Bemora atc Bellefonte, Pa,, May 22, 1908. EN — EE — . - AUTUMN ARBOUR DAY ANNOUNCE- MENT. A boy strolled through a dusty road, “What can | do?" said he, “What little errand for the world? “I know—1I'{] plant a tree." The nursling was taken by mother earth, Who fed it with all things good: Sparkling water from mountain springs, And many a subtle food. Drawn from her own wide-reaching veins, From the treasuries of the sky; Far spread its braoches in affluent grace, 80 the steady years went by. ‘The boy who planted the little tree, By a kindly purpose led, One desolate, dreadful winter day In the brother-war fell dead. But the gentle thought at the great elm's root Burst forth with the spring's warm breath, And softly the fluttering foliage sang; “Love cannot suffer death.” The elm's vast shadow far and cool Fell o'er the dusty way, Blessing the toilers at their rest, The children at their play. And the panting horses felt the air Grow suddea full of balm; Great oxen with their weary loads Caught there a sudden calm, So littie acts of kindness Spread every branch and root, And never guesses he who plants The wonders of the fruit. 1 often think of blessed eyes The old home scenes can see, That Heaven's joy is heightened by The planting of the tree. ~—ADOnymous. THE HIRED MAN. | The smoking compartment of the Pull. man car—being paneled in coffin woods, upholstered in black leather, with mirrors jonumerable ard shining micke! fittings— looked as much ae anything like an ander- taker’s parlor. And in the ineflectual, sad light of the lamp overbead, the three men sat a8 silent as mourners, staring solemnly, with shat expression of decent dejection whioh the Anglo-Saxon wears when he has to listen to music iu silence or smoke among strangers whodo not foros bim to . Outside the windows a noisy black- ness streamed by in a torrent and a turmoil that rocked and roared unendingly. There entered a middle-aged man in a peaked outing cap that lnoked absurdly boyish above his big, sunburns face. The trio watched bim blow into the stem of a briar pipe, his obeeks puffed out, bis eyes shifting from one to she other of the com- pany keenly. When the pipe whistled on a high olear note,he nodded his satisfaction to the whole party and eat down among them. ‘‘The frost plays she devil with the roadbeds in this country,”’ be said io a burly voice thas filled the whole compart- ment. “I traveled over this line in the sammer, aud we rode on plash.” The young man beside him was the first to olear his throat and reply. He was pre- maturely bald and spectacled ; he had the loose-laced shoes and woolen socks of a brain worker; the veins on the back of his t band were swollen from wuch labor with the pen. It was plain, before the con- versation went very far, that he was learo- ed in the law. The others, ove by one, like instruments tuning up, added their voices to the discussion as the newcomer drew shem out with a question or a remark which his eyes directed. In ten minutes they were all in conversational attitudes, talking or listening; avd the compartment looked like the smoking-room of a club. Railroad legislation, ‘‘trust-bustiog,’’ overcapitalization, the labor problem— these were the topics which they discussed. The bald young man defended the Consti- tation and the Supreme Cours, and deplor- ed the lack of respect for the law in a re- ublic where the law was the only king. n a wicker ohair confronting him, a heavy shouldered antoorat, speaking with a cigar in his mouth and frowning at the signe: ring which he turned and turned on his fat finger, voiced the exasperation of the husi- ness man, persecuted by lawyers and politi- cians, and unahle to get employees who were ‘‘worth their sale.” The third man lolled back with an ankle oo his knee, bis stogie uptilted almost to the brim of the derby that was slanted down over his eyes; he interjected into the argument the good stories of a ‘‘drummer,’’ each prefaced with a curt langb and cootinued nonchalantly between puffs. The newcomer defended ‘‘Labor.’’ He spoke with the sympathy and understand ing of one who worked among laborers, in the open air, without gloves. He confessed himself a civil engineer. And to make a point in his discussion he asked permission to tell a story—a lengthy one—about a “hired man.” The drommer said : *‘Go ahead.” The business man glanced at his watoh, in- stinotively. The lawyer lit a cigar, with an air of exceeding bis bed allow- ance of them and nodded like a judge The engineer relit his pipe. ‘I bad a man named Larsen working under me once,” hesaid. ‘‘He was foreman of one of the shifts of laborers—and a laborer himeelf. “We were building an intake tunnel for the waterworks of a town on Lake Erie. “I don’t want to be more explicit than that—for reasons. For cone thing, there's a suit about is, between the contractors and the city, still on in the courts.” He looked at the lawyer over bis pipe. “I bad to sink a shaft just inside the ! thing about him. rs gided dam. You sink your shaft inside is, after you have pumped out the water eo closed by the dam. Well, an ordinary oofferdam made of wooden piles and timber sheeting, packed with olay, will not bold out water over a quicksand, because it comes in noder the piling as fast as you pump it out. We had built so ordinary cofferdam; and when shat didd’s hold, we strengthened is with another outside of is. Then we put on extra pnmps and kept them going until the quicksand shifted under the piling and wrecked our three months’ work. After that we decided to use a caisson. “A caisson’’—he illustrated it with bis hande—‘‘is properly a steel tube that ie sunk in sections to make a metal well for the men to dig in. It is usnally fitted with an air-lock and sapplied with compressed air. And, as if the caisson were a diving bell sunken in the earth—don’t you know? —the air in it keeps ont the water and the metal holds up the sand. “I couldn’t ase compressed air on the job. The company wouldn't stand for the expense. “I want to hurry over these professional details, you understand, but I can’t very well tell the story withont them.” “Go ahead. Go abead.” “Well, we got this caisson, bolted some of the sections together, placed the tube in position and began to sink it in the soft sand of ite own weight. It went down thirty feet, and there the suotion held is. We loaded it with a deck of heavy timbers and a hundred tons of iron : and it sank four feet farther before it stopped again. Then we pumped the water out of it, and began to dig oat the sand to see il we could lower the caisson by relieving the suction ob the inside at least. But when the men bad gone down twenty feet, the quicksand rose like a rush of water on them, and they bad to flee up the ladders for their lives. Anyone could see that if we continued to take ont the sand as it rose, we might canse another shifting under the foundations of the cofferdam and wreck the whole work again. Besides, Lareen reported that his men were afraid to go below to dig, because two of them had heen caught in the quick- sand and pearly lost their lives. So we decided thas we'd try dynamite in the toe of the caisson. The explosion breaks the suctien and lets she tube drop a little. We did that, and were succeeding, when— well, when my story . “You see by that time we had been working for five months—with all the energy of a besieging army. We bad been two months building our first cofferdam and another month strengthening it with our second. It had taken us three weeks to get the caisson placed, and we bad been five weeks sinking is. We bad driven our fires piles through floe ice—dancing on the decks of onr tugs to keep our feet warm— and now it wae August. We bad worked in sleet, in driving rain, in the drizzle of spring and the head splitting beat of mid summer. We bad fought the northeast storms that battered the walls of our dam and the quicksand that shifted and under- mined them. More than once, working all day and all night, I bad seen she dawn sioken the pale sky and looked back on my work ae a nightmare. One of my men bad fallen inte she shaft and broken his peck. Another bad had his foot orushed under a steel plate. One of the boilers in the power house had blown out; my pumps bad clogged with sand; my steam pipes had burst; my firemen had come to work drunk; our needed marerials bad been delayed — even my little hedroom, in she shack that served as au office on an angle of the coffer- dam, bad taken fire, and my oilskine and such had heen hurned. “And Larsen had been sharing all these anxieties—all these disappointmente—all these delays—with a sympathy that yon couldn't help smiling at. Whenever he sat with me, of an evening, in my hedroom over the office, he would take his chair to the window and keep one eye on the work oatside. He arrived in the morning in the bows of the company’s tag aud left at night on the stern of it. He seemed to be living with hie hack to the outer world, his face to the hafs. “I said to the company’s superintendent ove day : ‘Larsen watches that shaft as if be thought some one was trying to steal it. *“T'he superintendent had risen from the ranks of the ‘sandhoge’ himself, and he bad the sort of practical mind that isn’t interested in oharacter study. He said: ‘That's what Larsen’s pad for !' “1 wondered, even then, whether that was the whole explanation of Larsen’s fidelity. It wasn’t easy to decide any. He bad been a sailor, and he had all that patience, and resource- fulness, and sort of mute endurance—don’s you know ?—that the sea teaches. He was habitually silent; his eyes were as blue as open water, but as iosorutable—in the calm. “Well, we were still sinking the caisson with dynamite—a foot or so at a time— when old Nolan, the bead of the company, came $0 see for himsell what was delaying vs. He looked over the situation impa- tiently,carsed the City Engineer for report- ing clay aud gravel where there was quick- sand—and cursed our own men, who had made the borings, for not discovering the mistake. He chafed at the slowness and difficulty of the operations and the conse. quent loss of profits on the contract. And he ended by ordering more dynamite used. “I objected, of course, that the dynamite might split the caisson. “Nolan was a black little man with an under jaw—in a stubble of beard and wien ides jaw at vivrel Jon aa cigar ir a bulldog grip. ‘Dynamite, said, ‘is one of those things that either make you or break you. Go ahead. Put down a box of it.’ “The box weut down, in sticks. The explosion wrecked the two lower sections of she caisson. *‘My fault, boys,’ be said, as cheerful as a er. ‘Do it your own way.’ And with apology be lefs us to repair his blan- der the best way we could. “Now, I understood this attitude of mind. I%'s the ty contractor’s—the attitude of a man who sees in an engineer- ing operation only the question of profis or loss,and who is willing to stake svesyusing with a ohance of losing all. But I'd seen Nolan succeed by means that most of your for Larsen. “And shat was where I got my first light 1 found bim scowling after the Nolan back to the down at whether it was his wages—or the of better wages—that inspired bim. are you interested ? Does this bore you *“They answered, with various degrees of politeness : “Not at all. Go on. Go ahead anyway.” He refilled his pipe. ‘“We went to work again. We got a of steel piling that would hold out quicksand, and we sank a fence of interlocking steel piles in a square inside the wooden coffer-dam and bolted to it. Then inside this square steel dam we sank another dam of the same sort of piles, fisting them, knuckle so bub, in a circle aroand the broken caisson ; and by pump- ing out the water and digging out the sand inside the square dam, — sinking the ecir- cular one as we dug, we succeeded at last in driving the cirenlar dam down to rock bot- tom. Understand? But the top of that ciroular dam was nineteen feet below the top of the square steel dam, and the pumps had to be worked night and day. took the night shifs, with Larsen under me *“We had to dig out the broken caisson. ‘It was just about as ticklish a job as you'll meet with in the ordinary run of work. It was one of those bits that make an engineer's life so—so interesting to him. I$ wouldn't interest yon any more than a doctor’s account of a surgical operation. ‘“‘However, we got it done—or almost. And one morning, after the day shifs bad taken over the work, I congratulated Lar- ven on is. I said that Nolan ought to give him a raise of wages. Of course, I was trying to find out how be felt about the wages. ‘‘He was sitting at my bedroom window, waiting for the tug to start hack to the city. (He slept at home.) I bad my boots off, sitting on the side of my bed, smoking. “Nolan ought to give you a raise of wages op the strength of this,” I said. *‘Larsen replied : ‘No. He won's raise no wages onto me.’’ “ asked bim whether he didn’s think he was worth more than he got. He opened his hands and looked at the palms of them. ‘It’s the brains that gete paid,’ he said. ‘I got a boy. He goes to school. . . . No. Not me.’ *I can’t give you the tone, or the words exactly. But they expressed the sort of tragedy of bis own labor—don’t you know ? —and the hope that made him ambitious for the hoy. He said he was making an engineer of him. “That was lesson number two for me. I got my next one next nighs.” The business man interposed : ‘‘You wouldn’s call him typical, would you ?"’ The commercial traveler laughed: ‘‘Hard- ly, eh 2” The engineer answered : Wais sill I sell you the rest. “I eleps ill ten o'clock that next morn- ing, and then I dressed to go into the oity —40 arrange for a supply of stone and oe- mens that would soon be needed—and this business kept me on my feet all day. At nightfall I boarded the company’s tug again, intending to have a look a$ the shalt and then tarn the work over to Larsen and bave a sleep. When I arrived I found Lar sen struggling with a clogged pump at the foot of she shalt. “The water was rising. It rose so fast that the pump was drowned before is could be started again. We turned the steam on the big duplex, up above; bus the duplex, waiting, idle, hadn't been kept in readi- ness. Some one had negleoted it. It didn’s answer the throttle. T threw off my coat and jumpod down on the platform where it had been planted, at the foot of the square dam, fifteen fees below the level of the outer water—and found the suction buried in the sand. I called to Larsen to lift it oat with a derrick. And Larsen, ranning about in the half light, round. shouldered, like a gorilla with bis long arms, siupg the tackle and worked the winch and oleared the suction. “The man at the shafs reported that the water was rising in a steady flow. “We threw the steam into the duplex again. It dido’t lifts. I saw there was something wrong in she oylinder When Larsen and I got the cylinder bead off, we found the ring of she piston broken. It was the work of hours to mend is, and the water was rising as she rate of an inch avd a ball a minute. ‘““Well—not ito bore you with exciting details—belore we had repaired shat piston the water was up to our waiste, While we were replacing the cylinder head and set- ting the valves, it came up to our armpits, We worked at the nuts and bolts until the water reached our chins. We conldn’t fin- ish. I had to trust what few nuts I could get on to hold the head. And I bad to fairy drag Laisen out by the collar. “When we pulled she sbrottle on the pump, it couldn’t make the stroke. It was choked with condensed steam, you see. And Larsen groaned as if he were watobing a deathbed ! ‘However, it got to work after a little and began to hit bonatitally, I felt mighty grateful to Larsen. I it that if he badn’s been working this way out of any loyalsy to Nolan—or with any hope of ges- ting a raise of wages—it must be that be bad some sors of affectionate interest in me and my soocess with she job. And when we were drying out our clothes together in front of one of the furnaces, I tried to ex- piess my gratitude, you know. **He took it in silence. The red glare on his face showed him merely worried and tight-lipped. He kept going ous, every “Idon’s know. now and then, to look at the water in the | Bar shaft in a sort of angry bewilderment that ignored me al er. I tried to jolly bim oat of his mood, by telling him of an engineer who got his back up as things that way—aund lost a leg before he regained . Larsen didn’t wait to hear about is. He simply walked back to hie pumps without paying any attention to me whatever. And I was wise enough to see that be had no more me than he bad tor Nolan. “That was lessou number three. “I'm nearly done now. Juat wait a minute. “When the day shift arrived, I was ‘oross-eyed’ with fatigue and loss : The men, ordered up from the shaft, with timbers and shovels to throw clay to the hole and brace the planking; and Larsen and the shift worked like [rantie It was no use. gg The waves sucked out the olay faster than | pact it could be shoveled in, and the dam seemed to eink under their feet. Larsen, they said, worked like a madman, the cords standing | P} out on his bands and the veins on his fore: head. When the inner sheeting of the dam began to give way, he shouted for timbers to reenforee it. And when the men ran for beams and planks he was just erazv enough to brace himsell between the wooden sheet- ing and the steel dam —his feet against the one, his shoulders against the other—try ing to bold the planking until the men could come to his aid. “I saw him there. The row had wakened me and I had to ran to the window. A hig wave strack in'o the breach hehind him and spurted over him. I screamed to him to get out of that. It was too late. The wooden dam seemed to open and sink as if there was an earthgoake, and then that side of the steel dam—Iloosened with the piles it was latsened to—fell inward like a big fence. “Larsen looked up at me as he went un- der.” He made a gestare of apology for the emotion that filmed his eyes and clonded his voice. “I swung over the sill and struck the water at the same time as one of the men. We caught him as he came np and drageed him ont. I saw he counldn’t stand. His legs were all sort of twisted. He looked down at them as if he was sni- prised to see them there. 1 beg your pardon. ... You see his back was broken. He had held himself braced be- tween the timbers and the steel until his spine cracked.” He blew his nose hastily. did not look at him. “He didn’s pay any attention to old No- lan’s assurance that he and his family would be looked after.” Hedidn't pay any attention to me. All he said was—when they were carrying him aboard the tog: ‘‘She’s all gone this time'—speaking of the dam, of the work.” The business man challenged him: “Well ?*’ “We're all bired «eo. The others “Well I” he oried. men, aren't we? Do J work the way I do for money alone, or ous of loyalty for anybody ? Does a soldier, or a clergyman, or a doctor, or an artist ? Does even a man like Larsen ? Is the world really run by w hy hire—or by any fendal-system sort of loyalty ? Is it? Or is it the joy of the work, of the game, that makes us break our hacks in it? You asked me whether I thought Larsen typical. I tell you, ‘Yes ! Yes! A thousand times yea!” Youn could get employees ‘worth their salt’ if yon bad work to give them that wae worth its salt. You appropriate all the joy of the work, all the interest of the achievement, and you Jeave them nothing but the tasteless la- r. The lawyer interrupted: ‘‘Are you argning for socialism or co-operation?’ The engineer turned to him, surprised. “Me? Socialism? What is it? I don’t know. I never have time to read up ahout those things. I'm telling yon what I've seen; that’s all.—By Harvey J. O'Higgins, in Collier's Weekly. Why Cigarettes are Injurions. Those who denounce the cigarette as dead- ly, or merely object to it as unhealthfal, do not always explain clearly in whas ie use differs'from that of tobacco in any other form. This is done hy a writer on ‘'‘The Cigarette Habit,” in the ‘‘Lancet.” The author fears that madical men in particular are adopting cigarestes on account of the saviog of time and trouble by their uee, and he points out what constitutes their danger. After enumerating some of the difficulties of the pipe-smoker, he goes on to say : “All these sources of trouble are avoided in thejoigarette. The cigarette ia at once ready to smoke, it only requires lighting, and as a rule once alight it burns regular- ly. The smoker of the cigarette reaches his aim more quickly and with less trouble than does the smoker of the pipe, and if smoking is to be a soothing babit there must be nothing mentally irrtiatiug con- pected with it. It ie thus that the cigarette habit is encouraged and eventually estab- lished among medical wen just as much as among the public, and once that is so the habit becomes confirmed and both cigar and pipe are neglected. The worst of the habis is thas the smoker consumes more tobacco in thas form than he would in any other. The cigar and pipe soon satisfy the to- bacco craving, the cigarette smoker is rare- ly warned in time of his excess. The oi- garette appears as a mild form of smoking of which the smoker never tires and cigar- ette replaces cigarette with practically lit- tle intermission throughout the whole day. Few oan deny that such a practice is very injurious to the health, and the slaves to it find it very bard to break the chain which binds them. The ready-made cigarette is largely responsible for the enormous growth of this servitude, and to those who are con- scious of having acquired an injurious bab- is of indulgence, which they honestly are anxious to reduce, if not to abandon alto- gesher, there is one piece of advice which we would urge upon them—we have bard- ly known it to fail. Let the inveterate oi- ette Stadiel give up the py gareste; let him buy r an tobacco; let him © bie cigarette juss before he smokes it; and he will find that he will smoke consequently fewer cigarettes and be all the better for it. Such a meth- od, if honestly adopted, would make an end to the ‘chain’ smoker who when he has nearly Suid a inuwdingy proceeds & er from expiring ember, and ends the day with an appalling coneumption of 20 cigarettes or more.”’ A Wedding Gift. It you pay ten dollars for a wedding gift you cannot get anyshing so valuable or use- ful as the obtain free,—Dr. Facts About Meerschaum. Meerschaum i® a hydrated silicate of magnesia appearing a8 an opaque earthly mineral, which, grayish or yellowish, com- in texture and breaking with a eon- choidal or fine earthy fractnre. Most of it comes from Asia Minor, especially from the nine of Eskischehr, where is occurs in pudular masses of variable size and ir- regular shape, distributed through the allavial deposits of the plain, which are systematically worked [or its extraction by means of pits and galleries. Meerschanm is found also but less abundantly in Greece aud in some of the Grecian islands ; at Hrubsehitz, in Moravia, where it occurs in a serpentinons matrix, and in Morocco, where it is used when soft and fresh ass substitute for soap; while a coarse variety is found at Vallecas, near Madrid, and is cwployed as a building stone. Meer- vohanm also occurs in South Carolina Al- most she whole of the world’s sapply of meerschanw comes from the distries of E-kischehr in A<ia Minor. Miniug is done in a primitive fashion aod precantions for safety are unknown,al- though accidents voeur from time to time. A group of three to 15 workmen work sogeth- er to dig a shal: about one meter in dia meter and vo props are fixed antil they reach, ata depth of 20, 40 or even 60 meters, the hed of red clay under which the meerschaum is found mixed with ser- pentine in the form of irregular pieces from the size of a bazel nut to that of an apple. These pieces are often extracted with great difficulty after making long galleries in the red clay. In many places the earth is mined in such a way that the galleries of several different excavations are confused. Tne work is carried on day and night, the workings being lighted by means of oil lamps. The meerschaum is not sold hy weight, hut by the case or box. After the purchase the meerschanm, which i» damp, heavy and of a yellowish color, is set to dry in the sun in summer time and in the winter for about nine days in a drying oven heated day and night. The product loses about two thirds of ite weight in the drying and hecomes snow white. Afterward it is 1ab- bed with flannel, moistened with warm water, any roughness is removed witha knife, the hollows are cleaned with sand and finally the pieces are polished with wax. Io thie condition the meerschaum is sent to market. There is one man in the business who in 1809 will bave been making cap visors for balf a century, and he isn’t such an old man either, He started at the trade asa hoy in 1859, working for a concern of which now he is the head, whioh, says the New York Sun, was then established ina building at Broadway and Reotor street, where the Empire building now stands. He recalls the lact that when the war broke ont they worked nighs and day turning out for soldiers’ caps. The manufacture of cap visors is a busi. ness by isell. Only about 15 concerns are engaged in it, of whioh number all are in this oity, save two or three, located in Philadelphia and Boston. New York sup- plies visors for cap manufacturers all over the country, producing in the aggregate millions of them annually. For she very cheapest cloth caps visors are made of cardboard paper or of imitation leather covered with the cloth of which the cap body is made, for other grades of cloth caps visors are made of various sorts of light leather, and for rome cloth caps of fiue quality there are now used, because it is lighter than leather, visors are made from a heavy specially woven and water- proof canvass. For visors there is now made an imita- tion leather onmposed of hookhinders’ hoard aud what is called moleskin, the two being cemented together under pres sure. Ina made up cap, where its edge could be seen, this material might pass even an expers for leather. The best leather spe- cially tanned and prepared. Take the country at large and caps are nos used by people in general for ordinary wear 80 muoh as they were 50 years ago, but caps are still worn in great numbers by younger people and by sportsmen and travelers and golf players, and of uniform caps of one sort and another there are now worn 300 per cent. more than 20 years ago. A very simple little thioga op visor might seem, but great numbers them are used, and in a factory where they make them you would find around rolls and sides of leather or other materials, and hundreds of dies and moulds for the out- ting and the shaping of she visors, and men busily at work following visor making just as they might any other trade. —Pittsharg Sun. Every Inch a King. In the latest instalment of her Memoirs, in the February McClure's, Ellen Terry writes with much feeling of her friend Oscar Wilde. It is when recalling Irving and his sucoesses, however, that she is at her hest. She writes: ‘Henry Irving could not at first keep away from melancholy pieces. Henrietta Maria was another sad part for me, bos I used to play it well except when I cried too much in the last act. The play had been one of the Bateman productions, and I bad seen Miss Isabel Bateman as Henriet- ta Maria and liked her, although I could not find it possible to follow her example and play the part with a Frenoh accent. *‘I constantly oatch myself saying of Henry: ‘That is by far the best thing he ever did.’ I could say it of some things in ‘Charles I.’—of the way he gave up his sword to Cromwell, of the way he came into the room in the last act and shut the door behind him. It was not a man coming on to a stage to meet some one. It was a man going to the scaffold, unobtrusively, and courageously. However often I played thas scene with him, I knew orops seasons that open with a cool end with a very hot summer, wi below the average. ng and FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. Men grow old more quickly from having noth- fog todo than from overwork. A running ma- chine will keep bright for years. An idle one will soon rust out.—Anon. Few modes have taken a greater hold upon popular fancy thao the jumper, and this is because it is becoming to the ma- jority of women. Possibly it is nota de- cided favorite in its striotly conventional form, but it is so easily modified that the figure would indeed be difficult to suit thas could nct be made attractive in one of these styles. The jumpers designed for this epi must match in color the skirt with whi it is worn. Thisdecree of fashion is an advantage to the average figure, and a positive kindness to the short type. In constructing such a garment it should be borne in mind that all jumper models are not becoming to every figure, and thas the success of a jumper depends almost en- tirely npon its finish at the top. There are some women who are long from neck to bust and short from this poins to the waist line, though not necessarily short-waisted. For snoh figures the jump- er, if cut according to the pattern, will probably be disappointing when finished, for there seems to be a lack of balauce; the waist appears to he all yoke; still, if the jumper is cat higher over the buss the idea is loss, A baad, either sell or contrasting, does nos seem to remedy this defecs, bat if the band is made of a fairly transparent fabrio of the same color as the goods the change will be pretty. As an instance, take a gown of red, blue, brown, eto., dark and perbaps heavy looking, and head the jumper with a four- inch band formed from the soutache braid arranged diamoud or lattice fashion to overiap the light yoke, and it will be seen that a pretty, harmonious effects has been oreated by this simple addition. This band must be shaped, of coarse,and should first be cut from strong paper. The thin goods should then be sewed to this design aod the bastiog stitches ripped away when the work is complete. Other appropriate materials such as baby ribbon, velvet or strappings of silk may be used as a decoration. For the figure that is long from bust to belt the average jum er suggests a yoke topping a waist. To correct this effect the top of the jumper may be out ous more, or a wide girdle in- stead of a narrow one can be used. The short-waisted figure must content herself with a lesser display of gnimpe than the longer waisted type, for she needs length. Her jumper should be out ous in a long, parrow ‘‘V,” and the material on the shoulders should meet the collar band, perferably tacked or folded, the lines oe- ing preserved until they lose themselves in the belt. For the stout or broad shoulders as well as short wasted women, it will be ap im- provement if ‘V's’ are taken out from each shoulder, back and front, displaying the gnimpe between. The innovation of the jumper and gnimpe dress was foretold as she end of the lingerie blouse, but the false prophet knows not the ways of women and her constrnoy to that pecaliar arsiole of dress which bas taken her fancy. Then how couly there he a really correct sailored suit if blouses were to be disregarded? What conld even Paris find to take the place of the exquisite bit of linen and lace? The new blouses are chiefly interesting for the variety in arrangement and trim- ming and, although a bloose fiom every standpoint, there are ngly blouses, and the models of the yea: are classed under the latter heading. The comhination of a half dozen bits of different laces is considered smart this sea- son, while hand embroidery is employed as a conpecting link to hold the samples to- gether. Irish filet, olumy, valenciennes— these are the oftenest used, although duoh- ess and appligne-come in for their share. A tendency to the small yoke is evideno- ed, especially on the shoulders, while tai- lored waists are usually made with long sleeves, as daring last year. The new small yokes are made with an arrangement of tucke and insertion, while the linen blouses are inlaid with Eoglish eyelet work. Still others are provided with ruffles and cuffs whose scallops have been band-embroidered. Irish crochet is ‘‘let in’’ a great many of the Parisian models, and, of course, em- Druidersd filet is both effective and becom- ng. The blouse has been growing for the past few seasons, always more elaborate and more dressy. The stiff tucked but untrimmed shirtwaiste of a semi-decade past have been relegated to the trunks con- taining grandmother's finery and grand- father’s noiforms. Striped madras is a favorite material in the suits of the small boy. The Russian blouse snits are nearly all made wish the yoke, sailor collar and gen- eral finish of the Peter Thompson. The stiff Buster Brown collar does no$ appear as frequently as last year. There is a hoss of pretty reefers on the market. Some of the smartest of these are in checks and stripes and conform to models of aduls overcoats. The passion for pockets has invaded these tiny spring overcoats. For the boy with the Lord Fauntleroy temperament white reefers are offered. Black and white and navy blue and white stripes will form corrects hoisery for the small boys. The wide-brimmed straw sailor is infleot- ed variously for bis wear. A bag of hot sand relieves neuralgia. Warm borax water wiil remove dan- drufl, Tight clothes and indigestion cause red noses, A hot bath taken at night affords refresh ing sleep. For a runaround on the finger thick shE Fork ofan sgg with salt and apply. oy Persone of defective sighs, when thread- ing a needle,should is ing rainfall hive: by which the sight will be assist-
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers