Bellefonte, Pa., March, 31, 1911.
w—"
THE BOY WHO FORGETS.
|
I love him, the boy who forgets.
Does it seem such a queer thing to say?
Can't help it. He's one of my pets,
Delightful at work or at play.
F'd trust him with all that I own
And know neither worries or frets,
But the secret of this lies alone
In the things that the laddie forgets.
He always forgets to pay back
The boy who has done him an ill,
Forgets that a grudge he owes Jack
And smiles at him pleasantly still,
He always forgets "us his turn
To choose what the others shall play.
Forgets about others to learn
The gossipy things that “they say.”
He forgets to look sulky and cross
When things are not going his way,
Forgets some one’s gain is his loss,
Forgets in his work time his play.
So this is why I take his part,
Why 1 say he is one of my pets.
I repeat it with all my heart,
I love him for what he forgets!
&
bres were missing. Also they had trim-
med the wide, jaunty brims of the cam-
paign hats to a scant inch. The result
was not artistic, but the hats stayed on
r
But the figure that rode two horse's
lengths in front of the troopers was dif-
ferent. Although he had shared the
hard work of his company, he had kept
his uniform shapely and reasonably clean. |
His leather puttees glistened with oil, and |
his hat was set at the angle seen in the |
“men wanted for the army” posters. He
carried his naked sabre in his hand.
“Ain't he the dandy, though?" ex-
claimed Parsons, nodding at the captain's
straight back. Henderson, riding at his
side, agreed with a gesture.
“And he's proof,” he went on, “that
you can make as good a soldier in two
rty | “sent out day before yesterday. I'm re-
months as you can in twenty years out |
of the right kind of stuff.” |
“I don't know,” replied Parsons with a |
deep frown which indicated a desire to!
be fair, “ those regulars——" |
“Regulars nothing,” interrupted Hen- | ©
derson quickly. “I tell you Walter Hurl-
but's the best captain in the army this |
minute—and he didn't know what war!
was six months ago. Why shouldnt he
be? Look what he was: head of a big!
publishing house, art critic, clubman, |
traveller, athlete! A big, broad-gauge
man in every way, and he forgets all that
he has been, and turns every ounce of |
his ability to being a soldier. He thinks, |
man! he doesn’t learn all his war from |
books!"
“Yes, but he's different,”
sons.
“Different!” retorted Henderson, bend- ;
ing to the sudden leap of his horse as the |
animal cleared an old stump in the road, |
“of course he's different. He's a human
being instead of a carefully trained ma- |
chine.” i
“He's married, 100," Parsons said, as '
though adding an obstacle which argument |
could not surmount. |
“Right,” agreed his companion, “and |
that's the finishing touch. You don't |
catch him mooning over his wife's pic- |
ture cither! [I've seen her she’s a
wife worth going back to. but he doesn't!
let that count. He takes bigger chances |
than the rest of us. It'll work that way |
every time, too. You take a good busi- |
ness man and show him the ropes of the
army, and he'll make a better soldier |
than your trained fighting machine.” ‘
persisted Par-
Hurlbut suddenly threw up his gaunt- | of a tangle of bushes witha startling thun-
leted hand and pulled his horse up on |
abrupt halt. i
“Dismount!” ordered the officer quiet- |
5 One trooper was left holding the bri- |
es of the horses, and the five men fol- |
lowed the straight figure into the woods.
“What are we after?” whispered Par- |
sons.
“I don’t know,” answered Henderson,
“but he does!”
The little party moved quietly through |
the pines, following an old trail, so old
that the path on which they stepped was |
a full two inches lower than the needle- |
handkerchief and looked about him. He'
consulted a note-book, then moved ahead |
without a word, the men following him |
in silence. For half an hour low-
lyup a
shelves of |
knob of a!
ey had been watch- |
from
looked |
to his
» he said
something
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| steadfastly away from the man as the lit-
one side. As they neared the foot of the
| sight among the trees. One or two of the
common feeling.
I. Henderson reach- |
ed over and caught Hurlbut's sleeve.
The latter followed the direction of the
trooper’s pointing finger and saw the tri- |
pod of a heliograph instrument leaning
inst the trunk of one of the last trees.
urlbut nodded and rose to his feet. As
he did so they heard one of the troopers |
off to their left call sharply. |
"Don’t move there!” I've got you cov- |
ered!”
As voice answered cheerfully.
“All right!” i
The five men hurried quickly toward ;
the spot from which the voice had come, |
to find Parsons leaning easily against the |
bole of a tree, his carbine at his hip, its
muzzle pointing at a brown-clad figure
sitting on a stump twenty yards away,
smoking a cigarette and smiling at Par- |
sons cheerfully through a carefully trim-
med black beard. As Hurlbut came into |
iew the man on the stump rose easily |
saluted, paying not the least atten |
to the nervous jerk of Parsons weap-
on. He was a tall, well-built man, deep- |
R 4 tanned; his uniform was similar to
of his ca save that it was
. Hurlbut walked toward |
him without returning the salute, in
spite of the fact that a torn shoulder-
sap hung from the other’s shoulder.
bi t's your regiment?” Hurlbut de-
manded abruptly.
“Forty- New York,” replied the |
The 2 rp x expressions of |
astonishment and covert winks, but the |
captain made no comment. i
“What are you doing out here bevond |
the outposts?” he continued. Withnt
answering, the other pointed to the in- |
strument against the tree. Hurlbut
frowned and pulled at his blonde mus-
e
“There's a scouting party six miles far- |
ther up the creek,” exclaimed the man, !
laying their reports back to head-quar-
ters.”
“What troops are in that scouting par-
ty?" asked Hurlbut after a pause.
“Half of ‘L’ company of my own regi-
ment,” the other answered quickly.
Hurlbut studied the ground in front of
him, and poked his heavy Colt back into
its holster. The five troopers lounged
about on the grass or leaned against trees,
wiping the perspiration trom their faces
and eyeing the two officers curiously.
Only Parsons had not moved, but stood
against the same tree, the bolt of his car-
bine drawn back, the black muzzle never
wavering from the strange officer's body.
The black-bearded man seemed to have
forgotten the existence of Parsons and
his carbine.
Hurlbut raised his head, and the men
who could see him noticed that it looked
a year older and was rather white.
"The Forty-Second New York," he said
coldly, “is something like a thousand
miles south of us. There isn't any scout-
ing party up the creek. How long have
you been on this hill?”
The dark man shrugged his shoulders
and threw away the butt of his cigar-
tte.
“Never mind the formalities,” he said
quietly, letting out the last of the smoke
from his tigarette as he spoke, “I've been
here long enough to find out whatI want.
Of course I shan't answer any of your
questions.”
The attitude of the five lounging troop-
ers changed as the man spoke. They
ceased to look at him cnriously, and their
eyes hardened. Parsons jerked his car-
bine to a former position against his thigh
and his lean forefinger crawled a trifle
nearer to the trigger.
steadily over his captive’s head and gave
the necessary orders. The troopers went
forward silently to bind the man's hands.
Hurlbut noticed that they tied the cords
Yidlictively, drawing them unnecessarily
tight.
“Never mind tying them quite so tight,”
he said.
"Thank you,” said the dark man quick-
ly. “I shan’t try to escape.”
The men seemed not to hear his speech.
It was as though a sudden barrier had
risen between them, and made of him a
different sort of being. Hurlbut looked
tle group moved slowly down the slope,
the prisoner walking ahead with his hands
tied behind him; the troopers close be-
hind, their carbines resting easily in the
crooks of their arms; Hurlbut a little to
hill, a cock-partridge burst suddenly out
der of wings, and bored, twisting, out of
troopers jumped slightly and gave vent to
startled exclamations. Hurlbut and the
prisoner stiffened slightly like setters, and
followed the flight of the bird with eyes
that snapped with eagerness. Their glances
met and the dark-haired man smiled
brighti%: his white teeth sho pleas-
antly through the closely-trimmed beard.
Hurlbut had to stiffen the muscles of his
face quickly and turn his glance off to-
ward the brook to check the smile of
“A fine bird,” he heard theprisoner say
to the men behind him. Th
an old stub and he fell headlong, heavily.
The troopers, mistaking his action, half- | shot.
then lowered
raised their weapons and
them awkwardly. The man had fallen in
such a way that, with his hands
behind his back, he could not rise.
“It's careless of me,” he said, “but
you've trussed me up so well I can’t get
pe
Hurlbut felt the blood tingling in his
cheeks as the soldiers
tive to rise. Parsons even went so far as
to dust off the man’s clothes.
“Never mind, thanks," said the
|
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| himself at the conceit, for it had
Hurlbut looked | ly
—
he cavght himself thinking exactly |
looked in evening |
every time the picture flashed |
before his mind he saw the broad red
ribbon of the Legion passing across the
shirt-front. He smiled slightly to
always |
been 2 secret ambition of his own to be
able some day to wear one of those red
ribbons himself. He wondered if perhaps
he and this stranger did not think alike
about a good many things—if perhaps
they had not left the same sort of things
behind them. This other man could not
go back to them, and his people would
not care to hear how he had met his
death—a spy!
One of the waiting horses down the
road heard the sound of the approachin,
and whinnied. The prisoner lift
is head sharply and peered down the
aisles between the trees. The neigh of
the horse went through Hurlbut strange-
ly. He seemed to feel all the sensations
that had passed through the other.
snorting of the horses must have told this
man that he was one stage nearer the
| end of all things; the little plot of open
und, the white-faced officer, and the
of nervous, twitching men—one of
whom had a weapon loaded with a blank
cartridge.
They came out into the road and saw
the trooper and the waiting horses. Hurl-
but breathed easier for some reason. It
was a relief to him to have even one more
man—though merely a private who had
really borne no part—to shoulder the re-
sponsibility of this thing which was grow-
ing more hateful every instant. The
troopers waited for the captain to come
up as they reached the horses n-
ly the prisoner turned and came quickly
to Hurlbut.
“It's only a little while now,” he said
quickly in a low, pleading tone. “Will you
let me walk beside you and talk with you
on the way back?”
For an instant Hurlbut hesitated, look-
ing away, then he turned and met the
other's eyes. They were looking at him,
| very straight and with a terrible earnest-
ness.
“Very well,” he answered curtly.
The little group arranged itself quickly.
Two of the troopers rode ahead; Huflbut
followed with the prisoner walking by his
side, and the remaining four men walked
their horses a few paces farther to the
rear.
“Little chunks of time,” said the pris-
oner suddenly, without looking up at the
man beside him, "are queer things. [I had
my own uniform done up in a bundle un-
der a stone a dozen paces from the stump
where you found mie. Had you been ten
minutes later, | would have been a pris-
oner of war instead of a spy.
Hurlbut made no reply, and the manon
foot laughed shortly.
“I suppose,” he went on, “I owe my life
—or rather my death--to tobacco. de-
cided I'd smoke one cigarette before I
changed my clothes. 1 wonder,” he fin-
ished whimsically, “what my status would
have been if you'd come on me when I
was half in one uniform and half in the
other!”
Hurlbut fought with a growing desire
to ask this man all sorts of questions; to
sympathize with him, to ask him what
messages he might write, what explana.
tions he should make—all this, and even
a desire to see the man slip quickly into
the bushes before the troopers could
shoot. Instead of answering, he set his
lips in a firm line, drew the black, ugly |
Colt from his holster and laid it across his
saddle bow. The prisoner noted it and
raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Hurl-
but flushed, pretended to examine the cyl-
inder of the weapon, and shoved it back
into the holster.
“I wish you wouldn't put that away,”
protested the man quickly. "I feel better
with it boring into my mind.”
“I'll run the risk,” said Hurlbut short-
They went forward monotonously over
the squared logs of the old road. Hurl:
but did not have to check his horse for
the benefit of the man on foot,who walked
with long, easy, tireless strides. The low- |
voiced talk of the troopers behind them |
sounded distinctly.
“I've just been wondering,” said the spy, |
“whether, if I'd had my choice, I'd have
| picked a day like this as my last. Would {
a man rather flicker out with the world
at its best or its worst? On the whole, I
believe I'm rather glad it isn't raining.”
The captain was commencing to regret
that he had promised to let the man talk.
The spy was looking at things so exactly
as he would have had a doomed man look,
and yet it made it that much the harder.
It seemed to him that he could follow
every step of the man’s mind, and all that
he said seemed exactly the thing that
Hurlbut would, have said. He wished
fervently that the man would fall a prey |
to fear and keep silent.
"It’s a queer thing,” the continued
in the same idle jon, “It's a queer
thing this Walking to death with your
eyes wide open, the best part of what
ought to be life ahead of you. [don’t see
why it doesn't make me mad with the
injustice of the thing.” 1 gish
“You took the chance. You didn't!
have to play the spy,” his captor remind. |
im
"Oh, I did,” replied the other, look- |
ing up in a straightforward fashion which
made the other silent; “there wasn’tany-
body else to do it. That isn’t mock hero-
ics, you know, but just plain facts. I
can't make it seem quite real Why,
I've always been so healthy
I've never even tt t of dying. They
won't hang me, will ?” he finished in
a sudden burst of anxiety.
“No,” answered Hurlbut in a dry, mat-
ter-of-fact tone, and added, to stiffen his
and | were not at all
are taking me to be shot!”
“Talk about aomething else,”
ted roughl
profile,
y.
looked steadily at Hurlbut's | after
own face set seriously, as
though he were trying to convince him- | shoot him—after what he's done for
This was a man of his own | mount fell and threw me, and here you cut out for us. Because |
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self just what sort of a man lay beneath
the tanned skin and the yellow mustache
Finally he threw up h
air of decision and took the plunge.
"Aren't you willing to forget your a
soldier, and remember you're a man long
enough to keep me sane?” he demanded
quickly. "Are you so tightly cased in
your uniform that you begrudge the last
few hours of life to a man with nothing
ahead of him but ceratin death? Don’t you
suppose I'm leaving anything behind me
that I regret? Do you think I'm talking
this way out of sheer bravado? Man,
don’t you understand that it’s only by
thinking of the things so close behind me
and keeping my mind off the grisly thing
such a little way in front that I can keep
my knees stiff?”
Hurlbut swallowed chokingly and kept
his eyes steadfastly turned from the eager
face at his side. The carnest, pleading
sentences cut into the very core of his
being. It was al! so unreal: the brilliant
sunshine, the thousand familiar sounds
of the wood-land, the pleasant, muffled
sound of the horses’ hoofs and the jingle
of harness, and the low, cheerful talk of
the men behind them, broken now and
then by a full, deep-chested laugh. And
then, cutting sharply across this back-
ground of ordinary things, the tense, in-
sistent voice of the man at his side, plead-
ing only for a few moments of unrestrict-
ed speech, speech of the things that they
both might understand, and that others
—the officer who commanded the firing-
squad, perhaps——might not.
“Well?” said Hurlbut encouragingly.
He did not see the smile of relief on
the other's face, but he knéw it was there
from the change in his tone.
As the spy talked, the stiffness of Hurl-
but's attitude began to relax. Now and
then he broke in upon the steady flow of
the other's words, but always, when he
spoke, he heard the dull voices of the
men behind him, and caught the easy at-
titude of the troopers in front, and fell
silent again.
"I was going to write about this war,
too,” the other man was saying; “I've
never written anything but plays before,
but I think I could have done this.”
Hurlbut turned quickly in his saddle.
“You're not Gustav Vermuhlen, are
you?" he demanded breathlessly.
“Yes,” answered the spy simply.
Hurlbut remembered, now, having read
the notice that the young dramatist had
gone into the army. Then his mind went
farther buck, and he remembered sitting
in his own office and talking with his as-
sistant about the advisability of putting
out an American editicn of the young
dramatist’s last play. Like a picture on a
screen this thing snapped out of Hurlbut's
mind, and he saw Vermuhlen's body, limp,
lying on its face in the wet grass of to-
morrow morning. The steady flow of
the man’s speech broke through onto
| Hurlbut’'s mind again.
“I suppose I couldn't even talk of these
things if they had been one whit less
perfect,” Vermuhlen was saying, “but a
man can't very well complain—though
the best thing in his life is cut short
when he's had a few years even without
a flaw, can be?”
“No, "answered Hurlbut almost uncon-
sciously, “no, I suppose not.”
“But she's so youn —so absolutely
without thought of fac ng anything alone,
and yet so brave. I know she'll come
through all right—"
“Who?” interrupted Hurlbut.
“Why, my wife,” answered the other
quickly, surprised. “I know she'll come
through all right,” he went on, “butl
know how hard it will be—and I feel—
well, I teel so much sorrier for her than I
do for myself.
ture?"
Hurlbut looked down to see the other
fumbling in the breast of his brown tunic.
“Don’t!” pleaded
“don't!”
"of my
Hurlbut Javier than yours. I'm a
'T've
, the responsibility
tried hard tote asgcod one—but
all, 'm aman first and a
I can't take this man
men and women in the world!” he
, finished helplessly. He stared at the’
head with an
in silence for an instant. Hen-
cleared his throat noisily, and
Hurlbut looked up. !
“I'm going to let him go,” he announc- !
ed. "It's a breach of duty—and you men |
will see it. You won't need to report it, |
because I shall confess.” He turned sud- |
denly to Vermuhlen—"You can go when |
you will. [ won't stop you.”
Vermuhlen shook his head and smiled.
He spoke partly to Hurlbut and partly to
the men. \
“No,” he said deliberately, “I shan't
take the chance you give. It's a fine last
tribute you're paying to whatever I may |
have done—but I'll not see a good soldier |
broken that I may live. Your captain is
goiny to let me walk between two of you
the rest of the way to your camp.”
Hurlbut started to speak, but the other |
held up his hand.
P use p ing,” he insist-
ed; “If I won't run, I won't and you can't
make me!"
Without a word, Hurlbut wheeled his
horse and rode on. The troopers closed
loosely about Vermuhlen, and the little
group moved slowly on th the thin-
ning trees. Hurlbut rode with his head
bent, thinking of the picture in the breast
of Vermuhlen's jacket, and of another in
the breast of his own. He kept asking
himself what Vermuhlen would have done
if their positiens had been reversed. His
thoughts moved dully around a monoten-
ous circle; he felt that he could not go
back to his own wife and feel as he had,
with the thought of that unknown wife
across the sea, waiting hopelessly. And
yet, if he ordered the men aside, drove
his prisoner into the woods, and then gal-
loped away—he could not go back then,
with a blot on his army record. The
whole color of his life was spoiled, and
all because Vermuhlen had wasted five
recious minutes smoking a cigarette and
not changed his uniform! A hot, re-
bellious anger at the unreasoning power
of little things surged through him. One
tiny cigarette, cold now somewhere among
the pine needles, had sent one man to
his death and brought to him a lasting
unhappiness that would not pass.
A murmur of voices behind him made
him turn, and he saw that Parsons had
taken the prisoner up onto his horse be-
hind him. He noticed, casually, that the
men were laughing, evidently at some-
thing Vermuhlen had said. hat a thor-
oughbred this man was! Hurlbut knew
that he was clinging to life with all the
fervor of youth and a great love, and yet
he could smile and talk to the men about
him-and more than that, he could be so
thoughtful as to take temptation of his
own causing out of a stranger's way!
And even as Hurlbut thought of the oth-
er's handsome, black-bearded face, he
saw the lithe body lying on its face in
the wet grass.
There was a sudden wild clatter of
hoofs behind him, and sharp, snapping
cries from the men. Hurlbut's hand shot
to the butt of the big revolver before he
wheeled in his saddle to see Parsons ly-
ing on his back in the road, while the
. spy, flattening himself onto the neck of
Parson's horse, had already swung the
animal around in the narrow road.
a him!” yelled Hurlbut, “shoot
im!
He tried to raise his Colt, but his hand
seemed nerveless. He sat almost inert,
! watching the other men raising their car-
May I show you her pic-
bines with unaccountable slowness. Al-
ready the prisoner's horse had stopped
his frantic plunging and fallen into his
stride.
“Fire!” shouted Hurlbut, seemingly for-
getful of his own Weapon.
Then he saw the five men, all of whom
could clip coins at fifty or even a hun-
i dred yards, send one after another of the
Hurlbut thickly;
Vermuhlen looked up in surprise, and |
drawn. “I'm not playing fair with you,”
he said quickly; “I've no right to make
your duty harder. I didn't mean—" i
' saw that his captor’s face was white and |
“and he spurred h
the intensity of his feeling he rested his |
{around a turn in the road, and Hurlbut
“Look out, captain!” Parsons yelled A almost unconsciously pulled his horse to
hand on Hurlbut’s saddle.
suddenly. “He's reaching for your
The little cavalcade halted su
steel-jacketed bullets whistling harmless-
ly through the air above the head of the
fleeing horseman—not yet a score of
yards away from him.
“Go after him!” thundered Hurlbut, |
hearted pursuit. They went out of sight
n!” a walk and then stopped. He listened to
ly. | the diminishing sound of hoofs and the
The two men, the prisoner and his cap- ' cries of the
men. From time to time the
tor, stared at the troopers, their carbines | sound of a shot came back to him. Min-
half-raised, and then at each other. Ver-
muhlen shook his head slightly and smil-
ed faintly.
“I can’t do it,” Hurlbut muttered uuder
his breath; “my God, man, I can’t!”
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ute after minute he sat stolidly in the
road, waiting for the return of his men.
After what seemed an interminable time
they came around the turn of the road,
Parsons, on foot, in front of them.
“You've got to,” the other whispered; “Well?” said Hurlbut as they came 2.
- e
(“it's a hard price for both of us, but
Henderson saluted solmenly.
we've got to pay it. Let me go with the | couldn't catch him, Captain,” he explain-
men!”
Hurlbut sat motionless in the saddle,
his face a mask, but behind it his mind a
riot of conflicting thoughts, his pulses
now racing madly and now almost slug-
“Parsons,” he said Shader, "did you
ever read a book called ‘The Father’'?”
"Yes, sir,” answered the astonished
ed. "You know sir, Parson's horse was
the fastest in the company. And he got
off so quick I guess it flustered our shoot-
ing. Ithink we winged him, but we
couldn't tell for sure."
"You and
Tooley go back to that hill,” he ordered,
“and stay there until relieved. If any-
thing happens, ride in at once and re-
Hurlbut looked the question at | port.
Bp ego op gi
ded their heads wonderingly.
“Well, i t with a gest-
ure toward his prisoner, “this is the man
that wrote it—it and a lot of other things
just as or better. And we're taking
im to be shot!”
The shifted uneasily in their
saddles. Hurlbut rubbed his paim slow-
ly over the horn of his saddle and stared
at the ground. The men were obviously
at a loss what to do or say; this was not
at all a part of the game of war
been playing; these two
like Thurston or Crockett
or some of the
ed for Hurlbut
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He's but done his duty—but
uniform to do it, and the
is death.”
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The in started to wheel his horse
bot Benferson, Se an instant’s awk-
e again.
“And, " he began diffidently,
and then more boldly as Hurlbut faced |
him, "I guess we ain't any better soldiers |
or worse men than you are, and—I guess |
we understand!"
Impuileively Hurlbut’s hand shot out, |
and Henderson gri it hard. i
you,” Hurlbut shortly, and
and trotted
The first of April, some do say,
Is set apart for All Fools’ Day;
But why the people call ir so,
Nor you, nor I, nor they, may know.
is own horse as the has
n troopers lumbered into awkward, half-
shades, and though fairly successful in
mistakes,
‘ so that
practical information may
advantageous.
In the first place not all fabrics that
need cleaning or dyeing can be success-
fully attempted at home. Indeed, there
are certain materials and colors that pro-
fessionals accept only at the customer's
risk, so that an amateur should not feel
discouraged, supposing a first attempt is
a failure. Possibly the result would have
been the same had it been undertaken by
a professional.
All woolen goods dye better than any
other materials; serge and broadcloth
also take dyes effectively. Any light color
will dye any preferred color that is dark-
er in shade than the original tone and of
course will take black.
red; also brown,
Red will dye a
purple and and black. Brown will
take navy blue, a deep red and a choco-
late brown. Green may be dyed a deep-
er green, a very dark red, a very dark
and red.
, brown
yida will take a deep purple and
black.
Goods with a plain surface will dye
most successfully. Where there is a pat-
tern, as plaid or stripe, whether the de:
sign has been in a contrasting color or
not, the figured effect will show after be-
ing dyed.
the design has been in the
weave only, then the goods will be as
pretty as before.
When fabrics are of two or more colors
the result will be a mottled or blurred ef-
fect, according as the different tints have
to the dye of one shade.
goods as a rule show that they
have passed through the dyeing process.
DO NOT DYE WOOLEN AND COTTON GOODS.
The mixed cotton and woolen fabrics pro-
claim this fact more loudly still, and it
does not pay to send such materials to be
dyed. If one can manage this at home
the cost will be but a trifle and probably
the result will be quite as satisfactory as
though done by a professional.
Another important point to be remem-
bered is that all stains must be removed
before the dyeing is started otherwise a
hole is likely to be the result, as the dye
cats into the stain. I fancy this is t
reason the directions on home dyes al-
ways advise the garment being thorough-
ly washed before coloring.
Silk does not dye satisfabtorily. Crepe
ge Chine, however, takes a color splendid-
y.
A good satin may be attempted, but a
cheap satin is worthless afterward. Taffeta
will crack and the fine silks, such as mes-
saline, are equally unsatisfactory. The
heavier silks, like bengaline, are a little
more successful, but professionals, as a
rule, do not care to handle silks.
On the contrary, the fine cotton goods,
such zs batiste, mul'e and swiss, dye ex-
tremely well, which is fortunate, for frocks
of this description are worn in a hot sun,
and so, of course, quickly fade.
The Inventor of the Dime Novel.
The death of Orville J. Victor, which
occurred at his home in Hohokus, New
Jersey, recently, remcved a remarkable
character and a man puss essing a distinct-
ive claim to celebrity. Only two or
three newspapers chronicled his demise,
and none of thew referred to the work
with which he was longest associated.
They told of the histories and biographies
which he wrote and of the newspapers
and periodical which I'e conducted. None
of therm mentioned his connection with
Beadle's Dime Novels, : 1 of which he ed-
ited for many vears.
How the pulses of the robust boys of
forty or fifty years ago «tir to-day when
they recall “Malaeska, the Indian Wife
of the White Hunter: Seth Jones; Ono-
moo, the Huron"—ard the other paper-
covered pocket treasurcs which Orville
J. Victor's skillful staff of contributors
produced in the sixties and seventies of
the past century. Both the Beadles died
long ago, and so did Adams, their part-
: ner in the publishing business. And now
their accomplished and versatile editor
departed. The Beadle series were
the pioneers in the dime-novel field, and
they were better than any of their imita-
tors of the later period.
Of those who where associated in any
capacity in a prominent way with the
Beadle novels in their earlier and grea}
er days all are dead except Edward S. El-
lis and Mary A. Denison. Dr. Ellis's
“Seth Jones,’” which was printed just
half a century ago and which was the
most famous of all the “dimes,” was
translated into a dozen languages and
had a sale of over five hundred thousand
copies.
What Folksongs Are.
One of the finest pleasures in the world
is derived from singi Even savages
make an effort to sing uttering weird
notes as they beat on queer drums and
dance around their war fires. In ancient
times before there were any pianos, e
sang sometimes to the clapping of their
hands, and often to the accompani
of crude instruments which looked like
old-fashioned guitars, violins or harps.
of battles, love, harvest-
Da orl EGR oransts
8338S EnBLEnEREES
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