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-