Evening Star Newspaper, October 1, 1881, Page 6

° FASHION WRINKLES, RARE AND RADIANT. Ovrstpe garments grow lonfer and longer. #EATHER bands will be used for trimming hats. Bownets grow larger, and the poke shape pre- wails. Srtver gray is revived as a fashionable dress @olor. PLAINLY made dresses are again worn by a se- lect few. SureReD collars on wraps have taken the place Of hoods. Boots now take the place of shoes for prome- Bade wear. UNBLEACHED lace is very fashionable for trim- ming dresses. SMALL pelerines accompany every fashionable traveling dress. . Tie rage at the moment is for embroidery in dress trimmings. Tovaxvnes of stiff mohair are worn when any tournure is needed. For children what is calledthe American frock | remains fashionable. Lone cloaks, enveloping the whole person, will be worn in midwinter. SILveR ornaments and fancy rolled gold Jew- elry remain in high favor. Couars of dresses are worn solarge that they ean scarcely be told from capes. Roenp, plain, plaited, shirred, pointed and belted bodices are all fashionable. Opaqce Peart and Oriental jet jewelry is worn with steel-gray silks for halt-mourning. Exkeaxt CLoru Jackets for fall wear are Made tight-fitting and double-breasted. Many Fatt Boxners are trimmed with moire, and have long, wide strings of the same. SILK 4ND Scurau Dresses are much trimmed With puffings combined with borders of lace. Scanys ot chenille and of black Spanish lace are very fashionable to wear over light dresses. Tue “John” redingote, an English affair, re- sembling a coachman’s livery, is still in great favor. Pcrrs or Suran, instead of frills, are fre- quently seen in the neck and at the wrists of im- ported dresses. Srraicut Linen Banps are revived for collars; the cuffs to match are square, and fastened with linked buttons. Moxoexaws, ciphers and initials play a promi- nent part in the ornamentation of toilets and their accessories. A Great Dea of Irish point embroidery and Jaces is used on dresses of surah designed for dinner or evening wear. Lance Crosses are again very fashionable as pendants, supported by a large cable chain half Testing on the shoulders, Wuire Eves TorLets of the richest de- scription are destined togreater popularity than ever the coming winter season. Tue popularity of shirring remains unchanged, ‘and every part of adress that can be gathered is drawn up into innumerable gaugings and fing puils. Maxy Fait Bowsets of large size are trimmed with a wreath of roses or other flowers within the brim, while feathers, pompons and plush or wide ribbons trim the outside. Tus most popular flowers for bonnet trim- mings at the moment are pansies, irises, pelar- goulums, nasturtiums and azaleas of velvet, Fichly tinted according to nature. THE return of woire to the world of fashion is Received with enthusiasm by the dames and dowagers. The attempt being made to render it a popuiar fabric for youthful toilets will fail. CostLy ENaMELs in the Benvenuto style, with Jockets either sacred or profane made by the fa- mous Froment Meurice, are suspended from the delicate chatelaines of gold or silver, BOW so fashionably worn. ELEGANT PiesH Goeps haying an extremely long and heavy pile, and showing broad stripes of satin of a deeper or contrasting color, bright- ened by small Hower brocades woven in Clusters, are among the most expensive dress accessories Of the season. TueRre is just nowa special fancy for silver jewelry. Long lace pins of silver are used as ‘hes and necklaces, which fasten closely around the high collar of the dress. and are formed of one, two or three strands of round silver beads. Lace pins in ball pattern are very popular. Tue MODE of wearing panlers combined with the clinging skirt, either short or trained, seems to find fresh favor in autumn toilets. These Paniers as now worn are composed of short full draperies rounded over the hips in true Watteau fashion, and are usually made of a material different from the tablier or petticoat, and are frequently matched to that of the train. Ir 1s Too early to speak definitely as to what ‘will be worn during the coming season. Buyers are busy abroad; goods are constantly arriving, and every day the windows of our large stores display fresh novelties, but what is actually to be the fashion later on, when the absentees all Teturn and society is “at home” once more. only & prophet or a daughter of a prophet can tell. A Pretty Dress for a little girl of 6 or 7 years is made of silver gray surah. The skirt is slashed around the foot and filled in with fan pleatings of turquoise-blue surah. The back is covered with a bouffant drapery, and the Tyroleant peas- ants jacket has a shirred vest of blue surah, and is fastened behind with turquoise-blue and steel buttons. At the bottom of the basque in the back is set a broad bow and ends of turquoise- blue moire and satin ribbon. A VERY SEAUTIFUL fabric of changeable Turk- ish satin shading in the sunlight from a deep Venetian green to a rich golden hue is among the elegant novelties in fall dress materials. ‘The fabric can be elegantly combined with dark gr-en or deep admiral biue velvet or plush, with pelerine facings and cuffs of the latter material, or trimmed with tiny piaited frills of the same. with panels and revers of bronze or golden green surah of a very deep shade. A Great many bright shades are shown in the new materials; still, quiet dark colors will as heretofore prevail for out-door wear, and, in- deed, for all ordinary occasions. Fine cashmeres Im rose pink, in cherry, and in old gold, as well ‘as in the delicate shades, which belong exclu- sively to evening, will be worn very much for Tmll dresses. A great deal of shirring will be used on these dresses, the cashmere being com- bined with surah, and trimmed with quantities of cream-tinted lace. A novelty of the season is lace in shades to match the new colors, but it is probable that the preference will still be for black and white or cream-tinted laces. Tue new Persian or Roman striped, brocaded, or plaided goods in silk or wool. which are now exhibited among fall dress fabrics, are stro: recommended to ladies who wish to their own or their children’s last "s suits with comparatively little expense. Even though these handsome goods seem high in Price, but two or three yards are required to cl ea EE dress of dark blue, green, brown, or black @ bright attractive costume; as ing the gay-colored material with the plain mate- rials on the skirt, and adding a plastron or panels, with shoulder cape, deep cuffs and pockets, quite transforms a simple into an attractive costume suitable for any ordinary ecasion. ly lel Po.onatses promise to be another feature of the season, and the pattern openings show several new designa, most of which are open in front and much bunched up in the back. Indeed, from the new plates, it would appear that dresses are to be very bouffant at the back, and while hoopskirts are unknown in fashionable ian circles, bustles are almost universal worn. Some of the new French models loo! like caricatures, with waists drawn in to the smallest circumference, the skirts forming great | | ages on the fips and inthe back, perfectly flat in front, and the sleeves either the Medici puff or the old-fashioned leg-o’-mutton with its im- Mmense put above the elbow and very. tight below. School Hours in England, Germany and France. The Journai af E:tucation, basing its estimates ies in eighteen leading public schools, caleu- -lates that the average number of hours a week in an English publie school is about twenty-six énst thirty-one in a gymnasium and forty imalycée. Reckoning the hours of preparation, and taking into account the holidays, which are ‘at least twice as long in England as they are on taught, there are now few ie sche science teaching is whelly moore tn form the staple of our Jower school though ignored, Classics stilt 101 education.’ An first three years, to bis native tongue; ‘does not Latin till the second period, or Greek till the third—that ts, till he NEEDLE AND THREAD. “An old bachelor?” said Honora Maywood. “That's what he told me, just in so many words,” said Mra. Pennypacker, who stood on the threshold of her best room, with her hgad tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, and a bair- broom in her hand, wherewith she oe after a tragic fashion, as she talked, while Miss Maywood, tall and slender as a wild lily, stood inthe hall with a roll of music — aed er wrapped in a shal lac! shawl. “And he’s willing to pay my price, cash down, every Sunday night. Never at- tempted to beat me down a penny, if you'll be- lieve it, my dear.” Why should he?” said Honors. “Most people do, my dear,” said Mrs. Penny- packer. “A Swrinkled old widow woman like me, who has her living to earn, is — fair game foreverybody. But he never objected to my terms. A real gentleman, my dear—every inch of him. But he’s a little particular, I’m afraid.” “T suppose most old bachelors are,” said Miss Maywood, smiling. “Yes, my dear—yes!” nodded Mrs. Penny- packer. “But this gentleman is beyond the average, I think.” “ And if he is?” “Nothing,” says Mrs. Pennypacker, making a dab with her broom-handle at a stray moth- miller which was fluttering blindly against the garnet damask window curtains; ‘nothing, ex- cept that one don’t quite know where to have him. He drinks only English breakfast tea, and he wants his pie-crust made with the best Al- derney butter, instead of lard. asis good enough for other people; and he must have ventilators to all the windows, and an open grate; instead of the base-burning stove; and—I hope you'll not be offended, my dear—but he particularly dislikes a piano.” “Dislikes a piano?” said the little music teacher, reddening, in spite of herself. “And he says, says he: ‘I hope, Mrs. Penny- packer, that there is no piano in the house. A piano,” says he, ‘plays the deuce with my ner- vous system, with its everlasting tum, tum!’ Those were his words, my dear. So I courtesys, and says I: ‘You'll not troubled with one here, sir.’ And so, my dear, I'll be grateful if you won't mind doing your practicin’ until he’s out for his daily walk—from 1 to 3, just as regu- lar as the clock.” Miss Maywood looked piteously up in the old landlady’s face. “J will do anything to oblige you. Mrs. Pen- nypacker,” she said, earnestly. “I haven't for- gotten how much I am indebted to you, both in actual money, and in kindness, which money can never repay.” bie her soft blue eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “My dear, don’t say a word,” said Mrs. Pen- nypacker, hastily, “You've been sick, and you've got a little behindhand, and it’s quite natural you should be a little low-spirited now andthen. But you musn’t get discouraged. Things will look up, after awhile. And you're quite welcome to stay on here, until you're able to settle up your little account.” Honora Maywood sighed as she remembered how often her little advertisement had been in- serted in the daily newspapers, without attract- ing the least notice from the world of patrons and pupils. There were so many “capable music teachers, willing to give lessons at mod- erate prices,” nowadays, and how was any one to know-how sorely she needed the money? And. as the time crept on, and no pupilscame, Honora began seriously to ask herself whether she should go out in some menial capacity, or ‘stay genteelly at home and starve. “Clothes, ma’am!” Honora started from her reverie as the wash- erwoman’s stumpy little girl banged-herself, like a human battering-ram, up against the door, with a preposterously large basket on her arm. “Yes.” said Honora, coloring. “Put them down, Sally. But I—I'm afraid it isn’t conve- nient to pay your mother to-day.” “Mother didn’t say nothin’ bout the pay,” said Sally, wiping her forehead with a whisk of her arm, and sniffing herseif well nigh off her feet. “Iwas to leave the clothes, with her “umble duty, and she ’oped they'd suit; but it was that damp and muggy on Monday and Tuesday as starch wouldn't stick. And she “opes you'll excuse all mistakes, as they shall be done better next time.” “‘T dare say they are quite right.” said Hon- ora, with a little sigh, as she marveled at this unexpected access of courtesy onthe part of her Milesian laundress. But when Sally had stumped off down stairs, her flapping slippers beating a sort of tattoo as she went, and Miss Maywood took off the fringed towel that covered the basket of clothes, she gave a little start. “ Shirts,” said Honora, “and socks, and turn- over collars No. 16, and great big pocket-hand- kerchiefs, like the sails of a ship, and white vests, and—goodnessme, what doesit all mean? Mrs. Mulvey has sent mesome gentleman's ward- robe by mistake. I must send these things back at once.” But then Miss Maywood looked down at the articles in grave consideration, “T never had a brother,” mused Miss May- wood; ‘and I can’t remember my father; but of this lam quite certain—if] had either one or the other, I should thank any girl to mend their dilapidated wardrobes, if they looked like this. And Mrs. Mulvey can'tsend before night, and unfortunately I've nothing to do, so I'll just mend this poor young fellow’s clothes, whoever hemay be. A halt-starved theological student, perhaps, training for the Polynesian Islands; or perhaps a newspaper reporter, or a pale clerk, under the dazzling skylights of some dry goods palace. At all events, he’s worse off than I am for he can’t mend his own clothes, and I can. And the smiles dimpled around Honora May- wood’s little rosebud of a mouth. as she sat down to darn holes, sew on tapes and insert patches. “He'll never know who did it,” said Honora to herself; “‘but, I dare say, he'll be thankful; and if one can get a chance to do a little good in this world, one ought not to grudge one’s time and trouble.” + And as Honora stitched away, she mused sadly whether or not she ought to accept a po- a iad caierea itself of assistant — tron in an orphan iam, where the worl would be almost ctendtoanie. and the pay next to nothing, with no Sundays nog holidays, and a ladies’ committee, consisting ofthree starched old maids, to “sit” upon her the first Friday of every month. “1 almost think I'd rather starve,” said Hon- ora. ‘But, dear me! starving isaserious busi- a one comes to consider it face to Salley Mulvey came back. puffing and blow- ing like a human whale, frabout two hours. “Mother says she’s sent the wrong basket,” said she, breathlessly. ae Etkonane it very probable, Sally,” said Miss wood. “And mother’s compliments,” added Sally, “and she can’t undertake your things no longer, Miss Maywood, ’cause she does a eash business, and there ain't nothing been paid on your ac- count since last June.” Honora felt herself turning scarlet. “Tam very sorry, Sally,” sald she. “Tell your mother I will settle my bill as soon as I pos- ly can.” Sally flounced out of the room, red and indig- nant, aes — crorearuce Chader- cloud, an ir le Honora, er head on her Eands, burst into tears. _ ¢ * * ° * . “Pretty girl that—very pretty,” said Mr. Brod- erick, the old bachelor, fo his Tandiady. “Do you mean”. “I mean the young lady boarder of yours that Iseeon the stairs now and then,” said Mr. Broderick. “Nice figure - big, soft eyes, like a gazelle. Didn't someone tellme she was a music teacher?” “That's her profession,” said Mrs. Penny- packer. ‘But there ain't many pupils as want tuition, and, poor Ifttle dear, she has but a hard time of it.” “Hump!” granted Mr. Broderick. ‘What fools women are not to have a regular profes— sion! If Lhada danghter, I'd bringher up a self-supporting institution.’ And Mr. Broderick cee into his room, in the midst whereof stood a girl with flappi slippers, a portentous shawl and a bonnet Shick had originally been manufactured for a woman twice her size. “Who are you?” demanded Mr. Broderick. “ Please, sir, 'm Sally—the washerwoman’s Sally!” was the response. “And what do you want here?” said Mr. Broderick. “Please, sir, I've come to bring your things,” said Sally, chattering on herlesson like a parrot. “and, please, sir, her ‘umbie duty, and she ‘opes they'll suit, but it was that damp and muggy Monday and Tuesday, as starch wouldn't stick; and she ’opes you'll excuse all mistakes, as they shall be done better next time, sir—please, sir.” “Who mended em?” demanded Mr. Brod- erick, whose hawk eye bad already canght sight of the dainty needlework upon his gar- pod fcr” "Naymood “Humph!” said Mr. Broderick; “she's right— no more it does. And ehe’s a regular scientist at the needle, is Miss Maywood. Just look at that patch, Pen er! ‘Euclid’s Geom- etry’ couldn't a iter line or truer angles. See the toe of that stocking! It’s like a piece of Gobelin tapestry. way I And Mr. Broderick never rested until he had been formally introduced to Honora Maywood, and had thanked her with equal formality for the good offices La had gnwittingly rendered him. It was a golden October evening that Honora came down into the kitchen, where Mrs. Per- nypacker was baking Lead Bade the —— made of the best Alder- “He won't be a bachelor much longer,” said Honora, laughing and coloring as ehe laid her cheek on the good landiady’s cushioning shoulder. < “What do you mean?” gald Mrs. Penny- packer. “He has asked me to marry him,” said Hon- ora, “after only two weeks’ acquaintance. He says that a girl who can mend stockings as I do needs no other test. And he says he loves me; and—and— “Well?” “T almost think [loye him!” whispered Miss Maywood. And so, the problem of Honora’s solitary life was solved, all through the magic influence of “Needle and Thread.” —___—+o+______ A Vivid Picture of the Forest Fires. Fires had been burning in Sanilac, Huron and Tuscola counties, but no one apprehended any danger. Farmers had set fire to slashings to clear the ground for fall wheat, but this hanpens every fall, and the fact that not a drop of water had fallen in from fifty to seventy days was not considered by those who saw the smoke-clouds and replied that there was no danger. There was danger. Behind that pall of smoke was a greater enemy than an earthquake, and it had a tornado at its back and two hundred miles of forest in the front. From noon until 2 o'clock a strange terror held the people in its grip; then all of a sudden the heavens took tire, or so it seemed to hundreds. In some localities it came with the sound of thunder. In others it was preceded by a terrible roaring, as if a tidal wave were sweeping over thecountry. Almost at the same minute the flames sypearen in every spot over a district of country ly miles broad by one hundred in length. At Richmondville, ten miles above Sanilac,one hundred and fifty people had comfortable homes, stacks of hay and grain, teams, cows, pigs, sheep, and no fear of the fire which they knew was burning a mile away. At 2 o'clock the flames rushed out of the woods, leaped the fences, ran across the bare flelds and swallowed every house but two, and roasted alive a dozen people. It is hardly forty rods to the beach of the lake, and yet many people had no time to Teach the water. Others reached it with cloth- ing on fire and faces and hands blistered. The houses did not burn singly, but one billow of flame seized all at once and reduced them to nothing in ten minutes. I saw many and many a spot where the bil- lows of fire jumped a clean half-mile out of the forest to clutch house or barn. The Thornton family were wiped out with the exception of a boy. Thornton had hitched up his team to drive the family to a place of safety, but when he saw that they were all surrounded by the flames he unhitched the horses in ile Before they could be unharnessed they bolted in different di- rections, and the old man became so confused that he ran directly toward a big slashing, which was then a perfect mass of flame, and dropped and died with his head toward it. Meantime the mother and children had taken refuge in the root house. This was a structure mostly sunk in the ground and the roof well covered with earth. Here they were all right for atime, but when the father failed to join them one of the sons went out to see what caused the delay. He was hardly out of the place before the door through which he had passed was in flames. In this emergency he ranto a dry creek, and by lying on his face and keeping his mouth to the ground he lived throngh it. I talked with a woman who lived neighbor to the Thorntons and who escaped by fleeing to a field of ploughed ground. This was only afew rods from the root house, and she said it was tuly an hour before the screams and shrieks and groans from the people inside grew quict in death. One by one they were suffocated by heat and smoke, and their bodies presented a most horrible appearance. To one riding through the district it seems raculous that a single soul escaped. The fire ‘pt through the green trees the same as the It ran through fields of corn at the rate of twenty miles an hour, and fields of clover were Swept as bare as a floor. Dark and gloomy swamps, filled with pools of stagnant water, and the home for years of wildcats, bearsand snakes, were struck and sbrivelledand burned almost in aflash. Over the parched meadows the flames ran faster than a horse could gallop. Horses did gallop before it, but were overtaken and left roasting on the ground. It seemed as if every hope and avenue of escape were cut off, and yet hundreds of lives were spared. People spent ten to twenty hours in ditches and ponds, or in flelds under wet blankets, having their hair singed, their limbs blistered, and their clothing burned off piece by piece. In dozens of cases the first flames spared houses and barns, but after seeming to have passed on for miles suddenly circled back and made a clean sweep of everything. Unless one rides over the burnt district he cannot believe the eccentricities of a forest fire. In the great swamp, between Sanilac and Sandusky, it burned everything to the roots for a mile in breadth. Then it left patches from ten feet to ten rods wide. Then again it struck in and burned janes hardly twenty feet wide. leaving half a mile of fuel on either side. In the timber It seemed to strike the green trees harder than the dry ones. It was like a it serpent making its way across the country. It would run within three feet of a wheat Mick and then glide away to lick upahouse. It would burn a stack and spare a barn ten feet off. People felt the heat while the fire was yet miles away. It withered the leaves of trees standing two miles from the path of the flery serpent.- The very earth took fire in hundreds of places, and blazed up as if the fire were feast- ing on cordwood. The stoutest Neg ielales stood up only a few minutes. The seemed to catch them at every corner at once, und after a whirl and a roar nothing would be left. Seven m! miles off the beach, at Forester, sailors found the heat uncomfortable. Where some houses and were burned we could not find evena blackened stick. Every log, beam and board Was reduced to fine ashes, Seven miles back from the lake at Forester a farmer gathered up fifteen persons in his wagon and started for the beach. The fire was close behind them as they started—so close that the dresses of some of the women and children were on fire from the sparks. It was seven miles of up hill and down, with corduroy, ruts and roots, and the horses needed no whip to urge them into @madron. As the wagon started the tire of a hind wheel rolled off. ey could not stop for it, and yet, even ona good road the wheel would ah a down in going twenty rods with- out It is an actual fact that the horses pushed over that seven miles of rough road at a wild run, and the wheel stood firm. A delay of five min- utes at any point of the road would have given fifteen more victims to the flames which fol- nee on Pea saw the wagon at the lake, and I saw the seven miles away roma, ; y on the people who sought the beach had still ti endure much of the heat and all of the amoke. Wading up to their shoulders they were safe from the flames, but sparks and cinders fell like 2 snow storm and the smoke was suffocating. The birds not caught in the woods were carried out to sea and drowned, and the waves have washed thousands of them ashore. air rels, rabbits and such small animals stood no show at all, but deer and bear sought the beach and the company of human being. In one case @ man leaped from a bluff into the lake and found himself close behind a large bear. The: remained in company under the bank nearly ail night, and the bear seemed as humble as a dog. In another instance two of the animals came out of the forest and stood close to a well from which a farmer was Sawing eae to dash over his house, and they were with him for two hours before they deemed it prudent to jog along. Deer came out and sought the companionship of cattle and horses, and paid no attention to per- sons rushing past them.—Detroit Free Press. decades es pate er PLyMouTn CHURCH 4ND PRESIDENT ARTHUR.— Among the features of Monday in Brooki was a meeting at Plymouth church. i Beecher presided, and made a short address, in which he said it would be proper that the voice of the Christian church should be given to the President now living. We should say to him that we would uphold himas a Moses if he fights onthe right side. If not, we will neither uphold him nor his administration. Mr. Beecher then ments. “Nobody mended ‘em,” said Sally. “And mother she gays it’s see as the new gent is a bachelor, on account of the holes in his heels and toes, and strings off his dickeya. “I can teil you who mended ’em,” sald Mrs, ‘for I see her at by pha ! and mith don’ ey are, Mrs. 5 but,’ says she, ‘they need mendii a kind action never comes amiss.’ No more it does sir, Lord bless her 1” : ‘ offered a resolution ad & risl ste: 0 an lapted by ing vot Arthur of it upon WOMEN IN THE ORISIS. 4 SPLENDID TRIBUTE. From Harper's Bazar. In the position which women have held in relation to the President's illness, there is much that ts both remarkable and Interesting— a position that even in the midst of the general anxiety and suspense, where the heart of the whole nation beats as one heart, is gratifying at least to other women, and "suggestive of thought. All the more is this felt because it is not a ion given by gallantry, and accom- panied by chivalrous nothings, but one assumed as of right and a matter of course, and marks anera of fuller appreciation of the peculiar worth of womanliness. The foreign historian who was surprised to find the ancient Germans according to all women among them the reverence due only to priest- esses—a custom, by-the-way, of which the Ger- man had all he wanted in those old times, so that he dispenses with: anything of the sort to- day—would perhaps’ be equally surprised if, in his successor’s eyes, he, obsel the manner in which, of late, the worth of woman as an indi- vidual and citizen has been publicly recognized, her influence felt, her identity acknowledged and deference paid in.a crisis than which she has seldom had better opportunity of displaying the application of noble aud heroic qualities to the passing hour. The presence of the wives of the Cabinet min- istersin the scenes at and about the White House since the attempted assassination, al- though very uikely but a trifling matter in itself, yet in the gener Sipe acquiescence and un- derstanding of their need by and their value to their husbands in comfort and sympathy and counsel at such a time, the respect accorded to their opinions, the place, in short, given to such women as Mrs. Blaineand Mrs. MacVeagh, if all of no great moment in itself, is nevertheless in- dicative of the gradual rise of womankind into universal regard that has been going on long, but half felt till such moments come as these, which are the touchstone of all true metal. Rut although in quite another fashion from that of the noble self-possession of women be- fore the world, amidst all the courage and cool- ness shown in these trying hours, there has been no conduct. superior the quiet beauty of Mrs. Edson’s magnificent self-forgetfulness and devotion. While men were Diokering and scuflling over their rights and remedies, she, an accomplished physician herself, of as d train- ing and standing asthe best, calmly laid aside all her professional pride and claim, and ex- pended all her learning and her skillin simply acting the humbler part of the untiring nurse, till, prostrated by sleepless nights and blister- ing weary days, she at last leaves the patient mending to mend herself, One need not discuss the question as to whethcs any man would have done so much; it is a proud fact that a woman has done so, and one reflects with some gleam of satisfaction on the circumstance that per- haps the long generations of self-abnegation to which women, asa whole, have been trained, have had their fruit at length in this great and good behavior. That there is hardly a woman in the entire land, north or south, who would not be glad, if she had the strength’and science, to render the service that Mrs. Edson has done, may not be anything remarkable, nor that so many women should spring with generous hands and thoughttul devices and gifts, to send sick-room appliances and comforts to the suf- ferer, but that this is so perhaps becomes more interesting as registering a state of feellng so widely spread at home and abroad as to be shared by the ruler of the leading nation of the earth, the Queen of Great Britain so far break- ing through all the barriers of etiquette that are thought by the faithful Briton to be necessary for the upholding of the throne itself, as to tele- graph in her own name and person messages for the wife who was passing through the fiery or- deal through which she herself lad passed, to come out only upon the dust and ashes of dead happiness. Meanwhile, from the patience of the old mother in her empty house, from the gentle but unblenching heroism and fortitude of the Presi- dent’s wife, a lustre is shed upon all other mothers and wives the world over, which goes far to justify the tiniversal regard of which we have spoken. It is well known that there may be numberless wives at this very time in the country going through quite as much as Mrs. Garfield does in this relation, waiting on suffer- ing husbands and fighting destruction with their own hands and without the aids she has; but it is proudly felt that, with the eyes of hu- manity upon her, this sweet woman not only does not failin her place, but gives ita new glory, that glory which comes from the faithfal performance of a terrible duty, the duty of buoy- ing up a dying man above the abysses of death and despair onthe strong wings of her own courage, the soul-withering task of covering with cheering smiles a trembling and breaking heart. All womanhood feels that Mrs. Garfield has not failed in it in this cruel hour, but has really enlarged and ennobled it, and the heart of every wife in the wide land has gone out to her in her trial, not as to the President's wife merely, but as to the: suffering wife of a hus- band whose life hangs by a thread, as a woman holding a post they may themselves at any day occupy, and all of whose terrors they have felt beforehand, and in the imagination of which they sympathize and ache and sorrow with her quite as much as they thrill with pride to think of the place she takes in history. soe icc ack The Green Mountain Justice. ‘The snow is deep,” the Justice said: “There's mighty mischief overhead.” “High talk indeed? his wife exclaimed; * What, sir! shall Providence be blamed?” ‘The Justice, laughing, said: “Oh, no! only meant the load of snow Upon the roofs, ‘The barn is weak; I greatly fear the roof will break. So hand me up the spade, my dear, Y'll mount the barn, the roof to clear.” “No;"'s id his wife: “the barn is high; And jf: ou slip, and fall, and die, How w..1 my living be secured? Stephen, your life is not insured; But Hea rope your waist around, And it will hold you safe and sound.” “I will,” said he. “Now for the roof, Allsnugly tied and danger-proofl Excelsior! Excel— but not ‘The rope is not secured below!” Said Rachel, “*Climb, the end to throw Across the top, and I will go, And tie the end around my waist.” * Well, every woman to her taste: You always ‘would be tightly laced. Hachel, when you became my bride, I thought the knot securely tied; | * ~ But lest the bond should break in twain T'll have it fastened once again,” Below the arm-pits tied around, She takes her station on the ground, While on the roof, beyond the ridge, He shovels clear the lower edge; But, sad mischance! the loosened snow Comes sliding down, to plunge below. And as he tumbles with the slide, Up Rachel goes on t’other side. Just half way down the Justice hung, Just half way up the woman swung. * Good land o’ Goshen!” shouted she; “Why, do you see it?” answered he, ‘The couple, dangling in the breeze Like turkeys, hung outside to freeze, ‘At their rope’s end and wit’s end, too, Shout back and forth what best to do. Cried Stephen: “Take it coolly, wife, All have their ups and downs in lif oth Rachel: * What a pity ‘tis ‘o joke at auch a time as this. ‘A man, whose wife is being hung, Should know enough to hold his tongue.” + Now, Rachel, ag T look below, see a tempting heap of snow: 5 my dear, I my knife cut the rope to save my life.” es hohe ‘. beneath.” A better way would be to call ‘With all our might for Phebo Hall.” “Agreed!” he roared. . First he, then she, fio Wal""in tones both fine and cesresy y mes ine an Enough to make a drover hoarse, ‘ele Ros) ES at the eal ‘as sitting ser ;, snug and warm; But hearing, as ty thought, her name, Sprang up, and to the resous came, Heheld théscene, and thus she thoughts ‘were brought, “Tf now a kitchen chair him go; le cannot miss tho pile of snow." He sees her moving toward his wife, ‘Armed witha chair and carving-knife, roeives pe And hgh the two ace ht, ni ess at the two are at smed from be the roof, ‘stop that? Pi snayrera:erith a * Please tell a body by what right You've brought your wife to such a plight?” And then, with well directed blows, She cuts the rope, and down he goes, ‘The wife untied, they walk around, When lo! no Stephen can be found, They call in vain, run to and fro, ‘They look around, above, below; No trace or token can they see, ws the mystery, I's heart within her sank; But glancing at the snowy bank, She caught a little gleam of hope— A gentle movement of the rope, They scrape away a little What's th: ‘Then upward heaves the snowy pile, And forth he staika in tragic style, AEUIGAR ACOA tii surpi The missing found the fallen vise, i Sener UEERcos oun ITTTToT The disease known as ‘pink cye" Is pro- nounced epidemic among working horses in Baltimore. the daughter of hor apparently no matter which. if it only had, addition to rank, a ro; fortane. Few deciarations of purely sordid and worldly ambition are, to the credit of human nature, anywhere else so unblushi recorded as in the letters Mme. Patterson fe wrote from Europe to her father, whom she addressed as ‘Dear Sir,” respecting the alliance she was then in search of for her son. ‘‘Mar- riage,” she said in one of them, “ought never tobe entered into for any other purpose than comfort, and there is none without consequence | and fortane; without these it is more prudent to live singly.” Charlotte, the daughter of Joseph Bonaparte, was the lady at first much desired and much | favored, it seems, by Mme. ide ee mere, who, owing to Jerome's impoverished estate, desired him thus to provide for his son, but the project never succeeded. Charlotte’s hand was also sought, it appears, by Achille Murat. the son of the king of Naples and of Caroline, Napoleon's sister; but Murat married instead a grandniece of Washington. Charlotte became the wife of Louis Bonaparte’s eldest son, who died in 1831, thus leaving Louis Napoleon the heir of the first Napoleon's eure. Mime. Patterson Bonaparte got on dubiously after that with her matrimonial plans. ‘ Poor Bo!” she wrote, ‘I hear of every one getting a lucky chance except him.” He had gone to Baltimore alon wing her in Florence, and inthe winter of she heard of the en- ment to Miss Williams. It dashed her ighest hopes. ‘+I had endeavored to instill into him from the hour of his birth the opinion that he was too high in birth and cont ion ever to atl an American woman. No consideration could have induced me to marry any one then, after having married the brother of an em) r. This marriage must, as you all foresaw and cal- culated upon,” she said in childish anger, ‘“‘he to me during lifea source of deep affliction and bur shame. I have always told you, and him, and every one else, that my consent to his marrying any one in Baltimore, either rich or poor, should and could never be ol ed, and that such a connection would distress and mor- tify me more than any misfortune which could ever befall me.” But there were consolations. ‘As the woman has money,” she says in another letter, ‘I shall not forbid a marriage which I never would have advised. I hope that he has not been cheated— which I think very likely—in the settlements. They ought to have given him half of her for- tune at least, if he outlived her.” “I hope that your conscience [this to her father] will not re- proach you for he conduct, which has been even more unnatural than that of my son.” With all her wounded space she had no thought of cutting her son off in her will, although she honed he would have no children. But she still imperial hopes for him. Four months after the marriage she made a will, leaving him every- thing. “Ishould have done exactly the same thing,” she said, “if he had attempted to cut my throat and had failed in the attempt.” Mme. Bonaparte had a fortune which was far from small, but she lived with exacting economy, imagining ‘herself poor. Young Jerome, while with her in Rome, declared, in a letter to his Grandfather Patterson, that he had had no time to see anything of the ancient city, having been occupied with ee. for apartments for mainma and making tight bargains.” When her son got home she wrote him she had been un- well with indigestion, “vomiting in earnest, but not in a gold basin.” She declares in and again, in letters to her father, that the only things which render life at all supportable to her are “rank and living in Europe.” After having been the wife of an Emperor's brother she ‘would as soon have gone to Botany Bay to look for a husband as to have married any man in Baltimore.” Miss Williams’ wedding was a great event in Baltimore society. One of the groomsmen was Pierce Butler, the husband of Fanny Kemble. The French consul attended it, and letters of congratulation were received from. Madame mére, Louis, Jerome and other mem- bers of the Bonaparte family. These letters were first proaent to light and published in this city in 1879 by Mr. Eugene L. Didier. ca el reel a An Ode on the Assassination. A prize offered bya London weekly for the best poem on the attempted assassination of President Garfield was awarded tothe author of the following: Veil, now, O Liberty, thy blushing face, At the fell deed that thrills a startled world; While fair Columbia weeps in dire disgrace, And bows in sorrow o’er the banner furled, No graceless tyrant falls by vengeance here, "Neath the wild justice of asecret knife; No red ambition ends its grim career, And expiates its horrors with its life, Not here does rash revenge misguided but To free a nation with thy assassin’s dart, Or roused despair in angry madness turn, And tear its freedom from a despot’s heart, But where blest liberty so widely reins, And peace and plenty mark a smiling land; Here the mad wretch it fair white record stai And blurs its duties with a “ bloody hand.” Here the elect of millions, and the pride ‘Of those who own his mild and peaceful rule; Here virtue sinks and yields the crimson tide, encath the vild unreason of a fooll But heaven's hand hath stayed the erring ball, And saved a life as virtuous as rare; ‘Yet that such deeds a whispering world appall, ‘Is heaven’s mystery and man’s despair, ——_-o-_____ The “Boss” Girl. The Janesville, (Wis.) Gazette says: ‘There was only a moderate degree of interest on the fair ground on Friday afternoon in regard to the premium which Mr. George W. Peck offered to the ‘boss’ girl of Rock county. There were several candidates, and the friends of each pretty strongly set forth their qualifications in eters 4 Mr. Vankirk, secretary of te society. It was an exceedingly happy hit which Mr. Peck made when his genius for wholesome fun induced him to offer a sewing machine to the ‘boss’ girl. There was not a full attendance of the committee, only three being present and three voting by proxy, some royal and a jority of these voted for Miss HOC a girl of the pertod, ao to speak but s not a of the s0 to at @ good fe industrious, not par- ticularly handsome, but _energetie, and in many ways accomplished. Several ago she gained quite a reputation for cay aden of wolves and securing their scalps, and sum- mer she went to Dakota and entered a quarter section of land. When the vote of the committee ‘was announ the sewing machine was placed on a dry goods box in front of one of the build- ings, and then there was a tremendous rush for the spot to see the “boss” Mr. Fethers made a very neat little speech in presenting the Be machine to the lucky young lady, who stood in thecrowd in front of the speaker. ‘When her name became known, and the tation was complete, Miss Inman mounted the box with ‘ag much confidence as an old stager at public speaking, and did herself much credit in thank- ing the committee for the honor Ger aerate upon her, and remarked in cl Aber oe the years had not been worthily bestowed, it was not the first time man was deceived by woman.” —————— The Crooked Course of Love. From the Charleston Courier. Five years ago a maiden fair, whose home was at a little town near Macon, anxiously awaited an important letter from = — jover. Days passed we 5 e eried the post office, Dat the postmaster’s face always bore that look of exasperating raietude common to those from whom things never come. The maiden tho that her heart would break, for she real at last that her lover was faithless. The scene shifts. It is September, 1881. In Macon dwells the same lady, but she ia now a happy wife withtwo children. She has forgotten the faithless one of her days of woe. She therefore is surprised when from the town of her youth there comes a letter bearing as a su] iption to her maiden name that Sane husband. An ac- ing note from the Posimaster explains th in tearing away some o the boards of a let- ter case the missive was found. The envelope is ed “1876.” The lady spanks the baby keep it quiet while she eagerly devours the content “Heavens! It is from John!” who proposes In glowing words and begs for a kind reply. The lady's husband also enjoys the let- ter, and out of curiosity communicates with rel- atives of the former lover. It is learned that he isa happy Chicago packer, with a wife and three sons. ee PRESIDENT GARFIELD, soon after he was are] was told of the extraordinary manifestations sympathy which were pouring in from all “That can't last,” said he. large for one man to hold its at- tention for anylength of time.” Yethe held it i ee ony eta en S is grave 0 WI wi So rash an again aay that: the world arena no man can fay and that there is no such thing as genuine human sympathy, ii endow institutions, provide for a- children, or couple your gifts with and | unusual conditions. But where a m te per- | sonal property is to be given outright in a simple way, any good business man is qualified. The courts frequently accept a will drawn even | very ignorantly. There have been scores of wills as irregularly written as the following, | which ’s Magazine says) is taken from the Prol Court records in St. Louis: | Sourn Sr. Louis Feby 9th 1876 the last will & words of John Cushing are she | says John what are you going to doe about this | place he says i leave all to your manigement she says the children may be quarling about it after. wi he says they will have nothtng to doe | about it all is in your hands you may doe as you | Plase, his JOHN } CUSHING. TIMOTHY J. COLLINS. PATRICK }, BARRETT. mark. Wittness her, Mrs. el MURPRY. The instrament must evince that it isa will, not a deed or a memorandum. But no particu- lar form of doing this is required; any simple heading from which common sense men can see that a will was intended is enough. Do not in- sert mere suggestions or requests. Write these in a separate letter or memorandum for your Sealy fe sees ee oe Sa eek they ola go upon tlie Surrogate’s reco! proper contents of a will are gifts of property and di- rections appointing an executor or sometimes a . If you desire to say, “My wife shall we the house and furniture so long only as she remains my widow;” or “#10,000 to my son, provided he signs the pledge it two years,” the law allows you to do so, and the will is the Proper place, for these are conditions upon ‘here is no use or sense in saying in one’s will, “I hope my wife will not marry again;” or, “I entreat my son to reform his habits.” Quite lately a lawsuit was carried to the court of appeals because a testator wrote in effect: I give all my property to my wife, only requésting her at the close of her life to make division of it among our children and grand- children. Thechildrenclaimed that the widow must keep the bulk of the property for them. But the court said; Not so; tl is only her husbands request; she can comply or not. | These requests in wills often cause expensive suits. if you wish to make gifts for benevolent or religious purposes, you probably need to consult a skillful lawyer, unless you are satisfied to give money to some society or church already incor- rated. To draw a bequest which contemplates founding a new institution or providing an en- dowment for a new trust is difficult. Any one can draw a gift of money outright to a society; the main thing needful to be known is the so- ciety’s accurate name. Most of the societies publish a printed form. But it is usefulto know that several of the states have, by recent laws, restricted these Lata yl a iy laws, “no person having a hus! wife, ct or tent oan ‘ive more than half of his estate ake paying debts “to any benevolent, charitable, literary, scientific, religious or missionary s0- ciety, association or corporation.” And the will containing any such bequest must have been made (with perhaps an exception of bequests to societies having special charters) at least two months before testator’s death. The will having been written, it must be sub- scribed and wRnessed with some care. Two witnesses are enough in most of the states, (New York bane one;) in a few, three are re- quired. To avoid objections, choose grown persons of good health and character, who can have no interest in the property, either under the will or if it should be set aside. The course sometimes pursued, in which the person who is to make the will visits first one witness and afterward another, is unsafe; the better way is for the testator and witnesses to meet to- gether. Let the witnesses see the testator sign. It may be allowable in law forhim to sign when alone and “acknowl ” his sig- nature to them, (this is allowed in New York:) but they are more likely to remember and to tes- tify explicitly if they see thesigning. His name should be signed at the very end of the will. If he does not know how to write, he may sign by a mark, as was done in the St. Louis will,copied above, and so may any witness. In most of the states, testator’s name may be written for him by another person in his presence and by his ex- press direction; but thismode should be adopted only when special reasons require. There is no need that the witnesses should know what be- quests the will contains, but they must be told that the instrument is a will. Asking them to witness “this paper” is not enough. The proper way is for the testator himself to say distinctly: “I declare this paper to be my last will and tes- tament, and request you to witness it as such.” ee cae to his saying this must ‘After the testator has signed and made this declaration and request, the witnesses must sign their names below his upon the paper, and (to escape a penalty of $50) they should add their residences. It is usual and proper to write be- neath testator’s signature a brief certificate: that the witnesses saw the testator sign the pa- per, and heard him say it was his will, and have signed their names as witnesses by his request; and for the witnesses to sign underneath this. The rules here given for si; are those which are prescribed by law in New York state; also in Arkansas, Colorado and New Jersey. In other states the directions are even simpler. Buta will executed in the manner above described anywhere in the United States Louisiana is an exception) is vali + Times. -N. —_—__-+-____ Friendship in Letters, From an English Magazine. It has been said that letters “are in vain for asked or the sentenceframed, and yet that subtle influence we all wire neem eh duce the wrong effect or cause the cease to be for the time. Your has time aged Lok rant mo The words remain with him with just that sense of uncertainty as why you attered which is so ol saving clause when what is sald might No doubt yourun the our friend when he may be wi! BS af ee 5 L F efit arise z 5 middie, put into it a pinch of salt and one of sifted sugar, three-quarters of a pound of but- ter, and a gill of water. Knead the ingredients together, and when they begin to mix sprinkle over by degrees half a gill of water, continuing to knead with the palm of the hand, and when the paste is perfectly smooth make it into a ball and let it lie for an hour. At the end of this time roll out the paste to of half an inch. Mark the edges as ortbread, top with yelk of egg, and score it in the fo diamonds. Bake in quick oven for half an hour, or until the galette is elastic on pressure of the finger.—Germanjown Telegraph SLEErLEsswess.—The Medical Press and Cir- cular contains some good suggestions about the hygienic treatment of sleeplessness, which are summarized as follows: Wet half a towel, apply it to the back of the neck, pressing it upward toward the base of the brain, and fasten the dry half of the towel over so as to prevent the too rapid exhalation. The effect is prompt and charming, cooling the brain an inducing: calmer, sweeter sleep than any narcotic, Wann water hang / be used, though most persons prefer cold. To those who suffer from over-excitement of the brain, whether the result of brain work or pressing anxiety, this shuple remedy has proved especial boon. HasitvaL Movra Breatuixe.—Many people sleep with the mouth open, and thus make this organ perform a duty which shonli be trans- acted by the nose. ere are many objections Dr. Clinton Wagner, in a recent clearly points them ort. The air in = through the channels of the nose, for wore wi Uhl met nod eg Irma erg of the body before it-reaches the larynx. Thus breath- ing, no matter how low the tem; cold is never felt below the border palate. But when one breathes mouth on a cold day the sensation as far as the larynx, and an irritating may be caused. Then again, in nose breathing the air is moistened by the natural secretions which cover the turbinated bones in a condition of health, and the short, bristly hairs at the openings of the nostrils act as a filter to arrest impurities and reduce the likeli- hood of laryngial, bronchial or pulmonary dis ease. Infants, athletes, savazes and animals breathe through the nose—the ordinary civilized man employs the mouth to an unnecessary, and often to a very injurious extent. The causes of mouth breathing are mynad. Complete or par- tial closure of the passages, polypus, congenital bony closure, enlarged tonsils, protruding teeth, adhesion of the soft to the posterior wali of the pharynx—all these are sufficient causes of mouth breathi: The indications are not #0 subtle as not to be readily recoguized. Retracted lips, open mouth, ing gums, protruding teeth, shrunken , decreased size of the nos- trils’ orifices, wrinkles at the eyes’ outer angles, and lines extending from the alae to the mouth angles, are the predominant signs. The effects ot mouth breathing upon the pharynx are often most deplorable. The mucous meiabrane becomes much irritated. A chronic engorge- ment of the blood vessels may take place, until permanent dilitation of the vessels is produced, and so on until the disease known as clergyman’s sore throat is produced. The writer devotes a part of his space to showing the bad results of sleeping with the mouth n, and suggests an appro- priate remedy. If all'snorers were to adopt it one ofthe most disagreeable noises of the night would be silenced, for people who breath through their noses while sleeping never snore. PREPARING PLANTS FoR THE WINTER.—Now that potted plants are about to be brought into the house, whether to the greenhouse or to the window of the dwelling, it is quite important to know the condition of their roots. Whether pots have been plunged in the soil of the lawn or bor- der, or have been standing in some sheltered place during summer, it is most i the roots are in a crowded, cramped condition, that is quite unfavorable to healthy growth. Before they are taken in for winter, the roots of the plants should be examined. To do this, place the right hand over the top of the pot, allowing the stem to pass between the fingers; invert the plant, and, holding the pot with the left hand, give its edge a sharp tap against a bench, table or other convenient place. The pot will usually come off at the first tap, but should it not after a few trials, pour some water on the earth and let it soak awhile. In rare cases it be necessary to run an old kuife between the earth and the sides of the pot. Generally, however, the pot will readily come off, when the condition of the roots may be in- if the roots have reached the side of oa meteen are in danger of becoming crowded and matt re-potting is pot one size larger than the old one. The new pot should have the needed amount of soil Placed in the bottom, first placing a broken crock over the hole, and then fresh soil shonhd filled in between the ball of earth ture may be, tly. This roots should made whenever a in poor condition, as it enables | § ; Hi af Fa : i 3 E sé ge® fee By 5 g £ 5 £ Hi Hi ! | a a. iH 2 = Ee i i e H 2 i i : 83 He the fail, oohnadl bhajan seh aomanhant oa! had springs and ——-. 8 dozen voices asked he to tell.