rar
{
Dewar; Watdgwan.
_— ————
, Pa., February 21, 1913. |
nm———
GOING HOME. i
Out of the chill and the shadow
Into the thrill and the shine;
Out of the dearth and the famine
Into the fullness divine.
Up from the strife and the battle
(Oft with the shameful defeat,)
Up to the palm and the laurel,
O, but the rest will be sweet!
Leaving the cloud and the tempest,
Reaching the balm and the cheer,
Finding the end of our sorrow,
Finding the end of our fear,
Seeing the face of the Master
Yearned for in “distance and dream,”
O, for that rapture of gladness!
0, for that vision supreme!
There in the fairest of lands!
Sin evermore left behind us,
Pzin nevermore to distress;
Changing the moan for the music,
Living the Saviour to bless.
Why should we fear at the dying
That is but springing to life!
Why should we shrink from the struggle,
Pale at the swift closing strife,
Since it is only beyond us,
Scarcely a step and a breath,
All that dear home of the living,
Guarded by what we call death!
Then we shall learn the sweet meanings
Hidden to-day from our eyes.
There we shall waken like children,
Joyous at gift and surprise.
Come, then, dear Lord, in the gloamjng,
Or when the dawning is gray!
Take us to dwell in Thy presence—
Only Thyself lead the way.
Out of thechill and the shadow
Into the thrill and the shine;
Out of the dearth and the famine
Into the fullness divine.
Out of the sigh and the silence
Into the deep swelling song;
Out of the exile and bondage—
Into the home gathered throng.
— Margaret E. Sangster.
A FIRST NIGHT.
AN INVITATION TO THE WHITE HOUSE—
AND AFTER.
The Hon. Tom Dunkirk clutched fran-
tically at his overcoat pocket. “I've for-
gotten it,” he said.
“l knew you would,” responded his
wife, with long-tried conjugal calm, “but
I didn’t. I put itin the et of my ul-
ster at twelve o'clock y.” She drew
out a square envelope with a gold seal,
and displayed it in the glare of a street
lamp. “lIdidn’t believe I had to bring
anything up but the little blue ticket that
was inclosed, but I thought I had better
be on the safe side. You see the big
white card has our names on it just be-
low the President's. It looks like it was
engraved, too.” She stopped to examine
it critically on the corner of the well-
lighted street. “I call that real t-
ful of the President,” she said. “He
must know we are strangers in town, and
I guess he had our names put there so
there couldn't be any mistake. Now most
people I know, who send out invitations,
ve the cards all alike. You remember
when Mrs. Tucker's daughter was mar-
ried our names were on the backs of the
envelopes same as anybody else's. I do
hope they won't take up this at the door,”
she added, as she replaced the envelope
in her capacious pocket. “I wanted to
send it tothe children as a souvenir—
our first invitation to the White House.”
“Well, it won't be our last,” said the
Hon. Tom, complaisantiy. “Don’t—don”
you think we had better call a on
“A gartiage) Why, Tom Dunkirk, I
think it would be a sinful extra nce.
Don’t you know the cars pass t
the door. It’s only a step to the avenue.” the
“Well, all right,” he agreed.
we have been extravagant enough for
one party. Did you know
hammer clothes I've
fis
i
:
3
on me. Remem
used to have that shut up on
every time k Zained Bard
of mine wen me
os see Bi and told me what
HH
—he said I ought to go to a tail
wanted a decent fit—didn't think m
of hand-me-downs—"
“That's all foolishness,” said Mrs.
Tom. “Don't tailors make store clothes?
I'd like to know what's the difference—"
2
§=
is
g
§%s2
lie in state. Seems to me I've
t men sort of put on exhibition
co borid— Come, ring
bell, I'm sure we get off at the next
“The Hon. Tom punched at the buktumi
with one is pudgy White gloved -
jgers, and thet) meckiy his wife.
squeezed through the long line of |
iF
would
night,” she said,
she ly, “but
Tucker will never get
and
Spclogetic, Sof iis lack of setvonsiveness.
d—d gloves are about to split
House at window.
om stored to go in, but a burly
policeman bared
“Here—here’s the
invitation,” she murmured, in some em-
t.
The policemen seemed unimpressed.
m
“The East Gate, ma'am,” he said, waving
her off into the darkness.
said Mrs. Tom, after a moment's silence,
in which she to regain her
poise. “Seems like would open the
front door when they are expecting com-
pass. Do you suppose it was because—
use we were walking?”
“Lord, no!” he answered, with mascu-
line assurance. “All the carriages are
this way—I told you it wasn't a
Her feminine suspicions were not quite
allayed. Sinine, Tuhicions mete Not quite
“Reckon it was some of the family or
maybe it was 4 Cabinet ads. I believe—
“} suppose they do.”
ed the second gateway. Here
with no Sisseulty, They were
into a long r, and Mrs. Tom was
permitted to retain her “souvenir.” She
tucked it deep down in her pocket.
A colored maid hurried forward to re-
lieve her of her wraps. The gray ulster
and the beribboned hat she had worn
were huddled together with the Hon.
Tom's overcoat and putin one’ of the
many boxes that lined the walls. A num-
ber, ding with the one on the
box, was given to the Hon. Tom; his wife
promptly took possession of it. She had
acquired the habit of relieving him of all
domestic details, now she put the bit of
pastebeard in the silk that hung at
her waist. Miss Collins, the village dress-
maker who had made the bag, had called
it a “riticule.” She had pointed to it with
pride. “You'll find it very handy to car-
ry a handkerchief in,” she had said. She
was a scrawny little somebody, and was
1 suspected of harboring suffragette no-
tions, fer she had added, “Women doin’
without pockets is just a sign of the
times: they ain't got no rights; they zin't
Supposed to have nothin’ nor hold noth-
n',
But Miss Collin’s platitudes and the
whole village world seemed very far be-
hind her tonight as Mrs. Tom rondially
took her husband's arm and, f g a
gato Of in WHO Seed Sn know
e way, to cor-
ridor ted in crimson velvet and
Presidents of the United States. Between
|
ish
£
g 3
fora
: :
i “3
Be 5a 4
HE
i
:
f
E
SE
i
“I never
:
2
“The difference,” he fepea > “Ys
about twenty-five plunks as far as I can
see.”
“Well, it's a great comfort to have a
black silk,” she said with a sigh of satis-
faction. “It seems suitable for all occa-
sions. Itain't toc gay for your friend’s
funerals, and it always seems fit for wed-
dings and sociables. Now, I've had
years and it still looks fresh and
new, and this little lace band around my
neck, that was on my mother’s wedding.
gown, makes me feel quite clegant. t
the church festival this spring I know I
was the only woman there with a
of real lace—because I took particular
:
Z
i
8
Fi
ie
iE
of
$
:
convenient.”
“And it might mean keeping a man,”
suggested the Jon, Tom,
“A man! Why, the houses that real-
estate man showed me today didn’t have
JIGES Saat twuiity lest of back Yards io
enough or a -patch. No,
oie Tera out to
pasture.” RI SE at on ok
ad anxiowsly out of the smeared glass
window. think we must be nearly
Mrs. Tom;
banisters of
| cheaper than wood
| “I don’t know,”
. For the first time
| doubt his wife's
i . He was
; hitherto she had
(ly social
small that
' demand, but as
| Room he saw hae
' black coated like himself,
! en radiant as rainbows and pl
| birds of
g iE
i
RE 8
al ]
|
3
sz
pt
8%
: HY
5 EF
=H oF
:
i
i
|
i
HH
i
i
i
£3
LH
953
§
f
|
i
and landed safe on the gray |
flagged pavement i
“I was just thinking that Maria Tucker |
give her eyes to be in my place to- |
to
4 ——
5g 8%
» ii
et—I mean the | sion.
“Now, doesn't that seem strange?” |
carpe
hung with portraits of the wives of the
bound around with tape. But pointed | FROM, BELLEFONTE TO BOMBAY.
beaded slippers with high French heels —
seemed to have no place outside a pic- | SiEhts. Experiences and Impressions of a Centre
tured Parisian dance-hall. | County Girl, as Written to Her Home Folk, on
Somehow the crowd seemed to merci- | Long Trip to Far Away India.
Tora Dunkirk, and pe dom, Se PORT SAID, DECEMBER, 1911.
Dear Home Folk:
All our sailing now seems so peaceful
Tt | that I can scarcely credit the tales of the
1d;
g f :
the obscurity. For the first | congratulated that it is on its good be-
married life she had nothing | oo these days. But even yet my
she found herself pressed by | beauty-loving soul is not satisfied, and
at another doorway. An officer | each sun-set finds me hanging over our
;
so that he had to re- ; ,
to repeat it, and then she real. | °f coloring that follows the sun's drop-
sinking inarticulate moment | Ping into the sea. The sun's rising is
ERA introduced | also not unduly prolonged; none of our
n tes. | gorgeous ba flingings, but mere
with her, dud she walked | bright i _ heavens Ye up
who bowed and pops the golden ball, producing it all, and
but she | the day is here.
| no response; seemed con-| Qur life on board is one long rest, brok-
| scious only of her heavy shoes creaking |
on the parquet floor. She turned to wait | ¢" ©!Y by the almost, to me, constant
for the Hon. Tom, the one familiar ob- demand on us to eat more food than is
ject left her in a whirling world. Then ! good for any of us. Tea, toast and fruit
ri usher goed. her 30 ad aside—she | at six to seven a. m.; breakfast at eight-
ng * 3 . .
S blocking in the Be Said. i she | thirty; beef tea and crackers at eleven;
saw a number of red-coated musicians; | luncheon at one p. m.-a six-course af-
the music seemed to add to her confu- | fair like our dinners at home; tea, with
She grasped her husband's arm. | various crackers, cakes, jam, etc., at four
I ae have spoken to she President .]..- p. m., and a big dinner at seven-thirty p.
“There’s a dining-room out there,” an-| Mm. While I begrudged the time at home
nounced the Hon. Tom, who was never | spent in eating, here one does it to con-
| averse to food. “There are things to eat, | sume time.
ieve.
, Sundays we have a special church ser-
—1I don’t think I care f thing—
oa = do : OF ayling | vice, read by our ship's doctor; interest-
He could not understand the drawn ing to me mainly on account of the ex-
expression on her face. In all the years' cellency of the singing.
Of their acquaintance she iad Reeded no Yesterday a school of porpoise, reach-
Sgig¥
i
—
analvzing.
‘ we'll go.” The thought of shed. | ing as far as one could see, caused quite
ding his gloves added alacrity to his an excitement in our midst. The fish
._ | must have been playing at hurdling for
i ll pasted a a Soma! | as far as the eye could reach there was
down the steps with the soft balustrade; | a live line of jumping, seemingly flying
corridor seemed familiar | feet. The long slender gulls, very un-
ground, but they had gone some distance | jj the short, fat variety of the Atlantic
into another corridor before they remem- ocean, tell us land is near. We have also
bered their A good-natured-look-
ing man i Bro a stool said: oY been warned of the sun, in which one is
| not allowed to sit or stand for five min-
“Your number, please?”
Bi Mis. Tom ferreted ete in her ; ie (utes. It truly seems wicked to abhor the
and then putting his lips to a telephone SUN asa plague. .
in the ty he called, “162!” We are all packed ready to land in a
iiThe Hou. Tom Suddenly Wee up. He | few hours and while I am glad to be so
ways hopelessly out of place at| paar my journey’s end I am feeling with
social functions, but the dazzling scene . : ; "
up-stairs was left behind. Here was a | regret “The parting of the ways” with
mere man and a mechanical device with all my fellow passengers on board.
which to deal. He took off his Rill
and fulled them into # post Jump. 2] BOMBAY, JANUARY 12, 1912,
ere you, i ieve you've | :
got some sort of an electric apparatus on | '¢ landed safely in Bombay yesterday
the roof for signaling carriages?” | morning about nine o'clock, and came
“Yes,” the man admitted. { directly to the Y. W. C. A, a most de-
The Hon, Tom gtinned lS or a lightful house in every way and situated
hat,” G Sou ate now signaling yi so that seeing the city will be easy toa
Mrs. Tom leaned heavily on her hus- novice. Every spot is gay with the Dur-
band’s arm. All at once she seemed | bar decorations. We were sorry to have
fransiormed 4 ito the shy, ependent girl | missed the celebration, but rough seas
“Oh, take me home, Tom.” she plead. delayed our good boat Scinda just one
ed, “take me home!"—By Esther W. day too long. We passed King George's
Neill, in Harper's Baza.r ship and with a guard of four stately war
‘ RE ' ships, just outside the Bombay harbor,
or a fy ae ee J or Pat | headed toward England, and we will have
ward Smith, of Jeddo, Orleans Co., | to be content with the native sights.
N.Y. “Your Invalids' Hotel is truly a| | have already visited the hospital, Vic-
Boe for the sick.” The Invalids’ Hotel toria gardens and Exhibition of Bombay,
somewhat like our Atlantic City, though
on a much smaller scale. This morning
we go to the “Tower of Silence” and
stitute would hold the great army of Malabar Hill. We are trying to get about
women who are under treatment by Dr. | this beautiful city as much as possible
Pierce and his staff from day . | before leaving for Jhansi. The funniest
ad- | sights to me so far are the natives, with
" | European shoes, socks, coat and vests
and, in lieu of trousers, a dirty rag “drap-
ed” around their legs, leaving them al
most bare, but being of such a dark
brown hue it doesn’t seem to matter.
I have seen more beautiful motors here
than since leaving the States, but the
_ | Eastern architecture is the first thing to
catch the eye, so very gorgeous. The
squalor of the natives is woefully pathet-
ic. Curiously, so far, I have had no de-
sire to visit the native stores; distance
lends enchantment to his rags, and
knowing there will be plenty of opportu-
nity for close range study in Jhansi, I
am glad of the reprieve. Silks in one
store tempted me yesterday; gorgeous
brocades at 1 R and 10, meaning about
48 cents in our money, per yard, but will
wait until I have had more experience in
bargaining. We leave at 2:30 for Jhansi,
which is 250 or 300 miles farther inland.
JHANSI, JANUARY 20.
You see I have safely arrived at my
destination—miles from home. I must
tell you how easy this last stage of my
journey was. My English friends tucked
me into my compartment on the Jhansi
train and, too tired to be interested in
anything, I tried to sleep, only to be
aroused at the first junction, Callum, by
a woman getting into our car. When
the door opened Dr. Anna Young, of Phil-
adelphia, whom I hadn’t seen in twelve
years, stepped in. She was on her way
to Jhansi for Sunday. We had a delight-
gloves
full of men and women
chronic diseases. But no hotel or in-
i
i
s5f
Fr
RR
f
SELF
fialt
:
2
|
“8%
i
H
i
E
:
i
i
i
{HE
i
ah gist zg
fi
IEEE
fl
2 fa
ie
2Eaic
Hin
bli
i
!
zs §
]
i
it
BRE
i
g
Hi
I
F
died
“geist
warm but the night became so cold that
I packed clothes and clothes on top of
me and still was cold and although now,
H
i
FE
I
i
{
|
ie
852
gi
|
5
HH
i
il
i
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN
DAILY THOUGHT.
We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and
the pattern which was weaving when the sun
went down is weaving when it comes up to”
morrow. ~Henry Ward Beecher.
Green as a trimming, especially an |
eighteenth century shade of green, will
FARM NOTES.
—Just now the silo is certainly proving
| itself a friend in need.
| —Itis just as easy to ruin calves by
! overfeeding as it is by starving.
| —Winter comfort in the cow stable
| does not imply an air tight room.
—There is a decided difference be-
be a feature, particularly as coat linings | Ween a cow keeper and a dairyman.
for velvet and fur. Yellow and orange —The calf stall should be plentifully
are also popular for this purpose. Much supplied with good clean dry bedding.
can be expressed in a coat lining. Many | :
of these linings are works of art in them- _ —Foor quality in dairy products can
selves, and a lining denotes proper ap-
preciation of details which augurs weil
for the essential. A fascinating effect
noticed in a tailor made coat of chestnut
brown tweed was a lining of olive green
in with a piping all around inside of a
It is to be a year ot delightful cotton
fabrics, judging from the first department
store openings in New York in im
cotton materials, for cotton voile and
crepe are to be the fashionable wash
fabrics ateording toa New Yor Visyald
ter. Every one splendid
they launder, how well they hang ao
| never be cured. It must be prevented.
. . —No man can make a success of dairy-
| ing who does not take care of his calves.
| —The good dairy cow will pay more for
' farm crops than any market in this coun-
| try.
| —Many a poor and unprofitable dairy
‘herd can be traced to a nondescript
sire.
—Dairying isn't always easy work, but
; Seither ia any other job that really pays
fw
! —Just because the calf is large and
thrifty is nosign it will be a wonderful
how little they crush in wearing. While °W
most of these materials have a white
ground, the new colorings, butter yellow,
salmon and rose leaf pink, are to be had
Borders of rough weaves are also seen
on these and voiles; a new chenille
ickened threads that runs
colored cotton embroidered u machine
on voile that looks exactly like
knots. These are also stamped with the
wooden blocks, so that they look like an
bi design of French knots on
or.
In tailored materials Cossack linen, a
very striking weave, has a heavy boucle
border of chenillelike threads. Illumined
tweed, a very curious ratine weave, fleck-
| ed with darker dots that give it the tweed
look, makes up into very smart tailored
suits, especially when made with the
new effect of collar and revers of a black
and a white band, placed together, as was |
done with furs during the winter.
For the spring blouse nothing could be
prettier than the voiles striped with che-
nille, the slender stripes only a half or a
quarter of an inch apart. ith a ratine
collar and cuffs of a contrasting color
they are entirely new in effect. The
new blouses are made with the drop
shoulder seam, the lower part of the
sleeves fulled into it and into the cuff.
Bolero effects are often simulatzd by
pipings, lace or garnitures, and collars
are of lace with pointed corners in front,
sometimes stopping at the round neck
and sometimes rising up to stock collar
height.
When using toilet soap, throw the
Scraps and ends into a can until a quan-
tity accumulated; cut the pieces up
quite fine and cover with cold water, set
on the stove and simmer (do not boil)
until all is dissolved; then stir in corn:
meal to thicken; add one tablespoonful
of pure glycerine, and level ful
of powdered borax; stir until well mixed.
Then wet a small baking powder can and
pour in the soap; let stand until cold,
then turn out and cut into small cakes,
ol
£
g
|
3
i
5
1
:
i
i:
iF
i}
if
iE
i
i
Eg
:
i
|
g
!
i
5
i
fi;
35
}
i
ih
if
:
ji
| iF
z
i
;
TH
i
128
i
i
g
i
I
1
:
i
»
| —One thing about the automobile is
"its efficiency in helping to secure a good
| —Thecow that is a t milker
is the one that eo Desi) in the
| her
ls, .—The time is past when the prosper-
i
ous farmer can afford toignore the val
| of straw. ue
| —More food of the right kind would
i make good cows out of many that are
| just common now.
portant as knowing what it brings.
! =—The milker should bear in mind that
the cow’s udder is a very sensitive organ
| and deserves to be carefully handled.
—Regular, careful, quiet milking will
‘ permanently improve any animal as a
| milk producer and will increase her flow.
—The size of the udder isn't always a
sure indication of the cow's milk-giving
capacity. The quality is of more import-
ance.
| =—The day of the country butter mer-
chant who was in the habit of trading
| calico and nails for dairy butter is rapidly
| passing.
| —Frequently good heifer calves can
| be bought from men who kee
i cows in town and have no facilities for
raising the calves.
| —Success in dairy farming depends as
. much upon good common sense as upon
| anything else. But this is not enough.
| There must be good stock and good feed
‘ upon which to exercise it.
trast to the full glare of sunlight was
| greater than it now is.
! -=Be careful about letting Jour neigh-
| bors Wade’ youP registered I. Many a
{ man has lived to regret such generosity.
| se can Sever talk when, cont Sil
| eases may be brought into m
| such a plan.
]
tricks
ji i il
ira
ihn!
j
i
ei
ix
8
Ez
fiz
j5ii
g
2
7
§
E
£
:
i
ist
i
i
HE
Hil
ii
£
i!
rr
i
fi
hy
ial
i
tH
Ei
io
Bisk
i
i
b
§
1
li
ih
i
T
:
i
g
¢
|
3
3
it
§
er
i
fd
Hi
i