Newspaper Page Text
those good old-fashioned
FOLKS.
Somehovr the people of to-day ain’t as they
used to bo,
At any rate, I’m pretty sure they're not the
same to me.
And while they're many just as good as those
I used to know, ,
Tbere’re scores and scores among them that
are oniy so and so.
VTe used to always take a man exactly as he
said,
But now it’s safe to take him just the other
way instead.
It does my heart just lots of good to meet
once in a while
Some of those good old-fashioned folks so
nearly out of style.
I wouldn’t say the world in honesty is slipping
back,
I wouldn’t say that Christians hunting grace
have lost the track,
I wouldn't say that men to-day are less the
friends of truth,
Because they seem to differ from the ones I
knew in youth.
Those statements I refuse to make, but this I
freely say,
Those people please me quite as well as those
I meet to-day.
Their hearts and hands were honest and their
• lives held little guile,
Did those old-fashioned people now so nearly
out of style.
We’re wiser than they used to be, we m y be
weaker, too,
And good old homespun honesty may less our
hearts imbue.
These later days we all are bent on getting
rich so fast,
We haven’t time to think of things they
thought of in the past.
We're wildly striving after gold, we rush and
push and crowd,
And after while we’ll each be wanting pock
ets in his shroud.
But none of us can e'er outrank within the
afterwhile
Those good old-fashioned people now so
nearly out of style.
—Chicago Herald.
UP THE ‘‘DRAW.”
liY THOMAS p. MORGAN.
The gang at old man Sigsby s com
bined saloon, postoffice and general store
had waited for the coming of the mail
carrier ever since the saw mill shut down
at sunset. The time was passed in curs
ing the tardy Government official, imbib
ing Sigsby’s villainous whisky and dis
cussing the occupant of the little log and
slab shanty, half a mile up the heavily
timbered “draw.”
They looked a “hard crowd,” and
their characters did not in the least belie
their personal appearances. The scum
and offscourings of many communities
they were, held together by their cause
against the common enemy, the United
States Government. The sawmill, deep
iii the wilderness, turned out great quan
tities of lumber from trees cut from Gqv
eriinent land, and its owners, in their
Ea stern homes, knew little and cared less
oi the rough men whose toil increased
their employers’ ill-gotten gains.
Old man Sigsby was the worst man in
the whole gang, that seemed composed
of the champion profane, shock-headed,
tangle-bearded and desperate men to be
found in seven States. They growled at
the generalities of life, cursed each other
and drank great potations of fiery whis
ky, and Sigsby growled the loudest,
cursed them all individually and collec
tively and drank oftener than any other
of his customers.
The matter had been canvassed thor
oughly, and the opinion was general that
the occupant of the shanty up the
“draw” was none other than a Govern
ment detective.
“Wal,” growled big Jim Perdue,
“I'm yere to say that his "story's purty
tkin! If he’s takin’ up a claim as he says
he is, w’yn’t he go out on the prair’ like
vrite man stead o’ cornin’ up yere whur
squatters haint wanted now, say?”
The question was addressed to no one
in particular, but Sigsby took it upon
himself to reply that he “didn't know
an’ didn’t keer a cuss!”
“Wal, you needn’t be so brash!” re
torted Big Jim, with an oath. “I ”
A clatter of hoofs interrupted him.
The door was flung open and the tardy
mail carrier threw the wrinkled pouch
into the room.
Then Sigsby distributed the mail.
This was done by opening the pouch,
pouring its contents in a heap on the
floor and, with several forcible epithets,
telling the company to “drive in.” There
were few letters, but a bundle of news
l>apers provided nearly every one with
something to read.
When each had got his own and the
wrangling had ceased, one letter re
mained. It was addressed to the occu
pant of the cabin up the “draw.”
“Wal,” remarked Sigsby, “that cuss
gits entirely too many letters fora squat
ter, One every week or oftener. An’
uv all dad-blamed directin’ this beats
any I "ever seed!”
The address was printed in straggling,
irregular characters and with shocking
disregard for capitalisation. Several
examined the rude characters and all
were of the opinion that they were
traced in that manner to disguise the
writer's chirography.
“Le’s (.peu it!” cried Perdue.
“Not much!” objected old man Sigs
by. “Nobody opens any letters in this
yere postottice but me! Understand?”
The postmaster mentally resolved that
while the gang might do a9 they liked
outside of the office, he was not going to
allow them to commit any act within the
office that would iucur the wrath of the
Government.
Perdue rose, cleared his throat and be
gan:
“We all know that this cuss is •"
“You bet!” interrupted several voices.
“Yes, wal, we know what happened
to the last feller that come a spyin'
round whur he had no cell to be.”
“We have a idee!” said a voics.
“Wal, shall he have the =ame?" was
Big Jim’s pertinent question. Without
a nioineut's hesitation came the almost
unanimous verdict that he should have
fire “same.” There was a prolonged
wrangle as to ways and means, much
drinking at old man Sigsby’s bar, and
then the gang departed for the great
boarding shanty, to prepare for the
night’s work, up the “draw.”
“After they had gone Sigsby tight
ened his revolver belt. Then he looked
at the quecrly addressed letter and mut
tered :
“Wonder wliy the cuss don’t come to
git his letter. Never missed bein’ on
time before. B'lieve I’ll jest sorter take
it up to him. Might be handy forme to
git the lay uv things in the shanty. Git
the edge on the boys by kno win’ whar
the valuables is.”
He extinguished the light and locked
the door with the utmost caution.
“Jest as well fer me, I reckon,” he
muttered, “if these boys think I’m sick
and gone to bed or sumpin’. If any
thing was to happen—cuss was to plug
one or two uv 'em, they mought ’low I’d
sorter warned him if they knowed I’d
be'n thar.”
He reflected grimly that in such an
event he was very liable to receive the
same sort of treatment that was meted
out to the last man suspected of spying.
Loud words, plentifully interlarded
with oaths, reached his ears as he passed
the big boarding shanty, keeping well iu
the shadow of the trees. His progress
over the “rise” and up the “draw”’ was
almost noiseless, and rapid in spite of
the dense darkness beneath the great
trees.
Presently Sigsby knocked at the door
of the log and slab shanty. As there
came no reply, he knocked again and
fancied he heard a faint response.
“Some trap to ketch me, like as not,”
he muttered, suspiciously, “but I’ll
risk it.”
His revolver was ready for instant
action as he raised the latch and entered
the room which was wrapped in dark
ness.
“Hello, thar!” Sigsby saluted cau
tiously. “Don't be quick with no guns.
Letter for you.”
A faint moan replied from somewhere
in the darkness. Sigsby’s suspicion of a
trap was strengthened, and he meditated
whether it was better to tire his revolver
in the direction of the sound or to run
the risk of having the trap sprung on
him. The moan was repeated.
“What’s the matter, pardner?” he
asked, moving silently to one side as he
did so.
“Wall, I’ll resk it!” he muttered, as
another moan answered him.
He scratched a match and hold his
half closed hand in such a way that a
single ray of light was flashed in the
direction from which the moan had
sounded. The moment's light revealed
a face aglow with fever, lit with eyes
bright with delirium!s glare.
There was no need for caution now,
an/I fttnrcthxr crtoorlilxr Viarl n lirrltf hupninrr
. — ; j ~ ~
He examined the sick man more closely.
“Part’ bad off,” he muttered. “Hain’t
eaten fer days, like as not. It’s tough,
shore!”
“Wall,” lie added, presently, “one is
’bout as shore as the other. If the boys
don’t down him, the fever will. Mount
ain fever’s first cousin to the grave
yard.”
The sufferer moaned and tossed feebly
in his delirium, and, when Sigsby held a
tin of water to his lips, he drank with
almost frenzied eagerness.
“Dryer’n a bone!” remarked Sigsby.
“Wal, the boys ’ll soon ease his misery, I
reckon. Pore cuss! He’s in a hard row
o’ stumps, but now he’s come out here to
hunt the boys; he ortn't to kick if they
hunt him.”
The sufferer rolled his head slowly from
side to side and moaned.
“Do your groanin’ now.” remarked the
visitor grimly, “fer the boys’ll deprive
you uv that privilege soon. Thar’ll be
detective on tree for breakfast, I reckon.
Wal, I must be a-gettin’. Don’t seem to
he nuth’n’ worth packin’ off. By George!
I mighty nigh fergot his letter! I’ll jest
see what orders his bosses has sent him.
Mought do me some good and they never
will him.”
He opened the oddly addressed en
velope, and slowly spelled out the epistle
it contained. When it was done, he
spelled it clear through a second time
“ Wall, I’m blabbergasted!” he ejacu
lated, as he laid the letter face upward
on the table. It was a short message and
was printed in the same eccentric fashion
as the address.
“Wal, I’m blabbergasted!” old man
Sigsby repeated. 1 ’Plumb blabbergasted!
Some how, that ’minds me uv ”
He paused.
Presently, he said, slowly:
“Prays fer him every night an’
mornin’. Name's Bessie. Minds me uv
—never mindl” He shook himself
fiercely.
“Deserves all he gits,” he said,
hoarsely. “Didn’t he come yere to hunt
the boys? Yer bet yer life he did!”
He answered himself with fierce
energy, shaking his fist at the moaning
figure on the bed. Then he turned to
lea”e the s'nanty, but paused, with his
hand on the rude latch.
“Prays fer him every night an’ morn
in’,” he muttered. “Somebody ort to
write an’ tell her when he’s downed.
I ”
He took a step toward the letter that
lay face upward on the tible. The
quaint characters seemed staring him in
the face.
“Prays fer him,” he muttered slowly.
“Name's Bessie! ’Minds me, no—l’ll—
I’ll do it! Doit er drop a-trying!” he
cried with fierce energy.
The sick man moaned again.
‘■Her dad—Bessie's dad!” old man
Sigsby muttered, aud laid his cocked
revolver on the table bevide the letter.
Then he took down the sick man’s
repeating rifle from the well and placed
it near the other weapon.
“Like’s not I’ll groan like him purt’
soon,” he said, with a nod toward the
bed. “The boys mean business!”
“They mean business!” he repeated
presently. “So do I!
“There was a noise outside and a
knock at the door.
“Come!” cried Sigsby.
Tiie repeating riflo in his hands aud
the revolver beside the letter were both
cocked and ready for instant use. As
they threw open the door and ushered In,
Big Jim Perdue and the rest of the
“boys” found themselves looking into
the muzzle of a repeating rifle held by a
stern-faced man who stood behind the
table.
“Up with yer hands!” cried Big J’ira
sternly, as he burst across the threshold.
There were exclamations of surprise as
the gang recognized the holder of the
rifle.
“What d'ye mean, Sigsby? What art
you doin’ yere?” demanded Big Jim.
“Nothin’,” returned old man Sigsby,
doggedly.
“Whur’s the cuss?”
“Thar!” answered Sigsby, movingtc
one side that the light might fall on the
sick man. “Thar, an’ thar he’s goin’ tc
stay!”
“Mountain fever!” some one said, at
sight of the delirium-flushed face.
Big Jim and the gang glared at old
man Sigsby and the rifle muzzle thal
stared them in the face.
“What does all this mean?” Big Jim
demanded with an oath.
“NuthinM” the old man replied.
“Yere's his orders from headquarters, an
I'm a-carryin’ them out!”
He flipped the letter toward the group
and Big Jim picked it up. When the
big man had silently spelled out its con
tents, he handed it to the next man.
From one to another it passed till ail
had read Bessie’s letter.
No one made any remark, but there
was a dimness before the eyes of severs'
that made the muzzle of old man Sigs
by’s repeating rifle looking less formida
ble.
“Wal?” questioned Sigsby.
“Wal,” Big Jim returned iu an accent
less voice.
“Prays fer him every day,” the old
man said, ns if addressing himself.
“An’ ’taint no good prayin’ fer dead
men,” Jim returned, in the same accent
less voice. “Hunting us! Wall,mount
ain fever’ll do the work if ”
“Bill,” he said, suddenly, interrupting
himself, “didn’t you ’low you seed a fel
ler sneakin’ round the storehouse as we
come by?”
4 -Bill” replied promptly that he had
“’lowed” so, and several eager voices
chimed in with the information that it
was dangerous to allow the “feller” in
question to continue to “sneak.”
“I reckon that thar’s the detective,”
Big Jim hazarded.
There was a unanimous expression of
belief that such was the case. Then, led
by Big Jim, the gang filed out into the
darkness.
“Ole man,” said Big Jim, slowly, as
he turned to go, “if you need any help
’tendin’ to any sick men anywhere around
yere, send fer me.”
“An’ me!” cried several voices.
“An’ if he gits well, tell him a story
’bout a little gal's letter that saved a
feller's life. If you do, mebby his sick
ness’ll sorto make him fergit all about
what’s happened in this section an’ that
anybody on Gov’ment land ”
“I’ve heerd uv seeh cases,” answered
old man Sigsby.
When they had gone, Sigsby stood for
many minutes staring at the letter before
him.
“Der papa,” it read, “mama and me
has been looking for a letter from you
for awful many days.. We are fraid your
sick an we want to see you awful much.
Ole Bose is dead. I pray for you night
an mornin. A hundred kisses from
“Bessie.”
“Name’s Bessie,” old man Sigsby mut
tered. ’Minds me uv—”
His voice died away, and, for a long
time, he seemed wrapped in thought.
Only the faint moan of the sick man
broke the silence at the shanty up the
“draw.”
A month later little Bessie's heart was
gladdened by the coming of the papa
for whom she had prayed night and
morning.
No report of illegal timber cutting in
the region round about the cabin up the
“draw” reached headquarters. Perhaps
his severe illness had impaired the de
tective’s memory.— New Fork Mercury.
Goose Grease for Membranous Croup.
Old-fashioned remedies are still the
hobby with many Connecticut people,
and they often cure where modern
therapeutics fail. Last week, in Bridge
port, a two-year old child was stricken
with membranous croup. A physician
was hastily summoned, and he prescribed.
The child grew rapidly worse, and the
attending physician called in two of his
brethren to consult with him. The three
decided that death would soon result
unless the operation of tracheotomy was
resorted to. This the parents positively
refused to allow, and the physicians de
parted, saying the child would die before
morning. After they had retired several
women called, and, with the usual
feminine desire to do all they could to
help the afflicted parents, asked permis
sion to try their remedies. It was
granted, as the parents thought it would
do no harm, as the child would die in a
few hours anyway. The patient was
thoroughly wrapped up iu flannels, and
his head and throat were rubbed with
goose grease. A dose of the stuff, mixed
with vinegar, was with difficulty forced
down the child’s throat. In a short time
he vomited up a large portion of mucus
and broke up the clogging matter iu the
throat. Being placed in bed he soon
went to sleep, and the next day he was
playing about the house, and appeared
to be far from dying.— New York Sun.
The Lads of Lisbon.
The lads of Lisbon, the Portuguese
capital,are a curious feature of her motley
population. They seem to have conse
crated the bloom of their youth to the
sale of lottery tickets for the benefit of
the church, and may be seen everywhere
hawking halves and quarters of tickets,
shouting,“To-day the wheel goes round.”
When not engaged iu this pursuit these
young hopefuls take to selling crickets,
which are confined in small wicker cage3
three inches square. The crickets are
caught apd sold for sporting purposes.
Cricket lights are as popular and arouse,
as keen passions as cock fights t‘X Spain.
Mail ami Express,
WOMAN'S WORLD.
PLEASANT LITERATURE FOR
FEMININE READERS.
A NEW QUALITY OF BENGAI.INE.
The Dry Goods Chronicle says that a
Dew and very heavy quality of beugaiino
has made its appearance, but its thick
cord, while rendering the fabric remark
ably handsome, prevents its draping as
gracefully as some of the lighter varie
ties. It will, however, be much admired,
for in plain, undraped arrangements its
effect is very rich. The principal shades
in which it is offered is old-rose, serpent,
very dark blue, emerald, golden-brown,
seal, dove and putty. The dark-blue,
browns, gray and putty are used for
long wraps, upon which are placed baud
some decorations of fur and passemen
terie. Court or full, long trains on even
ing gowns are elegantly made of this
heavy silk.
THE TAILOR-MADE DRESS.
There seems to be a concerted attack
all over the country on the tailor-made
dress. The obiter dictum of the fashion
editor and editress is that the tailor-made
dress must go. It is held to be too stiff
now, though it is not so long since they
couldn’t be stiff enough. Well, the
tailor-made dress on a handsome form
will be none the less stylish and pretty,
notwithstanding the crusade against it.
But what men would like to know is why
women cannot make tailor-made dresses.
It is claimed by all women that the art is
confined solely to the male sex, and that
lady modistes have made such a botch of
their attempts that they frankly admit
their inability to compete with the men.
In the tailor-made dress the goods of
which it is composed are fitted to the
wearer, while in the other styles of dress
the lining is fitted independently of the
goods. In the tailor-made dress the lin
ing is put in loose. This, at least, is the
way a man understands it, but the query
is still: Why can’t lady dressmakers do
what men dressmakers do in this line?
There is a mystery about this matter
somewhere.— St. Louis Star-Sayings.
A YOUNG SOCIETY GIRLR “DEN.”
The modern girl, when she retires
from the madding crowd to commune
with her own ideas, is apt to retreat to a
den that has been arranged according to
her special tastes and in whose furnish
ing oftentimes she displays a signal abil
ity in disposing of sight drafts on the
Government, says the Philadelphia Times.
The special feature of a well-fitted den
this winter is quite apt to be a toilet set
of three pieces in fanciful rococo curves.
A yellow haired young woman whose
name there is no need of giving, but
who belongs to that much envied clan,
American girls of the leisure class, has a
beautiful little boudoir fitted in blue and
gold. The Avails are hung in pale Blue
silks sprinkled with rose petals, and
there are special pieces of furniture in
ormolu inlaid with Sevres plaques, a
mantel with a pair of Dresden china
candlesticks, a little clock in ormolu and
dainty accompaniments too many to de
scribe. Adjoining this room is a dress
ing room, and here sho tilts her blonde
head aud pensively droops her snowy
lids before a dressing table, the wood of
which is entirely covered with blue and
white satin, with jewels of crystal glass
set into the frame at intervals.
On the table stands a large plate glass
mirror and the brushes and combs in re
pousse silver, the perfumed waters and
delicate lotions that go to make up a
fashionable girl’s paraphernalia stand be
neath a, fantastically shaped blue satin
canopy.
A chair and a second and a smaller
side table corresponding make up the
complete service of this shrine to the
graces and vanities.
I.ABOR COST VS. MATERIAL.
It is an English woman who remai'Es
that “from the lady’s point of view the
materials of her dress may be as costly as
possible, but the labor of making it is
scarcely taken into account. Because
she has given a few shilling for a dress
at a sale, she imagines it can only cost
half that amount to make it. ‘What do
you charge for making a simple cotton
gown?’ is a frequent question; and on
hearing the answer: ‘Why, that is twice
as much as it cost—ridiculous!’ just as if
the workwomen were paid in proportion
to the value of the material they worked
on; as if the rent, and the firing and
light, and all the other expenses oblig
ing came down to zero while the ‘simple
cotton gown’ was in hand. Asa matter
of fact, cotton fabrics take long to
make, and spoil the machine into the
bargain; so that dressmakers would much
prefer their being made at home. The
difficulty of making women undestand
that the labor cost of a dress is the
large item leads to all kinds of suber
fuge on the part of the dressmaker, who
is obliged to recoup herself on the ma
terials for the loss on the making, and
practically to cook her account to humor
the fancies of her customers; hence those
expressly sharp women, who pride them
selves on measuring their costumes to
ascertain if they have not been charged
for more than was used, often find that
the unfortunate woman whom they are
trying to grind down to what they con
sider a fair price, has, in fact, shifted
the cost from labor to material, and she
is instantly condemned as dishonest;
whereas, if she had frankly said what the
dress had cost her to make, her customer
would probably have considered her
much too expensive to be returned to.”
—New York Telegram.
A MAGNIFICENT COSTUME.
The Empress of Russia has just been
presented with a Circassian national cos
tume by the wealthy Princess Gussatowa.
This magnificent dress consists of a
pointed cap of black velvet, shot with
>old aud edged with a broad border of
diver embroidery. Over this is spread a
white gauze veil speckled with gold stars.
The- robe is of garnet-colored velvet,
with short sleeves, and lined with lilac
silk. It is heavily embroidered with
gold, and both side* of the bodice,edged
•with gold borders, are ornamented with
a row of star-shaped silver buttons, from
which hang gold tassels. To the dross
also belongs a short jacket of sky-blut
Atlask with gold embroidery, which is
fastened down tho front by twenty-three
pairs of golden clasps, over one inch
wide and heavily studded with turquoises.
There further belongs to this magniiiccut
costume a rose-colored chemisette of At
lask, embroidered with silver. The gir
dle is of garnet-colored velvet, with gold
embroidery, and is fastened by a broad
silver clasp of exquisite workmanship and
studded with turquoises. The loose wide
Circassian nether garments are made of
cream-colored striped Atlask and em
broidered with silver. Finally, the shoes
of ponceau-colored Morocco, with silver
laces, have high heels made from rare
wood, and the latter are covered with
purple velvet, ornamented with gold.
The whole costume, needless to say, is
exceedingly gorgeous and costly, and it
is au exact copy of an ancient Circassian
regal dress. It is said to be the work ol
the Princess Gussarowa, who herself pre
sented it to the Empress enclosed in a
satchel of heliotrope with her Majesty’s
initials and the imperial crown in gold.
—London Life.
t
LIFE IN THE WHITE HOUSE.
If the numerous women of America
who crave a change of place with the first
lady of the land could for a few hours be
ladened with her weight of responsibility
and experience, the utter lack of privacy
or home comforts in which she lives, the
wish would soon have a monument.
Life in the White House is like a resi
dence in a public hotel parlor; for, even
in the boudoir of the Mrs. President there
is no relief from the too frequent
doorkeepers, stewards, liouse-mnids,
house-men, reporters and the erstwhile
rat. Mr3. Harrison’s capacity for mar
shaling forces and keeping her temper is
greatly to be admired, for her life is equal
to more than one herculean task.
I find that many people labor under
the delusion that existence in the White
House is a fairy ball on rose leaves.
Why, good people, you could not guess
wider of the mark.
In the first place there is no gayety.
Mr. and Mrs. President never accept in
vitations, and their own entertaining is
limited to formal receptions and dinners.
The only real enjoyment to be gleaned is
from the impromptu dinners to visiting
friends, their box at the theatre and the
beautiful conservatory. Every night at
dinner a mass of flowers adorn the dining
table, and are sent later on to one of the
many friends who are grateful indeed foi
this sweet-scented remembrance. This
privilege of giving pleasure at least once
in every twenty-four hours is one com
pensation for the sacrifice of one’s home
I ...1/1 4 ...1.., <1 t. ti.lt.nl. annntn a.M—n
U.UVC niv.UM!j nmuu ouuius up'iu
an occupant of the exalted position. Tc
avoid becoming lacrymose over the mosl
envied statioii in our United States, I shall
return to the prospects for a gay season.
One thing in certain—that the gala time
is to bo short; therefore, much will he
crowded into little. —Boston Transcript
f
- NOTES. .
White cloths are effectively trimmed
with black braid and edged with dark
furs.
A Swiss bodice of the same color as
the skirt is much seen in ball room cos
tumes.
Au unusual number of crepe de chine
dresses have made their appearanee this
season.
Silk muslin is decidedly a fashionable
fabric of the season, and those fond ol
net will still adhere to it.
Handkerchiefs follow the lead of
dresses and mantles and have long and
sharply intended trimming.
Some of the brocades worn are very
beautiful, especially in combination with
tulle and other filmy materials.
A late novelty consists of having s
long ostrich feather curled around the
arm at the edge of the short sleeves.
Those who can afford them favor cos
tumes of velvet, simply made, and edged
with Russian sable and other rich furs.
Lilac and pale mauve are favorite col
ors for evening gowns. The favored
materials are velvets and satin brocades.
Heavy beaver cloths in diagonal de
signs are made up into long wraps and
make very handsome and serviceable
wraps.
Light colored velvets, with linings
of white Thibet goatskin, are more than
ever used for elegant mantles the present
season.
There is a decided reaction in low cut
gowns. A revival and also a pretty
innovation is the use of the lace bib in
low cut bodices.
Novelties in black crepe de chine
show tufts and rings of black velvet;
also embroidered floral designs in effec
tive arrangements.
Black lace gowns arc mounted on black
areophane, with a petticoat of black
satin. Sometimes the entire underdress
is of pure white velvet.
Handsome costumes of dark velvet
have round skirts edged with blue fox,
and left open at two seams to show un
derskirts of light brocaded satin.
It is predieted that long gloves in black
Suede will be the prevailing fashion in
the spring, and the demand is said to be
so sudden that it is not yet possible to
fill advance orders.
The Empire still dominates in evening
dress and short waists and plain skirts
will continue to be the rage. A sash or
girdle about the waist is pretty much the
only relief from this severity.
Rather anew effect in ball dresses
consists in having the bottom of the skirt
and the corsage sometimes outlined with
pinked-out ruching. A pretty fancy is
to have the ruche composed of artificial
rose petals.
Crapo de dune is used for evening
gowns for young ladies, and a leading
trade journal predicts that this elegant
fabric will find increased consumption
next summer, both for entire costume#
and in combination with other stuffs.
'AN OCEAN HARVEST.
GATHERING SEA-WEED ON THE
BRITISH COAST.
An Occupation in Which Thousands
of People Are Engaged—Burn
ing the Weed Into Kelp
lts Commercial Uses.
By far the larger portion of the sea-weed
harvest along the coasts of Scotland, Ire
land and adjoining islands comes ashore
in the early spring and in the late fall.
The fall harvest, together with that which
winter adds, is suffered in most localities
to lie untouched on the beach until it has
been carried out to sea again and lost
forever. It is only the spring crop which
receives special care. Thousands ot
women and children, and a small sprin
kling of men, may be seen flocking to the
beach during the month of May, armed
with rakes and wheelbarrows, or driving
low carts, whose wheels are made broad
enough to prevent their sinking in the
sand. The wot weeds are raked into
piles, and carried either by barrow or
cart to a conveniently safe distance from
the water’s edge. Usually a sheltered
nook is chosen, if near at hand, and in
it is stored a great mass of tho weed.
Here it is left to dry under the summer’s
hot suu, meanwhile exhaling odors of no
dainty description. There are well-re
cognized liberties and restrictions in re
gard to sea-weed accorded to landlords
uud peasantry who dwell along the shore.
The landlords have most of the liberties,
while the peasants enjoy tho restrictions.
Conflicts of sea-weed rights have been
known to occur, in which cases the slul
lalah has had an important share in t‘ie
gathering of the crop.
When the weed is dry—that is, in tha
latter part of July and the first of August
—the owners of the sea-weed heaps un
dertake to burn them into kelp. This
burning is done in the crudest and most
wasteful manner. (Shallow pits, often
dug right iu the sand, are filled with
weed and the mass ignited. Upon the
first charge fresh quantities of weed are
thrown from time to time, the whole
mass burning more or less rapidly in pro
portion to the dryness of the weed. Ther;
results, in the bottoms of these pits, a
black mass resembling iron-slag in ap
pearance, though not in hardness, whio'j,
being sprinkled with water while hot,
breaks up into large lumps suitable fer
transportation. Owing to the carelessness
with which the weeds arc raked up, this
crude kelp-slag always contains a large
percentage of sand and other impurities,
sometimes amounting to one half the
total weight of tho product. The im
providence, of this is the more marked iu
view of the small amount of valuable
salts which even at best can be found
in the kelp, and the rapid ratio in which
the cost of transportation diminishes
the profits when half of the slag is
dead weight. The improvidence extends
equally to the burning itself. Till* takes
place in full access of air, unci at a
temperature so high as to volatilize much
of the iodiue. Besides, all the gaseous
products of the combustion are lost and
the escaped gases overcloud whole town
ships, and impart to miles of sea-shore
the peculiar odor characteristic of burn
ing kelp. To save these gaseous pro
ducts by distilling the weeds in closed
retorts, at low temperatures, would
mean the production, at little extra cost,
of valuable amounts of ammonia, parafia,
acetic acid, naphtha, etc. Iu addition,
the charcoal left would be much richer
in iodine than the ordinary kelp, and its
mechanical form much easier of sub
sequent extraction. Attention has been
called time and again to the enormous
waste of material and the easy means of
improvement iu kelp making, but thus
far little inroad has been made into this
European species of ancestor worship.
The crofters cling to traditional methods
and primitive tools.
When kelp, such as lias been described,
is brought into market, it is purchased by
those directly engaged in making the
salts of iodine and the alkalies. In their
hands it becomes the subject of careful
treatment to separate the valuable ingre
dients from tho gross impurities with
which they arc associated. This is com
monly done by breaking the kelp into
small lumps and lixiviating in suitable
vats filled with hot water or supplied
with steam vapor. —Popular Science
Monthly.
Palm Oil.
Palm oil is the product of the fruit of
the oil palm tree of Guinea. The fruit
grows in clusters on top of the tree, which
is about thirty feet high, and resembles a
chesnut. The oil is extracted by boiling
the pulpy and fibrous mass around the
central nut, and is used in making soap
and candles. The fruits are harvested in
April. The oil of Arachis, which is
equally important in commerce, is from
the nut of the Arachis (peanut), thou
sands of tons of which are sent to Eu
rope every year to be made up into
“olive oil.” It is the fruit of annual
creeping plant, and ripens in July and
August. Oils of inferior quality are
made into soap. Another undergroupd
nut affords a white, hard butter, richer
than butter from the cow, which has the
further advantage of remaining fresh for
a whole year without being salted. Only
limited quantities of this product have as
yet come into the market. The native
Africans use all these fruits, under one
form or another, For their own alimenta
tion.—Popular Science Monthly. •
The Ivory Production.
There are annually killed in Africa s
minimum of 65,000 elephants, yielding a
production of a quantity of raw ivory,
the selling price of which is some $4,-
250,000. This quantity is shipped to
various parts of the world—to the Amer
ican, the European and the Asian
kets. A large quantity is, liowev-,’
by the native Princes of AJLriP - -oo are
Africa is o. ivory, and China is I
largest j
also a,*- - I
growing old.
I’m growing old, they tell me;,
They say I'm getting gray,
And that my face has not the grace
It had once on a day.
And in tny gait I show it >
That I am growing old—
i Hurrah! I wouldn't know ft
If I wa never told.
I’m growing old, they’ra saying—
Hurrah! They do not know
A cheerful mind is not the kind
To any older grow.
The world’s as bright as ever,
I'm happier each day,
And I’ll feel young forever,
( No matter what they say. ’
'Hurrah, for growing older,
| And better all the while, '
}No look ahead to when I’m dead
f Will take away my smile,
” That bravely will be showing
' And lighting up my face—
They think I’m older growing,
Hurrah! It’s not the case.
* —B. C. Dodge , in Detroit Free Presti
'PITH AND POINT.
The sailor’s accounts are cast up by the
Sea.
Rights and lefts—The “ins” and the
‘‘outs.”
Spoiled children make bad men and
women.
A martial strain is that which is put on
the drum-major’s spine.
The best site for the World’s Fair is
undoubtedly the mirror.
Some women like a whispered tale of
love, but a belle prefers a declaration
made in ringing tones.—Baltimore Ameri
can.
The old railroad contractor should be
in a good physical condition, for he is
training ail his life.— Kearney Enter
prise.
The Indians are the largest land owner*
in the country, but they have raised mors
hair than potatoes, thus far.— Minneapolis
Journal.
A Morsel for the Bog.—Tramp—“l’m
nothin’ but a bundle o’ bones.” Hired
Girl—“ Here, Tige, go bury him.”-Mm
sey's Weekly.
“I think your wife wants change."
“Change? Doctor, you don’t know that
woman. Change will never do for her.
She needs a fortune.”
“Ma, tho minister is coming.” “What
makes you think so? Did you see him?”
‘ ‘No, but I saw pa take the parrot and
lock it up in the stable.”
Nations are like individuals, says an
orator. Not much. You never hear an
individual complaining about the size of
his surplus.— Bouton Courier.
Lawyer—“ Your opponent will have to
pay the amount, but you will have to
stand the costs.” Client—“ Will you
please tell me, have I won or lost.”
Lancaster—“l hear that you have been
burning the midnight oil. What study
interests you so much?” Forrester—
“ How to get the baby to sleep.”— Time.
Although they went to school together,
And grew up children side by side.
He never dreamed how much ho loved her
Until her wealthy uncle died.
—Harped* Bazar.
How bard some men will struggle to
build a little reputation, and will at once
give up the the ghost when it comes te
building a kitchen fir e.—Kearney Enter
prise.
Lioness—“l've been chasing a mis
sionary for about s’teen miles! Did you
see where he went, me lord?” Leo—
“ Yes, my dear; he just stepped inside."
ruck.
“What does a man know about a
woman’s dress, anyway?” scornfully
asked Mrs. B. “He knows where the
pocket isn’t,” was Mr. B.’s reply.—
Louisville Journal.
Stern Parent—“ Look here, I have just
been told that you received a thrashing
in school last week. I didn’t know it at
the time.” Jimmy—“l did, pa.”—
Lawrence American.
She—“ Sir, what do you mean by put
ting your arm around my waist?” He—
“Do you object?” She—“Mr. Arthur
Gordon, I’ll give you just five hours to
remove your arm.”— Boston Beacon.
Some one was saying before Jones that
the best method of restoring those who had
been frozen was to roll them in the snow.
* ‘That may do well enough in winter
time, but what yer goin’ to do in sum
mer, when there ain’t no snow?” com
mented that cheerful idiot.— Judge.
Don’t waste the gas, the high-priced gas,
Now nights grow long and drear:
When comes to pass, each precious lass
Expects her sweetheart dear.
’Tivould be quite right to quench the light
When dude3. as green as grass,
Make their tongues run on what the’ve done,
They’ll furnish all the gas.
—Judge.
A number of children were making a
good deal of noise, and their mother,
after rebuking them several times, at
last said: “If I have to speak again, I
shall punish some of you.” At this the
youngest child rolled off the sofa, and,
after gravely reflecting awhile, said:
“Then mamma. I’d advise you not to
speak.” She didn’t.
How Curiosity is Gratified in Russia.
The ex-editor of the Chicago News,
who has just returned from Europe, re
lates this incident, which he witnessed in
St. Petersburg: “One day I saw a car
riage containing a gendarme and another
person. I asked our guide who it was,
and he said it was a political prisoner. I
asked him whatwould become of him.
•Oh. he'll heard of again. We
don’t hav*my bother about juries and
trial* The papers won't take up the
20/teir and his friends won’t attempt to
<*fo anything for him.’; ‘But if he were
your brother wouldn / you try to do
something for him?’ I tasked. ‘No, sir.
If I went to the officerAaud said I wanted
to know what they wete going to do
with him, they would say\ ‘Come right
in. You can have the celßgiext to hi*
and go with him to Siberia to ’'nee what
becomes of him.’” \