Bruna fia "Bellefonte, Pa., September 17, 1909. MY DUG. The curate thinks you have po soul ; I know that he has none. But you, Dear friend, whose solemn self-control In our four-square, familiar pew, Was pattern to my youth—whose bark Called me in summer dawns (0 rove— Have you come dowa into the dark Where none is welcome, none may love ? 1 will not think those good brown eyes Have spent their light of truth so soon But in some canine Paradise Yaur wraith, I know, rebukes the moon, And quarters every plain and hill, Seeking its master. . . . As for me, This prayer at least the gods fullfil ; That when | pass the flood, and see Old Charon by the Stygian coast. Take tol! of all the shades who land Your little, faithful, barking ghost May leap to lick my phastom hand. Bt. John Lucas, in St, Louis Globe Democrat, “THE BAND.” I think the reason that Philip Barstow and I get on 20 well together is becanse we both crossed the prestidigitator’s bridge at about the same time. Every ope bas seen a prestidigitator’s bridge—is is the plank covered with red baize that the magician uses to cross from the atage to auditorium when be comes down into the audience to force cards on us or take rabbits from our inside pockets or coins from our ears. All of us bachelors who live long enough muss orose the magioian’s bridge one day and take our places in the andience. The lucky man is the one who makes the transition willingly and in good season. That time menally comes about the moment when we begin to meet young women at dinners who look just like their mothers nsed to look twenty years before—twenty years when they married the other man; w we give up tennis for golf and insiss that billiards is splendid exercise; when the bumps of our youth develop into rheu- matic joints and the salety-vaive of our in- ternal machinery is forever sounding a warning to our appetites. It is not easy for some of us uomarried men to make the transition; there are those —a very few—who, after they bave crossed she bridge, go back and take up the fight again—even marry. Bus these are not she true bachelors, the bachelors who were born bachelors, who in their youth carry on most soandalously with every pretty girl in the village, but, way dows in their hearts know thas their finish isa trained nurse and a faithfal body-servant. Barstow and I used to dine at the same olab, but we give thas np some time ago. Now we bave a little side table at Sherry’s or Martin's or even Reotor’s, where the stage is amply filled and the actors are usu- ally well-dressed and often beautiful, and we can watch their listle affairs, and, an- known to them, bave our innocent jokes at their expense. In the other days—the days at the club —we talked of ourselves, but that was before be learned that history was pot fiction, bus fact, and that if ever we did leave this world, the present social structure would go stretching on indefinite: 1y and nos come tumbling about the heads of those who were unfortunate enough to be left behind. There was one thing that worried us a good deal theo, and even now, when there is plenty of time between the lighting of our cigars and the hour for starting for the y, we ocoasionally discuss it mildly. Is a trifling matter of who is going to save our conntry and effect a compromise with she Trus«t Senators jnss before they take our lass dollar. Of course, we admis that some thing is going to save our counotry-—there seems to be a saving factor in our natioual makeup that always <developes when it really becomes necessary. Barstow con- tends that when the time is ripe the old Paritan bloud, the cold intelligence, aud the hard common sense of New England will assert itself and esraighten things ont. Bat then Barstow was born and brought up somewhere near Boston, and not very far from Concord, and be is just about as barrow es one of his own stone fences. My argument is that the best life—the life that produced the ureatest refineraent and oul- ture throughoat the conutry, the life that Jot kindliness aud hospitality and brother- y love above money-grubbiog—was the lite that wae pretty thoroughly choked ons of the Southern States during the late an- pleasavtness, We Northerners certainly stamped it out as well as we kvew how; but from what I have seen, there is a good deal of is left, and when they learn down there that che war is really over, I believe the old blood will quicken again, a d if it circulates sufficiently far, and in enough different directions, it will do the country a whole lot of good. Of conree, Barstow and I bave no sectional feeling, and we would like to see every monument that has been raised by either side thrown into the deep sea. It is only the ultimate effect of the blood we worry about. Very early in July Barstow aod I sepa- rate; he goes to Magnolia, where be meets nothi but Bostonians, and I go to Virgivia, which Northerners avoid because they bave a wrong idea that it is hob. When we retarn in September we swap experiences thas are su to bolster up our old arguments, although we have done this for ten years, it has not made suy difference in our views. Bat when I ges back I am going to tell Barstow my ex- periences with “The Band” at the Madi- son Sulphur Springs, which, in way of apology for all thas I have said belore this, was only made possible by the fact thatI had long passed the agian 's bridge and was regarded by “The Band’ as a mere looker on. The Madison Sulphur Springs is not one of those vnmerous summer resorts in the Soush which have been rebuilt or re- stored. Itis, in all ways, I imagine, very much as it was long before the war. There is the main huilding— big and spreading in all its proportions, with a broad porch and high flnted pillars. At one end there is the diniog-room, square and severe, with whitewashed walle. Napkino-rings are still in favor and the colored servants, by wav. ing long paper fans over your head, more or less successfully shoo away the flies while yoa eat. The door at the other end of the piazza leads into the ballroom, which isa little smaller than the dining-rooms, bat equally severe in it? lack of decoration. The botel is surrounded by a wonderful lawn studded by splendid oak trees, and at the left of the lawn there is a semicircle of listle white- washed cottages devoted to the bachelor guests, There are no modern improve- ments of any kind, but the rooms are im- maculately clean and fresh, and the colored servants are the kind who courtesy to you | if they are women and if they are men | throw their bats on the ground belore they address you. There are no tennis courts, aud itis too mountainons for a golf conrse; the sports, such as they are. consist of a croquet grooud and a shuffleboard. The social relaxation is supposed to coosist in polite conversation ou the piazzas, an oc- and dancing at night in the baliroom. No cimpler life can be found anywhere, and a man who bires a runabout for an afternoon drive over the mountain roads is consider. ed agood deal of a spendthrils. And yet clear blue skies, avd the bomely life that calls the same people back year after year to this little botel hidden away in the Virginia mountains. Some of the cabins which once held the overflow of the hotel have been turned into servants’ quarters, while others have crumbled into utter disuse; and this wonld seeia to bear out she testimony of the oldest guest that The Springs was once the scene of a greater social activity. Bat be that as it may, the youager generation of Southern girls still come there dressed in a simple finery, which, I fear, is often paid for alter much eaving throngh the winter months. Bat the Southern daughter of the old school wuss still bave ber month at The Springs, and there the young men still go to pay ccurs to their fotore brides. With the exception of two summers, she music at The Springs, during my day at least, bad always been furnished by a vio- lin and a piano. However, during one season of great financial ty, a cor- net was added, and ounce the orchestra con- sisted of four young boys, but as they were just learving to play, the music that year was perhaps a little worse thao usaal. Bus whatever the number of the instromental- ists, and however great or small their ability, we always called them ‘‘The Baud,” and so during the past summer, when all the music was supplied by one young woman, we still gave ber the same sitle as her predecessors. The real name of “The Band’ was Miss Helen Glenbam, which fact I gathered after considerable questioning from the guests who bad pre- ceded me at The Springs. Her contract demanded that she play the piano every morning in the main parlor from ten notil eleven, and again in the ballroom at night from eight until eleven. I hope it was not on account of the quality of the music, but it is, nevertheless, a fact that this seemed to be an off season for the dancing at The Springs. Occasionally the young people wandered into the ballroom, and on Satur- day nights we organized several rather in- formal cotillions; but for she most part ‘“The Bauod'’ played to an empty room. I must say, however, thas she was moss con- sciensions in performing her duty,and dar- ing the appointed hours remained laithiully at ber post. Whether the ballroom was crowded or empty, one cvuld always hear through the open windows ‘‘The Band,” with a most fearful regularity, first baog- ing ont a waltz and then a two-step, then a waltz and next a two-step. The firss time I saw her, she was resting between numbers, ber hands lying idly on the keys. The piano was placed in the corner with the keyboard side next the wall, so that ‘‘The Band'’ sat facing the room, and I could see shat she was looking out of a window into the night, and that her thoughts were very far away from the Madison Springs. And then, I Suppose she heard us talking in the doorway, for, with- ous looking up, she mechanically took np a sheet of music which lay as ber side, and, putting it on the rack, started to play again. She was a rather delicate-looking girl, fairly tall, with big brown eyes aud beavy lashes and varrow ached brows, a fine sensitive month, and a nose a listle taroed ap. This, with a rather high color, gave her almo<t a suggestion, I should say, of diablerie. Had there been a little mote of avimanion aud less of a certain tired look in her eyes, she would certainly, #0 far as heauty went, have outdistavced any of the alleged belles of The Spriugs. Her bair was piled bigh on her head—an arrapgement as unbecoming as it well could be—and she wore a simple taffeta dress, which, while well enoogh made, was modest, indeed, as compared to the ciothes of the young women for whom she played. Later in the evening I was introduced to her, and her maoper was, to say the least, bus coldly polite. Indeed, I think she rasber resented the face that I bad made a int of meeting ber. To my somewhat orced snd formal remarks she slowly nod- ded her well-poised head, or spoke in moposgliables, for which I was sorry, be. cause her low, even, Soathern voice bad a great charm for we. On several other occasions I made an effort to talk to her while she was resting between a waltz and a two-step, but my success was not more copspicuous than at the time of our first meeting,avd for my pains I was well laagh- ed at by wy fellow guests. They, too, it seems, bad tried to be a little sociable with *“The Band,” but failed as ignominionsly as myself. To some of the women who had asked her to take walks or to drive with them she had been to the men who mes her, but, so far as I knew, she bad accept- ed po invitations of any kind. “What she does with hersell all day I don’t’ know,” said Mrs. Simmons ove evening as we stood at the ballroom door. Mrs Simmons was a whole-souled, stousish lady, who wanted to mother the evtire and was osoally granted the priv. ilege. ‘“One never sees ber aboot any- where. Surely she must go ous of ber room sometimes except to go to the ball- room, bus I certainly can’t catch her, and is isn’s because I baven’t tried.” “It’s her wav of playing the part,” I **Well, I don’t like her way,’ Mrs. Sim- mons snapped at me. “‘She’s a lady born and bred- at least she looks it—and, be- gides, I've heard she was. Bot just be- cause you're a lady is no excuse for being a mystery, and piling op your bair on your head jusé to make yoarsell look like a sighs, is it? I'd like to take her in hand. I'd drive one or two of these young things in their all-lace dresses back to their Motile homes, Only last night I asked her to drive over to Bowl Rock for tea this afternoon, and she hesitated for at leass a minute, as if she were running over her engagements, aud then she swiled sweeter than anything [ ever saw in wy life, and said: ‘You're so good to ask me, Mrs. Simmons, but to- morrow its just impossible.’ I could bave slapped her, and all the time she kept on smiling and picking out a waltz, You know that droop she bas to her mouth when she smiles? I never felt so fat and uncomfortable in my life. Idon’s say she wasn's nice and pleasant, because she was, bat when she started to out that waltz, while I was still standing there, I was greatly tempted to tell her that there was no better blood in Virgicia than the Simmonses. Bat I dida’t, because I knew she wonldn’s care, so I waddled ous, and I could feel her eyes going right thr my back. I certainly will never ask her to another party of mine. Just look at her \ \ Y casional game of whiss in the botel parlor, | there is something in the wooded hills, the | fo — ‘now. Why, with that dollar-swenty shirt- | waist and that dock skirt, she makes those | girls of pinmage dancing round there look i like scallery maids, I'm crazy about ber. ' I bad been at The Springs perhaps ahont a fortnight, and bad quite given np all hope | of knowing “The Band" at all, when quite | by accidents we became slightly acquaint. ed. It was warm, and I was walking ‘slowly, bat in band, aloog a rather uonsed ! monutainous road, when I saw a white | #kirt in the shade of a large boulder some | listle distance from the roadway. [ knew {that the white skirt must belong to one of the guest: from the hotel, apd I kuew that [| most know the wearer, bhe- cause I knew all of the hotel guests. So I olimbed the spake fence, which separated we from the boulder and approached cantiously. “Good afternoon,’’ I said from the far side of the rock, and before I bad discover- 4 the identity of the lady in the white skirt. ‘Good afternoon,” said somebody, whom | knew by the voice to be no other thao “The Band.” A little disconraged, I walked ahout the rock and found her sitting with ber back against the hounlder. io ber lap there lay a novel, and ber sailor bat bad been tbsown aside. At she sight of me she smiled, nos brightly perbaps, but with the same lovely droop to one side of the mouth tbat Mrs. Simmons bad spoken about, “Oh, it’s you, is it?" she said. Of course, there are several ways of say- ing: “Ob, it’s you, is it?’ but the way “The Band” said 1, it sounded to me as though, while she was not thrilled with the sight of me, she was glad it was pot one of several others, Somewhat embold- down. With a nod of ber pretty head she granted the request. We both sat tailor- | fashion—she against the rock and I facing her “Wouldn't yon like to smoke?’ she asked. As a matter of fact, I had just finished a rather heavy cigar, and did pot feel par- ticularly like smoking again, but her re- mark was #0 nnosoally buman and uopex- pected thas I promptly pulled out my cigar case. “I really feel,” I said, ‘‘as if I bad you at a terrible disadvantage—as if yon were quite 10 my power.” The girl locked up and down the desert- ed road and beyond to the unending ridges of hills. The mouth drooped into the wavering little smile again ‘‘Yes?"’ she said, ‘‘You see you have no piavo to protect you now, no high piie of waltzes and two- steps to look over, no keys to run listle scales on while I am trying to tell yon bow well you played the last dance.’ For the first time since I bad known her, the girl laughed. ‘Noone was ever brave enough to tell me that,” she said. ‘‘Why, my playing has killed dancing at The Springs.’ “The piano is not the best in the world,” I suggested. *‘No, I suppose not, but it isso much better than the one I was tanght on.” *‘Who taught you ?”’ I asked. “My mother—that is, she taoght me all she kvew.”’ “How long bave you played—profes- sionally I mean ?"’ The word brought a smile to the girl's lips. ‘‘Prolessionally,” she repeated, ‘‘I have been playing three years. Bas is seems—'’ then she sto . “Oh, I don't koow how it seems. by should I talk to yon like this ?"’ “Becanse I'm old,” I replied promptly, “and pronahly becacse we get ou so fa- mously. You were goiog to say those three sears ssem an eternity.” “Those three hours I play in the ball- room seem an eternity, il you insist on kuowiog jose bow [ feel. You can’t imagine bow sweet and pretty my little bedroom at the top of the bouse seems after those three bours. And yet, it's a very bare little room.” room,” I suggested; ‘‘at least no one ever sees yon out of it, except at the piano and in the dining-room. by aren’t you more sociahle.”’ “Wny ? Why, becanse I'm ‘Tbe Band.” “That's foclish. Iso’t is respectable to he a band ?’ I asked. ‘“This a perfectly respectable band,’’ she said smiling. *‘I'm just as respectable as the clerk of the hotel, and that other very fresh young mav who sits at my table aod who rune the livery. We are all hopest workers and are much more respectable than the young men who don’s have to sit at oor table, but who aresapposed to dance instead of paying board. Asa matter of fact, [ suppose they would earn their bed and hoard a little more honestly if they could persuade any of the women to dance to my maosic.”’ She opened the book which she bad been reading when I interrupted ber, and carefully turned back both covers until they touched ber kuees. Then she sulle at me and really locked very beau- ul. ‘‘I want to tell you," she said, ‘‘that I only play for abous four months each year. The rest of the time I live in Hodgenville aloue with my mother. We are all that is lett of the Glenbaws,and indeed there isn't much more left of Hodgenville. Hodgen- ville is a very small place in Virginia, where two trains stop going north every day and two trains stop every day going south. Fortunately for Hodgenville, there is a tank there where the engines take on water. Nothing ever gets off at Hodgen- ville. Was there anything else you thought - Bexisg me ?"’ She was still smiling cheer- y. “I thought of asking yon to walk back to the botel,’’ I suggested—‘‘that is,after a while.” man,” she said, ‘“‘to “You are a brave offer to walk down that bill and up the hd to the hotel with ‘The Band.’ You are a brave man even to make the offer, and I admire you for is.”’ I put on my bat and slowly arose. “Good-by,” I said, ‘‘you’re quite impos- sible. ’ i »”, she 0, you're wrong again’’-- t out two long tapering fingers, which Lipy mo- ment rested in my bardened band : “I'm not impossible—it’s ‘The Band’ that’s im- possible.” I shook my head by way of protest, but she did not see me becanse she was already deeply engrossed in her book. So once more I turned reluctantly, and with creak- ing joints climbed the snake fence. I sat on the top rai! for a moments to rest, and then I tarced to look back at her. She must have foreseen my action, for at the same moment she too glanced up and wav- ed a delicate hand to me. Bat neither in the manner ol the salutation nor in the smile that played about her lips was there an invitation to retarn to her, and so I climbed to the ground and went on alone to the hotel. We never mes again during the remainder ough | of the summer; tbatis, away from the hotel. Iam sure she took good care theve- after to hide behind rocks where she wonld ened, I asked her permission if I might sit “You seem very fond of your little be wholly concealed from re-hy. Sev. eral times I spoke to ber during the even: ing when she was at the piano in the ball- room, but she seemed to have forgotten our little talk entirely and was, I think, if any- thing, more unsociable than before. And so the summer rolled on and I sat on she porch with the old ladies and listened to “The Baod’’ hanging out the two-steps and the waltzes with the same fearful regularity. It bad always been the custom at The Springs to discontinue the music after the 1st of September, and a few of us men had each vear arranged some little benefit for the mosicians juss before their departure. Is was usually a concert, or amateur thea- tricals, but the style of entertainment really mattered very little so Joog as there was an admission fee charged. It was just a week now to the 1st of September, and the gues- tion psturally arose as to whas we coonld doin the way of a beaefis for Miss Glenbam. “You can’t do anything,” said Mrs. Simmons decidedly. ‘‘The girl may be as poor as a chorcb-monse—and I am quite willing to believe that she is the sole sup- port of her mother—but I'm sorry for the committee which bas to offer her the pro- ceeds.” And there the matter rested for the night. The next morning we sat about the porch and talked it over and over again, ontil I hit on an idea which met with everybody's approval. It seemed to me that, as long as the girl had been playing for other people to dance all summer, it would be a good thing to bave ove night when she conld dance and the rest could play. We chose the evening just before she was to leave, and started in at once to make the plans. Old Howard Kinney, who bad led all the fawous cotillions at The Springs for the last twenty years, was, of course, to lead with Miss Glenham ; Mrs. Simmons was to arrange the supper, and I was to get the favors. There was a big committee chosen to get the flower: and do the decorations, and I have never known av event at The Spriogs which the crowd tock np with such real enthusiasm. That night Mrs. Simmons aod several other Indies went into the ballroom after the last dance was over and officially asked ‘“The | Band” to come to her own dance. Mrs, Simmons told me later that the girl didn't seem to quite know just what they meant at first, bat when she did understand she looked from one woman to the other and then threw her arme out in front of her on the piano and baried ber face in them ; so they never did bear her answer. As Mrs. Simmons said, they should bave known better than to talk to the girl when she was tired out after playing all the evening. morning for breakfast; so the plans for the dance went right along. It was the first intention to have several of the ladies do the playing, but it was decided afterward to hire the band of four pieces from the Alum Springs from over the mountain, Some of the people from the Alum Springs heard what the ball was all about and followed their band over and gave the dance quite a foreign flavor. The oldest guest admits that there never was a dance just like that one—and there have been some pretty famous dances at The Springs, too. It seemed as if every inch of the old whitewashed walls had been cover- ed with flowers or green boughs. There were great masses of asters avd phlox and dablias hung about everywhere, and over the old fireplace they bad made a sort of canopy of cedar and fairly smother- ed is with golden rod. ‘‘The Band” stood under the canopy with several of the older ladies, and we all filed solemnly in and were received with greats formality, just as it we bado’t separated on the poroh five minates hefore. She lookad a little pale ;at fires, but in a few minutes the high color came back into her cheeks, and the tired look went ont of her eyes, and all that evening they fairly shone on all of us. She bad arranged ber bair differently, too; pow she wore it in soft rolls and coils in- stead of piling it high on her head and she wote a decollete dress that showed the deli. cate throat snd well rounded arms, and bow wonderfully her head was set on her shoulders. It was a nice wimple white dress she wore. with just a dash of hiack ribbon about it. [don’t know much ahout women's clothes, but I thought she was quite as well dressed as any one in the room, hut at the same time 1t seemed to me that I bad never seen the other women dress a0 simply before. The music from the rival Spriogs sounded really pretty well, and the favors which I had bad sent on from New York were a great sncocess. There were hig hats, which bad been trim- med with enormous hows of rihbon and shepherdess’s crooks and wands for the girls, and for the men there were little bundles of cigars and imitatiou decorations, and for the final figore we bad favors made of real silver. Of course, Miss Glenham danced all the time, and her favors were piled many feet high against the wall hack of her chair. I never saw any one have a better time, apparently, and after the way she had treated us all during the summer, it was wonderful to see how gracions she could he, and what a wonderful charm and splendid poise she bad for a young girl. At last the band played ‘‘Dixie’ and ‘‘Home, Sweet Home,’’ and we all marched out to the porch, where we bad a moet elaborate bot supper, including a fine olaret cup, which Mrs. Simmons had brewed herssIf. I bave never known a party to go off with more go and zing to it, and it was two o'clock in the morniog belore we said good- night. ‘‘The Band’ shok bands with all of us, men and women,and even now I can gee the tall, lithe figure of the girl as she walked up the staircase of the hotel, her head slightly bent above the beautifully rounded throat, a big bunch of red roses held in the white arms, and balf a dozen men following carrying her favors with them. She left us the next morning, and I supposed it was to he the last time that I would, in all probability, ever see her, be- cause I knew, as “The ,"? she had not been much of a success. Bat just before she left she came to me and said that she bad a great favor to ask of me. ‘‘When you go North,”’ she said, ‘‘yon will have to through Hi ville about five o'clock in the morning. I should like to ask you to stop with us, but for certain reasons I fear that that is impossi- ble. Bat the train stops there for about ten minutes to take on water. If you conld let me know the day you are coming, and think that you could possibly get up that early, I conld meet you at the station. It would only be for ten minutes, but there is something that 1 should like to say to you, and I could say it so much better there.” When at last the time came for me to start back to New York,I wrote Miss Glen- ham and told her the morning that I should through ber town. As wedid not eave The Springs until ahout eleven o'clock at night, I lay down ob my berth with my clothes on, and told the porter to be sure to wake me at least half an hour before we reached Hodgenville. The train finally came to a stop, sod I think it must bave been the last of a long series of jolts that wakened me from a But she came down, all emilee, the next | beavy sleep. I turned in my cramped berth, and with drowsy eyes looked oat to learn if I could see how far we had gone on our journey. Bus one window was raised, and that only so high as to admis of the narrow wire soreen which one finds in all modern sleepiog cars. The window shade was drawn down to the top of the screen, and so my vision was limited to a frame, baps six inches high and two feet in ength. There was a little station wade of clapboards, which at one time must have been painted red. Over the door there was oa kerosene lamp held in a rusty hiacket, but the lamp was not lit, and, indeed, so far as [ could see, there were no signs what. ever cf lile ahons the place. There was a parrow wagon-road, which ran by the other side of she station, and beyond thie a high, uneven grassy bank, acd then a field of oats, which stirred slowly in the morning breeze. Beyond this field shere must bave been another road, which I could not see, because there, to all appearances, stood the town. The sun bud soarcely risen as yet above the horizon, but back of a circle of high pines to the east the sky was a bril- liant scarlet, which faded toa pink rose color, and theo from a pearly gray into the deep blue of the passing night. As the end of what I took to be the village street there stood a little low brick buildiog, and on the ledge of one of the green window [rames I comnld distingnisb a lettered tin sign, which showed that it was the office of the town’s attorney, or the local medical man. Next to the hrick office there was a square building, which mighs once have been the Manor House of the place. It was purely colonial in ite lines,aud it was a home that, from its proportions, should bave been sar- rounded by great lawns and spreading trees, but now it was shut in by the other buildings, and the dignity of it was alto- gether gove. Its every line sagged, the capitals of she porch pillars were missing, the steps bad well-pigh rotted away and the walls, which had once been white, were now gray aud warped and weather-beaten, Then there came two old brick houses, very high and narrow, with many balconies highly wronght ironwork. Beyond these prisonlike places there was a coliection of low whitewashed buildings which looked as if they were used for a livery stable. And this was apparently the extent of the town. Be$ond I could see only untilled fields, broken bere and there by clumps of pine trees. And then I was suddenly shaken roogh- ly by the shoulder, and a very scared and balf-awake porter told me we were at Hod- genville. I harried out of the car and found her standing waiting for me on the bank just beyond the station. She held out both ber hands : “It was go good of you to come,” she said. She wore a shirt-waist and a short duck skirt, and her eyes were as bright and her skin as clear and cool as the fresh morning breeze that blew little wisps of bair across her forehead and ahout her ears. ‘‘And so this is Hodgenville ?”’ I asked. She nodded in the direction of the five honses. ‘‘Yes,” she said, ‘‘that is Hodgen- ville. The big house that used to be white is our home.” “‘And there is nothing beyond ?"’ “Nothing,’”’ she said, ‘‘but a few big farms. I wanted you to see Hodgenville, #0 that youn could understand just what yon did for me—just how much that dance meant to me aod always will mean to me.” “But I didn't give the dance,” I ed. But Miss Glenbam insisted thas [ sog- gested it and did most to make it a success, and, looking as she did shat morning, it was very difficult to deny her anything. “I only wish I could take you to the house show you how we have decorated the hallway and the parlors with all the favors, and my dressing-table fairly groans pow with all the silver things I got. It made my mother so happy, and I was so glad so tell her it was a Yankee who did it all for me.” I suppose I must have looked a little surprised wheo she nsed the word Yankee, becanse she at once tried to explain, and I think she found it very diffionls. ‘You see mother lives so far from the world and has heen ont of things for such a long time, and then you know it is not easy for very old people to forges. This bank we are standing on used to be the first terrace on our place. I instinctively glanced up at the wreck of the old house. The girl nodded. “They used to call it Glenham Hall. It was quite € showplace then —the lawn ran way down there to where you see the oreek. It was a kind of park, and here where we are standing mother says there used to be peacocks strutting about and young deer. I think it must have heen lovely theo, don’t you ?”’ And then for a few moments there was silence. The sun was peeping over the pine trees now and the sky and air were fairly aglow with a warm yellow light. There were insects buzzing all about ue, and many little hirds were chirp- ing a welcome to the warm sooshine. It was che who was the first to speak. “Do yon—do yon have holly in New York ?”’ she asked—*‘] mean at Christ. mas ¥'’ “Oh, yes,” I said. ‘‘It comes in wreathes with a large red bow on each wreath.” “‘Ours isn’t nearly so grand as that, bot mother and I thought we would send you some about Christmas time——that is, if you would care for it. The woods about here are fall of it, and there is so Jittle—"' She did not finish the sentence, for just then the whistle of our engine sounded and the porter come hurrying around the sta- tion to warn me that the train was about to start. From the car I saw her standing there on the bank waving ber baodkerchief to me. Back of her were the ruins of the old weather-beaten house, and at ber feet were the chickens soratohing at the ground where the peacocks used to strut. Bus as she stood there that morn- ing, clothed in the golden smnlight of a new day, a smile on her lips, and her head aay, he outd Jou wi ne, just as , a8 ter ber own e, standing on her own ter- race, should bave looked.—By Charles Belmont Davis, in Collier's. Crying Spells. There are some women who have ‘‘ory- ing speils,”’ which seem to be entirely un- accountable, and are generally attributed in a vague way to ‘“‘nerves.”” A man hates to see a woman ery under any circumstan- ces, and these bursts of tears awaken very little sympathy in him. They would if he unde all the weakness and misery that lie behind the tears. Dr. Pierce's Favorite Presoription bas brightened many a home, given smiles for tears to many a woman just because it removes the cause of these nervous outbreaks. of the delicate womanly organs will surely affect the entire nervous system. ‘‘Favorite Pre. soription’’ cures these diseases, and builds up a condition of sound health. For ner- vous, | women there is no medi. Site to compare with ‘Favorite Prescrip- tion. — Subscribe for the WATCHMAN. FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT, All who joy would win, must share it. Happi- ness was born a twin, -~HBryoa. When piece gowns are worn, separate coats become necessary ; consequently the prevalence of this style has resulted in a great variety of fall models in separate wraps. Incidentally these new coats are a revelation of the tailor’s art, so exquisitely fashioned and baudsomely trimmed are some of them. Plain designs are also de- cidedly smart, deriving their character from she finished lines and superior work- manship. For present wear nothing is more popu- lar than circular capes, in many OT. tions, as well as the conventional shape. Of these the military is most practical. It, however, this model that displays the high collar that does not meet ander the chin is selected is will be more comfortable and style will nos be sacrificed. These wraps are always of cloth or serge, pever silk or satin, and are almost devoid of trimming, with the exception of a collar and battons for bo This is the strictly military. Then there is a modification in a wra for afternoon or evening use in cars. Th should be trimmed with buttons, braid and sometimes embroidery. For more pretensions occasions the new- est ciroular cape is cut with a deep round yoke fisting the figure as far as the elbow, It is cut in pointed scallops all around, then handsomely trimmed with braid the color of the cloth. The points are Iree, giving a double cape effect. Developed from sofs old rose cloth and lined with peau de oygne the same shade a wrap on this order would be ex- quisite. A new [feature of the latest coats isa lining to match or contrast. White, so of | long a favorite, bas been abolished, for not a single wrap among the new models dis- plays a white satin lining. Only a few years ago white duchesse sat- in lining was ‘‘correcs.’’ Now the prefer- ence is for colored peau de cygne exclusive- y. Colored broadcloth separate coats for day wear are few. When a color is preferred, then the circular model is boughs. : Lightweight tweed separate coats are smars looking, plainly tailored and in up. obtrusive colorings. For business wear over a thin drese these coats answer admirably when the time comes that snoh protection is needed. One sees a touch of velvet on many of the new garments. A coat shown in one shop, for instance, was a rough frieze, thick, but not heavy, made in a kind of ulster, suitable for steamer or automobile wear, and was finished with a large sailor collar of black velvet. It was odd looking and scarcely a practical trimming. Mme. Lillian Blauvelt, who, at the age of 80 years, is still teaching mueio, said at a musioal breakfaet tendered to ber prior to ber departure from New York for Earope recently : ‘‘There are many reasons why I should advise all young girls to sing. Not the least im t is that it is good for the hysical health. I bave known persons to ve been saved from covsunmption by a course of singiog lessons, which tends to establish the correct use of the voice as well as stimulate the npatural love for music. In everyone there isa germ of power to a) the finest music, and the easiest way to express that apprecia- tion is with the voice.” The Parisian vow wear ever so simple a little frock, but she spares no expense on the accessories thereof. There will bea dashing bat in one color effect, preferably the deep, blnish-violes parme shade, or one of the how fir or willow greens, and this stunning hat will be matched by parasol, silk stockings and bavdbag, and ueually there will be delicately embroidered gloves in the same shade drawn up over the arm. Saratoga is agog at the new fashion of corsetless women, which the boxes at the races have shown to be the latest departure in tbe smart set. From shoulder to hip an almost straight line existe in this pew, un- bound figure. A braissiere alone confines the curves on any weil-developed form, and the princess lingerie gown is made to suggest rather than to define the poing which a trim 2 inch belt formerly adorned. Take care of your kid gloves. It somebody sends you six pairs from Paris do not get them all into use at once. Cleaning is likely to injure the soft kid, and once cleaned white gloves yellow very quickly. It is much better to wear a few pairs nun- til they are worn out. Finegloves pot in nse should be kept wrapped in waxed paper. This keeps them from discoloring. It aleo helps to preserve the original soft pliable quality of the leather. For Salad Dressing That Will Keep.— Beat four tabiespoonfals of butter until hot, stir in one of flour until smooth, add ove oup of cream (either sweet or sour), and les boil, then set the saucepan into bot water. gobi on By yolks of three eggs, one sugar, one tea- spoonfal each of salt and dry mustard, add one-half cap of Vinegar, then stir into the other mixture until it thickens. Bottle and it can be kept for weeks, ready for nee. It 3u0 thick, add a little cream or vinegar to thin. Nothing relieves the sting of mosquito bites or the itching of hives like batbing them in a weak solution of carbolic acid water, The long scarf, stencilled, embroidered and painted, will be one of the most pop- ular fashions of the year, but this time it will appear draped on the bodice and skirts of ball gowne, A few handsome buttons on a suit are considered richer and smarter than many inexpensive ones. Almost every home bas a dictiovary in which the meaning of words can be found. It ia far more important for every home to yo Br ng of symptoms exp! . Dr. Pierce’s Common Sense Medical Ad- viser is a dictionary of the body. It answers the questions which are asked in every family concerning health and disease, Other dictionaries are costly. This is sent JSree on receipt of stamps to pay expense of mailing only. Send 21 one-cent stamps for the book bound in paper, or 31 stamps for cloth binding, o Dr. R. . Pierce, Buffalo,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers