•• FOLLOW YOUR LEADER." Nora (leaning) - •' Tell me, Ned, You vc found at last The girl you really mean to wed; That you, tlio gay, the delionair, In Cupid's not arc tangled fust; You—who've eluded many a snare. I * Have I met, Ned, Or do I know This winsome girl you mean to wed! Can it be Nell, or Rose, or Suo? Who is it has bewitched you so? And has she yet said 'yes* to your* Nod (following)— " She has not said One hopeful word, This winsome girl I wish to wed; I've never mustered courage yet To tell her how my heart is stirred, Ilow fast I'm snared in Cupid's net. ** Don't turn your head- She's wond'rous wise, This peerless maid I mean to wed; Her nunie's not Rose, or Nell, or Sue I Lift up to mine your drooping eyes, And read my secret: dear, she's—you! —Sara A. Palmer, tu Puck. SHE CHOSE THE GROOM. An Interesting Romance in an Eng lish Viliago. "Great Jones! Is that you, Troth flwy?" The man In the shabby raiment nooded. "Why, old chap, I haven't seen yoL since we came down from Oxford. I am glad to run across you again." "Your lordship is very good." "Oh, hang the title! What's the ust of being stiff and stuck up like that? Why, I believe you were actually going to cut me just now if I hadn't nearly ridden you down." "I certainly wasn't going to recognize you first. When a man gets seedy he's rather sensitive about making advances to tliu high and mighty ones of the land." "You always wcr a proud, stuck-up sort of a person, old chap, and given to standing on your blessed dignity, and all that. Hut 1 don't think you need have been that way with me after we hail been in the same set at N. 11. C., don't you know, and all that sort of thing. Hy the way, where are you making for?" "Well minster." "Ilow are you going?" "I'm tramping it," said the other, drily. Then be broke out, with a little anger: "You good-natured old duffer, can't you see that I'm down on my luck? Don't my clothes write me dead, stony, flinty broke? Here, cram your heels into your cob and ride on, and for get you've seen mo. Good-by and long may you wave." llis lordship flung the reins on the cob's neck, and the cob being like his master, lazy and stout, took the hint that present exertion was unnecessary, and walked slowly, very slowly indeed. "Now I'll just thank you, Mister Tre thewy," said he, "to drop that surly, you-be-blowed kind of air and tell me precisely hojv the land lies. Ilang it all, man, we re old chums, aren't we?" "I don't sec that sordid details can help either you or me. As you know, I had a tidy fortune, and during these in tervening years I've managed to get through every sixpence of it That's aIL" "I'm awfully sorry\ old chappie." "Confound 3'ou, don't" "Ileg pardon, indued. Of course it was beastly cheek for me to pit 3* you. Hut I was going to sa>' you know, that as I've got such a tremendous big in come now—" "No; stop please. I'm not one of the borrowing sort To let 3*oll into a se cret, I'm coming in for a big pot of money in two years' time, and till then I must rub along on my own resources." "Hut why, in tlio name of wonder, not realize 011 your expectations?" "Yes. Hut then lam peculiarly situ ated. Don't laugh! I'm engaged!" "I shouldn't think ol laughing over so serious a matter. May I ask the lady's name?" "Not at present. You see!—er—J don't do her any particular credit. To be candid, she, like your noble self, be longs to the high and mighty oucs." "Really? I congratulate you, old chapplo. Hut still, you must let mo say it's a pity—" "No, I shan't let 3'ou say anything of the kind. Look here, .you good-natured, persistent old woman, I'll tell you bluntly how it all lies. I've made a rank fool of myself, and she, the girl, is fully aware of the same. "She says she isn't going to marry me till I can prove in some degree that I won't carry 011 the same game again In the future. Says she: 'Your next fortune is two 3'ears on ahead. Very well; if you promise not to mortgage it in advance, but struggle through those two years by earning your own living, I'll inarry you. If you fail I won't'" "Hut this is awful," broke in the other. "My dear eliap, of course I'd be only too delighted at having an op portunity to advance." "Confound you, 110! What I want is a job here in England. Let 1110 once turn into a hard-listed British work man and my character's saved. The only devil of it is I'm so confoundedly useless at anything except, perhaps, crocking stones." "D'ye think," said his little lord ship, beaming at the happy thought, "you could come to me as secretary?" "Too thin. You haven't got three letters a day to write. No; you're only offering me a sinecure in a polite way." "I'm afraid I've got nothing of that kind you'd take. You see, I couldn't offer you a job in the stables—you wouldn't accept that" "1 "No; would you, really, though? He cause I'm wanting a new stable help, and—er —if you—er —that is to say, do you know a man—" "Look here, don't let's beat about the bush. Do you offer me the post of stable help?" "Yes." "Ami will you promise to treat me as neither more nor less than a servant? To forget, in fact, that we ever met be fore?" "Yea," said his lordship, lugubriously. ,4 Th<sn I'm infinitely obliged to you. and I'll do your will. Horses arc, per haps, the only thing I do know any thing ul>out. Ho for u couple of years uuless I'm sacked—your lordship's hum ble servant." The tramp touched his battered hat brim. "Name of Hrownson, your lordship, pi- MS.'." The city of Wellminster, being a ca thedral city that was small in popula tion and blank in point of paying in dustries, followed the lead of many other cathedral towns and excelled in items of gos.ip. Everybody knew everything about everybod3* else's affairs and usually a good deal more besides. This being the ease, it need cause nc surprise to learn that the diets aud acts of the noble lord we have already met came in for their full sharo of at tention. Hut, of course, the one interest that stood preeminent was his choice of a mate. "I'm sure his lordship would be ever so much happier if ho found some nice girl and married hsr," said the women, each matron of them thinking inwardly that her own daughter was the very person to fill the post. And as his little lordship had appar ently set his affections upon a young lady from a distance, whom nobody knew before she came down to his place to stay, naturally Wellminster outdid itself in having much to say upon the matter. "Of course it's all right, my dear, with his mother there to play hostess," said one matron to her bosom friend, "but between you and me I think it's hardly good taste on her part when lie is such an obvious catch." "She has a strange way," observed the bosom friend. "From what I hear, she's only just civil to him, and shuts him up most unmercifully if ever he tries to go beyond the most conventional friendship. Riding his horses seems to be the only thing she lives for." "Rides en tote-tcte," mused the ma tron, thoughtfully, "are apt to warm up a mere friendship very briskly.- At least so I've observed." The second-best bosom friend laughed. "You aren't fully informed, dear. The girl doesn't ride with his lordship at all; she flatly refused to. One of the stable helpers is her only escort when she goes out." "I can't, understand it," the bosom friend owned, candidly. "But you raa3* depend upon it she's playing an artful game. Thinks to lordship on, y'know. Designing creature." Wellminster—female Wellminster es pecially—experienced the sensation of heaving a deep sigh of relief. Tlie objectionable Mabel Whatever lier-name-was had not married his lord ship after all. She had done some fear ful thing in the way of running off with the groom who used to go out rid ing with her. It was a notorious fact that she might have had his lordship if she had chosen so much as to smile in his direc tion, and even now that she had bolted with the stable person he was idiot enough to mope about and show how cut up lie was over it. Wellminster felt like congratulating his lordship upon his escape; but, somehow, they never did; especially when it came out that the stable help had not always been a stable help, and had, moreover, been engaged to the ob jectionable Mabel Thingummy long be fore his lordship ever knew her. Hut the nice girls who kept them selves waiting for him have aged a good deal, for the affair of the stable help is a great many years old now and his lordship is a bachelor even to-day. —Chicago Post. A FORGETFUL WOMAN. she Beeincd to Have Occaalonal J'lts o Remembering. "It's cur'ous how fergitful some folks are, now aint it?" inquired Mr. Jakes, the village plumber, carpenter and sheriff, in a ruminative tone. "There's people that'll fergit arrants an" jobs an' bills an' days o' the week an' so on;' an' I've even heard tell of folks that would fergit their own names, now an' agin." "Yes, I've heard mention mode of jest seeh eases," said Abijali Snow, who was watching Mr. Jakes solder a good-sized hole in the bottom of the Snow tea kettle. "Well, I b'licve there's a woman in this town boats 'ein nil for fergittin'," said Mr. Jakes. "Who's that?" inquired his customer, with mild interest. "It's Mis' Willard Franklin," replied Mr. Jakes. "She's got inter tlie habit of . coniin' over to our house twice a week, or sometimes oftencr, as 't hap pens. An' it's a queer thing, but if you'll b'lieve mo, she sets an' sets, an' fergits ail about Willard till we've had a good square dinner; an' within ten minutes after we've cleared every thin' oiV'll the table she'll rcc'llcct him, an* start for home." Mr. Jakes shot one glance at Mr. Snow, and Mr. Snow returned it, as lie said slow ly: "S'poso the fact of Willard's bein' seeh a scanty pcrvider an' yoijr spread in' a lib'ral table could hev any thin' to do With it?" "They say you can't ever tell what doos affect folks' memory—or fergit try," said Mr. Jakes, in a non-commit tal tone; and then he blew out his light and he and Mr. Snow indulged in a couple of dry chuckles as the kettle changed hands.—Youth's Companion. A C onm-louliouH Hoy. Many a good story is told of a school where the boys are remarkably consci entious. One day the principal .was lecturing lliem on the subject of clean liness, and finally asked: "Is there any boy here who has not taken a thorough ba#li this morning?" One bo 3* only, usually a pattern of neatness, pleaded guilt 3*. "You, Harris?" exclaimed the teacher. "Well, I am surprised!" "I tried, sir," replied Harris, stoutly; "but there's one spot under my shoulder blade that I'm not sure I .touched. So yon see, sir, I can't call it a thorough bath."—Golden D..3's. lf happiness in this life is your ob ject, (lout try too hard to get rich.— Ram's Horn. : THE WOMAN OF FASHION. - Tho Fan a Danffervjua Weawon in * tho Hands of Lovo y Woma 1. Tlie Fan a* It Was and Is-What a Pretty Ono Costs—The Popular Styles- Tho l'arasol u 'i liing of lieuuty. I COPYRIGHT. 1HU3.1 1 "The fan of a beauty is the scepter of the world." So sang Marcchal; and we women k are not in a position to contradict liim. For must we not confess that the dear I little weapon has dealt tlie hearts of i 1 men many a telling blow. .In the old books on woman's fashions, we find the fan ahvaj's associated with the parasol and the handkerchief. Hut we ' have changed all that. A fan and a pair of beautiful, brilliant C3'es arc all the armor that is needed for these lat ter days. A parasol ma3 f be made to do very effective work, it is true, and is to be by 110 means despised; but a parasol's field of usefulness is necessa- ! rily limited, as one may bring it forth only in the daytime. Whereas the fan and the eyes arc never idle, and are most effective under the soft shades of evening, or in the quiet corner of the ' brilliant ballroom. Therefore, when the woman goes forth to conquer, she selects her fail with groat care. Spe cial attention must be paid to itfc shade; for it must needs, above all, THE FIN I)E SIECT.K FAN. harmonize with the hue of the ehcek it will often lie so lazily against; and it should he in striking contrast to the eye that will so often peep over it; and it must melt into the lap of the gown that will so often receive it. The value of the fan was fully recog nized by the damsels of the good old days; for a chronicler of the eighteenth century tells us that the very common est of all were made of scented wood, while the finest were of tortoise shell and ivory, incrusted with ivory and precious stones, and painted by artists of great talent. These fans, we are also told, were never used for fanning. So we see that the proper sphere of the fan w as recognized even then. Now we are less extravagant. Even the fashion in these small things is but fleeting, and we therefore content our selves, as a rule, with a pretty dainty TIIK PARASOL IN II LACK AN'I) LAVENDER. bit of gauze and ribbon and dainty sticks, that costs from five to fifty dol lars. At Newport's first gathering, a fan something like this will flutter and fall, in bewildering fashion: Grena dine, maize-colored, bordered with a coquille of gauze dotted with tufts of forget-me-nots. A windmill bow is at each end, shot with maize and pale blue. The sticks of the pale corn, also, are touched here and there with gold. A maiden daintily perched upon a painted spray stretches across the middle. Another dainty thing is of mauve grenadine, so sheer that one sees easily through it; the fan is elo ely painted with pompadour sprays in many colors, and across the sticks are hung scallop after scallop of small bauds, matching the shades of the flowers. A loop falls from the end of each row. These sticks are of mauve laquered wood. The edge of the fan is a fine niching of point. A celestial blue of fine gauze, with j dainty sticks to match, cut out with i gold, is known as the fin do sieele fun. ! Its lapping sticks are gold-spangled ' | and edged with satin ribbon. The rb | bon is slightly gathered in, draw! ig the guu::c into a scallop at the top. I hit these were not enough, and I ! wont to the shop.', and found that a re markably pretty fan could be bought for eight dollars. The fan was all painted in clouds and laughingdomons ; of subdued flame shades, and the wings of the demons are set with brilliants. | | Hut J wasn't quite satisfied, ami I asked for something a little nicer. Fif- I teen dollars would purchase a beauty all in white, worked closely in fine spangles and gold threads, but my ambition rose higher. For I twenty-five dollars I could have one of ; those tiny, old-fashioned ones, with j their gauze surface almost covered by | the deep blue ground-work of the paintings that spread over them. The | figures wore in the watteau draperies, j and the dainty flowers that sprung up about them were after the fine fashion of Louis XIV. but the big ones, for fifty dollars, on creamy, sheer gauze, were just right. They were closely spangled; the gowns of the quaint damsels portrayed there on were displayed in soft, pale colors; tlicir bosoms were plentifully bedecked with jewels, and jewels shone in their hair; the sticks were so fragile that one longed to snap them, and the lace that trimmed them was exquisitely fine. but after the fan, the parasol. Every woman takes a good deal of pride in her parasol, or parasols—when she is fortunate enough to possess them In plurality. First let us consider the sensible ones, the ones that will go with almost any costume, that will wear well, that are reasonable. The line cheeked silks belong to this class. Very pretty ones can now be hud for two dollars and a half, and in any shade or shades, striped or checked; or you may get the silks with cream or other pale ground, dotted with flower prays, and edged with pinked ruffle of the same. The bright plaids come un der this price, also, and brighten up a traveling or seaside costume; and the polka-dots are not unpopular this sea son, worn witli the light dresses, lint from the common-sense one we immediately take a jump to the pretty, useless one—useless. In so far as it goes with oilly one or two partic ular gowns, as it soils so very easily, and a few drops of summer shower will forever destroy its loveliness. Never mind —so long as they are fresh they uro very satisfying. Take this pretty thing of white chiffon, that is made of tiny puffs half way down; then comes a narr >\v insertion of open work wrought in the Indian colors; he low are more puffs and then a double ruffle of chiffon. A pure white silk one, edged with u deep flounce of exquisite lace, and with a la."epuff at it. tip. is beautiful in its simplicity. A white satin overlaid with three rows of line poi.it d' Irlando, Is its formidable rival. A coaching parasol is of a peach colored brocade, aiul it is hung with bhick lace draperies und finished with black lace flounces. There ii also another white satin far.ta dically ran with rows of narrow blue ribbon, run closely and in curved design. The whole is covered by block lace, and edged with it. There is one. all black lace, brlght "tu:d by row after row of twisted baby !-.i • ribbon, put on in divisions of live row. apiece. A black ehantitly, combined with ■ ish designs and border, has rolls pale heliotrope chiffon over the ,bs. Ihioh roll is finished with a small i si. v.:. I the whole with a deep bounce. These are also pretty in white j lace and a pale color, I The accordion-plaited lace ones are also very tempting, particularly when covering light or shot silk. The handles are often startling. We , conic out in great llowors—roses with thorny steins; forget-me-nots, growing from slender stalk, in scarcely natural , f.i.diion. Hut we do not stop at flowers; oh, no! we have now come to fruit, and even vegetables, and one of the handles Is finished in a shining chest nut. llut the fine enamels, the white dicks seem to he the favorite, painted in pretty Louis designs, and set with I cameos or gold points. EVA A. SCHUBERT, I A Valuable riant. The cocoanut tree is the most valua- , hie of plants. Its wood furnishes beams, rafters and planks; its leaves, | umbrellas and clothing; its fruit, food, oil, intoxicants and sugar; its shells, domestic utensils; its fibers, ropca, sails and matting. s SUMMER FABRICS. What Mutniim Wore"When She Wan a OlrL 'Thirty years ago, when 1 was a g .*l," says mamma, musingly, 'i had a gown like this in tint, in fabric, in sheer softness, the prettiest, dainty j thing. 1 wore it the summer I met i your father." | Into the soft sweet elderly eyes there j steals the far-away look which the chil dren interpret as half of memory, half of yearning. For their father is away in the "sweet fields beyond the swell ing flood," of which the hymn tells so tenderly, and "mother" has never worn anything but sober black, re : lieved now and then by a bit of opaque I white, since she took up her journey alone. | Yes, alone, though the children are i still with her, and most fond and con- I siderate. but they belong to a later j generation. She was "first" and "only" j with her husband, and half of herself was left out of the world when he lef< it. "Think of mamma in a giddy gown like mine," ripples dainty Sue, with her blond head rising from the foamy cir cumference of her tiny clustering ruffles, pure as Aphrodite's from the sea. "Mamma in rose-colored lawns, and filmy muslins, and diaphanous gauzes, with roses and daisies and knots of ribbon all over her flounces and furbelows!" "Why not, pray?" interposes Irene, the stately, a girl whose statuesque pose aricl grand outlines need neither ruffles nor tucks, and who has enough artistic feeling to choose for herself styles which accentuate her beauty rather than belittle its charms: "Why, not, pray? One would fancy that you thought mamma had never been a girl." "Mamma seems just—mamma," Susie answered, "but I can imagine how she looked that radiant summer when her cheeks were pink and her hair was brown, and she wore these light pretty stuffs which have come back again in time for me. I'm so glad they have. I'm so glad the streets in town and the piazzas at the shore and the mountain inns will bloom with real rose-bud gar dens of girls this year, and that grave and sombre hues have made their exo dus for the preseqt. Mamma, when you wore organdies and mulls, were you us silly as your daughter?" "Silly? I hardly like that adjective in connection with you, dear heart. I was noted far and near for my love of fun and for my ready laughter. I'm afraid I giggled a good deal. The first question a friend asked on meeting me. after twenty years, was, 'Uo you laugh as much as you used to?' " Sue's apple-blossom face looks thoughtful for an instant. Not long, however. The summer is before her, and the dainty summer toilets awaited planning and fashioning, and the in terest she took in this was the wide awake, healthy interest of a girl whoso heart had not yet been touched by uii absorbing outside element. She and Irene had made a tour of the shops, admiring the novelties, scan ning their possibilities, comparing the fragile and airy stuffs of the season with the deeper tones and thicker tex tures of the last season. The mother was glad that her girls were still so entirely her own, knowing as she did that for them, as for her, the Eden gate would one day swing wide, the Eden rose break into bloom. In some far-off future day one of them she beheld, as in a vision, musing ly fingering some delicate product of the loom, and speaking to girls of her own as she had herself done, of the 'summer I met your father."—Har per's bazar. FERTILE MARSHES. Something About the Lowland on the 11aj of Fuiida. I'no great fertility of this alluvium may be inferred from the fact that portions of the Annapolis, Cornwallis, < Irand l're and Cumberland marshes have been producing annually for nearly two centuries from two to four tons per acre of the finest hay. be sides, it is a common practice, after the hay has been removed, to convert the marshes into autumn pastures, on the luxuriant tender after-growth of winch cattle fatten more rapidly than on any other kind of food. Thus, virtually, two crops are annually taken from the laud, to which no fertilizing return is ever made. The only portions of the Acadian marshes that have as yet shown signs of exhaustion are those about the Chiegnecto branch of the hay, on the cliffs and bed of which the Triassic rocks do not occur, but in their stead a series of blue and gray "grind stone grits" of an earlier formation. In this region the marshes situated well up toward the head of the tide, where the red soil of the upland? has been mingled with the gray tidal mud, are good, while those lower down are of inferior quality and less enduring. Efforts are being made to renew ivnd improve these inferior tracts by admit- ■ ting the tide upon them. In general, however, the necessity for periodic inundations by the muddy I waters of the bay in order to maintain i the productiveness of the marshes, as implied in the passage from Evan geline: i Dikes that the hand of the farmer had raised with labor incessant, Shutout tho turbulent tides: but at stated sea- ( sous the Hood-gates Opened and welcomod the soa to wander at will | o'er the meadows not only does not exist, but, on the ' contrary, some two or three years are | required for the grass roots to recover i from the injury done them by the salt i water, when, as occasionally happens, ' an accident to the protecting dikes ad- raits the unwelcome flood. j The exceedingly fine texture of the ! , soil, and its consequent compactness I I and retentiveness of moisture, render j |it for the most part, quite unsuitable i j for the production of root crops, and at the same time adapt it admirably for ( i the growth of hay and of cereals, espe- ( ' eiaily oats, barley and wheat. As a 1 ; rule, however, the succession of grass - j crops is interrupted only at intervals of I from five to ten or more years by a | single orop of grain.—Frank H. Eaton, in l'opular Science Monthly. |]|| MM for infants and Children. "Cantoria is so well adapted to children that Caatoria cures Colic, Constipation, I recommend it as superior to any prescription Bour Stomach, Diarrhoea. Eructation, known tome." 11. A. ARCHER, M. D. f 8 ' glV ® B SIWP ' promotoe * 121 So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. Wituout injurious medication. " The use of ' Castoria * is so universal and M For several years I have recommended its merits so well known that it seems a work your • Castoria,' and shall always continue to of supererogation to endorse It. Few are the do so as it liutf invariably produced beneficial intelligent families who do not keep Castoria results." within easy reach " EDWIN F. PARDEE. M. D. f CARLOS MARTTO D. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers