6
AT SUNRISE.
A rtoudless sky-line stretching far
right and left, where hilltops bar
The eye's untrammeled view;
.Hugging the faint horizon's edge,
It taptrs to an ether wedge
That cleaves the distance through.
And stretched above this belt of blue.
In colors of the brightest hue,
Sky-hung, a picture swings;
Painted on rifts of splintered cloud.
White as the robes th« saints enshroud.
And light as angel wings.
Curdles of crimson, pile on pile,
St catches the blushing Dawn's first smile,
Purple, amber and gray;
With rosetlnts from the rainbow's dye,
And the blue of an Irish colleen's eye,
And gems of purest ray.
Khimmering lights and shadows play
Across 'ts surface, like the spray
The foaming torrent throws;
Fault penciling.-! of sapphire trace
Its border, wrought of liimy lace,
In colors of the rose.
'•r-f-
Brief ns the raptures of a dream
Its splendors fade, while yet they seem
To be but scarce begun;
Faint now Its crimson dye«, and pale;
Its banners fall and meekly trail,
Hefore the rising sun.
—Charles H. Doing, in Washington Star.
KARR"^ till^ v/aR d5.
Copyright, ISD9, by J. B. Llpplncott Com*
pany. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER XII.—CONTINUED.
"What is it we can do for this woman
who has been so badly treated? She
lias no cause to doubt me. Tell me
how I may serve her." llcr voice was
calm and insinuatingly conciliatory.
"She demands a public marriage,
madam. Until th« year she has be
lieved herself less than the legal wife
of Raymond Ilolbin. though God knows
*he never intended to be less than that.
She was his wife abroad, openly ac
knowledged as such, and now Bhe has
proof of that fact —absolute, undoubt
ed proof of the highest character —
affidavits of acquaintances, registers,
letters addressed to her in his own
handwriting and photographs. All
this mass of evidence is properly cer
tified to in duplicate, and she has one
copy of each in the hands of her law
yers in Washington and one copy here.
Madam, your son has lived with this
•woman a's his acknowledged wife, and
I am assured that under Virginia law
she is his wife and would inherit his
•estate."
"Ah! She wishes money?"
**Xo. She wishes to have her child
•restored."
"Her child? Raymond's child?"
"Alas, madam, one word answers
you—yes!"
"He has not told me this." said the
mother. "It is all that he had left to
tell; his life has been a great, a pain
ful disappointment to me."
"It is likely that he has not told you
•other things. He is preparing for
transmission information which he
thinks is good for a vast sum of money;
•and there is the trouble, for I believe,
as you sit before me, madam, that,
having given me his sacred promise,
his sworn promise to send it by Louise,
join her later and right all her wrongs,
he is really planning to desert her
again. And in that event, madam, he
■would leave a desperate woman be
hind."
"What could such a woman do then?
Who would believe her —a self-con
"fessed spy?"
"That thought has already impressed
me deeply. I am satisfied now that
the woman's safest plan is to see that
he doesn't leave until he has met her
demands. And, madam, you have the
power to control him. At six o'clock,
unless I see you both earlier, I shall
address an anonymous communica
tion—"
"Will you take tea with us at six, in
stead—in my own apartments? I
think that better."
"At six then. I like the idea!"
In the privacy of her own room Mrs.
Brookin gave unrestrainediexpression
to a rage that was consuming her. No
one who knew the cool, suave, tactful
woman of affairs would have recog
aized her at that moment. She paced
the luxurious apartment with the fury
and abandon of a tigress entrapped,
her crushed parasol and the emblems
of her mourning beneath her feet. Re
sponsive to her furious ringing, Wil
liam came running to the room at in
tervals of five minutes to answer over
and over:
"No, ma'am, Mr. Raymond ain't come
in yet," and returned to tell below
Ktairs that "Mistis is done gone plum
mad over some'p'n!" Raymond cume
at last. As he entered his mother's
room such a storm burst upon him as
he had not dreamed could emanate
from the heart of a woman. She had
been humiliated, outwitted and belit
tled by an adventuress, she declared;
mb.e had been threatened and would be
forced into a compromise with a crea
tureofthe gutters, and if they carried
out their contract, what a triumph for
ISrodnar and the jealous, envious peo
ple who had resented their entrance
into Richmond society! At the mo
ment she hated even her son; she
blamed him for his insane disregard of
her wishes; he had been a marplot,
«he declared, balking her efforts to
advance his fortunes, winning disgrace
where she had opened the path to
honor; and now nothing was left for
him but marriage with a low woman,
and the loss of all for which she had
striven.
"Take her," cried the despairing
woman, "and out of my sight forever.
Co down to her level—starve, and leave
jour miserable offspring to wretched
ness." She gave way at length under
the strain, and Raymond for the first
tia< in his life beheld his mother
abandon herself to tears. He stood
moodily looking from the window un
til she giew quieter. When be turned
she was carefully righting the room,
her face was pale, but her old expres
sion of resolve had returned, and a
dangerous light shone in her eyes.
"You spoke of marriage," he said.
"Do you think Louise will insist upon
that ? Will bhe not be satisfied with the
child?"
"She will dictate the terms, not you.
She is desperate enough for anything;
and I know what a desperate woman
will do to save herself." Raymond
turned quickly and looked at his moth
er. She did not avoid his questioning
gaze. "She will denounce us both to
the government if you do not marry
her and give her back the child. 1
should if 1 were in her place. And she
will make public announcement of her
claim to a common law marriage with
you."
lie waited in silence a minute, as
though to weigh her words.
"Whether or not Louise substan
tiates her claim, proof of your immoral
life would kill the will of my husband,
for public policy would not compel
Frances to marry you to inherit her
property. It will not compel a young
girl to condone immoral conduct for
which it would grant a married wom
an divorce."
"Then we are ruined!" said Ray
mond. "I shall look out for myself.
Promise her anything to-night." The
selfishness of the decision would have
been appalling to anyone but his
mother. She looked at him a moment,
a sarcastic smile hovering about her
lips.
"And I shall look out for myself."
She began this self-preservation in
stantly. and with a falsehood so in
genious that ils use at that moment
would alone have proven her ability as
a diplomat. "Hut hard asitisupon me.
great as is my disappointment, for
you the blow is heavier; I should not,
except under these circumstances, tell
you, as I do tell you now, that Frances
and I have reached an agreement;
she has consented to carry out her
father's wishes; she stipulated only
that you were not to be informed of
this agreement untrt she chose to tell
you; she will not place herself in a
position to be harassed or worried by
a lover now; her whole thought is on
the wounded soldiers." She saw the
sudden rush of blood to her son's face,
and then the pallor return. A groan
burst from him, and he turned away;
and therein was apparent the vast dif
ference in the natures of mother and
son; helplessness, weakness and sur
render w as possible with the man; but
with the woman, though storms of ad
versity might overwhelm her and
clouds darken her path,nothing could
long daunt her fierce, relentless sirit.
For her there was no such thing- as
complete despair. Her time had come
in this battle which she was fighting
against odds; she approached her
despairing ally and laid her hand upon
his shoulder.
"Raymond," she said, "what would
you sacrifice to clear the way for mar
riage with Frances?"
He saw the calm, confident look in
her face, and a breath of hope stirred
his fainting manhood.
"Anything—everything!" he said, at
length.
"If you will yield implicit obedience
to me—if you will be guided—l shall
clear the way for you. Will you?"
"Yes."
"Human life or lives must not be
regarded. We have no friends; we
are surrounded by enemies; we must
[cs]
Mi
Wrm,
I m
SHE PACED THE APARTMENT WITH
THE FURY OF A TIGRESS.
put aside conscience and sentiment to
win; we must hesitate nowhere. Do
you understand? And do you con
sent?"
"I shall leave it all to you, moth
er. What is first to be done?"
"Meet Louise here at six o'clock,
and take your cue from me. She
must be disarmed of suspicion."
From the moment of his surrender
Raymond Ilolbin was ripe for any
thing his mother might suggest. It
was her mind that conceived the plan
to convince Louise that she would
be permitted to ride through the con
federate picket line; that, under an
arrangement secured by Raymond
through friends' in the war depart
ment, only a pretense of firing upon
her would be made. It was u plan
that would have deceived no other
than a woman.
That six o'clock tea was the tri
umph of a brilliant diplomatist's ca
reer. Louise was forgiven, caressed,
received back as a member of the
family, her claims and wrongs ac
knowledged, and full reparation
agreed upon. No one could have ex
celled Mrs. Brookin in the tender
ness with which she treated the now
happy woman. She blamed Raymond
openy for having concealed the truth
from her.
"I knew nothing of the unfair nd»
vantage he took of you—nor of the
child," she said to Louise. "My hus
band's niece! It was inaieed a crime!
And yet I see now that I largely have
been to blame. I threatened him; my
heart was set upon another plan. My
dear child, if loving care and sym-
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, JULY ir, 1901.
pathy can compensate In part for
what you have suffered, they shall
be yours. Rut although the circum
stances seem to demand that mar
riage should at once be solemnized,
the ceremony must not be performed
in Richmond. In all likelihood this
city will be your home, and you
should come here as Raymond's wife.
Fortunately, he has given no one here
reason to suppose he is single, and
it will be very easy at the right tin;e
to have you and the little girl arrive.
1 assure you, my daughter, that your
reception will leave no room for doubt
as to your future position." As
Louise sat looking into the benevo
lent face of the older woman, with
tearful eyes, her heart overflowed
with gratitude.
"My child, madam," she faltered.
"Where is she?"
"Near the city, but just now be
yond the lines. You will be directed
how to reach her when you get
through; or better, Raymond will
join you, and together you will find
her."
Louise went back to the hotel al
most content.
CHAPTER XIII.
Raymond Holbin had found it diffi
cult to advance his cause with
Frances, if for no other reason *>ian
that few opportunities for seeing her
alone presented themselves. He had
sought interviews repeatedly and
ottered the many little courtesies
which the male resident of a house
may extend to those of the other
sex, but they had been declined with
a persistance that only added fuel
tc# tae flames which were consuming
him. The girl seldom dined with the
family; she had during her father's
long illness instituted a little house
keeping plan of her own and took
her meals in her apartments, a mat
ter very conveniently arranged by
reason of the position of the apart
ments and the constant attendance of
mammy. Occasionally, yielding to
the insistence of her stepmother, she
joined the family upstairs, but on
such occasions she carefully avoided
a tete-a-tete with Raymond, with
drawing always with the elder wom
an. On such occasions, the inevitable
topic had been the war, its vicissi
tudes. and the responsibilities it in
volved. In these meetings and the
presence of great events she after
awhile learned, if not to like her step
mother, at least to suspend judgment
upon her; indeed, sometimes she had
been tempted to doubt the correct
ness of her former judgment, for
when the city began to be crowded
with wounded Mrs. Brookin threw
open her house to them and gave
much of her time to their care. The
gentleness with which the elder wom
an entered into this work, her gen
erosity and her universal courtesy
were bound to impress such a girl
as Frances. Once, as though yielding
to a noble impulse, she placed her
arm about the girl and said:
"My child, you have surprised and
gratified Kie of lf 1112 I had known
you years ago we should never have
been less than friends. Try to forget
the days when I seemed unkind, please,
and do not cherish anger towards an
old woman." Frances tried to forget,
but always in the presence of Mrs.
Brookin she felt a constant. She
seemed ever to have entered an atmos
phere that had been stripped of its elec
tricity. Try as she might, it had been
impossible to respond unreservedly to
her advances; the best she could do
was to meet them with courtesy.
The presence of wounded men in the
house gave Raymond for a short time
an opportunity to see something of
Frances, and he, too, became a famous
nurse. But one day Frances assured
him that if he should prove as good a
fighter as he was a nurse promotion
would follow; then he came less often.
Twice before she had been unable to
resist the temptation to touch the raw
place; once she had asked him directly
how it was that a man could keep out of
a war in which other men were win
ning fame; and once, in reply to his
question: "Will you ever like me,
Frances?" she said: "A Virginia
woman should not be expected to like
civilians overmuch when Virginia soil
is invaded." At length, to avoid him.
she gave more of her time to the hos
pital, j ielding the care of those in the
home to her stepmother and the
trained nurses. Mrs. Brookin won
golden opinions in those days. A week
seldom passed without the appearance
of her name in print coupled with lav
ish commendation.
Dr. I'rodnar, busy every hour of the
twenty-four in which his giant
strength could sustain him awake, had
but little time to spare for Frances;
but one day in the hospital he got a
brief report of the girl's new experi
ence.
"If I had not discovered that I am
better at sawing off legs than fighting
scheming women, my child, I should
say that you have never been in so
much danger as now; but I have re
tired as an adviser of young women.
By the way, have you decided that you
will come out and keep us company at
home? My wife sends an invitation not
less than once a week."
"No," she said, "it would seeni like
running. But tell Mrs. Brotlnar lam
very grateful for her kindness."
"All right. Come when you please;
and, Frances, call me a fool as often as
you wish, but be careful what you eat
in your stepmother's house—and take
no medicine there! How have you sat
isfied them about the night when a
friend of ours got his wound?"
"They have never been satisfied, I
think. They tell me 1 am full of
whims, and perhaps they class that
night among them. You have not
heard —?"
"Not a word. Good-by!" Dr. Brod
nar in the brief meetings with Frances
would never discuss Somers. It is
likely that his friend's choice of sides
had been an immense disappointment.
Frances was bound to receive Brod
nar's hint unfavorably when she con-
sidered the new and continued kind
ness of her stepmother. Often the lat
ter said:
"When it is all over u jpy child, thil
cruel war, these scene* of suffering,
we will take our trunks and go abroad
somewhere for a year of rest." The
idea seemed to be a favorite one with
her; she told all of her acquaintances
that she and "poor dear Frances"
were going abroad as soon as hostili
ties closed; thr-t the child was simply
worked down. And in the face of this
tender solicitude and the old lady's de
votion to confederate sufferers, peo
ple shook their heads and acknowl
edged that one should not always be
lieve the unkind things whispered of a
neighbor. From the isolation of a sus
pected person, ir. a year Mrs. Brookin
achieved immense popularity and won
the confidence of even the highest of
ficials, in whose home circles she was
as welcome as they were in hers. How
welcome they were might be estimated
from certain government records, if
the records were accessible and possi
ble of translation now.
[To Be Continued !
GOT THE WRONG RECIPE.
Unexpected Ilenalt of a Colored
Cook's KlTorta at Cake
Making.
It has been said that the black serv
ants of the south have no objections
to cooking in their own remarkable,
though usually highly palatable, way,
says the Troy Times. A northern lady
tried for a long time to procure a cook
who could read, and so make, according
to recipes, some of the remembered
New England dishes. She got one final
ly, a mulatto man, who could read.
She gave him a recipe for making cake,
written plainly on a scrap of paper.
When the cake came on the table it
was not a white cake, which the re
cipe was calculated to compound, but
had a remarkable gold color. The lady
called the cook. "Did you make the
cake according to that recipe?" she
asked him. "Oh. yes, mum." "Did you
putin all the eggs?" "Oh, yes, mum."
"Pyt in everything?" "Oh, yes, mum,
vinegar, too. I putin flour and sugar,
'cause I knew them was required for
a cakc. But I putin all them other
things, too. Vinegar, mustard, pep
per," he enumerated, thoughtfully.
"Vinegar," cried the lady, "mustard:
get me the recipe." On the back of
the paper was written a recipe for
salad dressing. "Well," said her hus
band, looking at the golden paste On
his plate, "it tastes good. It's the best
cake I've eaten in this house." And
the housewife looks only a little dis
couraged. A year ago she might have
cried.
Too Much fop Him.
There is a story of a Layman who
conducted a service one day for a
western mission. He had been a stout
old soldier in his time, but his knowl
edge of Hebrew was limited, and his
pronunciation of unfamiliar Bible
names a thing to wonder at.
When he opened the Bible that day
he could not at once find the place, and,
after turning the pages nervously, in
the face of a tittering congregation,
he finally took a passage at random and
began to read. As ill luck would have
it, he lighted upon one of the genealog
ical chapters in Ezra, and there he
struggled hopelessly through half a
column of Hebrew names, seeking all
the time for better luck.
At length he turned the page, in the
vain desire of seeing some change in
the substance of the chapter on the
other side. What he found proved too
much for him, and, after one fright
ened glance, he thus concluded his
reading:
"And a page and a half more of the
same kind, brethren. Here endeth the
first lesson."
The Good Katoreil Qneen.
A characteristic story is told of two
church dignitaries who were one day
vis-a-vis at a dinner party with Queen
Victoria at Windsor. One was a
courtly, polished cleric, high in hei
majesty's good graces, the other a
blunt but important personage whose
rank entitled hiin-to a position on the
queen's right hand. She talked tc
him for some time, and then, turned
to Dean , referring accurately tc
the dramatis personae of a long past
event. "What a wonderful memory
your majesty has!" murmured the
dean, suavely. "Nonsense," interposed
his brother cleric, "it's nothing ol
the kind. I told her majesty all that
myself five minutes ago!" And hor
rified guests, who almost expected tc
see the earth open and swallow up
the plain-spoken ecclesiastic, were re
lieved to observe the queen smiling
with the most evident delight.—Troy
Times.
He Didn't Like the Chene.
"A few years ago," said Harry Cun
ningham, of Montana, to a writer o)
the Post, "the late Charlie Broadwa
ter, of our state, gave a banquet tc
about a score of his personal friends
It was an elaborate spread, and one
of the chief items was some 20-year
old brandy that cost Mr. Broadwatei
a fabulous price and regarding which
he spoke with much enthusiasm. At
the wind-up of the feast coffee and
Roquefort cheese were brought in,
though the latter was not common
ly down on Montana menus at thai
period. Sitting near the
one of his special friends, who, nftei
eyeing the Roquefort a trifle suspi
ciously, tasted it, made a wry face
and shoved his plate to one side.
'You don't, seem to like that,' re
marked Mr. Broadwater. Indeed 1
do not, Charlie. Your 20-year-old
brandy is all right, but I'll be hanged
if I like your 20-year-old cheese.'
Washington Post.
Auctioneers Are Obliging,
Auctioneers are an obliging lot; the}
always attend to everyone's bidding.—
Chicago Dailj fvewi.
WOMAN POLICE SERGEANT.
Sdrm. Mary E. Owena, of Chlpugn, Hold*
Tliiai Hank, und IN KuriiiiitE
ller Sulnry, Too.
Sergeant Mary E. Owens, of the
Chicago police department, is the only
woman in the world holding such rank
and title, and if she is not a good ofli
cer six mayors of that city have failed
to find it out. She is on the regular
police pay. roll, wears sergeant's badge
No. 07 and reports daily tot hief Col
leran, of the detectives. Nobody, from
the chief of police down, gives her or
ders. In the language of the street,
"she knows her business," and it is an
open secret that she knows it so well
that she can wear her badge and draw
her salary as long as she likes.
She began her otlicial career in 1839,
Bays the Chicago Reeord-llerald, soon
after the death of her husband. The
support of a family of three young
children devolved upon her suddenly,
while she was yet ignorant of any pro
fession, trade or method of money
making. Her husband's friends
brought enough pressure to bear to
have her chosen one of the live wom
en health officers appointed by Mayor
Cregier. She did the rest herself.
When the women were dropped by the
health department Mrs. Owens had
made herself so conspicuously useful
to the police that the elder Carter Har
rison told Chief McClaughry to ap
point her patrolwoman, with a special
assignment in the sweatshops, depart
ment stores and shopping districts,
where most of the violations of the
child labor and compulsory education
laws were being violated.
"I never arrest anybody," said Mrs.
Owens, laughing, "and it is mean to
eay that I am 'the shoplifting sleuth.'
I have nothing to do with general
detective work and never had.
"For years I have been attached
to the board of education as a spe
cial officer. Of course, I have full
police power, but I find myself more
than busy rounding up truants, look
ing after cruel parents and prevent
ing violations of the child labor law.
Sometimes I arrest tots whom I find
peddling around the saloons or sleep
ing in down-town doorways when
they ought to be at home in bed.-One
night, not long ago, 1 picked up a
mere baby dozing in a doorway, all
MRS. MART K. OWENS.
played out and with a box of chew
ing gum she had been peddling. I
took her to the Harrison street an
nex, and when we got there the
child's father and mother suddenly
appeared and claimed their baby. Of
course they had been hiding in some
adjacent doorway while their little
one worked on the sympathies of
passers-by. I kept the child all night,
and the parents, protesting in vain,
waited for her. But they never again
sent her out to peddle among saloons
or on the streets.
"If a truant is reported at the
school headquarters as having gone
to work under the legal age 1 make
a round of stores and find the child.
The affidavit of the parents stating
that the child is 14 years old or
older must be forthcoming or I send
the little one home in a hurry.
"I can generally get the truth out ,
of the children, and storekeepers are I
usually anxious to aid me. I have j
known cases where the earnings of
a child 12 or 13 years old were abso- !
lutely necessary to the support of a
widowed or invalid mother. I don't j
push the law too hard in such cases, j
and so long as the affidavit is there '
I don't bother them."
Mrs. (Jwens is nearly 35 years old, |
but she looks younger and is en- j
thusiastic over her peculiar situa
tion. She has four children, three
boys and a girl, the eldest of whom
Is 18 and the youngest 12. She is '
giving them all a good education, and '
her housekeeping is done by a hired
maid. City officials agree in stating
that, aside rrom her police work,
she has accomplished great good in
the cause of charity. Every factory
employer, manager and owner of a i
store in.the business district of Chi- j
ca?o knows Mrs. Owens, and she has |
made most of them her friends.
Carry Your Own Lunoliron,
It is very curious to notice how j
the custom of carrying a lunch on a j
train is steadily coming back into !
favor. At first everybody did it, juat
as they now do in England, on ne
count of the absence of dining cars, j
When these were introduced the ;
really fashionable people immediately
began to patronize them, and left the
lunch basket to those who could af
ford nothing better. Now, however, it
is considered the correct thing to
have one's lunch put up in a dainty
basket by a good caterer.
LANGTRY'S NEW HAT.
Fainoim Knel;«h Artrena
a Millinery Fntlilon That
Should llecome I'ojiulur,
From across the water comes the
news that Mrs. Lang-try has a -wonder
ful hat which she wears with stun
ning: effect in her new play, "The Roy
al Necklace." It is a leghorn, that
charming straw of smooth, delicate
weave which is beloved by every wom
an who ever looked into a hat window.
It is heavily trimmed with a simple
wreath of May flowers.
As every woman knows, these "sins
pie" effects are not simple at all, but
"simply maddening" to arrange. Since
MRS. LANGTRY'S NEW HAT.
Mrs. Langtry has set the style it ia
likely that there will soon be a raid on
American millinery counters for these
particular hats.
There is something deliriously
charming about a hat of this style.
It is so distinctly feminine and its
waving brim can give an air of co
quetry to even the most uncoquettish
; face. Correctly, it should be worn
wit'h a dimity or organdie gown of
many ruffles, with silk mitts—which
are quite the vogue—and with a para
sol that is a fluff of chiffon and a foam
of flounces or a great big slapdash
boquet of real lace.
Probably no style of hat is so becom
ing to all ages and all types of women
as the leghorn. It is pretty on the
petite girl with her fluffy pigtails tied
with ribbons. It is picturesque and
lovely on the large girl—the Mrs.
Langtry type, for instance.
Even on elderly dames it is not en
tirely out of place, and everyone
knows how cunningly lovely the leg
horn hat is on babies, its waving, lilt
ing brim shading kiss-able curls and
sweet laughing eyes.
All hail the leghorn!
Mrs. Langtry has not tucked it back
in feminine hearts, because it has
never been out of them, but she has re
minded womankind of its perfections,
and for that womankind will be more
than grateful.
THE ATHLETIC GIRL.
Her I'rpitlKe I* Slowly Dot
Surely lnurped by the Soft,
Clliiß'iiitc Mnlri of Yore,
Backward and forward swings the
pendulum of fashion. We fancy we
have put away certain frivolities for
ever, and, presto! here they are back
again as pronounced as ever. The
fact is that the man and woman ia
esse have not changed at all.
Circumscribed as we are, therefore,
by the limitations of our humanity,
we find in our orbit that now, as
in the days of Solomon, "there is no
new thing under the sun," and fash
ion must perforce swing around in
an erratic circle of periods—the Vic
torian, the Napoleonic, the Louis
XVI., the Renaissance, the Grecian,
etc. —to gratify the love of change.
This may seem like a rather elabo
rate preamble to an analysis of the
coming summer girl of 1901, but it is
curiously apropos to observe that the
i athletic girl's prestige seems to be
I more or less on the wane, and that
I a soft feminine creature, like the
I grandmother of 50 years ago, who
I does nothing but look supremely
pretty in her muslins and laces and
makes herself entertaining, is com
ing very much to the fore.
| A couple of years ago it was gen
| erally thought that the athletic
movement which was so
j all over the country would develop
I a new woman, and that the fluffy
| summer girl of yore had vanished
| forever, but to the great joy of the
! maidens (and they are not a few)
j who have all along secretly detested
1 sport, it seems now quite on the
j tapis that they may be as much in
| the fashion this summer as their
I more amazonian companions and
1 may openly avow their preference
I for shady corners and tcte-a-tetes
! without incurring disapprobation.—
j Chicago Daily News.
How to WnMh Kent I.ntc,
Duchess point or any real lace may
be cleaned by washing it carefully in
tepid water with 4ine soap, rinsinjf
well and pinning it carefully while
wet on a board covered with llanriel.
An iron should not be allowed to
touch this lace, and the points must
be pinned very carefully, so as to
keep the pattern true and even. If it
becomes dry before it is pinned, mois
ten with a damp spong and let the
lace dry thoroughly before removing
it. I'y careful handling the lace may
be made to look as good as new.
•Jacket* with Low ColTapM.
The English fashion of breakfast
jackets with low sailor collars is be
ing taken up by many beauty seekers.
It is ft sensible and becoming style,,
and the best possible way to acquire
a pretty neck and throat. Any num
ber of society girls are jr.iking a
practice of having all their house
gowns constructed without collars,,
and as a consequence the improve
ment in t* le color of the skin is much
hastened.