me with doors and streets and
dogs, and for the next half hour reminis-
cences involving whooping cough, teeth,
measles and other things interested me but
little.
We were sitting in the parlor, where I
could see the lower part of the front steps
from the window. Presently I noticed a
puddle of water on the concrete walk. It
grew larger and larger, and I finally called
my sister’s attention to the phenomenon,
for a blistering August shone clear. We
opened the door, and there sat my nephew
on the top step, in the scorching heat,
gnawing what had originally been a six
pound lump of ice, left in my uncle street
by a passing wagon.
My nephew’s ruffled bosom was full of
sawdust, slivers and dirt ; so were his lace
cuffs. Two muddy streams of ice water
flowed from his purple fists to his elbows,
thence into his lap, then through the linen
knickerbockers and down his dripping legs,
until the rivulets joined the pools at the
base of the steps.
“Come here I’ said my nephew’s mother,
escorting him into the house by the back
of the neck. “You're a pretty sight I
must say !”’
‘I wasn’t doing nothing,
eating my ice,’’ he wailed.
I confess that I was brute
my
‘‘open the
mamma only
enough to en-
It sounded like beating
a wet towel with a board, but was not very
painful I reckon. At the end of an hour
my nephew was wrung out and dressed
again, but the excitement gave his mother
a headache, with a touch of neuralgia on
the side. Swathing her face in bandages,
she rested on a divan and groaned dismal-
ly.
“What makes you groan 80, mamma ?”’
asked the infant.
*‘Oh, I’m sick, and you made me so. If
I didn’t groan, I'd die. Run away and
play.”
Twenty minutes later he returned. His
mother had fallen asleep, and the logical
mind of my nephew told that his parent
had passed away because she no longer
groaned. So he hunted upan old black
veil, hung it on the knob of the front
door and came to silently weep beside the
dead.
Tragic news travels swiftly in a country
One rumor said that the reason IT
never married was because I had been
crossed in love. Being thus blighted, I
came home and shot myself. Another had
the boy drowned in the cistern, and still
another ramor told how my sister fell dead
at the piano while practicing a new piece.
Heaven only knows what else would have
happened had not a sensible neighbor seen
the crape and called to investigate.
After that my sister said she hadn’t
time to suffer with the headache. Placing
a broad rimmed straw hat on the head of
my nephew, she sent him into the back
yard to play while I sought surcease from
sorrow in sleep. But along toward even-
ing panic again reigned in the village. My
nephew was lost—stolen by gypsies, some-
body said, though none “had been seen
thereabouts in 20 vears. But my nephew’s
mother contined to swoon at intervals of
ten minutes, while bands of armed men
plunged wildly to and fro on the main
street led by the constable.
To increase the horror of my home com-
ing, a fearful thunder storm deluged the
township, and in one of her lucid intervals
my sister said the child would be drowned
anyhow, even if the gypsies didn’t kill
him.
Just before dark and while the tumulg
still raged in the village I noticed my
nephew’s big straw hat at the lower end of |
the back yard, where a high board fence |
was in progress of |
griping pain at my heart and sobs in my |
throat I went out to fetch in the hat. As |
I lifted it from the ground a muffied wail
floated up from the depths of a five foot
post hole that the hat had covered.
‘Oh, mamma, my feets is so wet,”?
said the voice, and I recognized my neph-
ew. The water was up to his chin and
still rising, but I managed to fish him out
by the hair. You see, he had walked into
the hole, and his hat remained at the open-
ing, thus bottling up my nephew and all
the sounds he was able to emit from the
bottom of the hole.
received an urgent telegram to come hack
to the city, but I lied. The sweet and
holy calm of country life was too enervat-
ing. I yearned for murders, trolley cars,
suicides and gas explosions. And now
7
construction. With a |
with 2,000 miley between us I sometimes
look at my. nephew's photograph.— New
York Journal.
School Girl Days. -
The Play Houses Beneath the Beech Trees That
Were Popular Before the Kindergarten Era.
The sight of the little school children on
the streets these bright autumn days brings
back to those who were school girls many
years ago the happy days of childhood.
Particularly do they recall the days spent
under the trees by the old school house on
the hillside, where many happy hours were
spent deep in the iysteries of play house
building. That was the chiefest delight of
the school girl of long ago. To hunt up a
snug little hollow under the heeches by the
school house, and there to expend time and
painstaking care on the fitting up of child-
hood’s dearest retreat, ‘‘a trul y play
house.”
Are there many of these old little girls
who have forgotten when they use to make
play houses? I think not says a writer in
the Brockwayville Record. Fancy leads
back again to the old, weather-heaten little
school house, then standing almost in the
woods. One could not find the spot now,
but memory points the way up the rugged
pathway, where the beeches grew thickly |
together and leaned caressingly over the |
little dell where all the childish treasures
were stored. And of what did they con-
sist ? Nature helped provide bountifully of
them. They were moss cushioned seats,
fern carpets, strings of “‘thorn apples’’
festooned from tree to tree, branches of
brilliant hued autumn leaves and feathery
milk weed pods. These with a few crack-
ed dishes and bits of broken crockery com-
| prised the outfit of a play house, but with
| what loving care and affection were these
That’s your un- |
playthings regarded. They were the dar-
lings of childhood and memory lingers
long over the bright and bonny days when
the play house was in order.
Play houses seem not to be in vogue at
present. In fact how many little girls of
the present day would know how to make
one? And what would it be like if they
did ? Let the mothers of to-day cast their
mind’s eye over the playthings their child-
ren possess and imagine how they would
fit up a play house. There would be
small upholstered chairs, iron stoves in
which a fire can be made, complete cham-
ber suites, dinner and tea services and ev-
erything in fact that is required to start
housekeeping only on a smaller scale.
The child simply keeps house as mamma
does, with everything necessary with which
to do it.
Do children never play nowadays ?
That question often comes to my mind
when I see what is required of them. The
little girl of to-day has her music, drawing,
elocution and compositions, aside from her
school studies, and for recreation her bi-
cycle, physical culture and Delsarte fill up
her spare moments. But I wonder if the
child ever has as much pure enjoyment out
of it as did her mother and aunts in the at-
tic at ‘‘grandma’s’® when they rode for
miles in the stage coach made out of the
discarded trundle bed, with the old spin-
ning wheel hitched up for a mettlesome
steed ? Does she get as much music out of
her piano as they did banging on the old
‘drop leaf” table? Does she love her
bisque dolls with real hair and eyes that
open and close any more fondly than they
loved their rag babies? She has everything
almost that heart can wish and money buy
while they had nothing but the products of
their fertile imaginations ; but never a
happier set of girls frolicked together
through careless, sunny childhood.
Children are taught to be useful in the
present generation. The kindergartens
take charge of the little ones at a very
early age. There they are taught sewing,
knitting, drawing and all sorts of pretty
and useful accomplishments. In the guise
of amusement they learn many necessary
things, and almost before they know it they
become quite expert housekeepers and
seamstresses. Little bits of tots become as
useful to their mothers as in the past girls
three times their ages were expected to
be.
This is all very well, but do mothers
never wish for little children? Do staid,
practical, diminutive housekeepers satisfy
them? Does not the mother heart ever
grow hungry for some real, old-fashioned
playing about the house? Is every thing
useful and nothing imaginative the only
thing to teach children? Childhood is the
time to play. There are enough hard, pro-
saic affairs to come later in life. House-
keeping and all such feminine pursuits
life. The mind should be left free and un-
trammeled to roam at will in childish fan-
tasy. Then people will cease to wonder
why their children have so much less imag-
ination than they had in their youth.
Why He Joined the Methodists.
The Rochester Post- Expross tells a story
of an old colored coachman who as a slave
had attended his master’s church, the Epis-
copal for 30 years. After the war the mas-
ter gave up his carriage, and the coachman
shifted for himself. Taking advantage
of his freedom he began visiting various
churches and finally made a new connec-
tion. Meeting his old master one day he
admitted with some embarrassment, that
he had ‘‘done changed’ and ‘“Jined de
Mefodis.”” He said he ‘‘liked ‘em bettah
and, when pinned down, told why. “Well,
I'll tell you, marster. You know when
you goes to a Mefodis’ church, jes’ as soon
as you gits inside dey settle right down to
business, a-preachin o’ de gorspel, whilst in
de ‘Piskerful church it takes ‘em too long
to read de percedins o’ de las’ meetin.’’
Preparing a Casus Belli.
Mamma—I don’t want you to play with
that Jones boy. He isn't fit company for
you.
Johnny—All right ! When he asks me to
play with him I'll tell him you said he
ain’t fit company for me, and he'll tell his
mother !
i ——————————
—Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.
|
|
|
i challenge was accepted
| very charming
An Artillery Duel.
he Confederate Challenge and Its Acceptance at
Port Gibson—8ingular Incident of the War.
“I witnessed the only duel that took
place during the war,’ said a veteran wear-
ing the badge of the Sixth Wisconsin artil-
lery. ‘‘It was fought at Port Gibson, Miss,
and was arranged with as much formality,
if without seconds, as marks one of those
personal affairs of honor in France.’
The Sixth Wisconsin man did not give
his name, but said he lived in Sauk City.
where he conducted a hotel. He said he
had fought through the war with the old
Sixth, and a little red badge fastened to
" his vest by a safety pin and inscribed with
That same night I told my sister I had |
the names of a dozen battlefields bore testi-
mony to the truthfulness of his claim. It
was a mark of honor bestowed on him by
Congress and went bond for the story.
“There were a good many artillery fights
during the war," he continued. “At Mal-
vern Hill Gen. Lee’s guns exchanged tons
of solid shot, shells and canister with Mec-
Clellan’s artillery, and at Gettysburg 100
Confederate guns, stationed on Seminary
Ridge, thundered at 80 of our pieces on
Cemetery Ridge, in command of Gen. H.
J. Hunt, Gen. Meade’s chief of artillery.
But these were parts of great battles, not
duels, although I see they are called duels
by these fellows who write history.
artillery fight at Port Gibson was 2 duel—
nothing more and nothing less—and was
witnessed by the greater part of two armies
who did nothing but watch the gunners
and shout when the fur flew.
In the spring of 1863 Gen. Grant was
maneuvering about Vicksburg in an effort
to get near enough to the fortified city to
strike an effective blow. Troops below
Vicksburg crossed to the east bank of the
Mississippi at Bruinshurg. Port Gibson is
10 or 12 miles east of Bruinsburg, and at
that point the Confederates were in force. |
At dawn on May 1, 1863, the two armies
were face to face.
“When we reached Port Gibson,” the
Sauk City innkeeper continued, ‘‘both ar-
mies halted to take breath. Way off to-
ward the Confederate line was a solitary
house, and near this was the rebel artillery.
While we stood there a battery of Confed- |
erate artillery left the line, trotted out as
if on parade, swung
unlimbered. It was all done with the pre- | tioht,
cision and nicety of a parade at West | heing
Point. Every man was in his place,
could see, although the distance was three
quarters of a mile.- There the men stood,
like so many statues in gray. ;
asked what it meant, hut no one could say.
** ‘By Jove, it's
finally ejaculated. And sure enough 1t
| was.
‘‘There was no move in our line for a
minute or two ;
|
|
The |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
Any house gowns this season are made
with a little train which will doubtless he
popular with short women, who rely upon
it and their Louis Quinze heels to give
them the envied dignity of added inches.
The style of the lavender glace silk gown
is especially adapted for a train which em-
phasizes the graceful outlines.
The gown is all one scheme in color and
material, except the high straight collar
and white mousseline chemizette and
ruffles at the wrist. The folded belt and
sash are of the glace silk, and also the
trimming on bodice, which is put on in
surplice effect, and at the shoulder with
six little ruffles, tapering down to three,
in a point in front, and finished with a
large bow. The ruffle on the collar in the
| back is also of the glace silk.
An inexpensive frock is of old-fashioned
delaine of pearl gray, with embroidered silk
dot. The skirt is made with three deep
vandyke points in front, over separate pet-
ticoat of pearl glace silk. And while the
vandykes are not particularly new, they
are sufficiently becoming to ‘the majority
of women to make them popular the com-
ing season. The body is full all around,
with a basque and folded belt. It is cut
out at the neck, forming a yoke effect in
the back, the opening continuing down the
front to the waist. It is trimmed all
around with a ruffle of the dotted delaine,
and two more finishing the top of the
sleeve at the shoulder. These ruffled ep-
aulettes are a saving grace and often re-
deem a perfectly plain sleeve, as in the
present instance, from positive ugliness.
The yoke rest is of rose-colored mousseline,
finely plaited, with the lace vandykes
around into line and |
Everybody |
a challenge ’ someone |
then the bugle of the First i
Wisconsin sounded, and out went the six |
guns, swung into line, and unlimbered. | 1 . 3
ny rebs saw that the | up old pieces hy sponging with a flannel
In 30 seconds the John
opened fire.
“While the singular duel was in prog-
ress from 22 to 20 shots were fired from
each gun. The First Wisconsin was com-
manded by Capt. Jake Foster, an old Ozau-
kee county boy who went out to Minneso-
ta and enlisted at La Crosse. He was a
good soldier himself, and his gunners were
crack-a-jacks, and those percussion shells
es Sd .
made the Johnnies Dt jv tion for several hours, rinse well in three
enough and started to withdraw the bat- | Waters and ary.
minutes before the
tery.
*‘Our boys disabled three guns, blew up
a caisson or two, if I remember right,
killed a rebel captain and wounded three
or four gunners.
greeted by a loud cheer from our boys.’ —
Milwaukee Sentinel.
—
Neck Fixings.
Lovely Affairs Now Created in Pelisse Mull, Feathers
and Ribbon.
‘Neck fixings” are elaborate. This is
necessary, because the big hat—and the
small one of the moment, too—demands
that ruffs and not flat collars shall be worn
to complete the picturesque and artistic
effect, which is what the new millinery is
striving after.
There are muslin and lace bows for
everyday wear ; velvet ruches, feather
boas and crisp bows of ribbon. The vel-
vet ruche, which is really the latest thing,
is becoming to young and old, and ‘is made
narrow for the neck that is short and wide
for the neck that is long.
Thick boas of pelisse mull have little
rings of small ostrich tips encircling them
at intervals, with long, full ends, that
reach to the waist-line, where they are
fastened by a brooch, such as have been
used, and are still, to fasten the tips of
ostrich boas.
The boas and ruches worn with the
Gainsborough and other large hats are
wide, coming out over the shoulders in a
fashion that is daring, it is so extreme.
The extremely wide hoas of gauzy ma-
terials, however, are reserved for evening
wear, the mode of the moment being to
wear with low-cut gowns fluffy boas and
large hats.
An extremely fine evening boa is made
of narrow black lace, put on to tiny ruf-
fles of white mousseline de soie. These
ruffles are so many, so full and set so close
together that they make a boa quite as
round as those of ostrich feathers. The
ends of the mousseline boa are long, of the
gauzy stuff, accordion-pleated.
The silken mousseline in delicate colors
come naturally to girls as they advance in and trimmed with white lace or frills of
the narrowest and finest ‘footing’’ are
afljuncts of toilet for the
debutante.
—————————————
The New York Sun.
, and both batteries
i
1
Every shot that told was |
across the front.
A pretty figured striped taffeta is of pink
| glace silk, with a fine, lacelike pattern in
I black; this is divided with a satin stripe.
| The skirt is 4} yards wide and is trimmed
| on the bottom with an accordian-plaited
| ruffle edged with narrow Chantilly lace.
{ The body is a blouse front of rose pink taf-
| feta, with a double ruffle of pink glace
with pinked edges down the front. Over
this is worn a bolero of the figured silk,
with a pelisse all around. The sleeve is
its scant outlines at the shoulder
concealed by a very full ruffle of the
We | figured silk, with plain silk and lace trim-
mings. Two little ruchings of black Chan-
tilly lace finish the wrist. There are two
folded belts, the bottom one of pink and
| the top of black satin ribbon, made with a
stunning bow on the left side. The collar
| is a reproduction of the belt. This gown
| has a separate petticoat of pink and black
shot taffeta.
Jet is again in vogue. You can brighten
dipped in alcohol.
To renew ribbons bathe in gasoline and
{ hang up to dry. Be careful to keep away
| from fire or flame.
White fabrics, stained with tea, coffee or
| cocoa, may be rubbed in javelle water.
| Allow half a pint of javelle water to a
quart of clear water, soak the stained por-
Vaseline removes mud and stains from
| shoes and makes the leather soft and plia-
ble.
An excellent cement for mending crock-
ery is made of equal parts of litharge and
glycerine mixed together till the cosistency
of soft putty.
A charming hat has made its appear-
ance. It isof medium size, made of soft
rose-colored silk tulle over a wire shape,
the tulle rather pale in tint and put on
full. The front and top of the hat is en-
tirely covered with a huge poppy of silk,
in shaded pink. It is finished at the back,
which is turned up a little, with an ar-
tistic black velvet ribbon bow with a large
and very elaborate cut steel buckle.
Plaid hosiery is attractively
the shop windows, and every conceivable
mixture of colors is represented in this
article of dress. There are silk and wool,
silk and lisle, all wool, silk, and cotton to
suit every shade of temperature.
displayed in
Brilliant colored gloves
novelties of the season, but
if they will be taken to by
taste.
are among the
it is doubtful
people of good
Handkerchiefs for those who have dainty
tastes and a desire to be fashionable in all
the little accessories of dress are very plain,
beautifully fine and sheer in quality, and
finished with one, two or three rows of
hemstitching and the finest of embroidered
initials in the corner.
The officials at the head of the national
public land bureau do not advise women
to take up government land with the idea
of living and establishing homes thereon,
both of which conditions are imposed by
the homestead act. The public lands are
parceled out at from $1.20 to $2.50 per
acre in tracts of from 40 to 160 acres. The
good, well-located farm land has, however,
all been taken up, and of the millions of
acres remaining to be disposed of, but a
small portion can be made productive, ex-
cept through the aid of expensive irriga-
tion.
Here are some hints worth heeding:
Most Remarkable Exhibition of Audacity in Modern To restore lace that has become yellow
Journalism.
There is a pardonable curiosity to know
who is on deck in the New York Sun office
: Ts i ly and
at present. The extraordinary course of | ally from side to side.
present municipal |
that newspaper in the
campaign has become the wonder of the
day. It is not only waving the gonfalon
of Mr. Platt in its own editorial columus,
but 1t has assumed the remarkable role of a
dictator of Republican journalism through-
ton Advertiser, the Chicago Tribune, the
Hartford Courant
Press t0 account for their course with re-
ference to the municipal campaign now in
progress in Greater New York.
It is undoubtedly speaking within
bounds to say that a more remarkable ex-
hibition of audacity has not been wit-
nessed in journalism since its beginning.
— Boston Herald.
Knew What It Was.
“Every man has his vice,’ said Tenspot
to Tenterhook, who was fond of offering
unsought counsel to his acquaintances.
“What is my vice, pray?’ asked Ten-
terhook.
‘Advice,’ replied Tenspot, unhesitating-
ly.—Detroit Free Press.
and the Philadelphia |
|
| with age, first make a suds of warm ~ water
and white soap and with it fill
an open-
mouthed glass jar.
Drop the lace in gent-
stand in the sun, turning occasion-
Instead of pressing silk with a warm
L irom, a process that destroys the natural
{
| able, it is better to sponge
out the country, and it is calling the Bos- | tightly on a smooth round
stiffness and that is in many ways undesir-
carefully, roll
stick and let
stand till dry.
Grease spots from the machine should
be removed without a moment's delay.
Soak spotted cotton goods in cold water
and use gasoline or magnesia on silken
materials. To wash lace apply with an
old black kid glove a mixture consisting
of a pint of warm water and a teaspoonful
of borax. .
To remove iron mold from white goods
rub over with sulphuret of potash, bathe
well in lemon-juice and then wash thor-
oughly in water.
On mildew spots rub equal parts of
chalk and soap, well mixed, then place in
the sun.