Bellefonte, Pa., February 19, 1909,
THE PRESIDENTS IN RHYME
First the great Washington appears,
And Adams serves for four brief years,
The House elects then Jeflerson,
And Louisiana's grandly won.
Madison's is the next great name,
A war drags through, with checkered fame.
Then James Mouaroe assumes the chair,
His famous doctrine to declare,
A second Adams next i= chief
{Thanks to the House). His term is brief,
The next is Jackson, who declares
We are a nation, and who dares
Nallifieation's host to fight.
Van Buren next and panic's blight,
Then comes the hero of Tippecanoe,
Brave Harrison—and Tyler. too.
Death claims our chief ; and Texas, far,
To grace our banner, adds her sar.
Polk takes the helm. The Mexican war
Brings us a vast Pacific shore,
Oregon rounds our vast domain,
Then Taylor and Filmore. Once again
Comes the deathangel ! Filmore trikes
To heal our quarrels with compromise,
Pierce brings hope of a better day,
But Kansas-Nebraska is in the way.
Bucharnan ossays to ealm the strife,
But secession aims at the nation's life.
Abraham Lincoln guides our ship
Through seas of blood, on its fearful trip,
Bat falls a martyr, when war is done,
And the land is saved, and the victory won.
Johnson fills out the lingering years,
And Grant, the hero of war, appears.
Then Hayes by the narrowest margin wins,
And a newer national iife begins,
Garfield and Arthur comes next in view,
But the first is slain ere the year is through.
Cleveland is next, then Harrison,
Then Cleveiund again is the favored one.
McKinley carries our banner far
O'er distant seas, in the Spanish War,
But falls a vietim of murderous hate,
And Roosevelt takes the chair of state,
Such is the presidential line
From the days of 1789,
—Hubert M. Skinner.
THE RENT VEIL
seen her again.
| Nor conid any blind
“They 're so wonderful, are n’s they?’
agreed Agnes, eagerly. “‘Yet for a long
time, since she was a little girl, they bave
been of almost no nse to her, and for—I
can’s tell you just how perbaps six
months or so—she’s been altogether blind.
Poor Ned has been so touched by it. Of
coarse be 's told you all about her long
ago. He clings so to the little we
all have that she may not be blind always.
It ’s such a curious case that nobody knows.
Bat, oh, she lives so brilliantly in her
datkpess! To me she seems streaming with
light.”” It was the tone in which Hersey's
sister spoke of settlements and charities
aud all ber tender, selfless passions. |
“You pity ber, then?’ asked Royce, |
quite coolly. |
“Why, how can you ask? The sublime '
way she meets it does n’s lessen that.”’ i
“She has great courage.’’ Royce stopped |
and meditated. ‘Bot I can’s pity her,” |
be added wish conviction. "Really, [ can't |
feel anything of the ort.”
Pity is, bowever, au emotion that lacks
consecatievuess, [ts passionate sparts find
relief in blank periods. If Royce had pis!
ied Lorraine Morland, be might never haye |
What he did experience in thinkiog of
the girl was, so far as he could define it to
himself, an extreme discomfort. It was
true, as she had guessed, that there had
seemed to bim at first an actual indelicacy
in displaying her infirmity $o strangers,
tacitly demanding sympathy, services, con-
cessions. But her abundant personality
could not confine itself within the familiar,
timid, crippled 10le; it might be that there
was something magoificens in her refusal
to attempt it. Suill, bebind her ostenta-
tious bravery there lay something thas
mystified and perbaps repelled bim. He!
did not know what it was; so, inevitably,
be went to see her to find ous.
As he stood outside her door for the first
time he was amazed to find how keenly be
dreaded the meeting. Within, it seemed
that the house must be like a great, hush:
ed sick-100m. Here, where she lived, the
horror of her blindness conld not be escap-
| 80 slight resistance to oveisome.
| accomplishment.
| ed, then found, then worshiped, wa< the
which Lorraine Morland was nos the vivid
center.
It was curiously possible for Royce now
and then to see withoas shinking
of her blindness as all, so gay and stalwart
was the spirit she brougbs always to the
bridge of their intercourse. Nor bad any
lament ever oreps into her own confessions,
At other times, the pity shat he bad at first
complacently withheld from her sabmerg-
ed and suffocated him. Yet be, too, had
spoken no word of it. Ouoce ouly she bad
told bim that she was scarcely more regret.
ful of her lost sight thau vain of the new
ccmpetence of her hands, through which
she was able toget a dimmed, smothered
vision of the world. They were long, slen-
der, eloquent hauds—an actress's bands,
Royce told her,
He deferred, becanse his nature was not
impetuous, the inevitable confession ; and
when it at last sprang from him, he was
perhaps not wholly surprised thas he bad
Indeed,
he had dimly known somewhere deep with-
in him that there would be joy in her eyes
when he told her. Bat he did not know
why she gave a little, mofiled cory and |
| would say pothing uoti! be hegged her
miserably to tell him in so many words
that she cared. ‘*‘From the firsts moment,”
she whispered, but would not icok up
throogh those strange tears that came,
Royce suppused, fiom one of the forever
inexplicable spricgs of womanhood.
Usually scant of speech, Royce bad a tor.
rent of words to tell her what had drawn
him to her. Others were stupid enongh to
content themselves with ber brilliancy and
What be had first divin-
laminons childlike sonl that she chose to
shroud in many strange ganzes. But she
| —what, after all, could she know of him ?
| With all her subtle divinations, how igno-
rant she really was of the mau she bad |
been hrave enough to love.
“I onght not to accept is of youn,’
humility.
came in on the warm wind. They | Vom Moltke on Washington, the Soi- |
near togesher, these three. | dior.
very
Even the dejected Hersey laoghed and
grew gay, pnd Boyes felt Wit each ve
ment a more I perious joy.
Lorraine's bea! lay sgeinst the back of her
chair, a¢ on the day when Royce had first
seen her, and there was again a shining ao-
dacity in her smiling face. Her loug, del- | 87Y
icate hands were clasped aboot her knee.
Bat if shere was indifference in her atti-
tude,
laughter. The two men who loved her de-
from her loog, mysterions constraint.
Ae they sat talking, the far-off fragment
of sky grew suddenly bluer, th: soft
wind became cool and sharp. Royee did
not notice the chauge,
anxiously.
he urged. “Let me get you a weap.”’
“Purely as an indulgence to you, Ned,”
she 'anghed. *‘Iam lali of warmth.
if you want to pnt a scarf abont we, you
dear grandmother, von shall. Look in the
room across the ball, and I fancy you may
find one.”
As Hersey left the room, the wind deep-
ened tut, a sttong gast. On a table vear
the open window stood a tall, slender vase
filled with some pale roves thas Royee had
sent. Caught in the wind, the vase top-
pled =udtenly, threatened 10 fall.
“Oh!” Lorraine cried ont gnickly, and
Royee followed the direction of her eyes.
A second later the vase was overturned,
and the roses strewed the floor hot Royee's
iron lonk was nos upon she trivial disaster.
It gripped, instead, Lorraine Morland’s
eye<—the eves that had seen the flowers
before they fell.
Vainly they tried to escape him, the eves
that were trapped, betrayed, shamed. But
he held them ruthlessly. There was an
unspeakable agony where Roscoe bad al-
wave hefore seen innocence and candor.
And it was that ignoble agony that is born |
he | of shawe and fear,
' protested, iv the first exaggeration of his | knew why she had been aliaid,—and the
*‘Lorraive, eyes tell ns almost | knowledge was 100 terrible to face.
everything ; yon cannot really know me. | tarned away as Hersey, who had heen ab- |
He
ed or disguised. He would have to pity | My very face might be abhorrent to you ; | sent only a few seconds, re-entered the
ber, here.
seeing her with such significans little props |
about her as her blindness might demand.
woman, however |
straightforward, resist the contriving of a
shade of dramatic appeal in her own inti-
He could |
ness or cruelty—"'
“Ah, I know what you are
assured him, solemnly.
He persisted. ‘There is a way that you
can tell. Your hands can see for you.
dear? Why do you hide them ? Are they
doing precisely what was expected of him, | see in her face the expectation of flowers | afraid of me?”
Christopher Royce rejected various agree- ' which he should have brought ber, and |
able possibilities of spending the late bours | which she would, with artful habit, have | me,” she begged. the gladuvese strangely
of the afternoon, and went to call on Her- | touched wistfully and laid to ber obeek. | gone from ber. “I do not need to know
sey’s sister. In the first place she was
Hersey’e sister, and Hersey was sensitively
vigilant as to ber receiving ber social dues.
Toward himself, too, Royce was aware that
her intent had always been peculiarly gra-
oious. Moreover, Agnes Hersey knew that
be bad only just arrived from Italy, his
work for a time completed, and that he was
to a lage extent as leisure. It was for so
many reasons appropriate that Royce
should turn off at Fifey-third Stree: and
present himse!f for she kind and punesil-
ious inquiries with which Hersey’s sister
would examine the eight mouths he had
been away. He strove, therefore, to ac-
mire the look of one who meets the ocea-
ball-way as he entersd the coldly fuor- |
nished, thinly cartained room where Agnes
Hersey was talking with a group of women
who were, he saw, professionally acoustom-
ed to this manuver of passing their time.
Bat it was pleasantly characteristic of
Agoes Hersey that she promptly devoted
hereell to the severer of her visitors, allow
ing Royce to talk with the one woman
wish whom conversation seemed desirable
—a tall young cieatore of anstinted per.
sonality whose head leaned a little arco.
tly against the slightly sloping back of
ip Big His first fastidious glance bad
caught ber profile, which he thought nu-
distinguished. Orit was, as least, with-
vat delicacy; its short, blunt lines tilted
queerly npwaid, and the piquant ohin was
too strongly diawn. It was a face that
Royce would have heen able to diswiss
easily had is not been for she look of as-
tonishiog unreserve with which ber fall,
brown eyes swept him, and which he oddly
found that he had no wish to escape.
“I have been wondering abouts yoo, Mr.
Royce,’ she hegan, a little too assuredly.
“Why do you come directly home from
your galleries and things without stopping
so amuse yoursel[® Are your arms hea
#0 high with the fruits of diligence that
you are afraid they will spill?"
Royce, displeased, stammered something
iclevant, The Jay oa ae, onild ex-
pect within the tality ersey’s
sister was to be taken seriously. y
“I bave o’t made a mistake, sorely? You
are Ch Royce, are n't you? I .
ed I shoul meet you when J bp
“Then Miss Hersey has—''
“I believe it bas been Ned, mostly. Youn
know he talks of you interminably. He
bas told you of me, but I suspect you did
2° oatoh my name just now. I am Lor-
Morland.”
Royoe flushed and looked at her square-
Iy. “You can’t be,” he said.
“Why, what was your idea of me? Cer-
tainly Ned Hersey conld never have told
told you I was ‘pathetic’ ¥ That was n't
the reason you did n’s want to meets me?’
“I've always heen in the way of allow-
ing a margin for Hersey’s enthusiasms. So
sometimes it happens that [ leave too mach.
Nevertheless, | 've wanted immensely to
meet you; you 're quite wrong.’’
Her low laughter graciously clothed her
; and she seemed constantly to catch
is up and let it fall again, like the thin
diapery that a beatiful woman indiffer-
ently draws over her bare shoulders, then
lets slip lightly away. *‘I wish you might
be able to get used to me,’’ she said, with-
out embarrassinent, ‘because I want tre-
mendously to know you. Aud your voice
sounds as il you conid.”’
Royce allowed a second to pass withont
replying, and she adroitly seized the si-
lence, “‘After all, this was n’¢ a fortunate
time for ns to meet, I know. I remind you
—don’t mind my saying this, Mr, Royoe,
I feel it so strongiy-—olf the crippled things
that have been begging from you in Italy.
Something like the tourist formala muss be
in your mind: youn don’t mind giving your
friendship to a blind creature, but you
hate to have it extorted. Is that it?”
‘‘What Hersey told me of yon,” Royce
said slowly, ‘was incredible. I could not
believe that I should pity you, and pity,
to all of us, is so intolerable. But youn
bave somewhere an ample vision—
We, Sons Jou votl understand,” she
. e as Aguoes Hersey
radiant with sell-effacement, joined them.
In a few moments more Lorraine Morland
| singular extent to which the Herseys’ devo-
Fortonately, he bad no flowers. She would |
have to arrange something else. {
Her face glowed, however, from a walk |
she said she had just taken, and she cat
unaffectedly in an everyday sort of chair
with commonplace things abont her. Even
her hands, though they were delicate, ar- |
tist’s hands, forbore pathos. Royce forgot
his panic, and sarrendered himself with |
frank pleasure to the inflacnee ol her voice |
and the stimulus of her amusing talk. It |
was artfally mavaged talk, he was aware |
of that, implying all the companionable |
mental qualities 1n the listener. Without |
reserve, Royce was enjoying himself. Ouly |
now and then an unspeakable pauyg tore |
though him. It bad to do with the ter- |
rible consciousness that the woman oppo- |
site him wa« biind. i
A moment's silence finally on both their |
parts, at the announcement of another
guest, was a curiously frank admission that |
the interruption was unwelcome, even!
though the interrupter was their common |
friend, Ned Hersey. Hersey's anxious
eyes, as he entered, did not see Royoe; they |
were fastened intensely on Lorraine Mor- |
land as though they looged to wring some-
thing from her, He brought, too, what
Royce considered the distinctly banal gifs |
of some violets, and Royce watched, hating |
himself for watching. Bat without press. |
ing them to her face, Miss Morland placed |
them a little carelessly in her belt,
*Why do you ask me how I am, Ned?”
she asked, with a suggestion of petulance,
“‘when yon know I aw always riotously
well? Nowadays I 'm really too well be-
cause those dear, reckless Warners take me
motoring vo much. You know, Mr. Royce,
that is ’e for blind people motoring was in-
vented. [Is restores one’s pride eo, the ex-
hiliaration wishous the least dependence on
somebody else, the delicious danger with-
out a bit of effort.”
“Lorraine, you are not able to help or
save yourself. How can you be so foolish,
how can you dare to risk your life—"’ Her-
sey began excitedly.
“I sn because my father is willing,
and there is no one else whom I need con-
sul,” she said in a cool tone that made a
little silence and eent Royce compassion.
ately away. The suspicion that she listle
eoene had been planned for his own illom-
ination seemed to him, the next moment,
absurdly fataous.
That night, still wrapped in the stimu-
lating new sense of companionship that
the afternoon had given him, Royce took a
perplexity bad arisen,
he told himself, from the fact sbat at their
first meeting he literally bad not seen Miss
Morland. His varrow preoccupation with
the delicate and =piritual types for which
he had always bad a fastidions preference
had blinded him. Moreover, itis by no
means with the first glance that one arrives
at the significant or the beautiful. No soon-
er did one realize this vital woman than
more fragile creatures seemed for the first
time inadequate. She, too, bad soul, or
spirit, or whatever it mighs be called; but
it did not stare ous, half-sheltered, like a
lantern on a windy night; it glowed deep
within her, reticent and inviolate.
Is bappened that their frievdship faced a
leisurely winter. Royce, ostensibly bus- |
ied with proof sheets and consultations of |
many sorte, said that it would be necessary
for him to defer his nexs sailing until
spring. He often saw Miss Morland at
her own house, less often at the Herseys'.
With Agnes Hersey, the desite 80 lead
other people to admire Lorraine was con-
stant aod irresistible. Bat her brother's
adoration bad become pretty thoroughly
tinged with despair; he was growing hag-
gard in his effort to get used to the idea
that Lorraine Morland would never marry
him. Royce, looking on, wondered at the
tion to their friend was interwoven with
misunderstanding. Agnes’s ion of
Lorraine demanded, he told her, a Gothio
frame; it was saintly, attennated, unreal.
It was Ned's quite common obsession
that she was frailly feminine, adorably in
need. How odd it was that he alone bad
been able to grasp her, to see that,
from her fascinating variousness,
matic flexibility of temperamen
alter all, ber simplicity shat set her
ly apart. He found, too, he
resent the Herseys’
py oe de
it was an Ee ,
one she
| must
ulted
She tarned her face away.
more thw I do.
| thas.”
|
like,"' she | anid Royce, with perfecs naturalness.
|
!
i
| the air. Then sudddenly the room seemed |
Don’t ask we to do too close and narrow for the three.
i
He could not coldly endare ' is may be scarred with weakness or base- | rooin and stopped in confusion,
“Amazingly weatherwive you are,
See
what the wind did while yon were away.
I'll pick it up. Or, no ; there's nothing to
pick up. Everything is shattered. It's odd
| mate background. Already he could see | Come, let them search my face, feel what | what a litsle gost of wind can do. I'd het-
| ber bands flutter pitifully out toward the | is there and tell you. Ob, where are they,
With an oppressive feeling that be was | conveniences lying near ber.
ter close the window, don's you think Lor-
1aine 2
Her lips parted, and she tried to answer,
“Don't ask When the words wonld not come, Royce
spared her. crossed the room, and shut ont
In
domb, awkward wonder, Hersey went
“Then let it be for me, instead,” he | away and left the others alone.
pleaded.
%0.%
“Let it he becanse I want you
There was a long struggle before Lor-
raine could speak, and even then she could
But her obduracy plainly cost ber so! not look at Royce.
much, her mysterious suffering was so on- |
feigned, thas Royce was obliged to yield ;
and accepted ber ruefal dismissal in a con-
fused chagrin that was shortly absorbed hy
that keen, white flawe so newly kindled
withio him.
It returned later, however, again and
again, The girl’s former heroic confidence
seemed to have turned to uocertainty, ca-
price, and tears. It was almost as though
the woman to whom Royce had given bis
love had died in the moment of its ac-
koowledgment. It was even hard to re.
call, nowadays, the earlier Lorraine's exu-
berance and zest in life. Their extinction
called out in him a pew tenderness, bat
his bewilderment remained uusoothed.
Always, now, whatever ber mood or man-
ver of speech, it was as if a great fear lay
upon ber. The obvions explanation of it
all was that she was aware of having too
rashly surrevdered, that she did vot really
love him. Yet, this, in some way, Royce
could not make himself believe,
“I bad vot supposed that anythivg in
the world conld quench or subdue you,
Lorraive,” he at last ventured to say to
her. *‘Can it be that you are afraid ? And
is it—of me ?"’
She closed her eyes with a little shudder.
“It may be that it is of you,” she said
slowly. ‘At least—Iam altraid—of disap-
pointing ycu, of not making you bappy.”
*‘I can forgive that fear. But it is a
very foolish one. Let us destroy it.”
“You see, Christopher, there will be so
many years. And you will get so tired,
perhaps, of my dependence ou vou. If is
were only a little, little different; if I
could see again—only a little glimmer,—1I
should not feel—"’
“And I did pot even suspect that that
was your grief I” he exclaimed, profound.
ly touched. ‘‘Dearest, I have been much
too completely under your spell.”
In April, Royce was to sail again for
Italy. y were to be married, he and
Lorraine, a week before. Upon his world
lay more than the traditional enchantment.
Is bad been so easy for the detached young
man to assume that he would never mar-
. His earlier romanticism bad been un-
Sturbingly cool and impersonal, and the
course | urged upon him by anxious
relatives, shat o! marriage with a *
al listle wile,” who would materially min-
ister to him while chaining him to one te.
dious spot, bad failed in the least degree to
menace his cheerful freedom. Bat to take
this wonderfal blind woman by the hand
and lead her about she world, to devoar
constantly without ever exhausting the joy
of her aweet dependence, was a project that
bad utterly captured his long-reluotant im-
agination. Into what oe fo of delight
world be not lead her exquisite helpless.
ness! Beyond all this, he had a character-
istio satisfaction in the individualpess of
his romantic destiny. The joy that had
descended to bless him he fally believed no
other man bad known.
Bat for the most part, during these
weeks, his dreams were dreamed alone,
Daties and friends that Lorraine appeared
to think important kept her from him, and
when she was at home, Agues Hersey was,
he resentfully pointed ons, always with
her, urging sweet, superfluons services.
Nor, when they were alone together, conld
he fee! sure that her bappiness was not in
some degree a simulation. But on one
int he had no doubt : whatever the girl's
fanciful fears and struggles might be, they
would vanish from the time that he would
have ber as his own.
On the morning of the last day in March
a quick, warm wind blew across the park,
tered the hesitating Royce, and
swept him, be persnaded himself, toward
the oul iary hows. oo tine would be
, but be, on the other band, was
He found, however, that her con-
{
{
“Is is 80 different,” she said in a thick,
unnatural voice, *‘jumping from the end
of a plank and being pushed over. One
minds the violence so much, even though
the end is jnst the same. Still, is wasn’t
fair to me, that wind ; for in an hour or
two more you would have known. |
shonld have told you, Do one thing for
me, I beg of you—try to helieve that this
is true—that I should have told youn."
Royce looked at her without answering.
A faint listle smile came to her lips—a
smile of scornful understanding.
“Perhaps you will believe,’ she insisted,
“after all. Then there is another thing
that yon must know—that I did not mind
it—all the lying—till you came. J enjoied
it. It is such a delirious, delightful,
| thing, though you will never know it, |
always to play a part. Life seemed #0
tame without it. People were so wouder-
fully easy to mavipulate, and they ap-
planded me so. I loved the zest and the
power.
‘Bus when you came, you spoiled so
much for me. Life was different—isn’t it
incredible ?—after the first time that I met
you at poor listle Agnes Hersey's. It
wasn't a bit dramatic any more. It was
only—you. But lies are soch sticky,
prickly things, so bard to get rid of ! If
you try to get rid of them, they ges to be
still more sticky and prickly ; they torture
you all the time. There was soch a differ-
ence, you see, hetween deceiving you and
amuosing myself with the people who were
there before.
*‘I suppose that is seems simple enough
to you what I should have done. I should
bave told you and sent you away. Bas I
wasn’t that kind of a woman then. I
hadn’t loved you long enough. Ibad to
wait until you gave me the strength, for
I drank it in from you, Chiistopher, every
day, the courage that I needed to cast you
a ae al Se
very happy. ' up
in ing pasa, ready to be flong away, when
this bappened—and your eyes bated me—
I shall always see them—and the end of
thiogs bas come.’’
Royoe had listened more and more in-
you ? You don’t belong here and now.”
“Oh, I think #0.” She found courage to
smile as him. ‘““There is a race of us ; but
we live obscurely. You would not have
known me ; how shouald you recognize
others? We are not evil. e¢ do no real
barm. We may even give pleasure. I
did—belore yon came.”’
“And since ?"’
*‘Oh, since then I don’t belong to the
ancient race any more.”’ She shivered as
though a cold wind bad come near her.
“Will it he any satisfaction to you to know
that you bave released me from that kin-
ship ? Good-by—releaser. Yon will he
able to forget all this. And I am able to
pray that it may nos take too long.”
But Royce was looking at her in a pew
fascination. He :tammered and hesitated.
“Oh that’s not like you !'’ she cried ous.
“Not to feel that this is the end—that we
could not go on, But I cannot talk about
it any more. Yon must go—soon—now—""
Royce wens slowly tothe door. “It
ien’t so easy to make an end,’”’ he said.
“We've played with things that reach too
deep—we both are going to know how
deep,” he finished, und left ber. And she
knew that it was not the end.—By Oliver
Howard Dunbar, iv Century Magazine.
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i
i
lightedly watched the sudden emergence |
but H wned | Spare chin
“You will ol Here Lowney | olien, seen in Awericans of the Northern |
Fear,—ah, now he!
Professor Sloane, the biographer of Na.
Century he describes the wau and his
opinion of Washington :
“You are doubtless an American,” said |
there was uone in ber voice and | ® clear low voice. Steppivg a listle for-
dium height in Prassian unilorm. Writing
| to my friends at the time, I described him |
| as having the clear cus feasures, full brows, |
| wbrewd gray eyes, well-fashioned nose with |
ward, [ saw a stender, erecs figare of me-
| fall nostrils, expressive mouth and strong,
| States. The expres<ion was calm, dispas-
| sionate, aud kindly; the thin boas still suff |
Bus | Cent hair of his head was gray, not white. |
| His presence commanded respect, though
| it did not inspire awe, as did the central
| figure of Bismarck, who dominated every
‘company at which he was present. With
'wome embatras<ment [ found my tongue
| sufficiently to heed his pleasant advance
| and to answer “"Yes'’ to his question. The
{ conversation which eusued lasted rome
| twenty minutes. Was I interested in mili-
| tary affairs sod war ? Only in so far as
they concerned the great movemenss of his.
tory. A student of history, therefore ?
| Yes, and privileged for the time at least to
| woik at the same table with the great his.
! torian of my own country, under his guid-
,auce. Had I examined the wars vaged by
| my own peopie 7 Oh, yes, to some extent.
And how did I 1ate them ? Why, of course,
our civil war loomed hefore me as oue of
the most stupendous conflicts in history,
Certainly areas conflict, be said, a very
i greas conflior, hut not a great war, not war
| in a scientific sense, perhaps, at all. This
| was at least the exacs ense of his words.
Utterly unaware who my interlocator
mighs be, and seeing him unmolested, in
| tact, apparently neglected by the other
guests of the evening, I had regained some
' confidence, and with patriotic assurance
| launched into a spirited rebuttal of his
Ned,” | statement, staunchily defending the lope | attractive.
| satious of onr Northern generals, who
| long heen my heroes. He listened with
| well bred silence, and at a fitting opening
| #aid a few word« still confirming his opin.
lions. Perhaps [ was on the verge of ex-
plosioun when, in a formal way, he waid :
“Bat permit me to introdace myself. I
{am General Field Marshal Count vou
| Moltke.”
After impersonal comment on the cam-
paiuns of the Civil war he went on to say :
*‘Bat yea have produced in America one
| of the world’s very greatest strategists —
| George Washington.” The present writer
is profonndly grieved that on his return
home he did not set down Von Moltke's
{ very words. Such regrets, however, are
{ vain, but it is bis power to give with some
| accarracy from memory and from letters
| the substance of the great general's opinion,
{| which was ag follows : ‘*No finer move-
‘ment was ever exeonted than the retreat
| noross the Jerseys, the return across the
| Delaware at first time and then a second,
#0 a8 to draw ous the enemy in a long, thin
line; to skirmish at the Assanpink, create
a feeling of assurance, throw the British
general off his guard, tarn his flank with
consummate skill, and, finally, wish such
unequal force, to complete his di-comfiture
at Princeton aud throw Lim back upon his
base. Indeed, Von Moltke thought, Wash-
ington's military career was marked
throughout hy pre-eminent qualities as a
soldier, but the climax of his power was
displayed when, with such scanty resources
| a3 bad been put at his disposal throughout
! that first campaign, he closed it hy leaving
a vumeron® aud well-equipped enemy box-
ed up in New York, and much concerned,
at that, for the safety of its precious stores,
Great as were Washington's later achiev:-
ments, and remarkable indeed as was his
conduct of the whole war, he never sur.
passed his early feats of strategy. Of these
the affair at Princeton was the olimax.”
With such emphasis the interview came
to an end.— Christian Advocate
“Anecdote of the Late General Wash.
ington.”
From an almanac for 1807, kindly sent
in by Isaac Kent, of Vienna, N. Y., we
take the following story which bears the
above title :
“One Reabhen Rouzy, of Virginia, owed
the general about one thousand pounds.
While President of the United States, one
of his agents brought an action for the
money; judgment was obtained, and execn-
tion issued against the body of the defend-
ant, who was taken to jail. He bad a con-
siderable landed estate ; but this kind of
propesty caunot be sold in Virginia for
ebts, noless at the discretion of the de-
tendant. He bad a large family, and for
the sake of his children, lying in
jl to selling his land. A friend binsted to
im probably that General Washington did
not know anything of the proceeding, and
that it might be well to send a petition,
with a statement of the circumstances. He
did so and the very next post from Phila.
delphia, after the arrival of his petition in
thas city, brought him av order for his im-
mediate release, together with a fall dis-
charge, and a severe reprimand to the agent
for having acted in such a manner. Poor
Rouzy was in consequence, restored to his
family, who never laid down their beads
at night without presenting prayers to
heaven for their beloved Washington.
Providence smiled upon the labors of the
gratefal family, and in a few years Rouozy
enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of being
able to lay the thousand pounds, with in-
terest, at the feet of this truly great man.
Washington reminded him that the debt
was discharged ; Rouzy replied that the
debt of his family to the father of their
country and the preserver of their parent
could never be discharged ; and the geu-
eral, to avoid the pleasing importanity of
the grateful! Virginian, who would not be
denied, accepted the money—only, how-
ever, to divide is among Rovzy’s children,
which he immediately did.’
The drains and losses, the pains and tor-
ments saffered by so mauy women are nu.
natural. They are against Nature and she
is their uncompromising foe. Leta wom-
an realize this and she must also realize
that Nature is her friend, and stands ready
to help ber when she wili put hersell ina
positicn where Nature's help can be given.
t is at this place that the supreme worth
of Dr. Pierce's Favorite Presoription is
demonstrated. It is the means by which
Nature can work with women for the re-
storation of health. Begin to use “‘Fovorite
Prescription’ and you begin to be cured of
uloeration, inflammation, female weakness
and kindred ailments, because you begin
to gi with Nature on Nature's
plan. balf a million women who bave
used ‘Favorite Prescription’’ ninety-eighs
per cent. have been perfectly and perma.
nently cared.
—— Nothing is more easy than to deceive
ourselves.
which is sowetimes, indeed, |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
eon, had a chance interview with Field
|e a rye oi IErT oh Wort] Pame de a fowk tiat Dead Men
{ ington’s Birthday reception 1: Berlin given | , :
| by the American Minister. In the Febru. |
| (To Edmund Gosse)
Fame isa food that dead men eat—
{ have no stomach for such meat,
In little ght and narrow room,
They eat it in the silent tomb,
With no kind voice or comrade near
T'o bid the barquet be of cheer,
But friendship is a nobler thing —
Of friendship it is good to sing.
| For truly, when a mano shall end,
i He lives in memory of his friend,
Who doth his better part recall,
| And of his faults make funeral,
~~Austin Dobson, in the November Century,
Unique table decorations of paper for
| Washivgton’s birthday diouers can be
wade by ingenious women at home [for lit-
tle expense.
Tustead of selecting the much used flags,
busts of George and Martha Washington,
the proverbial hatchet and cherry treea
| woman in the smart ses decided to have all
| the bangings aod ornamentations of an
{ Indian character, and this same plan on a
{ less extensive scale can be followed oot in
| every detail in & small flas or apartment.
i If possible the walls should be hung with
real Indian belts of leather, alternating
with gay striped Indian blankets. Plain
and beaded moccasins with the elaborate
feathered war bonnet should be worked
into a kind of frieze. Wish the speass and
wooded shields and bows and arrows ar-
ranged at four corners of the room the
atmosphere of *‘Indian’’ should he secured.
In following out this aboriginal scheme
ol ornamentation brown crepe paper that
resembles leather in color should be used
in abundance. A canoe about thirty inches
long and ten wide should be carefully made
of paper over pieces of wire twisted into the
desired shape. This should be she center
piece for the table, and if filled with cat
flowers, roses, carnations or azaleas is moss
{ WAR BONNET BOXES.
| For the ices small telescope boxes cover.
| ed with green or brown paper, with minia-
| ture Indian war hounets ou the tops, are
| appropriate and effective. These tiny bon-
| nets, carefully copied from real ones, are
i full of bright paper feathers with little
| epangles ou the edges to make them glisten,
| or water colors to add to their brillianoy.
| If men are to be among the guests, cigars
! should be served in long, paper ‘‘pipes of
| peace,’’ made as near like the real ones as
| possible. This can be done by covering
j corncob pipes.
| For hoobons, brown mocassine made
from crepe paper and prestily beaded or
spangled shoald be placed at each plate, or
if it is considerrd more artistic, they can
be decorated with water colors,
| Paper feathers with gilt or spangles to
| make them bright, on red tape or wire,
| covered with red or brown paper, in fes-
| toons across the table or from the chandelier
| to the corners of the room, will add to the
| effectiveness of the ornamentation.
| TRADITIONAL CHERRY TREE.
| Another appropriate and inexpensive
| kind of decoration for this holiday is a real
| oberty tree covered with paper flowers or
| imitation blossoms. A tree from three to
| five feet high should be firmly placed in
the centre of the 1ahle, after being securely
| natled to a box, covered with green and
| brown crepe to represent the soil and grass,
| To the branches of the tree pretty white
| tissne paper cherry blossoms are tied,
! twisted or pasted on so that they will not
| fall off duting the meal, and at the end, or
| wherever convenient on the branches, red
| rabber balloons, imitations of big cherries,
| should be attached. Across each balloon
"in gold or silver the name of the guest for
| whom it is intended should be carefully
| printed in bold letter«. [f desirable, be-
| tore inflating these children’s toys, a little
| favor could be inserted tv add to the amuse-
! ment of the diners.
When these inflated balloons are remove.
ed by she guests a lot of fan is sure to fol-
low, for each person will have to chase her
toy when is is knocked ous of ber bands, to
keep it from being destroyed, and there
will be cousternation amoung them when
the first one explodes.
To carry ont she cherry tree idea bonbon
boxes shaped like logs, with brown and
green crepe paper, 0 Ww miniature
hatchete are attached, ate in barmony. In.
side these boxes candied cherries with
chocolate batchets make the scheme even
more complete.
If desirable the walls and ceiling can be
draped with festoons of white orepe paper
cherry blossoms, with an cocasional brown
twig to make them seem more natural.
{
i
Poff Paste.—Wash all the salt from
three-quarters of a pound of buster and
work it into a quart of sifted flour.
all ingredients and utensils very oold. Add
a teacupful of ice water and when she
pastry is worked toa ha. bis a wooden
spoon turn out upon a pastry board
aod roll into a , three-quarters of an
inch thick. Roll ap and roll out twice
more, then roll up again and set in a pan
right on the ice for as many bours as you
wish before making into pies or tarts of
pastry shapes.
Cream Dates.—Beat the whites of two
eggs to a froth and add as much cold water
as there were eggs originally; then beat in
enough powdered sogar to make a stiff
paste. Flavor with vanilla. Remove
stones from dates and fill the cavities with
the mixture.
Grape Joice Panch.—Put into a bowl
the juice of six lemons and two oranges, a
quart of grape juice and two cupfuls of
sugar, which bave heen boiled with a little
water. Have all the ingredients very cold
before mixing, and last of all add one quars
of Apollinaris water. Ice water may be
sahetituted. Add slices of orange, pine-
apple and candied cherries.
Squabs on Casserols.—Singe ; truss in
goo: shape and put the birds in a haking
pan. Place in a hot oven until browned.
Make a sauce of swo tablespooninis uf but-
ter, two of flour aud a pint of stock ; add a
quet, a
spoonful of pepper, one scant teaspoonful
of sais. Arrange the birds in a casserole,
pour over sauce, cover and cook in oven
one hour and a hall. Serve in the casserole