Biemorralic atm Bellefonte, Pa., March 16. 1900. A SE A Si, Em —————————— BEHIND THE LINES. I. It was between nine and ten on the even- ing of the diplomatic reception at the White House, when the fashionable and semi- fashionable populace of Washington is ac- customed to make its annual onslaught on the Executive Mansion. A good-natured crowd stood about the gates and formed into a semi-circle around the great north portico, watching the carriages file through the massive gate-ways while the occupants alighted and pushed forward to the cheer- ful light and music within. The chill January wind had no effect upon that democratic throng. Men, women, and children, office-holders and office-seekers, laughing, joking, jostling one another, seemed heedless of the soft, melting snow which had been falling since the early morning, and equally indifferent to the dampness under foot. Closed landaus, hansom cabs, state car- riages, with filmy gauze and enormous bunches of flowers seen through their glass windows, passed one after another, each stopping in turn under the portico. Occa- sionally an equipage with a partially re- vealed figure of a diplomat gorgeous as a flamingo would come into view. Dis- paraging comments sometimes were made as the gold lace shone through the glass front and windows, but as a rule there were only to be heard expressions of delight or surprise among the democratic throng. In the opposite direction from that in which the equipages were approaching were a number of people afoot. They were crowded on the portico and extended in an unbroken line outside of the grounds and a square away. Owing to the limited capacity of the storm-doors to admit only one or two at a time, the crowd had become congested and its temper ruffled over the delay. The women with gowns to protect and veterans in social warfare nudged, edged, and inch- ed for advantage, while the men fell back slowly before a persistency which put to shame their strategic movements to gain the door-way. Among those who were not fortunate enough to come in closed vehicles were Robert Caldwell and his friend, both striving with the aid of pocket-handker- chiefs to protect their silk hats from the snow. ‘‘Caldwell, let us retreat and acknowl- edge our defeat in the social world. Your first dash for prominence has not been over-successful, I must admit. A Welsh rarebit and a bottle of ale will go better than this.” ‘No, I am going to see it through,” Caldwell answered doggedly as he elbowed his way a foot nearer the main entrance. “‘There is no use for me to argue with you, as I know from experience, but I am going to let you work out your social des- tiny alone. You have been here for five years, and no one has ever been able to get you to budge before, and now that you have started, far be it from me to bring you back to the life of the hermit. Take my advice and be careful, Caldwell. It is the first step in society, as it is the first kiss, that does the harm. Behind those doors there are designing mammas and in- sinuating daughters, and you, old chap, are very soft. Won’t you come with me before it is too late ?”’ ‘‘No, I have been under worse than this and held my own.”’ Just then two opposing streams of peo- ple came together under the portico and swept the friends apart. Caldwell looked at his friend and smiled, while the latter began fighting his way in the direction from that in which he had just come. As one of the prominent members of the corps of Washington correspondents, Robert Caldwell had been invited to the Executive Mansion to meet the diplomats. Every year since his name had been placed in the ‘Congressional Directory’’ opposite to that of one of the big metropolitan dailies he had been invited to these receptions; yet up to the present time he had never en- tered the White House save in his capacity of correspondent. In his own profession he was pointed to with pride. His work had gained for him an enviable reputation, and his more re- cent career as a war correspondent had added to his influence. He was with the troops that made the dash up San Juan Hill; he had shared in the dangers with the fleet off Santiago, and when the cam- paign there was ended had pushed on to Porto Rico. On his return he was wel- comed by the men in his profession as a hero, and his courage and experiences form- ed the basis of many letters from the cap- ital. With the feeling of security in his chosen profession there came to him a natural desire to see something of the social side of Washington life. He had not been without social ambition in the past, but he knew that official society, in which he would always be welcomed, was no entree to the exclusive circles of the capital. He hated to begin at the wrong end, he told himself, and then too his life was a busy one. So, for one reason or another, as he wrote his mother, he knew no one worth knowing socially from her point of view, though he had lived in the capital five years. Knowing how obdurate Caldwell had al- ways been when asked to entertainments of any kind, his friend was greatly sur- prised when he consented to accompany him to the diplomatic reception. He was even more surprised when he refused to leave the crowd waiting to be admitted to the Executive presence. For a moment after his friend had left Caldwell half re- gretted that he had not gone too. He was chilled through to the bone; he felt be- draggled ; his collar seemed awry, and he thought his tie had come undone. In this frame of mind he was admitted. He became then a part of the moving throng. He was in the tide, and it was bearing him on. It would have been im- possible to turn back now even had he wanted to do so. Someone took his hat and coat,and again the movement in the direction of the Blue Room was begun. He whispered his name on reaching the reception-room to a gayly-uniformed young marine officer, who seemed to shout it out with special vim. He felt embarrassed, and became visibly so when someone in front of him said, ‘‘Thatis Caldwell, the correspondent-hero, you know.’ He shook hands with the President and his wife and passed down the line of Cabinet ladies. By each one he was addressed by an entirely different name from that pronounced so audibly by the handsome marine officer, who was himself a hero, and who at Camp McCalla had fought side by side with Cald- well. As he looked down the line he saw a crowd of people pouring into the great East Room ahead of him, while a greater throng was waiting in the Red Room to be pre- sented to the Chief Executive. Caldwell took little notice of any of these. He knew them to be a horde of official folk, who were there either from a sense of duty or else from idle curiosity. But behind the lines of Cabinet ladies, chatting merrily and possibly commenting upon those passing in front, were fifty or more young women who, he knew, belong- ed to that inner circle to which he knew it to be difficult to find one’s way. For a moment he rebelled against the fate which precluded him from going behind the lines and mingling with-this fashionable coterie, as he saw young officers of the army and navy and a few neatly trimmed clnb men doing. As he passed on he found some comfort in the reflection that he was a man of brain and of affairs, and not without in- fluence. With such thoughts as these he reached the East Room. Disgusted with himself for having come, however, he was on the point of leaving when a Senator whom he knew touched him on the arm. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you scoffed at this sort of thing,”’ he said good-humoredly. “For the same reason that brought you,”’ answered Caldwell, taking the outstretch- ed hand, ‘‘to forget politics for a while. It does not answer the purpose, for the only people I know remind me of my work.” With public men he was on familiar ground and he felt at home. He knew the Sena- tor well. The latter was from the North- west, wealthy, but with more truth than polish in his composition. ‘‘Queer gather- ing,”’ he remarked, glancing at the crowd. Then, turning to Caldwell, he asked,— ‘‘Have you been behind the lines ?’* ‘Not yet,”’ he answered, and then added quickly, “‘I know no one there. They are total strangers to me,’’ a little nettled over this confession, but not feeling ashamed to make it. **Then come with me. My wife has a guest who is with the receiving party. I am afraid she finds it dull back there, knowing so few men.”’ Before Caldwell could offer any objection he was being led, or rather pushed, in the direction of the Blue Room again. He was soon presented. He was tall, handsome, easy in his manners, and soon met others. Finally he was introduced to Her. He never heard her name. He could never remember afterwards how she was gowned. He only knew that she was blond and that she was beautiful. He felt instinctively that she was the very centre of that set he had coveted to enter, and in which both by birth and breeding he rightfully belonged. She looked bored, he thought. Her head was turned away from him with an air of well-bred indifference. She did not seem inclined to talk, and he was content to be allowed to gaze upon her partially revealed profile. Presently she said she was tired and sat down. Caldwell took a seat near her and began discussing some indifferent topic. As she scanned his features, for the first time her large blue eyes showed that her interest had been momentarily aroused. She soon re- sumed her former air of languid indiffer- ence, however, and leaned back, as if pre- paring to dismiss him. Just at that moment the Adjutant-Gen- eral of the army passed behind the lines on his way to the conservatories. Recognizing Caldwell, he stopped for a moment to shake hands with him, saying as he left : ‘I have not seen you at the department in some time. If you are in that neighbor- hood any time to-morrow come in : I have something important to say to you.”” Be- fore leaving the old warrior laid his hand affectionately on the arm of the younger man and said, ‘‘I am glad to see you here to-night. You should go in more for this sort of thing.” There was the appearance; of personal friendship between the two men, which was not lost on Caldwell’s companion. One’s career was rounded, the other’s but beginning, but both were strong and man- ly, and each had a love of truth that bad sealed their friendship years ago when they first met. The Adjutant-General bestowed only a how on the young woman with whom Caldwell had been talking and pass- ed on, taking little or no heed to the glances of admiration that followed his stalwart form as it made its way through the crowd- ed room. The young woman had begun to wonder as to who her companion could be; evidently a man of some importance, she thought. She had never seen him be- fore, yet he was evidently a resident of Washington. When he turned to speak to her her eyes were averted,and he saw them fixed on a young man chatting gayly with some girls in another part of the room. Caldwell watched her face as she kept her eyes on the centre of the group in the dis- tance and understood, he thought, the rea- son of her anxiety to dismiss him. Pres- ently, as if reaching some conclusion, she turned to Caldwell, and noting his look of inquiry said simply, ‘‘My brother.’ Caldwell could not have told why, but he glanced at the young fellow with addi- tional interest, and felt that he must bea nice sort of chap to hold the attention of his sister as he had done. He could now see the family resemblance, and thought that the father and mother must have been splendid specimens of the human race. By entirely different avenues of thought and by contrary processes of reasoning each had arrived at the same point of inquiry as to who the other could be. Their conversa- tion had been in patches, and Caldwell was wondering whether she was going to speak to him again when she said : ‘You seem to be well acquainted with the powers that be,”’ and before he could make any reply she added, ‘Do you live here ?”’ ‘‘Yes,’’ he said. ‘‘But I know few peo- ple outside the official set. My influence, if I have any, is centered there.’’ ‘Influence is all a man needs in Wash- ington, ’’ she said, looking him in the face. ‘‘Mine is only temporary, I fear. It will end with this administration. My work in the last campaign was useful, but that fact has been forgoiten already by many whom it helped.” “Not by the Adjutant-General, it would seem. ”’ “I don’t think he ever knew of it, as he is outside the breastworks of politics. Still, he is not the kind to forget assistance or a kindness. His friendship is one of the most valuable possessions I have.’’ At that moment a young affache came behind the lines bringing with him an atmosphere as if from another world. He was welcomed by every one, but Caldwell rather resented his freedom with the young women, who took no pains, however, to conceal their delight when he stopped to chat with them in broken English. Look- ing at the retreating figure, Caldwell said carelessly, more to open up the avenues of conversation than from any serious thoughts on the subject : ‘“What a delightful life for a man to lead. Now, with all my influence, I could not get an appointment in the diplomatic serv- ice if I tried everso hard. I might be able to land someone else either there or in the army or navy, but I should fail if I tried myself.’”’ ‘‘Rather paradoxical, I should say. Why would you fail if you tried for an appoint- ment yourself ?”’ ‘‘As an officer of the government I would ve useless, while as a correspondent I am a valuable adjunct to my official friends.”’ She rose to go. Extending her hand to Caldwell, she said with sympathy : ‘“You certainly would not give up your profession merely for a life of comparative ease. If I were a man, your life is the one above all others I would choose.” She had turned to go, but, hesitating for a moment, she spoke again with an earnestness she had not shown before. ‘‘Will you come to see me? To-morrow is my day at home. I |- will introduce you to some stupid but pleasant people.”’ They chatted for few moments longer, and he found out her: name and address. He spoke tono one else. He left the great throng behind bim, passing out into the night, uplifted and proud of his profession, carrying the image of one face only in his memory. IL. Caldwell called the next day, though on the night previous he had certainly made up his mind not to do so. He hesitated to enter as he stopped in front of the residence on one of the fashionable avenues. A number of smart equipages stood on the street, while well-gowned women, in furs, velvets, and violets, and a few men in con- ventional frock coats and top hats, were entering and coming out. He did not mind meeting her. In fact, he knew now that he must see her again, but he dreaded meeting a host of others. When at last he was ushered into the richly adorned draw- ing-room he was welcomed cordially by the mother, he thought almost effusively. ‘‘My daughter has told me of you,’’ she said—‘‘of your work and of your influence. ”’ Before he could reply she greeted other callers, all of whom he met during the re- mainder of his visit. Seeing him so well received by the Simontons, their friends invited him to call. He had only a few moments’ conversation with the daughter, but in that time she gave him to under- stand that he would always be welcomed, and told him he must call informally on Sundays, the greatest compliment a Wash- ington woman can pay a stranger, but the flattering point was lost on Caldwell. She asked him to bring with him, sometime, something he had written; said that she was deeply interested in literary work of all kind and had once had ambitions in that direction herself. During the next two or three weeks he called upon several of those who had in- vited him to doso, with the sole idea, how- ever, of meeting her whom he had learned to worship. He soon became popular,—to a certain extent a fad. That he was a writer was a guarantee that he had brains, thought those who seldom read and never wrote; that he was introduced by the Simon- tons was a sufficient gnarantee that he was a gentleman. He dressed faultlessly, be- haved irreproachably, and several women were credited with something more than mere admiration for him. Either he did not know of this last fact or else he was made oblivious to it by his singleness of devotion to one woman. He was often invited to dine informally at the Simontons’. His visits became al- wost daily in time, but it was always his work which interested her. Whenever he became personal in his conversation she would with tact lead him back to his ambi- tions and urge him to greater efforts. He soon learned to know all there was to be known of the family. The husband was a colonel in the army when he died, and the widow was ambitious for her son to follow his father’s profession. ‘‘But here in the District we have neith- er Senators nor Representatives, and I sup- pose it takes enormous influence to get an appointment through the War Depart- ment,’’ she said; ‘‘so I suppose the wish of my life and that of my daughter must go unfulfilled.” ‘‘Let me help you,’ Caldwell said eager- ly. “I have never tested my influence with this administration.” She shook her head sadly and merely sighed, as if she thought the effort would be useless. That same evening Caldwell spoke to the daughter. He told her that his life would be well spent if he conld add a little happiness to hers and earn the gratitude of her family. He spoke of the first meeting in the White House, and how, in spite of her indifference to him, he had felt irresistibly drawn to her, and how the hope had there and then entered his breast that in time she might be willing to ac- cept, if not ask, a favor at his hands. He recalled all that passed that evening be- hind the lines, his meeting with the Ad- jutant-General and their conversation about the life of a diplomat, and how he had hugged to himself every word that she had said in praise of his protession, and how since then it had been the whip and spur to hisambition. He had dedicated to her that night his influence and all fu- ture efforts. It was to her that he owed his present position in society, and he beg- ged that she would consent to accept some assistance from him, if only in part pay- ment of all that she had done for him. They were sitting in front of an open grate fire. He spoke with earnestness, and did not notice that her hands were clench- ed tightly in her lap and that her face had grown scarlet and then perceptibly paled. He saw only the exquisite contour of her form as it lay back in the chair, and the queenly head bent forward while her eyes remained fixed on the flames. He spoke no word of love. He guarded his language, so that no expression might disturb her listening attitude or cause her to reproach him even by a look. When he ceased speaking there was a silence for some mo- ments, the ticking of the clock alone be- ing audible. Still looking into the fire, and speaking in a strange monotone, she half whispered,— ‘I would almost give my life to see that boy in the army.”’ He leaned forward, and looking up into her face said. ‘‘Would you give me——"’ She raised one of her hands as if to mo- tion him tostop. ‘‘Do it first and then finish your sentence,’’ she said, rising. She was very pale, and her eyes dropped beneath his earnest and passionate gaze. *‘I will see the Secretary of War to-mor- row. If you are at the German Embassy to-morrow evening I will tell you of the result.” He took the small hand held out to him, and after pressing it to his lips he left the house. The next evening he was in the midst of the fashionable melee at the Ambassador’s ball, and though he wandered for hours through the spacious rooms and scanned each passing face he could not find her. He called the next day, to learn that no one was at home. Several days passed, yet trivial circumstances prevented his meet- ing her. A week later he wrote : *‘Your brother’s commission was prom- ised to-day. His appointment will be sent to the Senate to-morrow. When may I see you and finish my sentence ?’’ An hour later, while seated at his desk, writing a despatch on the latest complica- tion in foreign affairs, a note was handed him. He raised it reverently to his lips for a moment, and then tore it open hastily and read : ‘‘We leave for Europe on Monday. On my return I will be married to , attache of the——Legation. I will always remem- ber you kindly on account of my brother’s appointment.”’—By Archibald Willingham Butt, in Lippincott’s Magazine. The Sabbath School Convention at Cen=- tre Hall Next Week. The annual convention of the Centre county Sabbath School Association will be held in the United Evangelical church at Centre Hall next Tuesday, March 20th. It is desired that all the Sunday Schools in the county be represented and in order to make the session as beneficial as possible the following attractive program has been prepared. MORNING SESSION, 9°30 A. M. Devotional Service......... Conducted by Rev. W. W Rhoads, Centre Hall. Address of Welcome............... Rev. J. M. Rearick, Centre Hall. Response........ By C. M. Bower, Esq., of Bellefonte. Conference—Home Department Starting......... By Rev. Chas. Roads, D. D. General State Sec't. Report of the President. Appointment of Committees. Business. Address—*“Right Beginnings”............ By Mrs. J. W. Barnes, Supt. Primary Work of the State Association. AFTERNOON SESSION, 1:45 P. M. Devotional Service......... Rev. 8. N. Kerchner, Cen- tre Hall. . A Symposium of Short Addresses on Practical Topics—(15 minutes each.) The Proper Use of Proper Helps, By Rev. A. A. Black, Boalsburg. Missionary Work in the Sunday School, Rev. D. M. Wolf, Spring Mills. Building Up the Sabbath School, Rev. D. T. Hepler, Lemont. The Adult Bible Class, W. A. Murray Esq., Boalsburg. Conference—The Normal Class and Progress, By Rev. Chas. Roads, D. D. Address—‘‘Home Co-operation and How to Secure 2... By Mrs. J. W. Barnes. A Scripture Exercise....... By Classes from the sev- eral 8, 8. of Centre Hall, arranged by Rev. R. Crittenden, of Beliefonte. Election of Officers. Business. EVENING SESSION, 7:30 p. M. Devotion and Song...... Rev. Chilcote, Spring Mills. Address—*“Teach the Little Ones to Pray”... Mrs. J. M. Barnes. Address—“The Parents Place in the S. 8.”.....Rev. Chas. Roads, D. D. Question Box. The music of the convention will be in charge of Prof. E. W. Crawford, of Centre Hall. The program will be interspersed at intervals with music, prayer and offerings. At 1:45 p. m. Mrs. J. W. Barnes will conduct a conference with the primary superintendents and teachers present in the lecture room. Primary workers please note this. Each school should send two delegates, besides superintendent, primary superin- tendent and pastor, who it is hoped can be present and are members of the convention. Contributions are solicited from schools or individuals for the county work. If each school would send a contribution of one cent for each scholar enrolled the efficiency for work could be greatly enlarged. Fires in Chimneys. Why 8alt is Nearly Always Used to Extinguish Them In accounts of chimney fires it is com- mon to read that the fire was extinguished by throwing salt down the chimney. Salt is used because there is liberated from it when it comes into contact with the fire a gas that, within an enclosed space like a chimney, is very effective in extinguishing fire. The primary purpose in throwing salt or anything else down a burning chimney is to dislocate the burning soot, chimney fires being caused by the ignation of the soot clinging to the inside of the chimney. Salt is used for this purpose not alone be- cause of its peculiar effectiveness, but also because it is something available for the purpose that can commonly be found at hand in a house. It is thrown down the chimney in such a manner that it will rat- tle down the sides and by its weight knock down the soot and sparks clinging to the chimney’s insides. A bucket of sand has been put to the same use with good effect, and sometimes a scuttle of coal has been poured down the chimney, the coal bounding about from side to side as it dropped, and so doing its work effectively. Sometimes a brick is tak- en from the chimney itself, and tied to a clothes line is hauled up and down the chimney with the same result. At the bearth below, or at the bottom of the chim- ney wherever the soot and sparks may fall there is stationed a man with a pail of water to put out whatever fire may drop. Water is not played on a chimney fire from a hose because it is not necessary and the water would do more damage than the fire. The damege caused by a fire in a chim- ney when it is confined there is nothing or next to nothing. Left alone, however, a chimney fire might work its way into a building and so prove destructive, and therefore slight as they may be in them- selyes or they might bein their consequence chimney fires are always put out and com- monly in the manner described. The occupant of the premises upon which a chimney fire occurs is liable under a State law to a fine of $5, which, however, is not always imposed. There have been in this State, in one form and another, and with the amount of the fine involved varying from time to time, laws on the subject of chimney fires, since colonial times. The small size of the present day chimney makes it moredifficult te clean, itis im- practicable for the sweep to go down it in the old way; but the use of anthracite coal makes the necessity for cleaning it occur less often, and chimney fires are of less frequent occurrence, and they seldom do much damage now; but in the old days of shingled roof, and structures otherwise more inflammable than now, and with such fires more frequent, chimney fires often caused serious damage, and laws imposing fines were enacted as an incentive to keep- ing the chimneys clean. Some years ago there was introduced in the Legislature a bill placing the penalty for chimney fires on the owner of the premises and making the fine $25, but this bill never became a law. The present fine of $5 when collected in this city, was turned over to the pension fund of the fire department. It is, how- ever, not always collected. In cases where the payment of such an amount would be a hardship to the tenant upon whose prem- ises the fire occurred the department remits. the fine.—New York Sun. “There is no little enemy.’’ Little impurities in the blood are sources of great danger and should be expelled by Hood’s Sarsaparilla. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. Crepe de chine, with a high luster lans- down with a silk finish; olga crepe; are all three more beatiful today than black satin. It will take about five and a halt yards of these materials to make you a skirt. If you wish to make a blue and white foulard the following may give you some hints. Cut the skirt circular to hang over a silk petticoat equally as long, and of dark blue taffeta. Thereare two ruffles on the skirt, each about three inches wide. One goes all around the bottom of the skirt The other starts at the waist line a little to the left, curves around the hips, goes down in the back and curves in and around the other hip, and comes back to the starting place. The sweep of the ruffle is very grace- ful. Both ruffles are edged with a course yel- low lace about half an inch wide. The lace is an insertion instead of an edge, and is put on underneath the ruffles, so that it makes an extremely pretty finish, whether the ruffle is lying close or flying in the breeze. The bodice is tucked all around the gir- dle in small tucks an inch apart and fitting snugly to the figure. These tucks are end- ed just below the bust and the fullness reaches up to a very shallow yoke of cream lace over white satin; the edge of the foul- ard where it meets the yoke is finished with three bands of the lace insertion, running around the waist. The collar is very high and is a continuation of the yoke. The sleeves are long and tucked all around the armhole and tucked again below the el- bow. Just around the elbow are three bands of the yellow lace insertion. The bodice is cut long to go over theskirt and is finished with a stitched girdle of blue satin antique. Nothing is so stylish in a pale taffeta waist as the entire waist being laid in small tucks fully an inch and a half apart. If you do not care to tuck your waist all around you need tuck it only in the back. Make it very long around the girdle and fit the back and sides very snugly. Cut the shoulders exceedingly broad over the arm and make the sleeves without any ful- ness. Now for your touch of black velvet which you wish. Get some imitation renaissance or Cluny lace in deep cream and lay it from shoulder to bust in two broad bias lines. Take black velvet ribbon about an inch wide and lace in and out the holes of the lace. When the two bands meet in front tie the two ribbon ends into great velvet bows. You can either tie them on or have a made bow which hooks over to the other side. You may use dark blue velvet as well as black in this trimming, but I think you will prefer the latter. At the wrist of the sleeve put one broad band of lace with the velvet ribbon through it tied in a great bow on the outside of the arm. Make your collar of pale blue chiffon, with a rosette and ends of the chiffon in the front. The bias lines of the lace will make your waist look longer than it is. The new wash skirt waists are very long waisted in front and rather short at the back. Fitting correctly under the arms and with wide shoulders, they look a good deal like last year waists until contrasted with the left over. Then it will be seen that this season’s waist is built along better lines and with more graceful jauntiness. Shirt waists of wash silks are going to be worn a great deal, and the run on flannel waists is tremendous. Almost all waists are made with self cuff and a collar band, with an attachable shaped stock collar. When a linen collar is worn only a white stock and scarf are chosen. Only a white stock should be worn with a color- ed or print shirt waist unless the stock har- monizes with the shade of the waist. ‘When a daughter not only begins to show decided signs of temper, but is inclined to boast that ‘‘I am not one of your namby- pamby girls, who cannot stand up for her rights,”’ it is time to convince her of her folly or she will reap lasting discomfort later. The woman with a temper is seldom well educated. She has not the concentration and calm of mind which lead to the acquisi- tion of knowledge. She may possess a share of accomplishments, may be a little music- al, a little artistic, may pass muster among the superficial, but the chances are against her possessing the restful knowledge that comes of thoroughness. Then beware of the girl who boasts of her ‘‘gpirit’’ if you would later avoid the com- panionship of that very undesirable person- age—‘‘the woman with a temper.”’ Take one-half pound of tallow, two ounces of turpentine, two ounces of bees- wax, two ounces of olive oil and four ounces of good lard. Melt by a gentle heat. This mixture should be rubbed into boots and shoes a few hours before using them,and makes them not only impervious to rain and snow, butsoftens the leather as well. New shoes should be rubbed two or three times before using them. Children can hardly have too much fresh air in fine weather, and should be wheeled briskly but not carelessly along as straight a road as possible. Wheeling a car or baby carriage down a steep hill is bad for a baby’s brain. The more milk a little child takes the better, that is, when it is past babyhood. A cup of warm milk between meals, with a crust or a biscuit, is very desirable, especial- ly in winter. They very often cannot eat enough at a regular meal time to keep them going till the next and allow enough nourishment or proper growth. This will be considered rank heresy by many par- ents. The vogue of the tuck is something startling. Everything is tucked from mi- lady’s hat to the bow on her dainty even- ing slipper. The shirt waist revels in tucks until one is ready to vote the shirt which boasts none a sorry affair. Then there’s the entire bod- ice, for evening wear or otherwise, which is tucked. And very beautiful itis. In some elaborate instances, the entire dress is tucked to below the knees. Then there’s a mere tucked yoke; most dainty little finish in taffeta for a taut little blouse bodice. The tucked guimpe is the yoke plus sleeves, though it is tucked in opposite direction—crosswise that is. As we all know the world of lingerie rests on a foundation of tucks. A few or- nament the plainer specimens, while the splendid sorts are masses of tucks, tucks bias, tucks straight, tucks in lattice effect, tucks without number. Whole petticoats and chemises (even the two in a combina- tion garment) are formed of lengthwise tucks, which are let out round the foot to torm a ruffle, and even to support addition- al frills. So much for the tuck, and it seems that the ‘latest tuck’’ is to get a3 many tucks as possible. Marriage By Force., Dr. Frederick A. Cook tells of a little known race of aborigines in an article in The Century Magazine on ‘“The Giant Indians of Tierra del Fuego,” whom he visited on the Belgian antarctic expedi- tion. Of their marriage customs he writes: Marriage, like almost everything Ona, is not fixed by established rules. It is ar- ranged and rearranged from time to time to suit the convenience of the contracting parties. Women generally have very lit- tle to say about it. The bargain is made almost solely by the men, and physical force is the principal bond of union. For ages the strongest bucks have been ac- customed to steal women from neighbor- ing tribes and from neighboring clans of their own tribe. The Onas, being by far the most powerful Indians, have thus been able to capture and retain a liberal supply of wives. A missionary who has Leen in constant contact with these In- dians for 30 years has given it as his opinion that a plurality of wives is en- tirely satisfactory to their peculiar emo- tions and habits of life. The relation to one another of the wo- men who possess but one husband in common in the family wigwam is of nov- el interest. As a rule, they are no more jealous than are the children in a civiliz- ed home circle. The principal reason for this is that the several wives are often sisters. A young man takes by force, by mutual agreement or by barter the oldest daughter of a family. If he proves him- self a good hunter and a kind husband, the wife persuades her sister to join her wigwam and share her husband’s affec- tions. Frequently when a girl is left an orphan she is taken into a family and trained to become the supplementary wife of her benefactor in after years. In the hut each wife has her own assigned position, always resting in exactly the same spot, with all of her belongings about her. The wealth of the household is not common to all the occupants. Each woman has her own basket of meat frag- ments or shellfish, her own bag with im- plements, needles, sinews and bits of fur, and each wife has her own assem- blage of children. The work of the man is strictly limited to the chase. He carries his bow and quiver of arrows, and his eye is ever on the horizon for game, but he seldom stoops to anything like manual labor that is not connected with the actual necessi- ties of the chase. He kills the game, but the wife must carry it into camp. In moving, the women take up all their earthly possessions, pack them into a huge roll, and with this firmly strapped across their backs they follow the unin- cumbered lead of their brave but ungal- lant husbands. Thus the women carry day after day, not only all the household furniture, but the children and the port- able portions of the house. The women certainly have all the uninteresting de- tail and the drudgery of life heaped upon them, but they seem to enjoy it. In de- fense of the men it should be said that they are worthy husbands. They will fight fiercely to protect their homes, and they will guard the honor of their wo- men with their own blood. It is a crying sin of the advance of Christian civiliza- tion that this red man of the far south should be compelled to lay down his life at the feet of the heartless palefaced in- vaders to shield the honor of his home. Red Tape In the English Navy. The late Rev. E. L. Berthon told me what he describes as one of his saddest experiences. He had succeeded in ex- hibiting his collapsible boat in 1852 to the queen and the prince consort at Os- borne, and he said he was silly enough to think that with such patronage his course was clear. The lords of the admiralty sent for him. He was received coldly. They asked the price of cutters, as her majesty wished his boats to be tried. Long afterward an admiral who was present at the interview between the inventor and the admiralty board told him that he had hardly shut the door when one of the sea lords said: “—— that parson and his boats! They shall never come into the navy!” They were tried, however, and answer- ed well, but the inventor received a letter from the secretary of the admiralty as follows: “Sir—Your boats, having been tried in her majesty’s navy, are found to be useless.” The old man’s boats are now commonly employed and are fitted on almost every first class ship that goes to sea. They are largely used in the navy.—London Chronicle. A Worldly Discussion. Near Whitsett, this state, some of the colored brethren had a discussion in the meeting house as to whether or not ‘“de worl’ tu’n roun.” There was considerable “contendin” for and against, but the tes- timony of an old colored deacon was con- clusive. He said: “Dey’s no sich t’'ing ez de worl’ tu’'nin over—no sich t'ing, 1 tell you! Et dat wuz de case, wouldn’t all de water in de sea spill out w’en de sea git upside down? Answer me dat now! En, fuddermo’, could you hol’ yo’ balance ez hit tu'ned over?” Here a somewhat learned brother in- terrupted with: “Fer de Lawd sake, deacon, don’t you know nuttin bout de contraction er grad- uation?” 4 “No, suh, I don’t!” thundered the dea- con. “Will you please splain ter de meetin what is contraction er gradua- tion?” “Well,” replied the brother who had in- terrupted him, “I did know once ’pon a time, but danged ef I ain’t done fergit.” —Atlanta Constitution. Not In Their Line. The young married woman had been telephoning to the grocer’s for an order of supplies. A girl had taken her order and had just said goodby. Suddenly the young married woman remembered that she had a turkey for tomorrow's dinner and must have something with which to make the dressing. “Hello!” she called hurriedly. Then a pleasant girl's voice answer- ed, “Hello!” “I want you to send up two loaves of stale bread,” said the Y. M. W. “Madam,” answered the same pleas- ant voice, “we don’t keep stale bread at the telephone exchange.’—Detroit Free Press. Guess It Meant Molecule, The following comes from an Austra- fian school magazine: “If we break a magnet in halves, each piece becomes a magnet. If we break each piece in halves, each of the smaller pieces be- comes a magnet, until we come to some- thing we cannot split up. Each of these pieces which cannot be split up further is called a microbe.”—Household Wozds. ——Subseribe for the WATCHMAN.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers