TE TIE", no, i afljuen ll. | record on both sides. Mrs. Pryce was a widow ; that her bereavement dated = = only two years back was one of the Bellefonte, Pa., May 26, 1893 things the neighbors habitually forgot, for James Pryce bad, through an acci- dent, been ‘bedridden during nearly all their married life. It was worse than if be had died outright, Mrs. Pryce said often, when discussing the matter dispassionately, for it had added at- tendance on him to all her other troub- A LIE. She told a lie, a little lie,.— It was so small and white, She said, “It cannot help but die Before another night.’’ And then she laughed to see it go, And thought it was as white as snow. But oh, the lie! it larger grew, Nor paused by day or night, And many watched it as it flaw, And, 1f it made delay, Like something that was near to death They blew in onward with their breath. James Bryce's bondage lasted two decades, and when he died he spoke of Leaver as green fields among which he would wander, a strong young man again. That Daniel would inherit the farm was a foregone conclusion; he was the eldest, and birthright bulks largely in communities that are some- what patriarchal. He was a good fel low, entirely free from small vices, but ] somewhat dull, even in the eyes of pl Hombied jn het placa, fast neighbors not remarkable for brillian- Had smote her in the face— to cy. He was moderately tall, moderate. EY omer Loomer Take bach ver 1» | 1y good lodking, more than moderately —Ellen W. H. Gates inthe @mtury. | muscular, entirely amiable, a man no way out of the common or likely to as- seve And on its track the mildew fell, And there were grief and shame, And many a spotless lily-kell Was shriveled as with flame The wings that were so small and white Were large, and strong, and black as night. One-day a woman stood aghast, hid y TENT. Dag self, But the fact was Bessie Dennet “You're failin’, Geandle; your oe was so deeply, silently, unconfessedly 1s not That fT g beri, on in love with Daniel Pryce that neither oR had Ah the table. “It’s ji oe Yom It Eo thin in places, and there are knots,” | (roe months, but in such a reserved, Shea : 0 the van: I dig | Rnobtrusive, brotherly and sisterly way, not make thom fea good we | Geor | (R04 SUTLCE ESOT or die answered with conviction. He was | jol would drop in of an evening when a little man, with an irregular featured, | Boqgie sewed or Knitted by the window, Ae ue a gray hy Ss or ‘filled the quills with” yarn for the in small tight | Hon! at ea; i th loem, the reel gyrating noiselessly un- wore 8 frock coat-of faded brown cloth, | jor Ler deft manipulations like a big and trousers o Gn i carefully | 4aidy.long-legs in the middle of ‘the turned up at the xnkles. is appear- | 1y¢chen floor, and the talk would be al- anoe suggested ‘am si oe tegether neighborly, Geordie teking try schoolmaster rather than a work- | the chief part often. When Dan was ag iradesnan, do your best.” Mrs, | 80/08 away, Bessie would sometimes m go y YD * | accompany him to the little rustic gate Carr conceded, generously ; OUT! chat shut in the house and the flower Tu . not Th jas An ae patch from the road, and the pair hain jas, all He would etand talking there a while, un- the price, but it’s as well you should |. ger the moonlight or the stars, while know you're 'beginnin’ to go down the | 416 soft breezes shook the alder bush- a die dill mot duis doings; and the landrails galind jo the pod ‘reorine di. mol apewer; Wh 48 1 ing corn. Occasionally Dan would ex- no geod hi again or hl Sh -ecute a small Steyn for Bessie i oy sy ule sing stone .| the market town when he went with would have mattered, after five-and-for- | {he farm produce, and now and then in at Folk wot thote he would bring ber a fairin’, a packet wool to hoi factories,” the farmer's of a 0 kisi 3, £3 coven > ie I pa a aan, The Dennets’ cottage was as pretty A tubbors: ad’ GI BoP ol as a picture. There are people in ! : gro in rp. y ‘| whose presence flowers seem to thrive. Cn Bibi web. I showed it to | Bessie’s garden had once been a piece Bessie bol said it-was a good web, | of waste ground, but now every breath h ? maiatained-stoatly ’ | that blew through the open door was : a tio. .b ¢ 4 ‘that Bessie | 1aden with a score of delicate odors. : ite Wo be Sx pec pe in » 1 | Dan could not fancy a greater joy in Youu want 90 hurhyour feelin's, a existence than to sit on the window ta ? Ls : " Honing hes fo Rig Hons ey sill or lean against the lintel talking to vi ; , Mrs, ; + ao | the girl, while the bees reveled in the i i ’ : : — as a Db gry honeysuckle and the linnets twittered : ; ; 5 | in the elms. He had sown her initials ry Stine as in mignonette in hed just Soneath he iE tr »» | window, and if, when the seedings first na showed above the surface, both he and 3 : .'D. stood for news of Bessie,” she began, a few min- sheudgiw ithet!] 4B, 59h 0 Bessie and: Daniel as well as Bessie Ce a oe th dered somal cor | ey and 1 thy looked Ito ash Zhe table : _ | others eyes, as the consciousness struck “ 3 | them simultaneously, what did it mat- hat So Denar Dan’l Pryce, ter to any one but themselves, and who that she is keepin’ eompany with Dan’l. cared? Pryce.’ This had all lasted about three “Dan’l Pryce drops in of an evenin’ | months, and not a word of love, not. a now an’ ‘then, but there's no keepin’ | caress had ever passed between them, company.” when, about the same period, Geordie “Ofcourse not, Geordie.” Mrs. Carr | Dennet and Mrs. Pryce heard from dif- burst into a laugh that showed all her ferent sources that their children were white teeth. “Where a young man | keeping company. goes where & young woman is, there’s| Daniel had dressed to go -out for. the never any keepin’ company. It's al-| evening. In his attire there was that ways the father the young man goes to | Special something which signifies that see, an’ to hear about the price o’yarns | & young man’s toilet has a purpose in an’ such. To be sure, it is.” Her fat{it. He came down stairs softly, tiptoe- sides shook = little and the frilled cap | ing on the carpetless treads. At the border quivered around her rosy face | foot of the stairs was the seldom-used as she spoke. best room, The dodr stood open, “There's no keepin’ company,” | Which was unusual, and through it (Geordie maintained. His ideas were | came Mrs. Pryce § Joice, which was limited, but they were very definite. more unusual still: “I want you, Dan- “Well, well; keep your own counsel, iel. ) my maa; folks can’t be too careful| Theyoung man paused on the thresh- where a girl's name is in.question. I¢'s | old. His mother was at the far end of you Dau't Pryee goes to see, if you will { the room, with her back tothe light, an’ as he's a steady fellow, an’ come of | ber knitting in her hands, the dong end a decent stock, I wish you lack of him, | of her worsted stocking caught under There, that's the basket, an’ here's the | her arm. The light that lingered in money for the web, an’ good day to the west after the setting sun fell on you.” poor Daniel's best coat, his well Mrs. Carr always bewildered Geordie | blacked boots, and the flower in his and dazzled such wits as he possessed. | buttonhole. She was so fluent and 80.good-bumor-| Mra. Pryce looked at this splendor edly positive that the little man lost | derisively. “Where are you off to?” himeelf amid her showering sentences. | she asked with a little disdain. Geordie Dennet was not a native of | “I was minded to look in for half an Grimpat, but he had settled there nigh | hour at Geordie Dennet's.” on to thirty years before, when times | “I thought that. Well, this is just were better, work more liberally paid, | what I wanted to say, Daniel Pryce, or his productive power greater. Still | that I'm against these goings-on. I he did not complain; he was able to | want no sweet heartin’, an’ no daugh- rub along, and that is as much.as most | ter-in-law ; least-ways one as old as my- people attain to or expect. He was a | self, an’ without a peony in her pocket, widower now, with but one child, the | If folks mind their business its enough Bessie referred to, 2 girl of 6.and:20, | for them without larkin’ 0’ evenin’s. with a plain, wise face, and a reputa- | I'm fair surprised at Geordie Dennet, tion for good sense and clever manage- | that he would encoarage any widow ment that was distinguished even in| woman's son to waste his time an’ that practical community. make a fool of himself; an’ you can That Bessie should have a lover had | tell him I said 0.” never occurred to Geordie, and thet| Daniel stood staring at his mother, Daniel Pryce stood to her in that rela- | the ruddy color in his face gone a kind tionship was not likely to: suggest it- | of gray with the shock. ‘There is self. Daniel was younger than she, his | nothing against Bessie Dennet,” he pareatage was better, and this advan- | stammered helplessly, tage hae its full value in rustic commu- | “No, nothin’ at all, in her own place nities. Then his visits to the weaver’s | but her place is not alongside o’ my cottage had never seemed specially di- | sen. You can tell her to-night that rected to Bessie—and there was Mrs. | I'm not minded to allow any carryin's Pryce! on between you.” All the same when this question was Daniel turned and went out without put before him, it did not seem so ut- | & word ; but it seemed as if the very terly unreasonable. The disparity be- | flower in his coat had shrunk and tween the young people was not so very | shriveled. To him his mother’s will great—three years at most, and Bessie | had always meant destiny, and it nev- was—DBessie. A sigh arose from the | er strack him to dispute it. As he little man’s full heart and fell on the | passed down the lane betweer the bosom of the western breeze. In six- | hawthorn hedges, it ceemcd as if and-twenty years she had never given | there was wo more golden light in the | him a heartache. That another man | western sky, no flower faces in the should see her as she was and desire ' grass of the wayside, no bird voices her was very natural. | among the whispering leaves. Mrs. Pryce, Daniel's mother was| Things had been too good to last, highly respected in the parish. As and Bessie knew the end had come Mrs. Carr said, Daniel Pryce came of when she saw Daniel's face ; but she a good stock, residents in the place for talked comnon places, as women can ‘usual. sume heroic proportions in the eyes of | a clever girl somewhat older than him- | hold certainty aloof as to deceive on- lookers, When he was going away question or make light of the trouble. often.” won't she let you come again—never?” | she asked a little huskily. | “Oh, yes, sometimes.” “But it will be different 2” “Yes, it will be different.” Bessie drew a small, strangled sigh. If their places had been reversed she thought she would have rebelled a lit tle ; but before she spoke she had ac cepted the woman's part of acquies- ence. “Well, we can always be good friends,” she said with an attempt at cheerfulness. : He put out his band and wrung hers 80 that it hurt her, and then he turned away without a word. Tt is dangerous to interfere with these slow and silent natures. Daniel obeyed his mother, but it was with ‘that obedience that is a growing revolt. What harm did his visits to Bessie Dennet do any one? His heart hard- ened against his mother. She was a cold woman, caring for no one’s hap- piness, not even her own, valuing a man, even if he were her own son, no more than an ox, thinking nothing mattered but labor. Well, he would labor, but after that he would please himself. If he could not go to the weaver’s he would go to a worse place. Who could spend all his leisure in a dull, overcrowded kitchen, with men too tired, and a woman too ill-temper- ed to speak? Daniel sulked. He obeyed because he was too proud to do furtively any- thing so blameless as visiting Bessie Denuet, but he was not the less resent- ful and wrathful. Instead of going to the weavers, Daniel went to the pub- lic house, and when his mother forbade this indignantly and shrilly he only scowled at her. £1 % Lm Daniel Pryce was tipsy. To be the worse for liquor on a fair day or a market day or on the occasion of a werrymaking was in the course of na- ture, but to be tipsy early in the after- noon, and with your work all undone, wag so disgraceful that none of the Pryces could stand it. The mother bad her say ; then Reuben spoke about drunken wastrels, and Caleb, the youngest, wondered where folks found the money to get drunk on, since for his part he could never feel the price of a smoke in his pocket. The three brothers were working together wun. stacking corn to remove it to the barn for threshing. Without answering, Daniel threw down the long fork with which he had been working and left the field. Things were too bad to tolerate, and his shame of himself was a large factor in them, He felt in a bad way toward the whole world, as he moved aimless ly along the road, his hands in his pockets, his chin fallen on his breast. It was a remote country road, disused, except by the local farmers, since the making of the highways. Tufts of grass grew here and there amid ithe paving stones, and briars flung their long arms across the gaping ditches, Daniel threw himself down on one of the tufts and soon fell asleep. It was late October weather, and though there was a little tardy sunshine in the air, the earth was damp and cold. Daniel sighed in a strangled way now and then, as the chill stuck to his bones, but he did not awake. Bessie Dennet was on her way to a neighboring farm for her daily milk supply when she found the man she loved asleep like a tramp by the way- side. She did not cry; the pain she felt. was too acute for that; she only said to herself half aloud : “They have done him more harm than I should. When she spoke to Daniel he sat up. “It’s you, Bessie,” he said dully. “Yes, you must not sleep here, Daniel; you might take your death trom it, or the fever, like your father. Get up and come home,” He rose obediently and went with her. “We never see each other now,” he said fretfully. “I don’t think that’s my fault, Dan- iel.”” Bessie's smile was like tears, “Has anybody told you that I'm— goin’ to the bad ?”’ “You mustn't go, Daniel,” Bessie said, firmly. “You are too good and fine a man’—here her voice went low ——to let any trouble to turn you into a sot for the children to point at.” He started as though a whip had struck him, and opened his lips as if to speak, but no sound came. “We don’t make our troubles less by beginning to live wrong,” she went on. “We must try and be brave, no matter what happens.” “It’s about you,” he said. huskily. “Do you think that makes a differ- ence ? [don’t just see what harm we did you, my father and I, but if your mother thinke we did, maybe she knows best; anyway, you must be a man, Daniel.” A month later a nine days’ wonder had begun in the parish, for Daniel Pryce had sailed for America. He took the price of his passage and a small outfit as his inheritance, and the farm would be Reuben’s. It was chiefly Bessie's doing, her conception of what would be best for the man for whom her love had that protective ele ment without which love is not wholly love. To have new surroundings, new interests, to escape keen eyes and harsh judgments, that would be best for Dan- iel. Butoh, the difference to her when * * * he was gone! He came to say good- bye to Bessie, but he said nothing but good-bye, with lips that twitched a lit- tle, and “Thank you” for her keep sake. He wrote two or three letters after be landed, the painful, dumb letters of the illiterate, saying he was well, hop- ! ing she was the same, adding that he | had got work and that the country | igenerditng, and with an untarnished | in these dreadful crises, as much to |'was very large and fine, and then eil- 1 ence dropped like a pall hetween him and home. she went with him to the gate as| Bessie wrote several times after he i TE { had ceased to answer—letters but little “What kas bappened ?!’ she asked. | more eloquent than his own, and then He did not attempt to evade the | she ceased to write also, The dull days succeeded each other “Mother thinks 1 come here too! at Grimpat, and the seasons came and went, the flowers in the garden budded Bessie understood perfectly. “And | and bloomed and died, and the simple routine of life went on at the cottrge be- low the hill, but no young step stepped at the gate, no brown face smiled over the half door. Daniel had been dis- inherited and transported just for lov- ing her. Thoughts like this are fatal when ‘one is not very strong, Bessie came of a weakly race: vitality does not grow robust at the loom. In the second summer she went about her work less vigorously, lost flesh a little, and had now and then long spells of idleness. her hands lying limp in her lap. For a time sbe put a good face on things, never complained, pretended to feel ; but by and by there was no good in pretending when her whole aspect cried out. Geordie grew anxious; he had lost two other children just like this, fail- ing, never complaining, dying at the last. If Bessie went, too, he did not know what he should do. ~The neigh- bors began to condole with him, telling him how good Bessie was, just as it he of all the world had not the best right to know that. When it became al- most beyond question that Bessie would die, then every one became very kind, called often to cheer her up, sent little presents, and said only what was best-of her. Even Mrs. Pryce bestirred herself ; she had no grudge against Geordie Dennet or his daughter ; on the whole they behaved very well, and had said no eyil of her, or dropped an unkind word when Daniel went away. Regarding Daniel, Mrs. Pryce was oot wholly satisfied. He had been a good son, had never thwarted her ex- cept in that one matter of going away. Reuben was different, was more mas- ful, had a will of his own, was not dis- posed to ask advice, nor always to take it when the mother recalled Daniel’s ways with a new tenderness and missed him strangely. Meantime, while the longing for him grew and grew at home, Daniel was forgetting. It is inevitable; change is such an enlargement, and the new life was pleasant. He was only a farm hand where he had gone—but the work was far lighter than he had often done at home ; the splendid machines, which he soon learned to manage skill- fully, were a constant delight to him, and the weekly wage a gratification he having had so little money of his own in his life. Then there was a pretty and buxom girl in the farm kitchen, who saw no reason why she should not make frank overtures to Daniel ; farm hands did just as well married or single when one. could manage the dairy and the other the harvest ; a house ! was easily run up .in a week or two, and people were happier married ; it gave a permanency to things: And Daniel heard and pondered—and for- got. Butthat was before hesaw a Star of Bethlehem, the flower he re- membered growing abundantly round the old sun dial in Bessie’s garden at home. What memories came back to him in a rush as he saw it—the gray blue sky ; the long grass swaying with with a liquid motion and a sheen of silk as the breeze rustled it ; the scent- ed breath of the clover meadows; the tweet of the sparrows on the eaves; but above all a plain good face full of an unutterable affection for him! He gave a husky cry and covered his face with hig hands. * # # * Mrs, Pryce had called to see Bessie. She had come once or twice before ; this time she brought a few flowers, a bachelor's button or two, a cluster of dwarf roses, a bunch of the crucifier, called rockets in country places, a blade or two ot ribbon grass. Mrs. Pryce was growing more kind and pit- iful because she thought the end was very near. To Bessie her little mani- festations were doubly touching because they were so awkward. “I just said I'd come to day what- ever happened,” the visitor said, seat- ing herself on the edge of the chairand looking at the girl’s thin face sharply. “The busy season is comin’ on now, and I might have difficulty in gettin’ away again till twas too late, maybe.” “I'm better,” Bessie said deprecat- ingly. She was used to these frank references to her own end, and was not conscious that they pained her. “Yes, that’s always the way with decline,” Mrs. Pryce answered with the kindest intentions; “one day better, another day worse, another day better, and then proof ! out you go.” Bessie quivered a little, and the hand that held Mrs. Pryce’s posey shook. “I'll be dreadful lonely for your father at his age, you know,” Mrs. Pryce went on mourafally, “Me and and Mrs, Bridges was just talkin’ it all over last night, and we did say that somethin’ ought to be done to put him in a right way when he’s lett. He's ap in years, to be sure; but there's many a girl in the country that's that, too, an’ yet would make him comfort- able when you're gone, an’ be a good wife to him. He’s a bit easy-goin’, you know, and not liketo think of what's best for himself; but if you would speak to him, for his good—" “I’m not so sure that I won't get better, Mrs. Pryce,” poor Bessie said. “My dear, I'm sure we all hope you will,” Mrs, Pryce said with a hearty intonation of doubt ; “but don’t set your mind on it. Life 1s not a thing to be set on when the Lord has decreed to take it from ue. I'm sure if I had {died when I was young I would have been saved many a hard day an’ many a sad heart, what with my man ill, an’ the farm an’ beasts to see after, an’ the children to bring up. The Lord knows what a time I've had. An’ what does it come to in the end? Look at my sons after all I've slaved tor them ! Daniel at the world’s end, an’ Reuben minded to think he knows everything better’n I do. “Has there been no new letter from Daniel ?” Bessie asked, the littie tremor in her voice perceptible to her-! self, in spite of her efforts. | “No. Maybe I'll never see or hear | of him again, Why, Bessie, if he'd | married you an’ stayed at home, 'twouldn’t have been half so bad.” | { | | | \ and he'll never want to now. You've bad your troubles, Mrs. Pryce, but I | can’t say I'm sorry for you,” Bessie said. She bad been stung intolerably, and she, reyolted more suddenly be- cause of her weakness. “You had a good son who never gave you a sore heart or a shamed face until you took shame out of what was noshame. He worked like a horse, that’s what he did, from he was able to stand, and all the diversions ever he asked was to lock in for an hour at our house when his work was over, An’ our company was sale company, Mrs. Pryce, wheth- er it was grand or not. He never learned to think worse of goodness from us ; he would havebeen no worse gon to you in your old age for anything ever we said to him. But you did not care for that ; to your mind it was betterfto drive him to drinkin’ out of the country, than that we should be friends. Well, you've had your will ; we're not friends any longer ; but don’t ask me to feel for you, for I don’t and I can’t.” anna a Mrs. Pryce was not angered, scarce- ly surprised. She listened to Bessie as | to a fractious child and said : “There, there I” at intervals in a soothing way, sighed heavily when Bessie ended, and eaid then, in a complaining tone, and more to herself than the girl : “It’s hard to know what to do best many a time. One speaks & word in haste, and things follow it that one never thought of.” Bessie did not answer; she was weak and trembling, but the tears only glittered on her lashes, and did not fall. Whatever came of it, she was glad to have epoken her mind once to this hard old woman. Aftera time Mrs. Pryce rose, and with a commonplace or two took her leave ; then Bessie gave way to her emotions and cried as if her heart would break. What a world it was ! It was no great grief to leave it, with its mistakes and cruelties aad pain. It was these that mattered, not the living or the dying, which happened to all alike. Bessie was very simple, very inexperienced, very illiterate, but she had grasped a truth that often eludes the wise and learned—that life is meant to be very satisfactory and serene if oa- ly we would not complicate it needless ly for each other and ourselves. In the calm that followed that burst of storm, Bessie saw things clearly, saw that she stood at the grave's edge and did not care very much whether she went down or backward—saw the ugly things that spoil life—the tyranny, the pride, the spite; and the fair things, love, loyalty, generosity, truth, that make it worth living—saw that it is not always the bad people that crush others, but just as often the good, in a bad mood. Her heart went out sud- denly in a rush of tenderness toward. that by-gone might-have-been, Now that she knew his mother better, she understood all that she, Bessie, must have been to Daniel. In the harsh, hard-working household into which he had been born, what chance had he of loving anything ? And then she sat up suddenly, and the red flushed in her face like flame. She was experienced enough now to be able to minimize the daily shock of Reuben Pryce’s footfall passing the gate, but it always thrilled her to her heart, it sounded so like Daniel's. This time it did not pass; it paused, came slowly up the path among the flowers and entered at the door. Bessie rose and stood, a frail figure, against the high chairback, and Daniel came forward and laid his great hand ou the thin shoulder and said, with a terrible cry in his voice : “What have they done to you ?’ “Hush! Don't be frightened: I'm better.” She sat down and took his hand between hers and held it. “I was very ill ; but I'll live, now you have come back.” And she did live, grew strong, and even pretty the neighbors said. Mrs. Pryce behaved generously. She wanted Daniel at home now, and she made promises and overtures, would have conceded a great deal, or thought she would have done so; but Daniel had traveled, his horizon had widened. . Grimpat was not in his eyes what it had been, nor the farm a great inheritance. He wanted Bessie, but he wanted to go away then, parting peaceably with every ove. Mrs, Pryce gave them a grand wedding ; and the young couple left for the vessel that was to’ take them abroad. Geordie sailed with them; and in one of the few letters he wrote home to tell how prosperous they all were he said Dan- tel’s garden was half full of the star of Bethlehem, Chambers Journal. Loosing Faith in Editors, Old lady. “I don’t believe this Sure Cure Tonic is a-goin’ todo me any good.” Friend. “It’s highly spoken of in the papers.” Old Lady. “Yes, but I've taken forty-seven bottles and I don’t feel a bit better. I tell you what it is, Sarah, I’m beginnin’ to think those newspaper | editors don’t know everything. i ——Scene at Chicago railway station. | First visitor to the World's Fair (from Kiunk)—What? Going back already, Smith ? Second ditto—Yes. You see we have some nore property which is in my wife’s name, and the hotel people have agreed to let me go back after if. “Bat be did not marry me, you see, | For amd About Women. Paris and London are using far more satin, velvet and fancy ribbons than we are and we are doing quite well. Plein fine serges have been succeeded by the wide ribbed varieties, which show to such advantage in the plain skirts. The latest use for silk is a plaid, strip- | ed or changeable blouse, with collar, She had no intention of being either | puff sleeves and a skirt of black woolen coarse or cruel ; she simply spoke out | £00ds. her own full heart, as is the raral way, | without thought of her companion’s | ing made have no darts at the top of the point of view, | skirt, the fullness being gathered into Most of the dresses that are now be- | the waistband. | Waists are inclined to be short and | are finished at the bottom with either a frill or soft folds of silk, and have enor- { mous drooping sleeves. | Red cloth driving capes are flnished | with triple shoulder capes of velvet | and trimmed with black silk guipure | lace and jet ornaments. | In skirts, first of all, the circular i shape is considered the most popular. i It resembles a fluted lampshade when ‘worn. All rumors to the contrary, | skirts continue to be close fitting at the | top, unless for sheer or summer mater- ials. Miss Mary Redmond, the Irish sculp- | tress, whose colossal statue of Father | Mathews was recently unveiled in Dub- lin, is only 20 years old. Her first work was entirely destroyed by the youth who served as her models but she pluck- ily went to work and reproduced it, The old fashioned half-moon back ‘comb for a little girls hair is now re- i placed by an elastic band, which is | passed behind the hanging tresses at the | nape of the neck and fastens on top of the head with three small rosettes of baby ribbon matching the dress in color. Mrs. Christine Ladd Franklin is one of the few women who have won a well-deserved reputation as a scientific thinker and writer. She is an Ameri- can by birth and the wife of an Ameri- can savant, and her name is frequently found in German periodicals among such writers as Helmholtz snd Muller. A pretty summer gown was of gray blue hop sacking, made with a full skirt and a regular man’s vest in dark blue cloth with tiny white figures and a double row of pearl buttons.” Outside of this was a little short jacket with wide revers and immense sleeves that. fall from the shoulders in graceful folds, giving that sloping appearance that is just now so much in vogue. A charming gray and white wash silk had an 1830 skirt trimmed with six narrow bias bands of eminence pur- ple velvet edged on both sides with nar- row black lace. The waist had a front of white chiffon, with lapels of the vel- vet overlaid with fine jet embroidery. A black gown was of mousseline de soie, as light as a feather and as dainty as can be imagined. The skirt had three wide ruffles of the goods, each one is supplemented by another tiny one of black net. A piece of heavy yellow lace over black satin branched off into three little capes, two of the lace and oneof net. All of these gowns were as stylish as could be desired, and certain- ly in much better taste than many of the elaborate, erratic conceits that some women think are the correct thing. One cf the most attractive and desira- ble styles for traveling uses is the new Empire princess costume. In the back its adjustment produces a number ot na- tural folds that spread gracefully at the lower edge, which measures little over three yards and three-quarters in width, The side fronts overlap the centre front, and a picturesque-looking cape collar follows thelcurved edges of the sidefronts on the bodice. .-Mutton-leg sleeves and a standing coilar which closes at the left shoulder seam complete the gown, although there are often added fanciful short capes of velvet, and in this case the sleeves are very full puffs that ex- tend to the elbows, drooping over deep cuff facings of velvet, applied to coat- shaped lining. Theends of the cape and all the free edges of the gown are trimmed with narrow gimp or velvet. Here from the Chicago News are seven interesting ‘dressing room dont’s’? Don’t—unless your arms are white and rounded, wear only a little puff on the shoulders in your party dresses. Have your sleeves made in one or two big drooping puffs to reach almost to the elbow, where they will meet the. long gloves of the same shade. You will look quite as stylish and dressy. Don’t—if you have a pale complex- ion—wear a light gray or tan felt hat, because it will give you the effect of being sallow. If you must bave it, a light shade to match your dress, line the inside with dark velvet, which will make your skin look fair. Apropos of hats, the rule holds good that untrim- med brim is trying to all save the most youthful faces, whereas a pleating or even a fold of velvet imparts a look of softness. Don’t—if you are very thin or very stout, or if you even suspect yourself by your dressmaker into having an empire gown. Tt is a style which suits one wo- man out of ten, and the other nine are simply foils to get off her charms. Don’t— If your feet are short and broad—squeeze them with agony into the shortest shoes you can put on. If your weara 3 B, get a 3% A, and see how much slenderer and better shape your feet will look, Don’t—if you are blonde, brunette or medium—be afraid of wearing yellow. There is surely one shade of that color which will suit you and bring out all the pink in your skin ; if you are sal- low it would make you look white. Don’t—cover your face with one of the purple veils. Very few colored veils are to be trusted as being becom- ing, while black and white are always in goed style. Don’t—copy everything that you see is the fashion. Suit your own fig- | ure and face and among all the varied designsyou will find something that . will give you an individuality of your own. Remember that the lovely ladies in fashion plates are all Venuses, which few of us are. —— Railroad companies will have to reduce the fare to Chicago or they will find travel exceedingly light. Pu
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers