BY- JOHN FBANCIS WArliEE.
Ah, sweet Kitty Nei) rise up from your wb.ee'
Your neat little foot will be weary from spinuij
Come, trip down with me to the sycamore tree; ;
Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning.
The sun is gone down; but the full harvest moon
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened valley;
.While all the an rings with the soft, loving things
Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley."
iWith a blush and a smile Kitty rose up the while,
Her eye in the glass, as she bound ner hair, glancing;.
Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues,
$ she couldn't but choose to go off to the dancing.
And now on the green the glad groups are seen
Each gay-hearted lad witn the lass of his choosing;
'And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet Kitty Neil1 x
Somehow, when he (asked, she ne'er thought of refusing.
Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,
And with flourish so free, sets each couple in motion;
"With a cheer and a bound,' the lads .natter the ground
The maids move around just like swans on the ocean.
Cheeks bright as the rose feet light as the doe's
Now cosily retiring, now boldly advancing;
Search the world all around from the sky to the ground. -
No such sight can.be found as the Irish lass dancing!
Sweet Kate, who could view your eyes of deep blue,
Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly
Your fairy-turned tnn, heaving breast, rounded form
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb wildly?
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart,
Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet love;
The sight leaves his eyes as he cries with a sigh,
''Dance lightfor my heart it lies under your feet, love!"
q By Roger
vex ji jCi jrcr
JjOiC HE people of Melstone were
Ti not uncharitable, yet it
0 " I o would Lave beeu hard to
find three persons who be
'SCOW lieved there was any good
dn Fred Wildburn. A rude, ungoverned
child; a lawless, vicious youth; a reck
less, dissipated man. In all his thirty
years of life he had done no good thing
that anyone ever remembered of him.
The people of Melstone were a very
moral sort of people, and did not hesi
tate to give this one Ishmaelite to un
derstand the impassable gulf that lay
between themselves and him, both in
time and eternity. Perhaps it' tended
to improve his heart and temper: but
1 doubt it.
Among' the inhabitants was a family
of the name of Upton. From time im
memorial there had been a feud be
tween the Wildburns and Uptons, kept
alive and aggravated by each succes
sive generation. A great many years
before a Wildburn and an Upton had
married sisters, and through some nice
bii of diplomacy on the part of Upton,
his wife was made heiress to the pa
ternal fortune, and the wife of Wild
burn .cut off with a paltry hundred
Later, Henry Upton had succeeded in
getting the whole of a large legacy,
left by some distant relative, which
should have been equally divided be
tween Fred Wildburn and himself.
Naturallly, this tended to widen the
breach, and fearful and bitter were the
vows of vengeance which . Fred
breathed against Upton.
Indeed, his ungovernable passion
might have led him to some act of
personal violence, but for one restrain
Ten years before the commencement
cf our tale, when Fred Wildburn was
about twenty years old, he had one of
his wrists broken in a fight he had
himself provoked. His mother was,
and had been for years, a bedridden
invalid, with an intellect weakened
by long illness and abuse for her hus
band drank heavily at times, and liquor
made him wild and furious.
The broken limb was set by a sur
geon in a neighboring town; but the
prospect of payment being exceedingly
small, he paid very .little subsequent
attention to his patient. It was; warm
weather, and the arm was badly torn
and bruised besides, and needed, daily
attention. Good, charitable, pious peo
ple, who gave munificently for the
amelioration of the heathen thousands
' of miles away, turned with disgust
from this heathen at their own doors.
Timid women shrank from entering
the house, because, perchance,- old
Wildburn might be on one of his "ca
rouses;" and so the bruises became
inflarnedand the danger that the arm
would have to como off grew immi
nent. Fred wasn't used to bearing
pain, and raved fearfully, while the
weak-minded invalid cried and fretted
by turns, and Wildburn senior drank
more perseveringly than ever.
Into this pandemonium there came
one morning a slight, delicate girl,
bearing a little roll of snowy linen in
her hands. . i
"I have, come to dress your arm,
Fred," she said, quietly, laying aside
her white sunbonnet, and revealing a
thin, rather pale face, with steady,
fearless brown eyes. !
"Whc sent you here, Bessie BraD
don?" asked the elder Wildburn. in a
"No one, sir. I came because I
thought it right for me to come.
Frederick will lose his arm, unless it
Is cared for speedily."
"Let him lose it, then," was the
', "Not if I can help it, sir!"
And the brown eyes were lifted fear
. lessly to his face. , -
Muttering something about "meddling
neighbors," hq seized his hat and stag
gered out of the room, and Bessie at
once set herself to the work of caring
for the wounded arm.
It was a shocking sight, and the" firm
lips; grew just a little white as she
. stripped off the matted bandages; but
Jaer white fingers were steady and cool,
as she eareruiry wasneci tne arm,
bathed it in some liniment she had
brought with hei, and swathedMt nice
ly and carefully in the cool, soft linen
ehe had brought for the purpose.
"Why, it doesn't feei like the same
arm!" Fred exclaimed, when she had
finished; and involuntarily he glanced
at the other hand, which he for the
first time realized, with a faint emotion
of shame, to ;be almost as sadly in
need of washing as the other had been.
When Bessie came the next day, she
noticed that it was almost as white as
Every day for foui weeks Bessie
visited the Wildburns on her errand
of mercy, undismayed by old Wildburn,
or the ridicule of her friends.
"I should-bave lost it,. I dare say, if
it hadn't been for you, Miss Bessie,"
Fred said, the last day she came. "I'm
a miserable wretch, Heaven knows;
but I shan't ever forget this," touching
"I am so glad I could help you," she
"Well, you're the first one," he said,
a little bitterly.
As I said, this was ten years before,
and, though the years had brought
many changes, the ameliorating influ
ences had been few in the life of Fred
Wildburn. The drunken father and
invalid mother had both died, leaving
Fred quite alone in ther miserable,
shabby old house where he lived. He
had not improved with the years; on
the contrary, he had grown more reck
less and disorderly, until people said
he was utterly and totally depraved,
without one good impulse in his heart.
One thing had happened during these
ten years. Bessie Brandon had mar
ried Henry Upton; but no one ever
knew of the terrible night which Fred
Wildburn passed when he heard of it.
"Nobody ever should know what a
miserable fool he had been," he said,
He need not have feared his secret
Was safe for no one ever5 was wild
enough to suspect him of feeling or
sentiment, particularly where the
petted daughter of Squire Brandon was
Henry Upton was an honored and
highly respected citizen. He was in
telligent, educated and wealthy, and
if -he looked down from his sublime
height of virtue and attainment a little
contemptuously upon poor, miserable
Fred Wildburn, it was certainly no
more than his neighbors did. And if,
by any possibility, there had been any
little trickery or unfairness in the set
tlement of that legacy, he could easily
excuse himself upon the plea that it
would only be a curse to Wildburn if
he had it, leading him into deeper de
bauchery, whereas he cbuld use it
wisely, and for the benefit! of morality
and religion. The fact that Wildburn
did not! see it in just that light was
only another proof of hs innate de
pravity, people said, piously.
Upton had a mill some four miles
from Melstone, by the main road, but
scarcely three by a cut across country.
It was little more than a bridle path,
though Upton sometimes drove through
with his light drag. He started with it
one wild, chilly December morning,
promising his wife to return early if
i: came on to snow, as it promised to.
It was piercingly cold, and the wind
blew in fierce, fitful gusts all the fore
noon. Just after noon it began snow
ingnot as usual, in fine, light parti
cles, but with a wild, tempestuous
force that carried all before it. Long
before night the. streets were block
aded, and the wind roared and shrieked
up and down them like a madman.
Bessie Upton paced the floor of her
pretty sitting room, more excited and
nervous than she had ever been in her
life before. She had, naturally, a cool,
"If only he had not started," she said,
anxiously; "if he saw the fierceness of
the storm in season to stop at the mill,
instead of attempting to brave it!"
The night came down early; but the
mill owner came not, and his wife,
though still anxious, had settled down
to the belief that he would not come
Suddenly a loud neigh, falling be
tween the pauses of the tempest, struck
"Henry has come now!" she 'ex
claimed; and, catching up a lamp, she
hurried to the side door.
Only a panting, terrified horse, the
broken harness dangling from his
foamy sides, met her appalled vision
For a moment she sank, dizzy and
faint, in a chair. She was alone; her
one servant, having gone away for the
day, had been prevented from return
ing by the storm.
. Fred Wildburn was sitting over a
smoldering fire, inwardly cursing the
storm that kept him in. It' was not a
pleasant home there was that excuse
for him. The walls were dingy with
smoke, thf floor was bare and dirty,
the chairs and tables were broken and
"How the wind blows! This is the
third time "
He paused suddenly, for, framed in
the door, the wind and snow whirling
madly about" her slight figure, stood
Bessie Upton. .
"Great Heaven, Bessie!" he ejaculat
ed, and then stood gazing at her in
dumb amazement, while she closed
the, door, and came and stood before
"Frederick," she said, in her sweet,
firm voice, "Henry is out somewhere
in this storm. The horse has come
home alone. If he came the forest
road, he can never find his way home,
and he could not live till morning in
this storm. There is nobody I dare ask
but you to go to him. It is a great deal
to ask, I know: but I think I know
your heart better than anyone else
does, and I shall trust to your courage
and bravery in this dreadful emer
gency." A fierce spasm of pain crossed his
face. Then he turned away without
speaking, and took down his hat and
coat, and they walked together to the
door. He paused on the doorstep, look
ing wistfully down at her.
"How can you get home?" he said.
"It is dreadful, I know, Frederick"
nobody but she ever called him any
thing but Fred "but I think I can get
along," the wind nearly taking her
from her feet as she spoke.
"If I might accompany you," he said,
hesitating, and adding, "if you are not
afraid of being contaminated."
For answer, she put her hands in his,
While she lived, Bessie Upton never
forgot the close, nervous clasp with
which he held hei hands; but he took
her carefully and tenderly to her door,
and then turned away into the storm
One, two, three hours and, oh. such
long, interminable ages as they
"Perhaps I have sent him to his
death, too." she moaned, sadby. "Oh,
if I could only know and see just where
If she could, she would have seen
a slight, determined figure, battling
with the strength of a giant against
the winds that disputed his progress
step by step. Falling sometimes over
prostrate trees, anon borne down by
sudden drifts of snow, yet struggling
on with unabated zeal, till he comes at
last to a still, white figure lying across
the path, entangled and held down by
the debris of broken wheels and tree
Two hours later, when poor Bessie
had nearly given them both up for
dead, Fred Wildburn staggered into
the room, and laid her husband at her
"I have fulfilled the trust," he said,
faintly, and sank down beside Upton,
who was slowly rousing from the ter
rible chill and torpor that had over
"Oh, Henry! he has fainted! And
She grew suddenly white as she
pointed to a small stream of blood
that stained his shirt bosom, caused
by a; sudden hemorrhage from the
It was morning before tbey could get
a. physician there. Wildburn had laid
in an unconscious state all night; but
the flow of blood had ceased, and they
thought it only the torpor of exhaus
"Poor Fred!" Henry Upton said,
"there was some good in him, after all.
T owe mv life to his bravery, and I
shan't forget it in a hurry. I have been
thinking, Bessie, that I will take him
into the mill, and see if I can't make
something of him yet. I intend to re
ward him handsomely for this."
The doctor came at last; but his
grave race tola tne story oeiore ue
opened his lips.
"There is no chance for him to re
cover," he said.
A little after noon the dying man
opened his eyes, and looked about him.
"Fred," Mr. Upton said, feelingly,
"I've not treated you as I should have
done in times past, and I didn't de
serve this at your hands. I want you
to forgive me, and "
"Bessie where is Bessie?" he in
"Here, dear Frederick, here."
And she took his hands in hers, and
bent over him till he felt a warm tear
splash on his face.
"Oh, Bessie! it's a miserable life, I
know; but it's all I have to give, and
I would give it a hundred times over
to save you from sorrow," he said,
with a smile that glorified his coarse!
face. "It was my good right arm the
arm you saved for me, you know, dear.!
I told you I should never forget, and
I never did! Nobody but you ever
trusted to the good ther was in me
little enough there was, I know," he
said, dreamily, his voice growing sud
Bessie was crying softly. He opened
his eyes, and gave one long, eager look
in her face, and in that wistful gaze
Bessie Upton read the secret no one
else ever knew or guessed. New York
Don't Insult the Hog.
When a man don't give his wife
any money nor pay the preacher nor
contributes a cent to build up his
town or country, some people call him
a hog, but that is slander slander
against the hog. The hog does pay.
He pays the doctor, the preacher, the
storekeeper, builds a new house for the
wife, buys organs, pianos, buggies
and sends the children away to school.
Don't ever compare a mean, stingy
man to a hog again. Jewell (KajU
When you have been engaged a few
times ybu will soon learn that what a
man has eaten for luncheon has more
to do with his temper than the subject
of conversation. You will find out
whether you were intended for the
centre of the stage or only to play un
derstudy. If you were destined! to
play up to a star you lay in a nice lot
of little things to say to-him that will
encourage him to take the centre of
the stage and make him feel happy in
the limelight. Or if you were born to
be leading lady you learn how to keep
your leading man in the background
without making him feel his inferiority
or resent nlayinsr second. New York
GIRLS SHOULD REMEMBER
That being an old maid may be better
than being an unhappy wife.
That men are not always the noble
beings they seem under love's inspira
tion. That a woman's memory is wonder
fully retentive wThen it comes to disa
That a surplus of beauty is as both
ersome as having but little thereof.
That your condition could be ever so
much worse than the one of which you
That men pretend to know more
about your sex than they generally do.
That the things you do not tell can
not be repeated to your annoyance.
FACTS ABOUT GOWNS.
It is necessary nowadays that a
woman's clothes must not only be be
coming, but they must become her.
When a really well gowned woman
enters a room she should make the
place in which she stands or sits appear
more beautiful. It is not necessary to
say she wore this, or that the silk of
her gown was cream soie de chine
with silk roses looking as though they
had scattered upon her from the
branches of impossible trees.
It should be difficult to describe in
detail the clothes of a perfectly gowned
woman. She should have chosen them
because they were individual, not ec
centric. In choosing a material a wom
an must feel that that weave will not
look when worn by her like that on
anyone else, and she must also under
stand that her gowns must be made
simply for her own benefit, to become
her only, and not to be like one of her
friends or acquaintances. Newark Ad
vertiser. FLOWERS IN HAT TRIMMINGS.
Fur toques will be worn extensively
this winter and Dame Fashion decrees
that stiff flowers on velvet and crushed
velvet will be the most fashionable
trimming for them. Of course, fur
hats are always small and plumes and
such like are not quite in place on
many of them. Flowers in winter are
a pretty fad at any rate, and since the
manufacturers are making such pretty
effects they are so very realistic. Ca
melias, gardenias and stiff petaled flow
ers are the most popular. Sometimes
only one is worn, if it is of a large
size. Sable hats are the handsomest
and most expensive, and they look
very well trimmed with flowers of a
pronounced shade. Violets make hand
some designs, and maty of the bunches
are shaded from a heliotrope to the
deepest purple. A swagger model of
sable in flat sailor shape had a close
set wreath of white gardenias around
the crown. Another hat of sable had
a crown of violets and had the brim
edged with them. An attractive
chapeau, to be sure. Newark Adver
tiser. DON'T BUNCH FLOWERS.
Have you observed that it is no
longer the smart thing to wear a mon
ster bunch of violets tucked in your
corsage? Women of fashion seem, at
last, to have acquired the art of wear
ing flowers. Certainly there is no love
lier adornment and no more becoming
one than a real live flower. The trou
ble was that we overdid it.
Now, you just pin a single white or
golden chrysanthemum not too large
upon your coat, or tuck it under your
chin, attaching it to your neck piece.
You can wear an orchid, a scarlet
dahlia, or a rose in the same manner,
and you have no idea how startlingly
lovely a pretty face above a real flower
In the evening it is no longer the
fashion to carry huge bunches or
shower bouquets of roses. A single
flower, carried fn the hand, is the fad.
When affected by a naturally graceful
woman, is is the acme of grace. One
need no longer sit stiffly holding one's
fists together in an effort to retain one's
bouquet, but can -gesticulate and use
the single flower to emphasize one's
every thought. It is a boon to the
woman who does not know what to do
with her hands.
A natural flower caught in the low
coif now fashionable is another addi
tion to the evening toilet. Indeed, this
is the real art of wearing flowers. It
applies also to the arrangement of
flowers for household decoration. The
Japanese, those lovers of flowers, never
place more than .one flower, or at most,
one spray or branch in a vase, and
consider that they have arranged it
artistically only after they have pro
duced in it the effect of growing di
rectly from the vase.
Where on earth did we ever acquire
the hideous and vulgar habit of bunch
CHARACTER IN NECK.
Character is told every day of the
week by the expression of the mouth
and eyes, by the hands, etc., but it is
not everyone who can read the charac
ter of their friends by the shape and
appearance of their necks.
Nevertheless, the neck of a woman
will indicate to a great extent what is
her general character and often the
state of her health.'
The neck of the avaricious man or
woman is stretched far forward and
out of their clothes. It looks, as if it
were in the pursuit of 'gain.
On the other hand, the sagacious neck
is a short, muscular neck, and is large.
Sometimes their owners are spoken of
as having no neck, the head looking
almost as if it were resting upon the
shoulders, says Woman's Life.
The perfectly proportioned neck is
the graceful neck. It is rather long, it
is true, but it is exquisitely rounded,
and it indicates a charming, affable
Another long neck, one, however,
which is thin, belongs to the timid,
over-sensitive person. Indianapolis
News. - -
The amethyst, which is enjoying such
popularity this season, is a most con
venient jewel, for not only is it be
coming to both blonde and, brunette
coloring, but it also blends well with
many of the fashionable shades in ma
terials aside from the approved tints
in purple, with all of which it corre
sponds naturally. Among the dantiest
of the many combinations and quaint
designs in which the amethyst is used
are sprays of violets, with a. tiny dia
mond nestling here and there. Close
upon the popularity of amethysts come
sapphires, topazes and tourmalines and
with emeralds are promised superior
ity. These jewels in drop necklaces and
as pendants are so cleverly imitated
for reasonable prices that many a so
ciety ghi has several of these "mock
jewel" ornaments to correspond with
the shades of her various gowns. Imi
tation jewelry is generally something
to be avoided, but the craze for bar
baric designs has been a little over
done, and will probably not last many
more seasons; consequently She "who
desires to be fashionable on a small
income must strain a point, as it
scarcely pays to buy an expensive or
nament of an extreme style.
Indeed, the chain necklace with
jeweled pendants has become such a
recognized part of the toilette, and to
such an extreme has the demand for
hrrrnaony in color reached, that such
a necklace is fairly considered a part
of the trimming of the gown itself
rather than as a jewel with an in
Woe to the young women who. are
wearing high-heeled shoes. The tor
ture to follow this practice cannot be
imagined by the one who has been for
tunate enough never to have had any
trouble with her feet. The feet are
certain to swell after high-heeled shoes
have been worn for a time, and if the
young women are able to get shoes
which they can wear without torturing
themselves almost to death they are
extremely fortunate, says an exchange.
The women, however, who will per
sist in wearing these French high
heeled shoes, should give their feet
some attention at night, and before
putting the shoes on. The woman who
is obliged to limp along with every
step on these bright, sunshiny days, is
not to be envied. The warm weather
means positive torture to the ones
whose pedal extremities are forced to
wear unhealthy shoes. The feet be
come, puffy and every corn becomes en
dowed with a tendency to develop un
expected twinges and aches, while no
shoes can be found that is flexible or
soft enough to be worn with any com
fort. Women should be very careful in the
selection of hosiery. Women whose
feet are extremely tender should never
choose black hose, for the dye acts
upon 'the skin. If colored hosiery must
be worn, whifevfeet should be insisted
upon. Shoes should be carefully
chosen. Everything in the shape of
patent, glazed or enameled leather
should be avoided, and instead other
leathers selected that do not in any
way draw or cause a feeling 'of puffl
ness. The hosiery must, of course, be
fresh each day, and at least three
pairs of walking boots will be found
of great advantage as in changing off
from one to the other the, feet will be
A dusting powder will be a great aid.
This should be shaken in both shoes
and stockings each morning. 'Just a
little is necessary and it will prove
most effective. This powder w made
by adding to four ounces of pure tal
cum, one ounce of powdered boracic
acid, one-half dram of salycilic acid
and two drams of powdered alum. Pos
sibly in connection with the use of
this powder,- a tonic in the form of the
lotion should be applied each night.
The feet must first be bathed in veTy
warm water and then sponged off
Every woman should take good care
of her feet if she wishes to bejialf
These are extremely nice and easily
made. Put a ,yolk of a hard-boiled egg
into a cup and crumble it. Then put it
into a ' tablespoonf ul of pepper, half a
teaspoonful of mustard, the same'
amount of salt and a quarter of a
pound of American cheese, grated. Mix
thoroughly and moisten with a table
spoonful .of vinegar. Spread between
slices of wheat or whole-wheat bread.
Melt an ounce of butter in a sauce
pan. Mix smoothly with it one ounce
of flour, a pinch of salt and pepper
and two - gills of milk. Let simmer
gently over the fire, stirring all the
time, till it is as thick as melted butter.
Stir into it a cupful of canned tomato.
Turn the mixture into another dish and
add the yolks of two weH-beaten eggs.
Whip three Whites to a froth, and just
before the souffle is baked put them
into it. Bake for twenty minutes in
a pudding dish and serve the instant
it is done.
Cream half a cup of butter or short
ening with one cup of sugar. Stir in
half a cup" of sour milk in which a
third of a teaspoonful of soda has been
dissolved. Spice the mixture to suit
the taste, and sift in enough flour to
make the batter rather stiff. Roll the
dough out on a floured board until it is
of wafer-like thinness. Cut it out with
a large biscuit cutter into cookies or
wafers and bake until brown and crisp.
These "eggless' sugar cookies can be
flavored with lemon or nuts or choco
late instead of the spices. The school
children will appreciate them in their
A rich and attractive compote of ap
ples is made of firm, tart apples baked .
in the oven and served with a flavoring
sauce. To make it, peel, core and
quarter the apples and put them in a
porcelain-lined dish, with just enough
water to prevent their burning. About
a cupful will be required for a quart
of apples. Add about a cup o sugar
and the yellow rind of half a lemon
cut into bits, being careful, to cut away
all white inner skin. Cover the apples
with a china plate and let them cook
for about an hour. When the apples
are nearly transparent, thoroughly
done, but not broken, take them out
carefully and put them into the dish
in which they are to be served. Cool a
little of the juice, and if it is hot a
jelly, boil it down to one. Let the com
pote stand for twenty-four hours in
order that the jelly around the apples
may become thoroughly set. It is per
fect served with ice cream.
To clean brass kettles scour with:
vinegar , and salt.
A cup of chopped celery added to al
most any stuffing for fowls will im
A pieee of charcoal put into the pot
with boiling 6nions wilLabsorb most ol
When traveling it' is well to be pro
vided with a bottle of aromatic spirits
Plunge your bread-knife into hot
water before attempting to cut varm
bread or cake.
Tired feet should be well bathed in
warm water, to which a little sea salt
has been added.
If you add a grain of salt to. cream
it will whip more readily and the taste
is in no way affected.
Candles burn better and more slowly
if they have been stored in a dry place
six or seven weeks before using.
No one should ever attempt to washt
dishes without two pans one for the
washing proper and one for the rinsing.
Lemons can be kept almost indefi
nitely under glass that is light and air
tight. Set one under a goblet and see.
Sprinkle salt over the coal in your
bin in liberal quantities; it will make
it burn more evenly and prevent "clink
When asparagus is to be served cold
as a salad, boil and drain as usual, and
after draining let cold water run over
the stalks to keep them firm and fresh
Silver, if left lying near guttapercha,
gets tarnished very quickly. If put in
a pantry where gas is used it should
always "be kept well wrapped up in
If you cannot procure dampened saw
dust for use in sweeping, use bits of
dampened paper sprinkled over the
floor. Tea leaves stain and salt makes
the carpet sticky.
If the cover of a fruit jar sticks, do
not attempt to wrench it off; simply
Invert the jar and place the top in hot
water for a minute. Then try it and
you will find it turns easily.
When long hair becomes so matted
that it is difficult to comb the tangled
locks, they should be saturated with
alcohol. This done, they will become
amenable to the brush end coinb as if
A beautiful polish may be given ta
by washing them in. alum and lye..
Make a solution by boiling an ounce or
aiuni in a pint of Ire, and wash the
articles in it.