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THE MAN THAT GETS BACK.
Then here's to the man who gel hack,
When fate has struck us between the
eyes,
When fondest hope in failure dies, ¢
When black and angry are all our skies,
Here's to the man who gets hack,
Works back—
Fights back—
By the power of his soul
In his own control
Gets back.
Then here's to the man who gets back,
No craven coward to weep and groan,
He trusts to his God ans himself alone;
No whimpers, no cursings, no feeble
.moan,
Here's to the man who gets back,
Works bac%{-—
Yights back—
By the power of his soul
In his own control
Gets back. ¥
—George Comstock Baker, in the Masonic
Northern New Yorker.
Marian Anderson carefully re-ar
ranged the pillows back of her head
and then sank back once more upon
the divan.
“Speaking of men—?' she bhegan.
“That’s all you ever sveak of,” her
Youthful cousin interrupted, sweetly.
“Cicely!” Marian rebuked. Rut,
as 1 was saying, my brother Tom is,
without exception, the most bashful
man I have ever seen as far as girls
are concerned.”
Cicely Warren arose and walked
over to the side of the girl who was
seated at the rosewood writing desk.
‘“Eileen,” she remarked, ‘‘Marian
is merely implying that there is abso
lutely no chance for you in that di
rection.”
Eileen Donovanblushed and turned
again to her writing. This charming
Irish girl, on a visit to her American
cousins, had a habitof blushing when
ever the name of Tom Anderson—
whom she had met three or four
times — was mentioned. At present
he was at college, but was expected
home soon.
“Do you know,” Marian was speak
ing again, ‘‘Bob Webster, Tom’s
chum, once said that poor Tom would
never be brave enough to propose to
a girl, nor would he be brave enough
to refuse one if she proposed to him.”
“That's merely another hint for
You, Eileen,” Cicely interposed, air
ily. “It's up to you, as Tom- would
say, to propose to him.”
This time Eileen met her cousin's
gaze frankly. ‘*‘Are you sure it would
be satisfactory?’’ she asked, naively.
~ “Very,” affirmed Cicely,
- Marian Anderson suppressed a
-Yawn. “Why don't you propose to
him?” she asked languidly.
- _Eileen’s blue eyes danced merrily.
“Why, I believe I will,” she. said in
. Bovsatly, - e e L
Cicely giggied and Marian turned
Wwith a smile to her novel:
“It’s leap year,” Cicely reminded
her mirthfully, “and he won’t dare
refuse you.”
- Eileen selected a sheet of her dain
tiest notepaper and occupied herself
for some minutes writing. Then she
looked up.
“Will this do?” she inquiréd, and
with a smile she read:
“Dear Tom—l trust that you will
not think me tco bold, but as this is
leap year I wished to make use of my
prerogative and ask you to marry me.
Awaiting your reply, I am ever yours,
4 “EILEEN DONOVAN,”
; “Bravo!” applauded Cicely. }
‘ “Splendid!” assented Marian. |
* And, after addressing the envelope
Eileen thrust the letter into one of
the pigeonholes, intending to destrcy
it later on. }
It was almost a week later and the
girls were seated in the breakfast
room when the maid entered with the
mail. Marian, after assorting it,
handed three envelopes to Eileen,
Two were postmarked from Ireland,
but one was postmarked Boston.
Wonderingly she opened it and
pulled forth the leiter.
' “Of all things,” she gasped, after
reading it through twice. ‘*‘Listen to
this:
“Dear Eileen—Tl accept with pleas
ure vour kind proposal and trust that
You will make the date of our mar
riage an early one. I will be home
Monday on the evening train and ex
pect you to meet me at the station
with the trap. Until then I am ever
Your loving fiance.
“"THOMAS ANDERSON.”
Eileen finished breathlessly. “Who
gent him that letter?” she asked, her
face white with anges.
Cicely blushed and hecame sudden
ly interested in the pattern on the
cloth,
*Cicely Warren, did you send that
letter?” Eileen went ob.
“Why —er— er — yes!” Dblurted
Cicely. *“I took it out of vour desk
and sent it.”’
. ‘Oh, you little wretch,” Kileen
said. “You'll have to explain, and
furthermore [ absolutely refuse to
meet him. What time does his train
get in?"” she finished abruptly.
“*Not until 9,” Marian interposed
hastily.
“Why, it-—" hegan Cicely, bhut
stopped as she caught Marian's warn
ing look.
“We are to go over to the Annes
leys for lunch,” Marian continued.
“80 we'd better hurry, as it's a long
drive.” Amnud the three arose from the
table.
It was 5.30 and Eileen had just
finished dressing when Marian en
tered her room.
“Deavie,” Marian began softly. *“l}
bate to ask you to do this and 1
wouldn’t if there were anyone else to
40 1.
“Well, then, I've a letter which
must go to-night, and I wondered if
You would be kind enough to take it
to the station in time for that 6.10
train. Cicely is out playing tennis
and I'm not dressed for dinner, so it
yYou don’t mind I'll have the trap sent
around and you can drive over.”
“Certainly, I'll go,” the girl assent
ed, and ten minutes later she was on
the way to the station.
When she had almost reached it
she heard the train whistle blow, and
she urged the horse on. Breathlessly
she jumped from the trap and handed
the letter to the stationmaster just as
the train swept in.
Then she walked back to the trap
and was about to drive away when
she heard her name called. Turning
she beheld a tall, well built young
man laden with suitcases and golf
bags hurrying in her direction. With
a gasp she recognized Tom Anderson.
*‘Goodness, you're in a hurry,” he
said. depositing his cases and climb
ing in beside her.
“How did you get here?” Eileen
asked suspiciously. ‘‘Marian said you
wouldn’t get here until 9.” ’
“Why, she knows there isn’t any
train at that time,” and he stopped
suddenly and smiled.
“Oh, I see,” he went on. “You
weren't coming to meet me.”
“Of course I wasn’t,” Eileen an
swered hotly, ‘“not after that horrid
letter that Cicely sent.”
“But you wrote it!” Tom said ac
cusingly.
And Eileen blushed charmingly.
“Anyway,” said Tom, a few min
utes later, “I returned, and as long as
we accepted it’s all settied.”
The interruption here was very im
portant, for the horse almost ran into
a tree and Eileen had a time fixing
her hair,
“You are a rude boy,” she said se
verely.
“But at the same time I am your
fiance.”
And she did not contradict him,—
From the Buffalo Times.
ARISTOCRATIC ENGINEERS.
Khedive of Egypt Has a Private Rail
way—King of Spain’s Chief Di
version,
The Khedive of Egypt has a private
railway from his palace at Ras-el-Tin
in Alexandria to his country place
at Montazar, and it constitutes one
of his favorite hobbies. It is, of
course, only a short line, ten miles,
but it is long enough to give him the
constant delight of driving the engine
himself, which he generally does.
He is a very keaen engineer, as was
shown by the interest he took in the
great Nile dam at Assuan, but he iz
perennially interssted in locomotives.
During his last visit to France he
rode on the cab with the driver of
the express from Calais to Amiens,
and took a hand at the levers. ‘:"d
. The Marchioness of Tweeddale
| éh%ihe m?st ’mlbeomolt:?, tgat
crossed the Forth Bridge. The Mar
quess of Downshire has a private rail
way at Hillsborough, and keeps a
sort of ‘pet” engine which cost his
lordship 1000 guineas. The train
contains a splendid saloon carriage
for his guests, for he himself is gen
erally on the engine, and a guard’s
van, in whick some of his guests
prefer to ride. He almost invariably
drives the engine with his own
hands and his favorite speed is forty
miles an hour. There is no speed
limit on a private railway line and
no police traps!
Earl Fitzwilliam is another practi
cal engineer who delights in the lg
comotive engine. He learned the art
of driving when he was quite young
by going whenever he could with the
drivers of the coal trains on his own
estate.
It is well known that one of the
young King of Spain’s chief diver
sions before his marriage was to ride
on the footplate of the royal train
with the driver and take lessons in
engine driving., He has become quite
experi and fearless, and he has fre
quently driven his mother and sis
ters.
Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria is
another royal engine driver. He
quite recently drove the express from
Abbeyville to Paris under the super
intendence of the regular driver,—
From Tit Bits. :
e ————————— 2
Insect Processions,
Among the curious sights some
times witnessed by entomologists are
the *‘processions” formed by the lar
vae of a, moth inhabiting pine-trees
in some parts of France. They marca
in single file, and the leader spins
a thread which is added to by its
tollowers. A procession consisting
of 114 of these larvae was seen last
April in the woods near Arcachon.
The processions are formed both at
night, when the creatures make eg
cursions from their nest to feed on
the young leaves, and in the daytime,
when they descend to the ground to
seek a place in the sand where they
may burrow and pass to the pupa
stage. A kind of fly was observed
‘attacking the procession above men
‘tioned, to lay its eggs in the marching
larvae, ;i
‘ ._——fi
% A School For Dogs,
A school for dogs has been estal.
lished in Paris. 'The object iz %
‘teach them politeness. The animsls
‘are trained to welcome visitors by
ljumping up, wagging the tail and giv
ing a low bark. When the visitor
'lea\'es the dog accompanies him to
i the door, constantly wagging his tail,
and bows his fare'well by bending hig
! head to the floor. He is trained, like
. wige, to pick up a handkerchief, glove
=or fan that has been dropped and re.
§ turn it to the owner, Fa e
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;‘.'r'w York City.—Simple blouses
are thosa apt to be in demand at this
£ca3on cos the year, and this cae is
rovel and attractive, while it involves
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very little labor in the making. There
is the centre-front, or vest-like por
tion, which gives a distinctly novel
effect, while it also allows of the in-
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visible closing at the left of the front,
and there are kimono sleeves which
can be used or not as liked. In the
illustration linen is trimmed with sou
tache braid and with banding of por
celain blue, this use of color on white
being one of the notable features of
the season. *
The blouse is made with fronts,
centre-front and back. The fronts
are tucked for their entire length,
the outermost tucks meeting those in
the back, and it is beneath these
tucks that the kimono sleeves are
attached. The centre-front is simply
arranged over the fronts and is
bowoked into place beneath the left
edge, the fronts meeting at the centre
beneath. The sleeves are of moderate
fulness and gathered into straight
cuffs. There is a prettily shaped belt
and the stock collar completes the
neck edge. i
The quantity of material required
for the medium size is four and one
four yards twenty-one, twenty-four or
thirty-two, two and three-fourth
yards forty-four inches wide, with
four yards of banding and soutachs,
according to design used.
————
Band of Colored Linen.
A novel piece of neckwear consists
of a band of colored linen that sur
rounds the lower part of the white
linen collar, meets at the front and
falls from there to the belt, being
closed all the way down with white
pearl buttons and forming a waistcoat
effect when the suit coat is buttoned,
Braid Embroidery.
A soft peach colored cloth was em
broidered with braid of precisely the
same tone. The braiding made a pat
tern across the front in panel shape
all the way up to the neck, while the
same trimming was used at each side
and in the middle of the back.
Empire Train For Evening.
The Empire train is the newest de
velopment in evening and reception
gowns,
Imported Coats.
Vagueness of outline is perhaps tha
most impressive feature of imported
coats. ]
Attached Collars, =~
It is quite the fashion now to put
the turnover collar into the neck
band. This sounds extravagant, but
if the sleeve is long the turnover
cuff, which is always attached, soils
as easily as the collar and necessi
tates the shirt waist going to the
wash.
Pointed Tunic With Skirt.
The tunic drapery is one of the
very latest decrees of fashion and is
really exceedingly graceful and very
generally becoming when cut on such
lines as those illustrated. It is gen
erally classic in effect and it drapes
the figure with real grace, while it is
adapted to every material that will
drape successfully. This one is ar
ranged over a closely fitted skirt that
is finished with a circular flounce at
the lower edge. As illustrated the
material is crep de Chine with trim
ming of applique in self color.
The skirt consists of the tunic, the
circular flounce and the five gores of
the under portion. The gores fit the
figure snugly and the circular flounce
is joined to their lower edge. The
tunic ig on one piece and is fitted by
means of ‘darts at the hips, while it
is arranged over the skirt and the two
are joined to the belt., If walking
length is desired, both skirt and tunic
can be cut off on indicating lines.
The quantity of material required
for the medium size is eight yards
twenty-seven, six and one-fourth
yards forty-four or four and five
eighth yards fifty-two inches wide,
with nine yards of applique for tunic
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and flounce; three and one-fourth
yards twenty-one, one and five-eighth
yards thirty-six inches wide for the
upper portion of the skirt.
The New Sleeve,
Big at the armhole and tight at
the wrist is the latest decree for it
When pleated the sleeve has the ef
fect of a folding water cup.
Very frequently the armhole is go
wide that its lower edge is even with
the walist,
Fashionable Wraps,
Some of the most costly wraps for
das® use show a tendency toward dark
shades.
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& FAIRIES.
I never saw the fairies
That sister reads about;
I’ve looked around the orchard
And up the waterspout;
T’ve peered within the coal-bin,
And searched mamma’s clothes-press;
I've hunted through the garret,
And everywhere, | guess;
I've climbed up all the nppfe-trees,
And searched the garden nooks;
I think the only fairies are
Just those within the books.
—James P. Webber, in Youth’s Com
panion. '
A BRAVE LITTLE COWARD.
The boys called Nannie a coward,
and it is true that she was afraid of a
gecod many things, but it made her
very unhappy to have the boys hold
such an opinion of her, and she tried
hard to be brave,
One day father and the boys went
away to stay a week. The very next
day there was to be a baseball game
in the vacant lots across the street,
and even before dinner the men and
boys began to gather. Some of them
had walked from other towns and
had brought their lunches, which
they ate as they sat around on the
gress. . Many of them were rough
and rude, and Nannie's mother kept
glancing anxiously out of the window
at the noisy crowds passing. The
roses were in full bloom, and oh, so
beautiful. Next Sabbath was Chil
dren's Day, and every bud and blos
som was being treasured up to use in
decorating the church.
All at once they saw a boy dart
across the yard and break off a great
red rose. Sticking it into his button
hole he ran oif laughing, as though
he thought he had done something
very Brave, indeed.
*‘Ob, dear!” exclaimed the mother,
“I'm afraid that they will take every
rose. What shall we do?”
Then Nannie came to the rescue.
“I'll stay out and watch them,” she
said. ‘I won't be afraid if I can take
the kittens with me.”
At first mother did not like thel
plan, but Nannie was so anxious to
save the roses, and there were so
many people around that no harm
could really come to her, and at last
it was decided that she might do as
she wished. |
*You will be my private police
man,” said mother, “and you will be
such a polite one that nobody will
ever suspect what you are doing.”
She took the tall rosebush nearest
the street for a playhouse, and there
she stayed all the afternoon. For a
while, whenever a crowd of strange
boys passed her heart beat very hard
for a minute, but she did not run
away.
8o it happened that on Children's
_Day there was a whole fl%fl
) load of roses for th’o"blinrgflh%‘m. an
~nie was happy, and she was still hap
pier when Tom whispered, “Say, I'm
never going to call you a coward
again.” Tom kept his word this time,
He learned for the first time that a
girl need not be a coward even if she
is a girl. In fact Tom began to see
that there were many ways in which
a boy could be a coward.—Laura M.
Oglevee.
O o — W
SMOOTHING THE WAY.
“Why, Auntie, I thought that you
were all through.”
“So I am with my work,” returned
Aunt Carrie, as with a smile she went
on threading her needle. “I am oaly
trying to smooth the way for the
next one.”
““Who, for instance?” questioned !
Will, curiously.
“Well, supposing that just as papa
is starting for business to-morrow
morning he discovers that he is about
to lose a button from his coat, and he
can spare only about two minutes in
which to have it sewed on. Don't
you think it would be a relief to mam
ma to find her needle already thread
ed?”
“Of course, for I shouldn't think
one could find that bit of an eye at
all if he were in a hurry. I had a
dreadful time the other day when 1
wanted to mend my ball, I'm sure I
should have been glad to be your
next one then.” ’
“Suppose again, Will, that whoever
dropped that piece of wood upon the
cellar steps had stopped to pick it up,
remembering that some one elge
would be coming that way soon. Just
think how poor Bridget has suffered
from her fall, and how the household
has been inconvenienced.”
“Yes, auntie; and if I had wiped
up the water I had spilled this noon,
sister wouldn’'t have been obliged to
change her dress when she was in
such a hurry to get back to school;
but a fellow will have to keep pretty
wive awake to remember every time.”
And with a thoughtful expression on
his boyish face, Will passed out of
the house and toward the front gate,
lefsurely munching a banana as he
went, but apparently engaged in deep
thought, Reaching the sidewalk, he
threw down th» banana skin, and pro
ceeded on his way; but presently he
turned and locked hard at the yel
low object lying on the pavement,
and then, quickly retracing his steps,
he picked it up and flung it far into
the road, where no one would be
likely to slip up on it.—Home Her
nld,
A STRANGE RIDE.
“0, dear,” sighed Bessie, “I can
never, never write my composition
to-night! Miss Barrow could not
ha%e chosen a harder subject than
this—'A Strange Ride.” And it must
be a true story, she said.”
Bessie’'s father heard her., “¥ou
are tired,” he said, gently, “but §
guess father can help you this tlmiz
I will tell you about the strangest
ride that I ever took, and you can see®
if it will do.”
“Why, papa,” cried Bessie, “'did
you ever take a strange ride?”
“Yes, indeed,"” her father answered,
“and you shall hear all about fit.
When I was a little boy I stayed out
coasting all one fine winter day, and
when night came 1 was so tired T
could hardly eat my supper. 5
- “Your grandma tucked me in my
bed, and said, as she kissed me good
night, ‘I am afraid my little boy will
80 coasting in his sleep to-night.”
About 2 o’clock in the morning I
woke up, and where do you suppose I
was? At the foot of the stairs in my
mother's clothesbasket. My father
and mother and my brothers and sis
ters stood round, looking at me anx
lously. I rubbed my eyes and remem
bered I had been dreaming that I was ;
coasting. I must have jumped out of
bed in my sleep, gone down stairs and
‘brought up the clothesbasket instead
of my sled, got into it and coasted
down the stairs, waking up the whole
family, who were verymuchalarmed.”
“Did you have any clothes on?’”
asked Bessie.
“I had on my night-dress, my little
fur cap and my overshoes,” laughed
her father. “I felt decidedly foolish.”
“And it didn’t hurt you any?”
questioned Bessie.
“Not a bit,” her father answered.
‘“People who walk in their sleep of
ten escape uninjured where they
would be severely hurt were they
awake.” 3
Bessie got her block and pencil and
began to write,
‘“Then that will do?” her father
asked. ‘lt is certainly a true story.”
‘“Yes, indeed,” Bessiereplied. “And
I don't belleve anybody will have a
composition just like mine, do you?”
—Chiistine Gleason. o
—_-._'—‘
BOYS AND GIRLS OF TH® PAST.
If you boys and girls had lived a
century ago, this is what would have
happened to you:
- When you were babies you would
have worn no nice, warm, comforta=-
ble undergarments. No; you would
have worn low necked and short
sleeved dresses, and havc been kept
in houses so cold you shivered. You
would have cried, wouldn't you?
Well, that's what the babies did; but
it didn’t do any good. You would
have been given a dose of bitter med=
icine instead of any warm clothes.
The mothers and fathers wore velvets
l&nd furs, but they didn’t think such
things were good for babies—llong
BB e e
-Long ago—just as soon as you
outgrew your first clothes—you
would have been dressed just like
your parents. An old book tells us
that a little tot of two years old was
idressed in this fashion: ““Yellow
brocaded satin over a petticoat of
'crimson velvet. It touched the floor
iin front and trailed behind.” How
would you enjoy a dress like this if
you intended to go out coasting or
skating or to fly a kite?
Boys were dressed just like their
| fathers—llong ago—in doublets,
leather breeches, fancy walstcoats,
and, what do you think of this, boys?
—after seven years of age all boys of
aristocratic families wore white wigs!i
School was most uninteresting. No
kindergartens or play or music. The
children were put at their lessons by,
the time they were two or three years
old. At five they could read and
write and answer correctly any ques
tion in the Catechism,
Long ago children had almost no
toys. They were very few and very
expensive. If a little girl and boy of
that time could peep into a modern
nursery and see its beautiful dolls
and dishes, furniture, mechanical en
gines, toys and books, they would
surely think they were in fairyland.
Despite all these hardships, the
children of long ago were happy. Let
us not be sorry. for them because
their ways were different from ours;
let us, rather, learn from them ine
dustry, system, simplicity, orderli
ness and piety. It is well to remem
ber the lines of Oliver Wendell
Holmes: o
Little of old we value here .
Wakes on the morn of its hundredth
year
Without both looking and feeling
queer,
~-Washington Star.
WITH AN OBJECT.,
Tim helped his father in his house
painting and decorating business.
Usually the boy worked rather slowly,
but his parent cne day found him
painting away with tremendous
energy.
He paused a moment*to investigate
80 strange a master,
“What's come over ye?” he said.
“It ain’t like you to work that fast.”
‘““Whist,” said Tim. “Stand out o’
the way and don’t stop me. Oi'm
sthrivin’ to get through before the
paint gives out.””—Chums,
Newspaper Advertising the Best.
The newspaper is the best advere
tising medium, and the more we em
ploy that and boycott the other the
better for the community, Advertis
ing devices and the .bill-board are ut
terly hideous.—Professor Zueblin, in
a Lecture at Boston. X
e e e
Great opportunities exist in Spain
for American farm implements,
