Beworahic ia
Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 16. 1900.
KING HEROD’S SON.
The rose-red sunlight faded unto dun,
And gleamed in mists of gold Jerusalem
When through the gates their three white
camels swung
With weary hoofs all rust with desert sand.
Hard by the pillared porch of Herod. king,
The mounted Magi drew the fringed rein
For rest at last; just as a certain Star
Wakens with arrowy argent the dusk air—
Friend of their pious hope, its light had led
Their wanderings on, yea, far midst stranger
lands
And barren places where the jackal laughed;
And now perchance the longed-for goal was
near.
Herod within his cedern closet sits,
Drunk with the poisoned draught of sullen
crimes
That feed upon his soul. Around him hangs
Rich arras picturing frantic lures of lust—
A mocking woof to his diseased veins;
While drooping from a curious beam of gold
A globe of alabaster casts its ray
Upon a rusted blot of memoried gore——
The blood of Mariamne his dead queen,
Whose spectral lips lean ever to his ear
Crying a madness on his tyrant brain;
In haggard trance there have his eyes been
fixed
Four days and nights, while fear and muffled
tread
Do homage to his brooding. Lo, what power
Wafts to his senses through his chamber walls
Strange words to shake him from his haunt-
ed dream;
“Where is the new born babe, King of the
Jews——
And we his star have seen within the east
For hither are we come to worship him ?”’
The Magi pause outsidegthe brazen gates,
Where smoking torches blur the starry night
’Mid wagging of centurian tongues. Pale-
robed
In samite wrought with strange device
And breathing odors of an Eastern clime,
Their beards bleached wondrous with the
weight of years.
The story they repeat; while in the dusk
The freighted camels drowse upon their
nees.
And Herod hidden by a pillar hears,
Clutching the marble with his withered
hands,
Weak with his fear and hate. Then forth he
comes
With hail of welcome to his kingly guests,
Bidding them enter in the palace halls,
And brimming goblets with his precious wine
As at his board he gives them honored place;
And while they tarry o’er their heads the
Star,
Brightening within the violet voids of night,
Silvers the cradle of another king.
Now Herod’s favorite son felt Herod’s hate,
On hearing of the new born rival king,
As, noted not, he stood beside his sire,
With frowning face while feasted the wise
Three.
And so it was, when in the wide white night,
Mounting their camels they set forth again,
Along the way that led to Bethlehem,
Secret he followed in his curious youth,
Telling no person in his father’s house
And cloaking with precocious craft the grab
That prated of his princely birth. Behold,
The yrsmge Star swam before them in the
blue.
Out through the sentry-guarded city gate,
Which at a glint of Herod’s signet-ring
Yields grudging egress to the caravan—-—
The bold boy lurking where the shadows flit,
They Journey ‘neath the heaven’s solemn
hush;
Always the Magi’s aged eyes upraised
Unto the lustre in the calm mid-air,
And on their lips a holy murmuring
Of hymns in alien tongue, while the night-
breeze
Blows burdened with the incense rich they
take,
With gold and divers costly offering,
To lay before an infant’s swarthed feet.
Like forms of dream they thread the olive
groves
Whose ging leaves seem little lips that
hai
The pious purpose of their hearts, and now
The open sky and wattled shepherd huts
With ghostly fleeces huddled in the fold
And drowsy guardians bending on their
crooks;
And so, mid dew-wet ways of quietness,
Where Love beyond the meaner love of men,
Poises with wide spread wings invisible
Under the pulsing stars; and thus at last,
The hills crowned by the humble hamlet
walls
Of Bethlehem, where o’er one straw thatch-
ed roof,
The wretched outhouse of the hostelry,
A happy beacon pours its silver beams !
At the frail door faith knocks with trembling
hand,
Fall of the wonder of such lowliness——
The child of Heaven ’mid the crowding kine !
And with the Three enters King Herod’s son
To mock the monarch cradled in a byre !
The while, confusion reigned in Herod’s
house
At knowledge of the prince’s secret flight,
And soldiers sought through all the city
streets .
With torch and spear, but got no bruit of him;
And so came dawn and noon and eve again,
When rose the ery, the prince was at the
gates !
Tearful, the queen cast arms about his neck,
Thinking no thought save joy of his return,
But Herod, wroth, bade him declare the
thing
That held him thus in hiding from their ken
And put unwonted light within his eyes;
For as in some rich wonder did he walk,
Smiling upon them speechless. Then at
length
He broke his silence to the sullen king,
Reporting all the marvel of the love
Which changed his hate to homage of the
child.
And at his words Herod had slain his son,
The while his fury raged, but love prevailed
Because he deemed a spell was on his soul.
Bidding his slave raise up the prostrate youth
And keep him prisoned till the madness
cease.
Thus bound he put him questions of the babe,
Thinking to send his messengers of death
To take him where he lay; but vain his wit:
Nothing would he affirm but happy love
For him the lord of Jewry newly-born.
Then Herod bided full of bitter craft
The coming of the Magi back again,
According to their plecGge,but they came not;
For had the boy his father’s hate revealed,
Whereat they turned their steps another way.
Then fourth went Herod’s edict on the land
That babes of tenler years be foully slain,
And at the news wild grief assailed the boy,
Until the queen for pity of his tears
In secret loosened his bonds, thinking per-
chance
To move him to his olden filial mind.
Instant ke fled the palace as before,
Passionate to warn the parents of the child,
And Jos he learned how they had left the
place
And hastened into Egypt; at the news
He turned rejoicing; near the palace gates,
The hirelings found and bore him to the king.
Then did he ery; Put by thy sword, O Sire!
For hath the babe escaped. On hearing him,
Thé wrath of Herod frothed his livid lips,
And through a mist of blood he bade them
strike;
But when he saw that he had slain his son,
Upon his lips the Christ-boun smile of love,
Madness o’ercame him, and he reeled and
fell.
Thus was he borne into his golden house,
And on his couch ’mid spectral shapes of fear
Raving aloud he lay until he died.
— Edward A. U. Valentine in December Dixie.
———Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.
A LITTLE MOTHER.
The hot sweltering weather bad come and
the city gasped and choked for breath in
the blistering heat. It was undeniably the
hottest summer known for years. In the
papers were daily pitiful tales of deaths and
prostrations and unpopular indeed was the
office in Park row that did not maintain
some kind of a fund, free ice, fresh air,
fresh milk, or what not. But in the very
heart of the east side the suffering was as
great as ever before, and the roofs and fire
escapes and sidewalks told a tale of
many hot nights, when the people, stifling
for a breath in the close little room, crawled
out and slept in perilous places, and were
still unrefreshed and parched when the
sun rose and gilded the islands in the
river.
Those were hard times for ’Steenth street.
It was low and malarial and the breeze
that came up from the East river blew fetid
breaths in the day and tantalizing hopes of
coolness that were never realized in the
night. There was scarcely a home which
the Destroyer had not visited to carry away
in his arms some weak, gasping little one,
worn out with the struggle of warring
against the heat. By day the sun shone
with a fierce, pitiless glare that drove the
children into alleys and areas and cellars,
and by night the stones of the houses and
the iron work of the fire escapes gave
forth the heat which had been storing all
day.
The Pure in Heart could do little to re-
lieve the distress. Within its little rooms
there was as much discomfort ae in the oth-
er tenement houses. There was but one
class kept going, the Saturday morning
sewing class, and that was small enough.
Attendance had been dwindling since May.
At first the weekly May walks of the var-
ious institutions about the neighborhood
had decreased the roll, and then the chil-
dren grew restless in the heat and could not
bear to sit still even for a few minutes.
The night classes had long been given up.
Who could bear the heat of a gas jet when
all the blue heavens without beckoned and
breathed faint whiffs of coolness? Mrs.
Morton went from house to house from
which the little ones had been taken and of-
fered kindly sympathy and what little help
the mission could give, for it was as yet
poor, and stood still, fairly helpless at the
great wretchedness it had to face in its in-
experience.
It was one particularly hot Saturday
morning and the little class of sewers sat
clustered about their tired teacher in vary-
ing attitudes of inattention. A hot breath
came in now and then through the two
open windows and lazily fluttered the
dusty curtains. The teacher’s voice rose
and fell, occasionally sounding above the
insistent noises of the streets without. The
chatter of women on the stoops and the
hoarse laughter of men; the voices of chil-
dren and the loud rancous cries of hucks-
ters advertising their wares and haggling
with shrill voiced women. It was a task
to hear in the general racket and the chil-
dren dozed and nodded because they could
not know what was going on within the
room.
Annie Berkeley shifted the weight of
year-old Little Brother from one arm to the
other, and sighed a tired little sigh as she
peered down into his sleeping face.
Mrs. Morton looked up from her work
and then glanced at Susie Thompson’s fran-
tic endeavors to still the restlessness of her
little sister Viola.
*‘We shall have an outing for these little
folks,”’ she said quietly to the teacher,
“and the ‘little mothers. especially, and
we shall see that it is a day of rest for
them. ”’
Tt did ‘not take long for the rumor to be
abroad that an excursion of some sort was
afoot, something even better and more
original than a May walk. Despite the
heat and the general feeling of lassitude
prevailing, certain members of ‘‘de gang’’
began to loiter around the doors of 322, al-
though there were no reasons for their be-
ing about. Scrappy Franks and Dobson
were to be seen attending Mrs. Morton to
her car with suspicious gallantry, carrying
her parcels and holding her umbrella tight-
ly in their arms, especially when the sun
was hottest and the need for a shade great-
est.
But, somehow, it may have been that
Dobson made specificinquiries; it may have
been that the little girls of the sewing class
had talked the matter over, but it soon be-
came known that this special excursion was
for the small folks alone, and small folks
who wore dresses, and had to mind baby
brothers and sisters. When these tidings
were borne to the ‘‘de gang’’ searching for
a cool place under the ‘‘L! station, a dis-
gusted and disgrunted, ‘‘Ah. now, wouldn’t
it kill yer’’ went up from the assembled
throats. And then and there, as befits
masculinity, the subject was dropped and
forgotten, save when occassion presented
itself to twit the little sewers about their
excursion, and to tease them hy an occa-
sional reference to ‘‘de kids an’ dey ocean
voyage.'’
Among the little girls there was much
excitement, which vented itself by violent
whisperings in class and much running in
and out of each other’s rooms, anfl many
small groups gathered in important con-
clave on the sidewalks. Comments. chiefly
on the desirability of such a trip, were
made and wise remarks offered as to the
final outcome. On the day before the great
event a cluster of little skirts were in front
of 322, and now and then an anxious head
peered furtively in the doorway, as if ex-
pecting developments thus early. Just
then Mary McMahon came up and surveyed
the group with an assumption of care-
less indifference which sat ill upon her,
because there were tear stains. upon her
face.
“Mary’s ma ain’t gointer let her go,”
said Ada Middleton, with a little hop of
triumph. Between her and Mary there
was a violent but tacit dislike, caused by
certain marks of favoritism shown the lat-
ter in school.
“Aw. I don’t care,’’ said Mary, bravely,
“I wouldn’t go to de ol’ beach. Ain’t nut-
tin’ dere. My pa’s gointer to take me to
Coney Island.”
She tossed her head and sniffed contempt-
uously, and for a minute there was an awed
silence in the group. In the face of such
fortune as this there was nothing to be said.
Annie Berkeley drew a long sigh of bliss-
full contentment, and patted her baby
brother’s head.
“Aw, well, de beach will do fu’ me.
Mis’ Morton won’t let ne babies go, an’
we’ll be to ourselves.
A sympathetic murmer went up from oth-
er little baby-burdened ones and the chat-
ter ran high and keen about the morrow.
Only Annie became strangely silent and
crooned absently to little brother, rocking
her charge rhythmically to and fro as she
peered into his face now and then to see if
he still slept.
It was a starched and shining faced crowd
that left the hall of 322 next morning at 9
o'clock and marched in solemn file to the
ferry which runs to North Beach. Annie
Berkeley’s hair was braided in a stiff and
glossy pigtail, and her shoes had been care-
fully polished until tho cracked and worn
places were practically invisible. High
above tie rest her voice chattered and
laughed in a gay,almost hysterical volubil-
ity. For so long had her arms been baby
burdened, for so long had her days been as
one to the other, until the prospect of a
holiday was as strong drink to her. Little
Brother, in the arms of his mother, who
had given up this day to his care, waved a
pudgy and solemn farewell to her from the
corner, and Annie called back shrilly, kiss-
ing her hand. But even at the moment, a
something gulped up in her throat and her
eyes filled for an instant.
It was very gay on the boat. The waters
sparkled cool and gleaming in the sun, and
when the rocky dangers of Hell Gate were
being passed with its great bowlders, foam-
crested and gurgling merrily, the joy of the
children knew no hounds. Annie Berkeley
was the first in the crowd who discovered
the new sights. She clapped her hands at
the green shores, and the islands with their
fortresslike buildings. She pointed out
the big houses on the water side, and stood
tiptoe craning her neck across Manhattan is-
land to catch a faint, far glimpse of Grant’s
tomb, white in the distance. Then, with
an unconscious movement, she swayed her
thin little form to and fro and glanced down
at her empty arms.
There was an Italian orchestra on the
boat, whose harps and violins sounded
weirdly sweet to the children, ahove the
rush of the waters and the chug-chug of
the boat’s machinery. Some other passen-
gers, taking pleasure in the children’s de-
light, contributed pennies to keep the mu-
sic going. Annie and Ada Middleton whirl-
ed dizzily around in ever increasing time to
a popular waltz tune. Annie gasped joy-
ously as the music ceased and for a moment
a serious little shade crossed her pinched
face, as she cried unconsciously to Ada.
‘Oh, wouldn’t Little Brother laugh ?*’
Ada regarded her in silent scorn for an
instant, and walked away in disgust. By
the time the boat had landed at the
beach, a vague sense of the incompleteness
of human pleasures was beginning to dawn
upon Annie, and it was with a rather sober
mien that she regarded the wonders all
about them as they walked in asylum file
over the pier. Such wonderful things there
were to do and such things to see and to
eat that she soon recovered her spirits. She
climbed on the merry-go-round and cheer-
ily clucked to the wooden horse whose reins
she held, and who rocked dizzily up and
down in a breath holding way. But she
looked longingly at the gilded chariots,and
dreamed of a pudgy baby sitting therein,
held tight in her arms. Holding tight to
Elsie Dix’s hand, she flew in terrified glee
over the scenic railway, and although the
wind snatched off her hat, and she had to
gasp again for breath, she felt a fierce thrill
at the thought of holding Little Brother up
tight with the joy of protection and care.
‘When the time came for dinner, and they
all sat around on the grass, and munched
sandwiches and chicken and cake and pie,
and potato salad, Annie was silent, and ate
abstractedly. Mrs. Morton paused by her
side long enough to ask gently :
‘‘Aren’t you having a good time, An-
nie ?¥’
The small pigtail bobbed violently up
and down, but there was no audible reply.
Just then the sewing teacher came by with
a plate of ice cream and a great slice of pink
and white cake. Annie took it from her
hand silently and gazed at it with slowly
filling eyes. It was the culmination of
months of hopes unspoken, of dreams un-
told, and yet—and yet—she raised her
eyes, and found Mrs Morton’s gaze still
bent upon her wonderingly. With a quick
impulsive movement she pushed the plate
away from her and then buried her face in
Mrs. Morton’s skirts with a choking lit-
tle sob: ‘‘Little brother—I wish he was
here !"’
After this audible expression of discon-
tent Annie gave herself up to her loneli-
ness and home sickness. The minstrel at
the music hall who cracked time honored
jokes and strummed on his banjo provoked
but a smile from her, and even the gor-
geous lady in the short pink silk slip and
the huge picture hat, who kissed her hand
to the children after pleading with ‘‘her
baby’’ to come back, only caused a momen-
tary widening of a pair of tear-laden eyes.
How Little Brother would have crowed at
the music !
At last the long day came to an end, and
the little asylum file trotted demurely on
board the boat, tired and a wee bit cross,
perhaps, sticky as to faces and fingers and
wind blown as to hair. The sunsent long,
red bars about the green shores and white,
foaming water, and athwart the boat and
the children danced in its red glow to the
twinkling of the harp and violins. One
little girl sat apart from the rest on the for-
ward deck, straining her eyes for the first
glimpse of the ferryhouse, her head resting
on the rail, her little form rocking to and
froin rhythm to an unconscious crooning
song.
The tired little file streamed into 'Steenth
street. The boys waited on the corner of
Second avenue to greet them with derisive
shouts, to which the little girls, complacent
in the consciousness of superiority, vouch-
safed no reply. They were to goto the
mission and after roll call to be dismissed.
This rule wasstrict; no one was to break
ranks.
On the other corner a group of women
stood talking. One of them held a pudgy
baby in her arms. Annie looked up quick-
ly, then with a glad ery she dropped her
companion’s hand and rushed across the
street to the group.
‘Annie !”’ cried Mrs. Morton, reproach-
fully.
But Annie did not hear. Her arms were
folded about something warm and cooing
as she stood rapturously on the corner rock-
ing to and fro and crooning softly to Little
Brother. —Jfirs. Paul Lawrence Dunbar in
Chicago News.
Why He Came.
Augustus Lackcash (to tailor)—‘‘My
son tells me that you have allowed him to
run a bill for three years. I have, there-
fore, come-~"’
Tailor—‘‘Oh ! pray, sir, there is really
no hurry.”’
Augustus Lackcash—*‘I know that, and,
therefore, I have come to tell you that in
future I want to get my clothes from you
too.’
A Foolish Question.
Mamma-—My dear, where have you been
all this time?
Daughter—Sitting up with a sick friend.
Mamma—Nonsense. I believe you’ve
been in the parlor all the time with that
Mr. Softleigh.
Daughter—Well, ma, he’s lovesick.
WORKING NIGHT AND DAY.—The busi-
est and mightiest little thing that ever was
made is Dr. King’s New Life Pills. These
pills change weakness into strength, list-
lessness into energy, brain-fag into mental
power. They're wonderful in building up
the health. Only 25 cents per box. Sold
by F. P. Green, druggist.
Washington's Last Hours.
Graphic Description of the Final Illness and Death
of the Father of His Country.
The following description of the death
of Washington, was condensed by the
Brooklyn ‘‘Eagle’’ from Irving’s ‘Life of
Washington :”’
About 10 o’clock on the morning of De-
cember 12th, 1799, General Washington
wounted his horse and rode out as usual
to make the rounds of his estate. The
ominous ring round the moon, which he
had observed on the preceding night, prov-
ed a fatal portent. About 1 o’clock it be-
gan to snow, soon after to hail and then
turned to a settled cold rain. Having on
an overcoat, he continued to ride without
regarding the weather, and did not return
to the house until after 3. His secretary
approached him with letters to be franked,
that they might be taken to the postoffice
in the evening. Washington franked the
letters, but observed that the weather was
too bad to send a servant out with them.
Mr. Lear (the secretary) perceived that
snow was hanging from his hair, and ex-
pressed fears that he had got wet; but he
replied, ‘‘No, his great coat had kept him
dry.” As dinner had been waiting for
him he sat down to the table without chang-
ing his dress. ‘‘In the evening,”’ writes
his secretary, ‘‘he appeared as well as
usual.” :
On the following morning the snow was
three inches deep ard still falling, which
prevented him from taking his usual ride.
He complained of a sore throat and had
evidently taken cold the day before. In
the afternoon the weather cleared up and
he went out on the grounds between the
house and the river to mark some trees
which were to be cut down. A hoarseness,
which had hung about him through the
day,grew worse toward night, but he made
light of it. He was very cheerful in the
evening, as he sat in the parlor with Mrs.
Washington and Mr. Lear, amusing him-
self with the papers which had been brought
from the postoffice. When he met with
anything interesting or entertaining he
would read it aloud as well as his hoarse-
ness would permit, or he listened and made
occasional comments while Mr. Lear read
the debate of the Virginia Assembly. On
retiring to bed Mr. Lear suggested that he
should take something to relieve Ins cold.
‘‘No,’’ replied he, ‘‘you know I never
take anything for a cold. Let it go as it
came.’’
In the night he was taken extremely ill
with ague and difficulty in breathing. Be-
tween 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning he
awoke Mrs. Washington, who would have
risen to call a servant, but he would not
permit her, lest she should take cold. At
daybreak, when the servant woman entered
to make -a fire, she was sent to call Mr.
Lear. He found the general breathing
with difficulty and bardly able to utter a
word intelligibly. Washington desired
that Dr. Craik, who lived in Alexandria,
should be sent for, and that in the mean-
time Rawlins, one of the overseers, should
be summoned to bleed him before the doc-
tor could arrive.
A gargle was prepared for his throat, but
whenever he attempted to swallow any of
it he was convulsed and almost suffocated.
Rawlins made his appearance soon after
sunrise, but when the general’s arm was
ready for the operation, became agitated.
*‘Don’t be afraid,’”’ said the general, as
well as he could speak. Rawlins made an
incision. ‘‘The orifice is not large enough, ’’
said Washington. The blood, however,
ran pretty freely and Mrs. Washington,
uncertain whether the treatment was prop-
er, and fearful that too much blood might
be taken, begged Mr. Lear to stop it.
When the string was about to be tied,
the general put up his hand to stop him
and as soon as he could speak, murmured :
‘‘More—more,”” but Mrs. Washington’s
doubts prevailed and the bleeding was
stopped after about a half pint of blood had
been taken. His old friend, Dr. Craik,
arrived between 8 and 9, and two other
physicians, Drs. Dick and Brown, were
called in. Various other remedies were
tried, and additional bleeding, but all of
no avail. .
‘About half-past four,” writes Mr.
Lear, ‘‘he desired me to call Mrs. Wash-
ington to his bedside, when he requested
her to go into his room and take from his
desk two wills which she would find there
and bring them to him, which she did.
Upon looking at them he gave her one,
which he observed was useless, as being
superseded by the other, and desired her
to burn it, which she did, and put the
other into her closet. After this was done,
I returned to his bedside and took his
hand. He said to me :
‘I find IT am going; my breath cannot
last long. I believed from the first that
the disorder would prove fatal. Do you
arrange and record all my late military
letters and papers. Arrange my accounts
and settle my books, as yon know more
about them than anyone else; and let Mr.
Rawlins finish recording my other letters,
which he has begun.’
“I told him this should be done. He
then asked if I recollected anything which
it was essential for him to do, as he had
but a very short time to continue with us.
I told him I could recollect nothing; but
that I hoped he was not so near his end.
He observed, smiling, that he certainly
was, and that, as it was a debt which we
all must pay. he looked to the event with
perfect resignation.’’
In the course of the afternoon he appear-
ed to be in great pain and distress from the
difficulty of breathing and frequently
changed his posture in bed. Mr. Lear en-
deavored to raise him and to turn him with
as much ease as possible. ‘I am afraid I
fatigue you too much,’’ the general would
say. Upon being assured to the contrary,
“Well,” he observed, ‘‘it is a debt we
must all pay to each other, and I. hope
when you want aid of this kind you will
find it.”” His servant, Christopher, had
been in the room during the day, and al-
most the whole time on his feet. The gen-
eral noticed it in the afternoon, and kind-
ly told him to sit down. About 5 o'clock
his old friend, Dr. Craik, came again into
the room and approached the bedside.
“Doctor,” said the general, ‘‘I die hard,
but am not afraid to go. I believed from
my first attack that I should not survive
it—my breath cannot last long.”” The
doctor pressed his hand in silence, retired
from the bedside and sat by the fire, ab-
sorbed in grief. Between 5 and 6 other
physicians came in and he was assisted to
sit up in his bed.
“I feel I am going,”’ said he. ‘‘I thank
you for your attentions, but I pray you
take no more trouble about me; let me go
off quietly; I cannot last long.”’
He lay down again; all retired excepting
Dr. Craik. Thegeneral continued uneasy
and restless, but without complaining,
frequently asking what hour it was. Furth-
er remedies were tried without avail in the
evening. He took whatever was offered
him, did as he was desired by the physi-
cians and never uttered a sigh or com-
plaint.
‘About 10 o’clock,’” writes Mr. Lear,
‘he made several attempts to speak to me
before he could effect it. At length he
said :
“I am just going. Have me decently
baried, and do not let my body be put into
the vault in less than three days after I am
dead.” I bowed assent, for I could not
speak. He then looked at me and said :
‘Do you understand me ?’ I replied, ‘yes.’
‘Tis well,’ said he.
“About 10 minutes before he expired
(which was between 10 and 11 o’clock)
his breathing became easier. He lay
quietly; he withdrew his band from mine
and felt his own pulse. I saw his counte-
nance change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who
sat by the fire. He came to the bedside.
The general’s hand fell from his wrist. I
took it in mineand pressed it to my bosom.
Dr. Craik put his bands over his eyes and
he expired without a struggle or a sigh.
‘“While we were fixed in silent grief Mrs.
Washington, who was seated at the foot of
the bed, asked with a firm and collected
voice, ‘Is he gone ?’ I could not speak, but
held up my hand as a signal that he was
no more. ''Tis well,” she said, in the
same voice. ‘All is now over. I shall
soon follow him; I have no more trials to
pass through.’ ”’
Presbyterian Women.
Acted at a Recent Meeting of the Woman ’s Synodical
Temperance Association of the Presbyterian
Synod of Pennsylvania.
The women of the Presbyterian church
are at last taking hold of the temperance
question as church work and had any of
the churches show the same interest years
ago it would never have been necessary to
organize the W. C. T. U. The following
jetter has been sent to all the woman’s
societies of the Presbyterian churches in
the synod of Pennsylvania.
‘“The Woman’s Temperance Association of
our Synod, believing that the liquor traffic
and its results, constitute one of the great-
est obstacles in the way of the Gospel,
earnestly request every Missionary Society
to elect a temperance secretary, whose duty
it will be to advance the cause of total
abstinence by the use of pledges and suit-
able literature.
By order of the Association,
ELLEN M. WATSON,
Corresponding Secretary.
Pittsburg, Pa., Dec. 12th, 1889.
‘“The General Assembly’s Permanent
Committee on Temperance cordially en-
dorse the request of the Woman’s Synodical
Temperance Association for the election of
a temperance secretary, and for the pur-
poses expressed in the foregoing letter ad-
dressed to the Woman's Society of our
Church.”
Relative to the election of a temperance sec-
retary, in all of our Missionary Societies, Mr.
Wm. C. Lilley, of the General Assembly’s Per-
manent Committee on Temperance, has this to
say: ‘“‘Imost cordially approve of the election
of a temperance secretary, and heartily endorse
the action of the Permanent Committee. No more
important agency ean be employed by our church
than its Woman’s Organization. When the wom-
en of our church unite to say that intoxicating
liquors shall be banished from the home and
from the church, a mighty, influence has been
started that will bring a large fruitage to the
church and for the Glory of God. 1 hope to see
the day soon dawn when there shall be a Wom-
an’s Organization in every chureh.”
Colorado Springs, Jan. 8th, 1900.
The influence the, Presbyterian women
can exert, when they are so inclined, has
been most strikingly exemplified during
the last few months. They have helped to
strike the Mormon iniquity such a blow as
it has never before received. Shall we not
thank God and take courage for greater
conquests? In our land, there isa still
stronger agency of Satan to be routed. We
are appalled by the rapid increase of the
drinking babit in good society, and with
sinking hearts, many mothers and wives
aresaying ‘Will my loved ones be the next
victims?’ for it is a fact that a greater
number of souls are lost, yes lost, every
year through this evil than are claimed as
the whole membership of the Mormon
church. Surely many petitions will ascend
to God during this month of prayer for
“Our Country,’’ that the minds of His peo-
ple may be turned to a fresh consideration
of what can he done to stay this awful evil.
We beseech you do not say, ‘‘this has noth-
ing to do with our Missionary work.”’
President Schurman of the United States
Commission to the Philippines, corument-
ing on the situation presented to mission-
aries in the island, says, ‘‘I regret that
Americans allowed thesaloon to get a foot-
hold in the islands.’”” ‘‘That bas hurt the
Americans more than anything else, and
the spectacle of Americans drunk awakens
disgust in the Filipinos.”
A late Seattle newspaper stated that ‘‘in
-one day a steamship carried out a cargo to
Honoluln and Hilo of 2,465 barrels of beer
and 485 barrels of alcohol. There was a
constant stream of beer flowing across the
wharves all day long. It came in kegs,
barrels and cases, by train load, express
wagon and brewers’ drays.”” The eciviliz-
ing influence of American trade with the
Orient is further 1llustrated by a shipment
the same day of 585 barrels of pure alcohol
to Kolu and Yokohama, and the paper
adds, “With all this there will not be a
single missionary.’’
Does it not call the blush of shame to
our faces, to think of this iniquitous liquor
traffic following our flag into every corner
of the earth? Will God answer our prayer,
Thy Kingdom come, until this stumbling
block is removed ?
Dear women, are we ready to do our part
in preparing the way of the Lord ?
FRANCES L. SWIFT.
A NiGHT OF TERROR. — ‘‘Awful
anxiety wasfelt for the widow of the brave
General Burnham of Machias, Me., when
the doctors said she would die from pnen-
monia before morning’? writes Mrs. S. H,
Lincoln, who attended her that fearful
night, but she begged for Dr. King’s New
Discovery, which had more than once saved
her life, and cured her of Consumption.
After taking, she slept all night. Further
use entirely cured her.”” This marvellous
medicine is guaranteed to cure all Throat,
Chest and Lung Diseases. Only 50 cents
and $1.00. Trial bottles free at F. P.
Green’s drug store.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
Miss Jane Stone is the only oil operator
in the country. She owns 180 acres in
Texas, which have oil wells that have made
her rich.
Now that we have been told that we
must have pleats, and have become recon-
ciled, we are struck with the number of
becoming and economical ways in which
we may utilize them. Pleats that ap-
parently extend all the way from the neck
are managed in skirt and waist sections hy
means of a clasp, or even a narrow girdle,
and are really very graceful. A whole side
pleated waist and skirt, with box pleats at
the centre front and back, is an effective
arrangement. In many cases an apron
overskirt is added, with a corresponding
drapery on the front of the bodice.
The best shaped skirts in box pleat ef-
fect are regulation sheath skirts, slashed
up to the knees, directly under the line of
the added box pleat. Of course, they are
sewed to the box pleats in seams. The
box pleats, by the way, are managed much
more easily if they be securely stitched
down to the knees a quarter of an inch
from the edge. This, of course, is for tailor-
ed dresses.
This is another way of taking care of the
ubiquitous back fullness, for if we have to
have said fullness at all, we want it so well
anchored that it will stay where it is put.
This is an attractive way of managing this
part of a skirt, which is made of crepe de
chine or like fabrics—textures that are not
sufficiently heavy to make a good, solid,
box pleat. As you see, this tucked ar-
rangement is babit back, as to shape.
The foolish practice of tossing a helpless
baby in the air, while it screams both with
affright and delight, is a most dangerous
one. A physician with a large practice
tells the story of a precociously bright child
which showed evident delight: when tossed
in this way by a doting grandfather who
was accnstomed to play with it every even-
ing. The child trembled with delight
when the night’s frolic was over, but one
evening from this trembling it passed into
a spasm, the first indication of one of those
fatal brain diseases against which medical
science is helpless.
The smartest and really exclusive shirt
waists differ from their predecessors in sev-
eral important details. Stiff cuffs do not
appear on them, the sleeves are narrower
than last year, sometimes tucked or capped
at the shoulder, and preferably finished
with asmall, rounded, soft cuff. Yokes
are not used. There is a stylish yoke
which appears now again. Thisis trim-
med and applied to the shoulders, forming
a little epaulet.
The advance shirt waist, like the new
skirts, all emphasize the popularity of
pleats. In some instances these are con-
fined to the back of the garment; in others
they appear only in the front. The vertical
effect will be very popular, but ‘there is
also a fan-shaped back made with a centre
box pleat, wide at the top and graded at
the waist-line. On each side of thisis a
group of narrow tucks, flanked in turn by
box pleats graded in width to correspond
with the centre pleat. The front of the
garment is made with the customary cen-
tre band. stitched on each side. On cer-
tain styles of waists hemstitchings and in-
sertions, arranged in various forms on the
fronts and sleeves, and in rare cases on the
back, too, will be worn. For backs, the
perfectly plain French back fashionable
last summer will also obtain to a certain
extent.
While the narrow rounded, pointed or
wide oblong soft cuff is most fashionable,
stiff collars and cuffs will still be worn.
The detachable linen collar can be easily
laundered and it is decidedly more econom-
ical than the stylish but perishable con-
fections of silk, chiffon and net that melt
down like snow in hot weather.
Straight laundered collars, with rounded
corners in front, are shown, although the
“‘Robespierre,”’ the straight collar with
side points, which was in vogue on dress
waists of silk and French flannel, may
claim consideration.
Never before has there been such a choice
of materials, and no one would care to un-
dertake to compile a list of all the availa-
ble fabrics. As for colorings, patterns and
effects, they were never more varied nor
more attractive. Persian, French and Vie-
toria lawns are being used in large quanti-
ties. There are also batistes, Swiss batistes,
India linens, jaconets, organdies, dimities,
nainsooks, Swiss mulls and a vast array of
other materials. Thestriped ginghams in
violet and pink are extremely stylish.
The white waists are particularly pretty
this year. They are made of the finest
softest and lightest materials. Some of the
daintiest waists are made entirely of white
lace and fine Hamburg embroidery inser-
tions. Other very select styles are in em-
broidered linen and sprigged Swisses.
These have soft collars which turn over a
little, edged with lace. Some have broad
lapels and others have bolero-like pieces
fastened in the side seams and crossing the
bust, gathered up with a bow. The most
exquisite of the white waists cost from $6
and $7 to $15 and $16.
‘‘T have been experimenting with a new
scheme, and behold the result !”’ exclaim-
ed the practical mother, as she displayed a
small pair of shoes, with dilapidated up-
pers but comparatively good soles. “I was
lamenting the size of our shoe bill recent-
ly, when I was advised to ‘cover the soles
with three or four coats of copal varnish,
and they will never need re-soling.” As
in less than six weeks’ time our little
chap’s new shoes ate ready for the cobbler.
I immediately invested in some varnish,
and, in lieu of a brush, made a swab, and
varnished the soles of all the footwear of
the family—expense, 10 cents, and some
varnish left over. I found (after a while)
that I had preserved the scles indefinitely,
The heels needs varnishing as well, and
the more coats you give the shoes the longer
they will last. It will be found that soles
and heels preserved in this way will out-
wear the strongest uppers.”
The minute a woman stands lightly on
her feet, with knees straight, chest well
out, stomach flat, shoulders back and the
body, from waist up, tilting ever so light-
ly forward, she has acquired at once a cer-
*tain smartness of effect that no amount of
beauty or fine clothes could give.
A woman simply can’t stand correctly
and look slovenly.
The smart girl is never round shouldered
or hollow-chested, and by standing proper-
ly she breathes properly. Every full, deep
breath she draws strengthens the muscles
of her sides and abdomen. She is bound
not to grow into a fat, ungainly woman,
who can never catch her breath or a train,
for a proper poise of the body means good
digestion and good health.