Benita The robins are coming already this spring, They're singing the song so sweet and #0 gay, And building their nest for their new summer lay, So it won't be long till there'll be more robins to bring, The beautiful tidings of the new coming spring. They build their nest in the old apple tree, Where they hatch their little ones, don't you see? Then after they're out and their feathers are on ‘They go out of their nest to see other ones, Then through the wide world they go roaming about, They're singing the song that none others can doubt, 80 over the meadows, and villages too, They sing the old song that ever is true But it won't be loog till they sing their farewell, For winter is coming so dreary and swell, When only the snow birds are left here to dwell, Which are singing the cong that none other can t2ll,.—By Kyle M. Alexander. THE EVER CONSTANT TIDE In the late afternoon Mrs. Penrose came in from the garden with her arms fall of briliiant peonies, and stood in the doorway of her cottage, momentarily beld on that neutral ground by the conflicting appeals of the summer afternoon without and her duty in the dining room within, The lit. tle pause was very cbaraoteristic of her : she bad often been obliged to stand for a while on some neutral gronnd because of an inward conflict between duty and the thing she would like to do ; in the end the sense of duty invariably conquered. Ono this particular June atsernoon there was much to draw her back to the easy, pretty luxury of the piazza. On the op- posite side of the road that ran before the cottage was a narrow strip of woods where- in the ohestout trees, big sisters to the Indian corn of later summer, reared proand- ly orested heads and tasseled arms ; beyond the little woods a wheat-field swayed heavi- ly toward barvess, gleaming through the great boles of oaks and chestouts like the gold of a sunset sky or the yellow sands of a sea-beach; on the strip of road and over the nearer garden brilliant suulighs was intensifying all the colors and ripening the growing things; and beside she little gate at the her 2nd of the path, tall, white res of yucca swung their bells. Despite rioh manifestation of summer's purpose, the earth seemed very still, as if waiting in silent ecstasy for harvest time; not for the colder harvest of autumn, bus for that more joytal harvest of early midsummer, for the garnenog of rich grain and most fragrant grass sprung froma the abundance of the earth’s young life. Mrs. Penrose was keenly aware of the beauty before her, and an inward impulse - was strongly urging her again to pass down the steps to the garden,and even to wander - farther afield to mees the golden wealth of the afternoon; hut something else remind. ed ber that Max was coming home that day, that Mr. Hughlett was coming to tea, shat Hildegarde was most aboot - ¢he looks of the table, thas she new maid was incompetent, Her finding so many things to weigh down she balance of duty, and only the one appeal in thas of seil- indulgence, was also characteristio of her. She turned, gave a wavering backward glavoe, and went into the dining room. The vew waid had put on the oenter- piece wrong ride up, and had forgotten she ealt-cellars. Mrs. Penrose could find noth- ing else awry, #0 she arranged her how! of flowers very sarelgliy, readjustiog one or two, koowiog that Hildegarde would he sure to say something about them. During ber pleasant task she could hear her daugh- ter’s voice floating down from up-staire, It was a pretty voice, with she light fresh. mess of youth, and very like Hildegarde herself. The girl was sevenseen, and bad ¢ up ber bair for the first time the week ore, when ber mother bad taken her to Cambridge for Class Day. It was Max's first June at college, and the mother, re- membering the change that the year had made in the hoy and girl, smiled. She en- joyed the growing-up of her children; some- shiog of her own earlier power of enjoy- ment bad retorned as theirs developed. The voice came nearer, and Mrs, Penrose tarned to look smilingly as the young girl. There was no hesitation about Hildegarde; she came into the room with the air of determination and easy assuravce of the girl who bas played with her hrother all her life; she was tall, with the straight back and long limbs of her generation, and she wore her hair in a very becoming flufly Jatu¥ about her face, a little down on her “It ’s lovely, Pet,’’ she said to her moth- er. ‘‘I hope yon didn’s get over-heated in the garden.” She put her strong young arm aronnd her mother’s shoulders, and stooped to kiss a carly wisp of hair on ber neck. ‘‘Oo on-0oh ! sweet carl! little oatl I" she coord. . Her mother laughed up at her, and she two passed out toward the piazza. Hildegarde's manner was shat of pro. - teotress, older sister, sometimes even grand mother, toward her mother; in their atti. tudes their ages might have heen reversed. “‘You are afraid of Hildegarde,”’ Hugh: lets often accused Mrs. Penrose; and while she did, indeed, always smile at the acen- sation, it was quite true : she was afraid of Hildegarde, but not as Hughlett meant is. Is amosed her to accept the ohild’s little maternal attentions and to allow her to direct the smaller details of the household; yet it was not of her masterfulness tha: the mother was afraid, bat of Hildegarde's keen and inquisitive intelligence. “When do yeu expeot Mr. Hughlett *"’ the girl asked, raising a pillow for her mother’s shoulders, as Mrs. Penrose made herself comfortable in a swinging ohair. “When do yon expeot him ?’’ the moth- -er returned, with teasing emphasis. It wae Hildegarde who bad suggested that Mr. ‘Hughblett be invited for Max's first even- ing at home, and Mrs. Penrose obediently wave the invitation, it had wot -ocourred to ber before that lett would ~expeot it; sbe knew perfectly well that be - would have come without it. Lately Hilde- garde bad been full of attentions to their old friend, and as Mrs. Penrose remember- ~ed the child's small coquetries and Hugh. | pressed “lett’s manner of meeting them, she laugh .ed aloud, biting ber prettily surved lip in one of the little ways thas had survived her girlhood. Hildegarde flushed. “What makes yon say that, Mama?’ she asked, and leaned upon the piazza rail- ing, looking across the garden to the next house, only the roof of which counid be ‘seen. “He 's your guest this evening, isn’t he?’ her mother teased. e———————_————_——_———_——— 540i 5 SA ——————————————————————— Hildegarde waited an appreciable mo- ment before replying; then she made av | roared t change of subject. 1 promised to go over to the Mayers’s to watch the boys at tennis this afternoon.’’ She gathered up her roffled skirts—she was not yet quite acoastomed to their length— and started toward the garden steps. “What, are n't yon going to be here to receive Mr. Hughlett 2’ Her mother was still smiling provokiogly, but the girl seemed not to see. She went slowly down the steps without answering; hut when che was abons to pass through the little gate she looked back at her mother’s teasioy face “No, I am not going to wait here to re- ceive Mr. Hughlett—goose !"’ she said,and trailed away with chin sip silted. | Mrs. Penrose followed the girl's gracelnl | figure with fond eyes. Yes, the youog life was untouched, felt no taint of its inber- ited shame. And Max, her hoy, who was presently coming home to her after their first long separation, be, too, held his head proudly, knew no necessity of feeling any disgrace in bearing his father’s name. far her effort had been justified—the effort that every one bad said woold be uvavail- ing. In those early days when she had been determined somehow to shield her children from all knowledge of is, even Hoghlets bad believed that the fact of the father’s disgrace would follow them all. Now even Hughlett admitted that she had heen successful; and what did not that success imply to ber! Her thoughts went further afield, trav- eling back over the years of her life to her girlhood, her marriage, the terrible time when the world seemed to shut her within walls of shame, the determination born of her fond motherhood to break throngh their black restraint for the sake of her children, and so shield them from all knowledge of what had been. How little bad she dream- ed when she married handsome Ned Peon- rose that within a few years he would cause such a blight to fall apon her ! People bad warned her, to be sure, had dared to warn her : he was fast and a spendshrilt ; but he was the fairy prince of ber girlhood’s imagination; he wooed her passionately, and she responded with all the intensity of youth's ardor. She would marry him in the face of any number of warnings, declar- ing that love muss come first, and could work any miracle; but in their marriage love's only miracle was to transform ber quickly reached loathing of the man intoa maternal pity for bim after he had brought disgrace upon ber and the children. She was not twenty years older than their boy, but when she was told of Ned’s conviction, aud felt the burden of the baby girl upon her breast and little Max’s arms about her neck, she knew a splendid pity for their father, and found within herself the strength to take the children away, deter- mined to keep from their lives the shadow of their father’s shame. Now Hildegarde, the tiny baby of that dreadful time, was seventeen, and the pass- ing years had so changed them all that the children might, from their attitude toward their mother, have been her elders and protectors. Mrs. Penrose smiled, as she always did when she thought of that: if the dear children only knew! But they did n’t know: shat was her reward; they were cato-{ree, and no hint of shame bad reached them. The passing of time bad recorded its change in her own gell no less than in her children. The spring of her life had been stormy. To marry; to pass from ate love to loathing; to bring swo children into she world; to bear disgrace that was barder than birth-throes; to make, for the sake of the little ones, a new life in new environment; and to bear all the responsi- bility of sheir sraining—yes, it bad been bard. Bus after thas season of ber lile had come another, a gradual ripening of ber character, a mellowing of ber emotions; and for whatever of joy she might have loss she was more than recom y the pose aud control which had succeeded is. There was more than that, however; somethiog else, something deeper, something richer, was moving her nature, touching ber heart —a something that to-day she fels to ex- quisite accord with the June afternoon. A wave of color came into her face; she was suddenly restless, and felt as if she bad been still too long. The long shadows that were falling across her little strip of gar- den from the te woods looked in- vitiogly cool, she started down the steps; then she saw Huogblett coming up the road, and, after an instant’s hesitation, went to meet him. He was carrying his bat in bis band, walking briekly along in the sbade, and when he came within bailing distance and waved to ber, she was aware that the after- noon felt suddenly warmer and flashed When Hughlett reached her side, be said: “Good afternoon. You look very fetch- ing to-day—and very rosy.” She laaghed, and turned her head a little away. ‘It’s the beat,” she said, and pressed the back of ber hand to one burn- ing cheek. “Oh, it is 0's warm here,’”’ he declared, as they went through the garden gate to- ward the booze. ‘The city is torrid.” “And yet Max lingers there,” she said, with a little shrog. Huoghlett looked sidewise at her, and alter he had thrown himself into one of the deep porch chairs with an air of mak- ing himeell at home, be said: “So Mas has not come yet. I don’t sup- pose you know what is keeping him. Max's mother laughed. *'You mean you sappose [ do know what ’s keeping bim,”’ she said, aod pouted a little. Mr. Hughlett laughed at her. “Oh, well,” he said, ‘‘the boy is growing up.’’ *‘He i*# not twenty-one yet. It is alto- gether too soon for such things.’* “On, not a bit of is," said Hughlets. “Max is normal, perfectly normal, and he ought to have fallen in love a year ago. Nineteen is the proper age. I should be greatly disappointed in Max if he bad pat it off any longer.” Mrs. Penrose langbed. “I know,” she said wistfully; ‘‘bot—"' Hughlett leaned forward in his chair, resting hie arms on his knees, and looked up into her face. “Oh, come, now,’’ he said, ‘‘Max is none the less in love with his mother, for all that. How could be be?” Mrs. Penrose refused to pureue that question She was looking over the tops of the trees as she roof of the mnexs house. “And Hildegarde,’ she said —*‘Hildegarde is so—s0 strange since she put her hair ap!” FHaghlet’s mouth twitched, but he re- the smile as Mrs. Penrose turned quickly toward bim. ‘‘Youn ’ve noticed is yourself, John; you know you have!” she accased bi m. “Well, Hildegarde bas been —very kind to me of late,” he admitted ; then they both langhed. “Do you know,” said Mrs. Penrose, *‘I think—I think that Hildegarde is begin- ning to see you in a new light, as is were. I think—1I think she is trying to—to flirt So | walked the length of the piazza and back, with you!” Hughlett leaned back in his chair and , "Ob, yon need n't be afraid of Hildegarde!” He misquoted bis nsval phrase, and Mrs. Penrose hiushed again, and tried to look scandalized. “Ob, the idea,” sbe protested. Again Hughlets leaned forward, and this tine he spoke with all earnestnes. ‘‘Cath- erine,” he said, ‘‘you know as well as [ do what ’« bappened to the children,they have grown up, beyond their old need of you. But my need of you has n't changed."’ “Oh, please don’t talk aboat that, John!" she cried. “1 must,” he raid. “I most talk abont it. hecanse I think thie is my time to talk.” ““But the children do need me; they will alwave peed me. How could I desert them now?" “Desert them? Who ’s talking about desertion? Youn koow I love them as if shev were my own; bat they do not fill my life soy more than they fill yours.” ‘‘Bat they oaght to fill mine,” she said. “No,” he replied —*‘no.”” He arose, and stored from the day's benefisence of light and warmth; the voice of the season wae no less sweet than it bad been earlier in the afternoon, shoogh now it was calling ina solter key. “He killed my youth.” Still Hughlets did vos reply; she looked into his face somewhat questioningly. ‘‘Avnd you want something shat belongs to youth,” she whispered. His heart leaped when he saw the dewy traces ol tears in her eyes; he snmmoned all his self-control, and spoke quietly. “I want what did not belong to your youth, nor to mine,”’ he said. The day and the season and the beauty around them seemed to bave given bim inspiration. *'I do not want spring flowers in late June, Catherine. I do pot want the green of young wheats when I see the grain ready for summer. I remember you as you were when yon were married; bat I do not love the delicate nrettiness that was yours then, my dear, as I love the beauty of your face now. I donot love the girl you were ;I love the woman you are.” She was by no means past the age where his praise of her beauty wonld canse her to blush. A still-girlish impnise of flying from the compliment wade her heart beat quickly. She was accustomed to bis ad- wiration, but no woman receives its like unmoved. She put her hand upon his arm, but kept her face turned away from him. “I know yon do, I know you do,” she eaid. ‘‘It bas made everything easier for me, your loving me; I am wore grateful for is than for anything else in the world. Bas —t0 love you in return? Ob, if I could !" He felt that she moment had come for his strongess plea, and shat pothing might he wantiog he put bis arms firmly about ber. ‘‘Catherioe,” he said, with bis lace close to hers, ‘thers is a tide io human ewotions as constant in ite ebb and flow as the tide of the sea. There are seasons of life as recurrent and as faithful to the ages as the seasons of spring and summer, an- tomo and winter. I bad ho place in the springtime of your life, but I mean to bave its summer; I have watched the ebb of your love and of your need of love, aud pow I mean to take it on its retorn, and go with is to ite flood. For I tell you there is a return of the tide as surely as the harvest follows the sowing of the grain.”’ He could feel she beating of her heart, and bis own leaped to meetit. Shestirred in his arms, turned toward bim—and with a ory repulsed him. They bad forgotten she existence of her children; but she two were coming up the walk, and were nearly at the steps of the piazza, before their mother saw them. At ber exolamation, Hoghlett wheeled quickly, and laugbed. His eyes met Hil- degarde’s and be realized again thas she was indeed, what be had called eather her in the afternoon, knowing. There was no mistaking ber pleasure in the situation; her pretsy face was twinkling with delighs- ed merriment. In an instant Max bad bis mother in bis arms; she was sobbing, and the boy was laogbing and pattiog ber, kiss- ing her hair, and talking excitedly. “By Jove, I 'm glad! It’s jass the righ thing! you know! You ought to have done it long ago, Pet! You ’ve been aun angel; you deserve all the bappiness theres.” “Well, don’s pull the darliog’s bair down just because you are glad, Max! shied Sidemmdg, Fen her mother. pasted pretty bair into some sem- blance of order, kissed her mother’s cheeks and eyes, and cooed over her as a girl does over a pretty baby, while Max turned to BO A y pom t up own, pounding him oe with bis other fist until Hughlets cried: “‘Here, let go, you ruffian! D’' you take me for a puoocbing-bag?"’ “We really began to think we should never get you two to do it,”’ said Hilde- garde, turning toward him beamingly, with ber arm still aroond her mother’s shoal. dere. ““What!"’ cried Hughlets. He looked at Mrs. Penrose. Wonder, disbeliel, nuder- standiog passed quickly between them, aod both began to laugh, Mrs. Penrose al- most bysterically, and Hoghlett witha mighty roar. The boy and girl looked in mild astonishment from one to tbe other, as the very youthful do when they bave amused their elders and do pot quite see how, but yet are pleased at lh done 80. coming at last to stand in front of her. “Dear Catherine,’”’ be said, ‘‘you bave done evervthing—everything for your chil- dren. Dosomethiog for me now!" She paled a little, but continoed to look off toward the trees; he conld not compe! her look, but he was aware of baving touched ber. It seemed best to add notb- ing to his plea. His opportunity seemed to lie in calling from her something of the protecting, sheltering love which bad giv- en her such strength for the children, and which they were now beginning to bestow in kind upon her. Catherine pondered for a while, and Huoghlest let ber work over the problem unaided. Finally she said: “I have tried to do everything for them; #0 far I have done it. You know what my first care has been—to keep from them the knowledge of what poor Ned did. Well, I koew juss bow muoh I could do, and just what I could not do. I could bring them up in ignorance of their father’s having died in the penitentiary; hat I could not talk to them aboot bim. Io "thas much I have failed. At firsts I conld n’s talk about bim because my own hort was too keen, and because I would not share the children with him even in that way. Ob, I was resentful at firet, however sorry for bim I was later. Then, after he died, I felt that it would be a sort of hypocrisy to talk to the children about bim, even if I conld bave found some good things to say. The only way I have been able to give them a feeling for their father, you see, has been in keeping myself true to what he ought to bave been. Y do not need so tell them that I loved him or did not love him, that he was good or bad; I do not need to speak of him at all, you know, eo long as they can see that I am true to bis memory. That is what I meant by deserting them; of course [ did not mean thas literally. But if I am to provide an ideal of a father for them, I have to be true to the ideal I wish to oreate.”’ Hugblett bad known her subtleties for many years, and although they seldom failed to exasperate him, he knew how to meet them. ‘‘Do you expect the children to see all that?” he asked. “No, nos to see it,”’ she admitted; ‘‘but they are bound so feel it. If I were to fail in holding myself srue to the idea of tbeir father thas I ve tried to oreate in tbeir minds, they would begin to wonder about Bim, to suspect, and they would end by finding out what be was. Then the effort of my life would be wasted.”’ “‘Catherine,’”’ be exclaimed, ‘‘that is nonsense. The effort of your life bas been to bring up those children to be the first. rate Jo of youngsters that shey are, and you bave the reward of your effort. What difference could it really make to them now if they were to know about their fath. er? She arose, deeply moved. aod pot ber havds acroes her eyes. ‘‘Differenc:?”’ she cried. ‘Difference? Do you shink my obil- dren, my poor children, could be tbe gay, light-hearted creatores they are il they Anew?" “Yes, I do,”” Hughlett declared. ‘I don’s think it would touch them any more toan the knowledge that my grandfather died on the wrong side in the Revolution affecte me. Upon my word, I don’t see why it should. Neither of them remem. bers bim. He ’s jost the same to their conecionsness as if he were five generations back.”’ “And you were afraid of Hildegarde!” “Their father !'’ Hughblets said to Mrs. Penrose, with mook Hugblett flushed. ‘‘You remember how “Afraid of me?” the young lady exclaim- ed. ‘Afraid! I shink you ought to thank me, both of yon. Max would peter bave thought of is if I had n’t suggested it; we 've been doing all we conld to throw you ether for months.’’ “*Hildegarde!” The mother tried to ap- pear shocked. “Well, we have, Mama,” Hildegarde declared. “It was the last Max and I could do for you, and it ’s a sbame we did n't think of it before. You ’'ve stayed unmarried so long—and [ather was n’¢ worthy of you, anyway.’’ Mrs. Penrose gasped, and Hughlett look- ed nickly at her. “ s trae, Pet,” said Max. ‘‘Hil- degarde ought n't to have said anything ahoot it, for we know how it buorts you; you were made to suffer,” be said, “and you allow yoursel! to think that the children would feel it as keenly. That is impossible.”’ “Do you suppose [ don’t know my own children ?’’ She turned upon bim hall- angrily, touched in her pride in the moth- er’s omniscience. There was no answer to make to that, and Hoaghlett walked the length of the piazza and back before he spoke of another phase of the subject. “Well, even if they would be over-come by the knowledge you have tried to keep fiom them, bow—how would your marry- ing me tell them anything abouts it?" She looked at him somewhat waveringly, and shen out toward the sunset. ‘‘It would set them to thinking,’ she said rather weakly. ‘‘Hildegarde is so—s0—'" She! but yon had to stand so much from our pansed, and then they both laughed. | father that we want yon to be just as hap- “‘Hildegarde is inquisitive, and Hilde- | py as you can now.”” The young man’s garde is knowing, and Hildegarde is very | face was very serious. “We ’Il all three up-avd-coming,’”’ be laughed; “but I am | try to make you so,’’ he eaid, and turned not afraid o! her.” | away. Mis. Peorose made instant nse of the | Hugblett walked past the two and stood change of subject. “She is up to some- | in frons of Mrs. Penrose. He tarned her thing lately,” she said, “and I bave no | white face op to his own. “You see!” he idea what it is. Iam sure she bas yon on | said. *‘It is as I said—the tide of time— her mind; but n it goes and comes, it wipes ont all that Hughlett, however, would not follow | was written on the sands. It bas its ebb, the lead. She was leaning back with her | bat it has iv flood, too!” bands against the railing, and he came and | She smiled np at him, tremulously, and stood beside her, closing bis band over ove | be Fined her on the lips. When they of hers. turned, the children had gone in.—By “I peed Jou more now than they do,” | Edith Barnard Delano, in The Century he said quietly. | Magazine. It was evident that sbe was becoming | more and more moved, that his persistence was telling. She put ber bands to her cheeks, and her eyes filled with tears, “Oh, John,’ she said, *‘you do not want the sort of love I bave for the children, and I am incapable of any other sort.”” There was silence for a moment; then she moved, and spoke with intensity : “‘Ab, he bart me in so many ways! I can never, never forget the daily agony of those years, and I have borne the hurden of bis disgrace alone ~——Do you know that you can get the finest oranges, bhanannas and grape fruit, and pine apples, Sechler & Co. Look Ahead, It’s only a trifle now, that little touch of stomach trouble. But look abead. Every d disease begins in a trifle, just as the Janivadiive Syalsndhe & Justiags, ina ng pebble. toms of a disordered or diseased rom” Sppoar begin to use Dr. Pierce’s Golden ical Discovery. The perfect control exercised by this remedy over the stdmach and other organs of digestion and nutrition makes a speedy onre certain. It will cure in extreme oases. But it cares goickest when the disease is taken at the start. Take no pill which reduces you to pill slavery. Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Peilets do pot beget the pill babit. They cure con- stipation, and ite almost countless conse- quences. good name, even. very springs of feeling in me.” She was weeping, but Hogblett wade no answer. Presently she turned from him and looked over the lawn toward the dark- ening woods; the wheat field beyond was scarcely discernible now in the dusk, the sunset glow was fading eo rapidly the moon, which bad been only a pale in the sky an hour belore, was 0 to gleam yellow. The flowers i den were sending out their evening BREE 5 barvest; I do not want the cooloess of April | when it is time for the warmth of mid- | Des Moines as Another Man Sees it. [Wriiten especially for the Warenuax | Under the belief that shis is a free coun- try, where one may differ in opinion from another without being branded as ‘soured’ or “disgruntled,” I wrote an article some time ago, which youn kindly published, giv- ing my observatious in part, about Des Moines. I have not now, and never have had, any real or imaginary grievance against any- body or anything in or abont the city, for I bave always been very well treated, bus that oaght not so keep me lrom telling what came under my observation. As many of your readers kuow, there was a time a good many years ago, when a man did not have the freedom to express his opinions a= now, and claim his rights as an Americano oitizen. If he did not throw up his hat and bellow with the crowd, he was hustled off to a bastile and kept there until he was well infected with vermin, when he was turned loose. A eell constisuted ‘‘blower and striker’ for the Des Moines club, first divested him- sell of a great hurden by sending you a three column article, and then jumped on the tail end of the band wagon, and then yelled to the whole State to rise np ‘“‘in arms’’ against me and scare me to the woods, Bat I am still doing business at the same old stand. In my former article above referred to, the greater portion were lacts—a portion | the observations of myself, and of others as told me, and a very small portion were my individoal opinions. These latter I con- cede may be worth very little, but be thas a3 it may, they are not on the market for sale. Now to return to the starting point : | don’t cate any more nor any less about Des Moines than any other of more than a thousand towns or cities that I have visis- en in my over forty years as a traveler, in every State except Florida only. Since your monumental braggart corres- pondent has sought to rake me over the coals, I beg to go back to my former arti- ole and see how far I was ‘‘off.”’ First : I gave the initidls of the Young Women’s Christian, and nos of the Young Men's Association, (as the compositor put it) in reference to the magnificent new building nearing completion. Second : I did nos use the word mulch at all. Ihelped my father mulch potatoes sixty-five years ago, and knew the mean- ing of the word then as well as now. Third : I define the mulet law as sell- ing whiskey and raising hell generally, as long as you pay your fine willingly. Why don’t they take the bull by the horns like they do in good old Democratic Missouri, and in Texas and Oklahoma and in Arkansaw—yes Arkaneaw, ‘‘now laugh d——n you.” Fourth : A gentleman in the State Aun- ditor’s office told me that the magnificent soldiers’ mouument was the gilt of the women of Iowa. If he misinformed me it is not my fault. I said is stands on a commons because it is not enclosed at all, and the day I went to look at is there were about half a dozen cows grazing around is. I bave not one word to take back or change about it. Fifth : Railroad centre: I wrote that the Rook Island is the only east and west Trook live passing through the city, and I 8ay 80 DOW. Last summer when I visited my dear old native Centre county, I thought that Belle- fonte was considerable ol a railroad centre, and I think so yes. Bat to Des Moines and its ‘‘plug’’ roads. The Barlington runs a ‘‘plug’’ to Albia, where it tape the main line. The Wabash rans a ‘‘plug’’ to Moberly, where it taps the main line. The Northwestern rans a ‘plug’ to Ames, where it taps the main line. The Milwaukee runs a “plug” to Madrid, where it taps the main line. A trolley line runs to Fort Dodge where ig taps the Illinois Central main line. Anybody who cares to do so can verily the above in Bellefonte, just as well as if he were in Des Moines. Next, the hotels: I have been in every one of them, and never was better treated, but not one of them is np to what I ex- pected to see in such a city, and I have heard hundreds of other traveling men say the same. I know scores of cities not one-fourth as large, that beat it ‘‘out of sight’’ on hotels. Any man who can see ‘nothing snperior or equal’ on ‘‘four trips to the Pacific ooast’’ may indeed be said that ‘‘having eyes yet sees not.” Over forty-five years ago I often heard Dan Lauver say that Lauvertown would be as big as Bellefonte after while. I have no doubt he really thought so. Des Moines is a fine city, but I do not think is ie equal to New York or Chicago. Probably a few people think so. I have no reason to change what I said about the depots—the baggage haunlers— the court house--the street car waiting room wor anything cise that I can now think of, but I overlooked an observation that a traveling man called my attention to, namely : shat in all my travels, I never have been in a town that made any preten- tions to decency or law and order, where I saw 80 many drunken, staggering wen, and I bave yet to see the first policeman having a “drank” io tow. Finally : While I bave never lived in Iowa, yet I would bet ‘‘dollars to dough- pats” that I have seen five times as moch of the State as the man who writes of “Forty years in Iowa.” Recpeotfully, DaxierL McoBRribpE. i leaves in vivid green. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. The demons are Worry and Danger and Fear, And Hate with its fiery blight, The angels are Courage, Faith, Love, so dear, And Kindness, like suashine bright, It is safe to say that plalted skirts will be widely worn this sommer, although as yet few of them are seen on the gowns shown by the big shops. The new plaited skirts rarely it ever carry the plats to the waist line. They are either inserted in panel «fect under a tunic or they are arranged under a prin- cess hip yoke, Doubtless later on the fall plaited skirs with the plaits rooning to the waist line and stitched on the edges will be univers- ally worn, A touch of bright color will be added to the costume this coming season in parasol aod long, filmy scarf which is worn about the shoulders. It is quite essential that the parasol should match some part of the costume, either frock, bat or pumps and stockings. The many ribbed Javanese parasols will be popular this sammer. They are of silk with quaint little Japanese characters em- broidered or hand-painted on. Those made of Persian silk handkerchiefs are moss attractive and matoh up well with the Paislep scarfs. A Clo Clo San sunshade of white silk was lined with pale lavender and embroid- ered with iriain lavender and tall spike With it was worn a scarf of lavender and white striped chiffon, with embroidered violets scattered over the entire surface. The scarf was finished as the ends with long white silk knotted fringe. The fiat effect on the top of the head, so much in vogue at present, should not be adopted by the girl or woman of round, fall-faced type. She should be laithiul to the pompadour raised well above the fore- head and she bair puffed slightly at the sides, no master what fashion demands. A woman with a fall, fas face will only emphasize its breadth hy flattening the hair at the top and hroadening the arrange- ment at the sides of the face. In face, the result will be a ‘‘squat’’ look that will be far from pleasing. Prettier and more serviceable material than challis for simple house gowns would be difficult to find. Those with white backgrounds and con- ventional desigus in the soft shades of pink, blue or green are particularly effective. Bands of silk or satin the coloring of the design make very appropriate trimming. On every side, these days, is heard the voice of the public raised in outraged pro- test and ocaustio sarcasm against the mil- linery of the moment. It is true thas like everything else the hats of the season are at times overdone, bus there are some con- servative models to be found amoug even she bee hive and coal scastle varieties. The principal feature of the new hats is the orown, avd in many cases the crown is the whole hat. If there is a brim is is merely a small shelf on whioh the crown resis, or a cozvenient something to which trimming may be astached. The exaggerated hee hive bats are indeed trying. At times there is nothing to be seen of the wearer's head nnless one stoops down and looks up woder the ambrella- like, flower laden mass topping the cos- tome. Another odd and distinctly ugly hat is the one with a high bell crown a nar- row biim, whioh suddenly widens out as ooe side. This wide brim is sometimes tarned up and caught against the orown of the hat with a buge rosette and a bunch of waving feathers, On the other band the shapes modelled after the Charlotte Corday lines are ex- tremely pretty and much more rational. The more severe ones are simply trimmed with a scarf around the crown and as one side or tied in a soft bow, but those of satin straw braid with a wreath of blos- some all around and loops and knots of velvet ribbon are very pretty and becom- ing to a large majority of faces. Fortanately for the woman middle the turban models are well represent. . For youthful faces the moderate mushroom and inverted bowl shapes are pretty, but the close fitting turbans are more pleasing to an older woman. These are very good looking when made of a eofs straw and simply trimmed with blossoms, closely set rosettes with upstand- ing stiff ends of ribbon or velvet, a single graceful plume, a full cluster of aigrettes or Prince of Wales tips. A turban of dove grey woven straw bad as its only trimming a full willow plume of coral canght with a knot of coral velvet and a dali silver ornament. Hats with maderate crowns and wide drooping crowns will be worn by the wom- an to whom they are becoming, no matter how the fashions change, and many of them are seen, The fashion of wearing a bavd of black velvet under the chin fastened to the under side of the hat brim is exceedingly smart and promises to he a favorite wrinkle with young girls. Oue athletic young woman indulges fre. Jientiy in whatshe calls her “homemade arkish bath.”” [It ie a fact, as she eaya, that one cannot always cleanse with soap and water and a comparatively smooth cloth. A cold cream bath on the face will prove that. Therefore she takes a small soruh brosh, of the sort sometimes sold in drug stores for nail brushes, and first wet- ting the body with a and hot water scrubs the whole surface of the skin with the brush and a thick soap lather. Thie goes down into the pores and cleanses them, carries off more old skin and particles of dust and waste than the ordinary wash cloth, and stimulates the circulation. The soap is next thoroughly rinsed off with hot water, and the bath followed by a cold shower, and a brish rab. For the not soo vigorons person, a slight rest adds to the beneficial effect, whether with or without the concluding vap, the treatments will be found bosh refreshing and invigorating. The lingerie waists will be worn summer with the overblouse and without the blouse. The sleeves may be long or short, as ove may prefer, because both styles will be worn. The decorations on the waist will consist of Wallachian, ow, French and eyelet embroidery. is a tremendous revival of interest in shadow embroidery and the out out ow work. French and eyelet em! is staple and never is anything but and fashionable. The materials for new lingerie waists next season will be lawn, handkerchief linen, not too fine, £ lin Lincoln, Neb., April 1, "09. vainsook.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers