Beworraic atc
Bellefonte, Pa., Oct. 26, 1894.
TOMMY BROWN,
“I'm jest discouraged,” said Mr. Brown
To his wife one day as he came from town;
*Tain’t no use sendin’ our Tom to school,
He'll never be nothin’ but jest a fool.
He studies like blazes, the teacher said,
But he can’t get nothin’ through his head ;
The 'xamination he’ll never pass--
He’s the dullest boy in the whole blamed
class.”
“Tom may be dull,” said Mrs. Brown,
“But he’s jest the steadiest boy in town ;
‘Tain’t always the brightest that wins the
day,
But the ones that jest keep peggin’ away,
His skull may be a little thick,
But he can't be beat on 'rithmatic,
And any time he would leave his meals
To work at pulleys and pinions and wheels.
He's built an engine that runs by steam,
And a sawmill down be the medder stream
I know he’s slow, but he ain’t no fool,
And I tell ye Tommy is goin’ to school.”
So Mrs: Brown she had her say
And, womanlike, she carried the day.
Tom stuck to his books with dogged vim
And mastered each with a purpose grim ;
Said “I loye’ and “you love” and “they love,”
too,
With a fine contempt for the loving crew ;
Thundered through ri.ctoric dry and stale,
In Greek and Latin grew thin and pale ;
With progress slow, but sure as fate,
At last poor Tow was a graduate.
Then down beside the meadow stream
For days and days he would sit and dream,
And the house was filled with models and
lans
of Shen and motors and derricks and rams;
And his father gravely shook his head
And to his mother sadly said ;
What good did it do ye to send him to school ?
I told ye Tom was a tarnal fool !”
One day the papers were made to ring
With a great invention, a wonderful thing:
They called the inventor a man of renown
And said that his name was Thomas Brown.
“ I allers told ye,” his father said,
“That Tom was a genius born and bred,
And anybody could plainly see,
With half an eye, he was jest like me.”
“ And I s’pose,” said his mother, in accents
cool,
“That’s why you called him a tarnel fool !”
—L. C. Hardy, in Farm, Field and Fireside.
ECS —
DEMON.
A LOST SOUL.
“How Dow, Horatio ! you tremble and look
pale ;
Is not this something more than fancy ?
What think you on’t 2”
-—Hamlet,
It was a chance remark, and one
that is often made concerning an intel-
ligent animal, but its effect upon my
friend, Sidney Darrow, was singular.
His shoulder twitched nervously,
and hishand went up to his throat as
though something choked him.
I have a large English mastiff that
I call Wodan. A moment before he
had left his accustomed place on the
rug in one corner of the room, and had
come to my side to receive the caress
which, at intervals through the day,
he seems to find necessary to his hap-
piness, As I smoothed his wrinkled
forehead and patted his soft, large ears,
I observed with what trustful affection
his great eyes beamed upon me.
It was then that I remarked to Sid-
ney Darrow, who sat near at hand,
carelessly watching us through the
smoke of his pipe :
“Does it not seem to you sometimes
that Wodan has a very human
look 7”
And my friend made answer with
the peculiar motions which I have de-
scribed.
Wodan left my side and walked
slowly back to his rug. Darrow watch-
ed his movements with half closed eyes,
his hand still clutching his throat.
When the dog had lain down my
friend turned his gaze upon me.
“Don’t-don’t ever say that about
Wodan again! It will make me hate
him.”
He was plainly much stirred and
the seriousness of his appeal was not
to be doubted.
Presently, before I was ready to
make any reply, he separated the
heavy beard that covered his chin ani
neck, disclosing a deep zigzag scar.
“See here,” he said, “I never showed
you this.”
“What made it—a burn ?”
“No. Let me tell you the story.”
* * * ®
There was a period of my life, some
years ago, that I spent on my uncle's
ranch near San Juan Capistrano. At
that time the raising of sheep was one
of the chief industries of Southern Cal-
ifornia, and much of the land in our
vicinity was devoted to pasturage.
About a halfa mile from my uncle's
house, in a lonely canon, stood the hut
of a herder—built of adobe, repulsive
without, cheerless, within grim and
squalid, yet in every way so well suited
to its eolitary inhabitant that one
might think he had constructed it
about himself, as the nantilus does his
shell. He was a tall, hardvisaged
Basque, with a great, shaggy black
beard, haggard features, and eyes
that you could not look into without a
shudder. Do you understand what I
mean ? He was one of those wild
beasts of men, whose faces, seen but
once, live always in your memory,
and when sleep will not come they
show themselves—bodiless masks, as
they are—through your tightly closed
eyelide.
The trail of the cannon passed with-
in a few yards of the hut, and my du-
ties—I assisted my uncle in the man-
agement of the ranch—frequently led
me in that direction. When not away
on the hillside with his flock of sheep,
the herder" usvally stood . or squatted
motionless in front of his hovel. A
few feet away from him crouched his
dog. The pair, man and beast, ‘stared
at me from the moment 1 came in sight
until I passed among the live-oaks
beyond, making no movement, save a
slow turning of the head, and offering
no response to my salutation. At last
I came to paes them in silence, but
never without a vague sense of dread.
I learned from the men on my un-
ele’s ranch that the Basque was con-
sidered queer, or, as they expressed it,
“locoed.” They said he was in the
habit of talking to his dog as though it
were a man ; and that even his fellow-
countrymen feared and avoided him.
Crazy he may have been ; a drunk-
ard he certainly was. At frequent in
tervals he appeared in the town with a
large black demijohn, which he carried
away filled with liquor of the sort that
makes maniacs.
One afternoon as I came down the
canon I heard the yelping of a dog,
approaching the hut of the Basque I
beheld a sight that filled me with an-
ger and distress.
The fellow had hung up the dog by
the Lind legs against the side of the
house and was beating him with a
large knotted stick.
I did not stop to think much of con-
sequences. I did as you or any man
who has ever known a dog would have
done. Ijumped from the saddle, and,
drawing my knife as I ran, cut the ani-
mal down. Then I turned and faced
the Basque.
I suppose he thought I was armed—
which I was not—for he did not take
up the gage of battle, butstared at me
fiercely out of bloodshot eyes. The
dog hobbled away to a short distance,
shook off the riata with which its legs
were Jensnarled, and crouching low,
watched us.
“Come,” I said in Spanish, “why
should you kill your dog? You have
drunk too much aguardiente. To-
morrow you will be glad that I saved
his life.”
He emitted a strange sound through
his teeth and lips. It was very much
like the snarl of a wolf.
“If you do not care for the dog, will
you sell him ?” I asked.
“No, he replied, with an oath, “I
will not sell him. . 1 mean to kill
him.”
“Very well,” I said ; “if you wish to
take the animal's life, shoot him ; but
you shall not beat him to death.”
The Basque turned toward the hut,
muttering imprecations alternately
against the dog and myself. When he
came to the door hecalled the dog:
“Demonio! Come here!”
The animal eyed him, but did not
move. Then the herder disappeared
from view in the dark interior ,of the
hovel.
I remounted and continued on my
way down the trail. I had gone about
a hundred yards when suddenly there
was a crashing in the chapparral be-
hind, and I wheeled hastily around to
discover the dog. He had followed,
evidently for the purpose of making
acquaintance and to thank me for the
rescue,
I called to him and patted the side
of my saddle, meaning that he should
come where I might touch him. He
started to obey, but ae he approached
nearer my horse gave a violent snort,
and began to shy away from him. The
act surprised me not a little, for the an-
imal was a stolid old bronco that rare-
ly started at anything, least of all at
dog. The dogstopped his advance and
watch us, while I struggled to bring
the horse nearer to him and to calm
his very evident terror. But my ef-
forts were unavailing, though I used
whip and spur and threw all my
strength on the bridle. The horse
would not allow the dog to touch him.
For some strange cause he even trem-
bled in his presence. Atlast 1 gave up
the undertaking aod examined the
Basque’s companion from a little dis-
tance.
He was considerably larger than the
average collie. imagine that hemust
have had some Newfoundland or pur-
haps St. Bernard blood—the sheepdogs
of California are rarely of pure breed.
His hair was short, curly, and black
as night. He squatted on his haunch-
es and looked steady at me during all
the time that I was occupied in mak-
ing this survey ; and when at last I
spoke to him, he lifted his ears a little,
but made no other movement,
“Demon 1” I said, is that your name
Demonio ?”
At first I thought that the same had
been given him because he was dark
in color as the popular belief paints an
evil spirit. But a moment later, when
my eyes rested upon his, I saw—or
perhaps I should say I felt—that there
might be some farther reason. I
scarcely know how to describe the ef-
fect that his steady gaze produced up-
on me. It was at first merely an im-
pression that this dog was different
from any of his species that I had ever
known before—then a conviction that
something was wrong—and, lastly, an
uncontrollable terror. These sensa-
tions followed one another in quick
succession—almost in a flash; and
without stopping to ask myself any
questions, I guve my horse free rein,
and we went plunging headlong down
the trail.
Once again in the open plain, I tried
to deceive myself into thinking that
my terror had only been apprehension
lest the Basque should come upon me
from behind. The rapid descent of the
twilight and the peculiar behavior of
the horee had, I assured myself, served
to heighten the effect of this dread.
A few days later, when I passed the
hut, the herder and his dog, in their
usual attitudes, stared at ‘me, sulien
and silent. I looked closely at the
dog's face, but could see nothing but
keen animal intelligence.
Several months paesed.
One morning, as I went out toward
the corral, one of the men employed on
the ranch came to me and said :
“I believe that something has hap-
pened to that crazy Basque sheep
herder. His dog came here last night
and would not go away.”
“What Demon,” I said and as I
spoke the animal came running up. I
patted his head and talked to him, but
he jumped uneasily about, as though
he were anxious to be gone,
I suggested to the men that we
should ride to the canon, and mount-
ing, we followed the dog out in the
road. He ran along several rounds in
advance of us, looking back occasion-
ally to make sur that we were coming.
When the canon was reached his pace
slackened, and some distance from the
hut he stopped and fell in behind
ue,
“He dreads a beating,’ said I.
From the trail we called to the hut,
and receivinz nd answer, we rode to
the door and looked in,
There lay the Basque in the middle
of the floor, his arms outstretched and
his head thrown back—dead.
An uncared for corpse is always a
disagreeable object to look upon, but
something had happened to this one
that rendered it impossible for me to
give it more than one quick glance, I
hastily turned my horse’s head toward
the spot where the dog was crouching.
The man, more resolute than I, dis.
mounted and went into the hut. When
he came out he said :
“I covered it over with one of those
sheepskins, so it wouldn't scare any
one else. His bottle was lying near
him, and I guess he must have drunk
himself todeath. That was probably
done by coyotes, or maybe a mountain
lion.”
We rode to town, where we gave no-
tice to the authorities of the man’s
death, and also to several of his coun-
trymen. In talking with one of the
latter, I asked what disposition would
be made of the dead man’s sheep and
of his dog.
“The sheep,” answered the man,
“were not his; he had sold them. As
to the dog, nobody wants the brute, I
imagine.”
“Why not 2"
The man shrugged his shoulders and
looked askance at Demon, who had
followed me.
“Very well,” I said, “then I will
take him,
No objection was made, and Demon
passed inlo my possession.
My uncle had several hundred sheep,
which were tended by an old native
Californian and his son. I took De-
mon to them and offered his services in
the care of the flock. To my surprise
they refused. I urged the matter, and
finally demanded the ground of their
opposition, At last the old man said :
“He looks like a sheep-killer.”’
This accounted for the refusal of the
Basque shepherds to take the dog ;
they, too, suspected him. Knowing
how prone such men were to supersti-
tious and prejudices, I would not allow
the animal to be condemned without a
canse,
“Do you know that he kills sheep ?”’
I asked theold man.
He shook his head. Then I asked
if anyone had even seen the dog prowl-
ing around at night or behaving in a
suspicious manner. Again he shook
his head.
“It is all nonesense,” I said, finding
myself fairly forced into the position of
the dog’s defender.
“Now, I tell you,” said the old shep-
herd ; “I know that dog ; I think him
a bad dog. I will show you some-
thing.”
He wentinto his hut and brought
out two half-grown puppies--lively,
wriggling little fellows—and put them
down on the ground before Demon.
“You see,” he said; “puppies al-
ways try to play with strange dogs—
never afraid of them. Look! I told
you he was a bad dog.”
The infants waddled up to Demon,
who approached them, wagging his
tail, good humoredly. The instant
they got a good view of his face, they
whirled about and went off fly-ing at a
great rate of speed.
The performance struck me as amus-
ing, and I laughed, but the old shep-
herd looked very grave.
“A bad dog,” he reiterated, slowly ;
“very bad.”
“Well,” I said, “I will take him my-
self, since you will not. But if I ever
learn”—here I instinctively looked
down in the dog's face, as though
speaking to him—*if I ever learn that
he has killed a sheep, I shall have him
shot.”
The dog's eyes looked up into mine
with a keen intelligent gaze ; and I
could not resist the belief that he had
understood.
It is not improbable that my preju-
dice against the animal was even
stronger than that of the shepherds;
but, as I was an educated, reasoning,
man, proud of my freedom from every
form of superstition, how could I bring
myselt to countenance such irrational
fancies? Ou the contrary my duty seem-
ed to lie in the opposite course—to defy
this prejudice and to protect and to de-
fend the object at which it was levelled,
Besides, I had come to feel a powerful
curiosity with regard to this creature
which, though apparently inoffensive,
was so generally hated and feared.
What was it that inspired all other an-
imals with such distrust of him ? Not
my horse alone, but every quadraped
on the place manifested a very evident
unwilliness to have him about. The
other dogs would not associate with
him, Yet he was never quarrelsome
orill tempered.
Oae thing he did, which, though not
a serious fault, was often annoytog. He
had a habit of watching closely every
motion of the person nearest him—us-
ually myself, Sometimes I almost
imagined that I could feel his eyes,
when I did not see them—his gaze
was so constant and intense. This
habit, I thought to myself, was acquir-
ed during his life with ‘the bratal
Basque, who might be expected at any
moment to inflict some undeserved
blow upon him. Despite this explana-
tion, there were times, when we were
alone together, and I looked up to find
him watching me, that I felt the chill
of an unreasoning dread.
Demon had been in my possession
several weeks, when all at once I be-
gan to hear complaints about the kill-
ing of sheep. Every morning a fresh
victim was found dead—now of one
flock and now of another, yet all with-
in a limited range. They were all mu-
tilated in the same way, and the work
was plainly that of a dog practiced in
sheep-killing. As I had expected,
suspicion immediately fell upon De
won ; and one morning when I came
out of the house, I found a couple of
herders waiting to see me.
They had no evidence against the
dog, yet they demanded that he should !
be put to death. The injustice of it
roused my indignation, and calling
Demon up to me, I said :
“I want you to look at him,
say that a sheep was killed last night.
You
Where is there any signs of blood
about his jaws ?”
One of them examined Demon's
mouth, but found no mark of the
slaughter. The other said :
“That dog does not prove anything.
A regular sheep killer does not spill
much blood, and sometimes he learns
to wash it all off.”
This sounded improbable to me, but
I did not argue the matter.
“Very well,” I said, “to-night De.
moun shall be shut up in the corral,
and if a sheep is killed we will know
that be is not the guilty dog.”
They shook their heads. *He will
find some way to get out of the cor-
ral,’ said one of them.
“Then he shall sleep in my room
along with me,” I said; “and the door
and blinds shall be closed. Does that
suit you ?”
This arrangement seemed to satisfy
them and they went away
That night I took Demon to my
room and gave him a mat in the cor-
ner for a bed. His only possible
means of escape was by the door or
window. I locked the door and drew
the blind of the window shut and
hooked itin place. Then I went to
bed and almost immediately fell
asleep.
In the morning when I woke Demon
lay upon his mat apparently in sound
slumber.
I began to dress. When I was
nearly done my uncle rapped on the
door.
“Have you Demon in there?’ he
called out.
“Yes,” I answered,
door.
He exhibited much surprise. “An-
other sheep was killed last night,”
sald he.
“Well,” I replied, “that merely
proves what I've said ; that Demon is
innocent.”
“Yes, of course,” said my uncle,
looking doubtfully at the dog. He
went over to the window and inspected
the fastening,
Impossible!” he said.
“For him to open it?’ I asked, of
course.
My uncle threw the blind back and
pointed significantly at the flower bed
below. The plants had been crushed
down and the earth displaced, and
round about were numerous dog tracks.
“That was not there yesterday,”
said he.
My room was on the ground floor,
and from the window to the earth was
only two or three feet. Had the blind
been open, the dog might easily have
climbed out and in again, but it had
been locked all night.
I turned and looked at Demon. He
was watching us stealthily with the
expression in his eyes that I knew and
dreaded.
My uncle made another examina-
tion of the fastening of the blind.
At last he said : “I am convinced that
the sheep-killer is not Demon. There
is no dog in existence that could
manipulate that crooked hook to open
the blind. Those footprints were left
there by some stray animal.”
The conviction seemed inevitable,
and I agreed with him.
At the same time I was resolved to
try the experiment again and watch
the dog more carefully.
That night I shut Demon in as be-
fore, and closed and fastened both door
and blind, There was a full moon
which made the landscape bright as
day without, and it occurred to me,
just as I was about to put out my
lamp, that I could throw open the up-
per section of the blind and admit the
light. Itfellin a broad, wide square,
directly across the mat where the dog
lay, and after I got into bed I found I
could watch him easily, without turn-
ing my head upon the pillow.
Then I discovered that he was
watching me. There was nothing
unusual about that—ouly his eyes were
strangely bright.
. I tossed about in the bed for a time,
but he never moved.
At last I determined to deceive hin
in the belief that I was asleep. I
closed my eyes, and presently by a
careless movement, drew the lace edge
of the pillow slip across my face.
Thus I could watch him and yet con-
ceal the fact that my eves were open.
When I had lain in this position mo-
tionless for perhaps ten minutes De-
mon suddenly lifted his head and
turned it on one side. Plainly he was
listening—for what 1 could not imag-
ine. He put his head down, and for
another ten minutes did not move.
Then gradually and noiselessly he rose
to his feet aud came toward the bed.
A little distance away he stopped and
listened again. Evideatly he did not
hear what he had expected, for after
standing a moment he returned to his
corner and lay down.
Suddenly I found the explanation of
his strange conduct. He had listened
to my breathing that he might deter-
mine if I slept.
Resolved to deceive him if possible,
I began slowly to lengthen my respira.
tion and to expel it with more sound
and force.
At the end of a few minutes I saw
that I was succeeding in my design.
A second time he rose with perfect
stillness and came to the bed. His
face wore an expression of devilish
canning, so utterly foreign to his cus-
tomary mien that under ordinary cir
cumstances [ should have failed to
recognize him. A swift flash of satis
faction in his eye showed that he
turned to the window to make his es-
cape.
His motions were slow and cau
tious, reminding me of a cat rather
than a dog. I had expected him to
make some slight noise in unhooking
the blind, for I doubt if I myself, with
my life in bazard, could have accom-
plished it inaudibly. But there was
no sound to be heard in the room, ex-
cept that of my own slow, steady res-
piration.
I think it must have taken him five
minutes to draw the hook, Then (he
blind was swung back quietly inch by
inch, and his way was clear. He
stood a moment with his forepaws on
opening the
the window sill and looked back at
me. As he did so, I again felt the
same strange impression of terror that
had overwhelmed me the first time
| my eyes had met his in that lonely
For an instant I held my
canon. t
breath, and had he continued to look,
he must have discovered that I was
Hot aslesn, Eat oor with a Side in litigation for two years.
yet noiseless leap hie went oul of ihe | 1; ApRiiy arranged A compromise satis-
window—gone on his murderous quest.
It was several minutes before I ven- |
At last I rose and |
tured to move.
went to the window. Far away where
the bright moonlight fell upon the side
of the kill, I could see a small piece of
darknees scudding swiftly along. It
was Demon on his way to the sheep
I scarcely knew what impulse sent
me, but I went to the closet in my
room, took down a large navy revolver
and when I got back into bed, slipped
it underneath my pillow. I did not
then, and I will not now, confess to
any real fear of the dog—that is to
say physical fear. There was dread—
a vague, indistinct horror—at some-
thing unexplainable that I seemed to
see in his eyes. But had I really
feared him, I should bave closed the
blind, rendering his return impossible.
I lay still and watched for an hour.
The nearest flocks I knew could be
reached in a few minutes, and his re-
turn might be expected at any time.
I drew the lace over my eyes again,
and listened for the sound that should
indicate his approach. Suddenly a
great black head appeared at the win-
dow—without the warning of a footfall
—nmaterialized, as it seemed, out of the
darkness of the night. Itstwo round
red lights gleamed like coals of fire.
The moon shone clear and full on his
face, and I could plainly see the blood
and foam with which his jaws were
covered.
He climbed slowly into the room.
Then, with an ingenuity that was even
more than human, he drew the blind
shut—noiselessly—and fastened it in
place.
He gave one quick glance at me,
and went over to his corner. Through
the net work of the lace I watched
him, while he licked the blood-stains
from his feet and washed his face and
neck, with the motions and attitude of
a cat.
I grew faint with the horror of it all,
and at last forgot the part which I was
playing, and ceased to counterfeit the
respiration of one who sleeps. Even
when Demon suddenly started up,
looked at me and listened, I did not
notice my mistake.
Then he came nearer to the bed—a
few feet away—and glared at me out
of those terrible eyes.
That was the moment in which I
saw the thing and understood it all.
You will not believe it—I don’t ask
that you should—but I saw through
that creature’s eyes down into the
lost human soul that occupied its
body.
It was the soul of a murderer—the
destroyer of the drunken Basque in his
lonely hovel, the slayer of the sheep—
now, at last, throwing off all disguise.
With a strange halt-human ery, the
thing sprang at my throat. I threw
up my hand and it missed its aim, the
teeth closing on the skin. The next
instant I fired the revolver,and it rolled
over dead.
The wound was not serious but, it
left that ugly scar. There is another
scar that the experience left, which is
probably much larger—if one could
see it. I mean on my memory.
CHARLES DwicaT WILLARD.
Breaking a Trance.
A woman stood at the door as I rode
up to the humble mountain cabin, and
after we had passed the time of day
and I had quenched my thirst she in-
quired :—
“Stranger be yo’ doctor ‘nuff to tell
when a man's dead ?”
“Yes, I think I am.”
“Well, I'd like yo'to cum in. and
see the ole man.”
“Do you think he's in a trance ?”’ I
asked as I got down.
“He may be. “It's like this:
When he can’t hev his way ’bout
things, he threatens to die. This
mawnin we had a row, and he throw-
ed hiseelf down on the airth to expire.
He's bin lyin’ out thar six hours, eyes
turned up and mouth open, and I'm
beginain to git a leetle skeered. It's
the longest he ever laid around.”
I found the man under a tree back
of the house. His fingers were clutch-
ed, his mouth open and his eyes rolled
back, but he didn’t look at all like a
dead man. I bent over him and felt
his pulse going good and strong and
said to his wife:
“He appears 10 be stone dead, but
perhaps hot water will restore the
spark of life. Bring out the teakettle
full of boiling water and pour the con-
tents over him.”
“Yes, I reckon he's gone for good
but we'll try it.” she replied as che
entered the house,
She was scarcely inside when the
dead man opened his eyes, scrambled
to his feet and said to me in a whis-
per:
“Stranger. I'm 50 y’ars ole and
hev met a meah man regularly every
day sence I was bo’n, but of all the
dog goned mean men I ever met I nev-
er cum across one 8d pizen mean as yo'
ar’! It's bin which and t'other be-
tween me and the ole woman fur the
last y’ar, and jist as I had her skeered
to death and ready to git down and ax
me to boss the roost yo’ cum 'long and
spile it all and gin her new hopes and
ambishuns. Say, yo’ orter be bit to
death by polecats I"
He shook his fist at me and dodged
into the brush, and when she came
out with the teakettle he was nowhere
to be seen. She put down the kettle
and extended her hand. I grasped it
and turned away to resume my jour-
ney. A quarter of a mile below the
house some one rolled a big rock down
from the hillside at me, but it was a
miss.
~Do you read the WATCHMAN,
————— ee —
For and About Women.
Miss Ella L. Knowles, of Montana,
the young lawyer who lately came with-
ina few votes of being elected Attorney
General of the State, has just received a
fee of $10,000 for effecting a settlement
in an important lawsuit involving large
The matter has been
Miss Know-
mining interests.
factory to both sides. Her fee is proba-
bly the largest ever received by a wo-
man attorney.
It is important to remember that the
flat end of a cork is the very handiest
thing one can use for scouring steel
knives and forks. Dampen the cork
slightly, dip it in the powdered bath-
brick or fine coal ashes, and the scour-
ing will be so quickly accomplished that
you will never return to the old method
of using a cloth.
There are more radical changes in
shoes this season than in any other arti-
cle of feminine wear. The out-of-door
shoes, like the coat and vest of the up-
to-date girl, are fashioned after the ftoot-
gear of the lords of creation. The long-
pointed toe, the patent-leather tip, the
buttons for ornament, are all masculine
—and not in good form. What a terri-
ble calamity it would be if any of our
feet were shaped like these shoes, and
still we wear them and are happy. The
French heel has given place toa low,
broad heel. That 1s something like the
common-sense heel. Congress gaiters,
with a row of useless buttons on the
outer side, with patent-leather tip and
trimmings, are shown. Women who do
not like rubbers and feel that some extra
protection is necessary in cold and damp
weather, wear shoes with thick soles,
finished with a coating of rubber.
No wardrobe 1s now complete with-
out a cape. Even the young girl has
gone in tor this stylish, useful and com-
fortable garment. Mouse-colored drap
de livre with applique trimming of the
same was chosen in making an exceed-
ingly pretty wrap displayed at one of
the stores. The cape has two parts, the
shaping in the under-cape being ac-
complished by darts upon the shoulders,
and the upper cape is separated in two
at the centre of the back. The garment
is lined throughout with gay plaid silk
and is finished with a turn-down collar.
A very pretty cape, charmingly suit-
ed for traveling in all forts of weather,
is of gray Glasgow frieze, with an ap-
plique design of black broadcloth ar-
ranged in deep Vandykes across the
shoulders and laid in three bands around
the lower edge. A natty turn-down col-
lar is trimmed similarly, and the gar-
ment falls gracefully in military effect
over the figure. It is lined with garnet
taffeta silk,
A new costume of basket cloth has
leg-o’-mutton sleeves, short basque-fitted
waist, and extravagantly wide revers
faced with moire. There is a collar and
vest of moire ; and the moire belt has a
rosette and long ends of ribbon falling
to the hem of the skirt.
One of the famous coutouriers of Paris
showed in his establishment a gown
which, on account of its simplicity,
merited much attention. It was com-
posed of lavender cloth and was made
as follows : The flaring skirt was fitted
closely over the hips and laid in box
plaits in the back, but so great was its
fullness that it hung in folds also at the
sides, and, in a more moderate torm, in
the front.
The very bouffante gigot, or leg-o’
mutton, sleeve was box plaited into the
armhole and finished at the hand with-
outa cuff. The bodice had a French
front, but was plain and tight fitting in
the back. The full chiffon vest was of
the same width at the waist as at the
neck, and was laid in tiny tucks to form
a round yoke. The cloth fronts of the
bodice concealed the edges of the vest,
but were loose from the shoulder to the
waist, thus giving almost the appear-
ance of a jacket over a full chiffon
blouse, but with this distinction, name-
ly, that these cloth fronts were confined
by the girdle, over which they drooped
in blouse fashion. The edges of these
were admirably finished by three plaits,
running parallel with the vest.
A round cloth collar, cut in three
large scallops in the back, extended in
front as far as the vest, thus completing
the round yoke of the latter. A large
soft bow of lavender surah, several
shades lighter than the cloth, was at-
tached to the yoke at the right side of
the vest. A similar bow also embellish-
ed the front of the neck. The full gir-
dle of surah to match the bows had sev-
eral large standing loops at the back.
The loops were rendered stiff by a fine
silk wire sewed in & tiny tuck, forming
a cord on either side of the loop. Over
a full collar of chiffon an inner collar
of surah falls in two large points in the
front.
This is one of the most choice plain
gowns shown this season, and is suitable
for either plain or novelty cloth. If
made of the latter it may be garnished
with silk to match one of the colors in-
troduced in the latter. It would also be
an appropriate model for a velvet gown.
A black velvet gown could be garnish-
ed with collar, bows and girdle of cerise
velvet or silk,and a deep collar of black
guipure, while it would retain the chif-
fon vest.
It is important to remove tar, wheel-
grease, etc., from wash goods before
placing in the suds, and soap should not
be rubbed first, on any satin, as it will
tend to set it. To remove the tar or
grease from white goods rub with oil of
turpentine and soap, alternating with
streams of water. For colored cotton
and woolen goods rub lard thoroughly
into the spot, and let it lie until the tar
seems loosened, then treat alternately
with oil of turpentine, soap and water.
Silks may be treated carefully in the
same manner, using benzine instead of
oil of turpentine.
The correct way to tie a sash-ribbon,
whether at the back or at one side, is in
very short loops and very long ends.
The short loops give a pretty rosette ef-
fect, and the ends should reach the hem
of the dress.