THE STRENGTH OF THE HILLS,
My thoughts go home to that oid brown
house,
With its low roof sloping down to the
” cast,
A $s garden fragraut with roses and
thyme,
Tat blossoms no longer, except in rhyme,
Where the honey-bees used to feast.
Afar in the west the great hills rose,
Silent and steadfast and gloomy and
RAY;
I thoeghit they were giants, and doomed to
recy
Thay watch, while the world should wake
or sleep,
Till the trumpet should sound
judgemont day.
on the
I used to wonder of what they dreamed
As they brooded there in their silent
might,
While March winds smote them,
rains fell,
Or the snows of winter their ghostly spell
Wrought in the long and lonesome
night.
or June
They remember a younger world thanours,
Before the trees ou their top were born,
‘When the old brown house was itself a tree,
And waste were the flelds where now you see
The winds astir in the tasseled corn.
And I was as young as the hills were old,
And the world was warm with the
breath of spring,
And the roses red and the lilies white
Budded and bloomed for my heart's delight,
And the birds in my heart began to sing.
But calm in the distance the great hills rose,
Deaf unto raptures and dumb unto pain,
Since they knew that Joy is the mother of
Grief,
And remembered a butterfly’s life is brief,
And the sun sets only to rise again.
They will brood, and dream, and be silent,
a8 NOW,
When the youngest children alive to-
day
Have grown to be women and men, grown
oid, :
And gone from the world like a tale that is
told,
And even their echo forgets to stay.
SIRT,
THE ARTIST'S ROMANCE,
Alfred Hart was an artist, as yel un-
known to fame. He had sent a picture
to the Academy; and it had been refu-
sed. Nowise cast down by this failure,
he resolved to try again. He called
himself persevering; his friends called |
him obstinate; i his enemies said that |
he had mistaken his vocation, and
ought to have been a house painter.
Onr hero had his fair share of con-
ceit. and, believing in himself, laughed
at his friends and despised his enemies,
It must be confessed that as far as |
outward appearance went, Aifred Hart
looked every inch an artist—that is, the |
popular idea of one—with his long hair, |
soft hat and velvet coat,
Disgusted with the bad taste of the
“Academy,” Alfred Hart betook him-
self to the seaside, after writing a furi- |
ous article on favoritism to the news- |
paper, which was not inseried.
Some day, Alfred Hart felt, he would
be appreciated; but, in the meantime,
be would have probably starved, had it
pot been for a maiden aunt who allowed
him so much a month in order that he
might pur his studies.
He had been pursuing his studies a
very long time -being now, when our
story opens, thirty-seven,
Alfred Hart, on arriving at the sea-
gide, went immediately in search of al
lodging, his artistic
der his arm.
At the first house he
self he had a very unpleasant rebuff.
“You're an artist! No, thank you!”
said the landlady, “I couldn’t take you |
" !
paraphernalia un- |
i
presented him- |
“Why not?’ asked our hero. {
‘‘gecause,” said the landlady, put-
ting ber &rms akimbo, **I've heard that |
artists don’l pay.”
“You are very insulting, madam!" |
cried Alfred Hart indignantly, ‘Who |
made such a scandalous libel on our |
honorable profession?”
“I'm a plam-spoken woman,” went
on the lady, “and 1 speak out straight,
My sister once let her rooms 10 an ar- |
tist. !
“And the result?” !
““Was that he never paid! I'd much |
rather take a pork-butcher than an |
artist, and that’s the truth!” i
“There's a black sheep in every flock,”
observed Alfred Hart. *‘I can assure |
you that I always pay my way,”
“If that’s the case.’’ said the sharp |
seaside landlady, ‘*vou'll have no objec
tion to paying in advance.”
“None at alll” said Alfred graundiy,
for he had just received a remittance
from the aunt before mentioned, *‘1'l |
pay vou in advance if the apartments
guit. Let me see them.”
“This way, sir,” observed Mrs, Law,
a little more civilly, *“*Mind the steps,
the passage is rather dark.”
The rooms suited Alfred Hart very
well, and he took them there and then.
“Being an artist,”’ said Mrs, w, as
ghe stood in the parlor by the window,
“you will enjoy the view,”
The view consisted of a long line of
mud, for the tide had run out.
“Yea! I shall be very comfortable
here no doubt,” said Alfred, sinking
into an arm-chalr that had a broken
spring. “I suppose you have been here
too long to enjoy the prospact.”
Mrs. Law confessed that she didn t
see much in it herself, as she rattled the
“two weeks in advance’ in her pocket.
When alone, when Mrs, Law had left
the apartment, Alfred took the wrapper
from the rejected picture, and gazed
upon it,
He was looking at it still when Mrs,
Taw entered the room bringing in the
tea things. Now, Mrs. Law was a wo-
man of the world , and understood peo-
pic's weaknesses,
“Why, whata beautiful picture!”
she cried lifting up her hands in affect-
ed admiration. “Did you draw that,
sir?”
“Yes!' said Alfred, with a pardons.
Ma glow of pride. *‘1 painted pice
re, $
“It's just lovely!” cried Mrs. Law.
“Mrs, Law,” erled the ified ar-
tist. “you are a woinan sound dis
cernment! You bave a soull You can
appreciate art! Shake hands with me,
madam '’
Mrs, Law readily acquiesced; the ar-
tist looking very happy indeed,
“Never saw such a daub in uy life
observed Law, when in 8 Jus.
’ dono harm to A
up, I'll charge him something
dreams, despite the hardness of his bed.
He dreamed that he was President of
the Royal Academy, and that he would
allow no pictures there but his own.
He awoke too soon to the hard reali-
ty, and went down to his breakfast,
which consisted of weak tea, and a few
diminutive shrimps, and not very invi-
ting bread and butter.
After breakfast our hero went for a
stroll by the ever-restless sea, the wind
A few excursionists made some un-
complimentary remarks about Alfred
Hart: but he, being used to them, took
no notice, beyond casting disdainful
glances at the low creatures,
He had proceeded on his way about
half-a-mile, whenhe came upon a young
lady who, not knowing that anyone was
in sight, was seated on a rock busily en-
gaged in taking some stones out of her
sand-filledshoe, and, in so doing, reveal-
ing a charming ankle.
Now, our hero was, as we know, a
man of artistic taste, and therefore,
gazed upon the girl with admiring eyes,
thinking he would much like to paint
her in that very attitude.
That afternoon, as he was having his
dinner, the same young lady passed his
window.
“Do you know her?’ asked Alfred
abruptly, looking at his landlady who
was pouring him out a glass of ale.
“Who?”
“That young lady who has just pass.
ed the window. the young lady who
wears red stockings.”
“Why, Mr. Hart, how observant you
are!” observed Mrs, Law, going to the
window. ‘Oh: that’s Miss Daffodil
Nixon. Her father is something in the
She is his only daughter. The man
who marries her will be a lucky fellow.
have a chance.”
“So I might,” said Alfred, much
pleased; **but bow am I to get introdu-
ced?”
“Ah! that’s the difficulty,’’ remarked
Mrs, Law. Then she added, after a
moments reflection: “Her father always
amram
saw Daffodil’s father tucking up his
sleeves,
“Did you address such language to
me gir?’ asked Alfred trying to look
fierce but trembling in his shoes,
“Yes, sirl”
“Then I think I'd better go.
not forever.”’
And, with these parting words, he
fled leaving father and daughter to-
gether.
It was not forever, he met Daffodil
on the following night, and, taking her
to the station, took the train for Lon-
don.
Alfred’s aunt received his future bride
with enthusiasm, thinking that through
her she would be relieved of her neph-
ew’s keep.
Three weeks afterwards they were
married, and the artist felt that his tri-
umph was comple,
A few days after their marriage Al-
fred wrote to his father-in-law to tell
him what had happened. The answer
that came back by return of post aston-
ished him.
“Sir,—I am glad to get her off my
hands. I wish you luck. You'll find
that she has a deuce of a temper.——
Yours faithfully,
“Joan Nixon."
Her father only spoke the truth—
Daffodil had a deuce of a temper; but
Alfred would not have cared for that,
had she possessed money. She had not
a farthing in the world, and Alfred
found that he had been thoroughly du-
ped. But a worse misfortune awalted
him. His aunt, thoroughly disgusted,
refused to do anything more for him.
Thus left to his own resources, our
hero saw that he would have to say fare-
| keep himself and a wile. i
He tried another walk In life, and,
| mercial traveler, doing well. Is he
| happy with his wife? We believe quite
| as happy ag most husbands are, for Daf-
fodil with
mt Al Aessa—
The Winchester Rifle,
with him.”
“You've hit it!” said Hart delight-
edly: he felt that the fair Daffodil was
¥ 3
already his, We have already told the
“If I win her,” thought Alfred, “Ull
Delay is always dangerous. Our he-
his feet. No he knew better.
That very evening dressed in bis Dest
he showed himself at the parlor of “The
Virate and Admiral.”
John Nixou was seated at the end of
the table, with a long pipe in his mouth
—evidently he thought a great deal of
himself,
But our hero did not find it so easy
as he thought it would be to make J hn
Nixon's acquaintance,
He was a grumpy, surly fellow, and
hardly answered Alfred when he spoke,
to
A pistol of decidedly clumsy appear-
| steel in its composition,
few minutes last evening
drug store, with several other articles,
by & gentleman who had some errands
at Kloek’s
corner, and who asked
| temporarily relieve himself of t
permission
he load.
| During his absence several visitors in
weapon,
loaded,
¥
gh it
was not did
sone
tent, “This pistol,” said he, ‘works
ter magazine gun, Of course many
made since
this pistol was manufactured, but the
principal features are the same. Thou-
sands upon thonsands of
been made from the invention, but the
She awoke to find herself on a little
island of sand surrounded by walter.
Now, the probability is that had there
not been a young man present, Miss
Daffodil would have rushed through the
water, which was not quite two feet in
g in the
way, she to a little shriek,
saying:
“Save me!
The gentleman was no other
Alfred Hart, and without
hesitation, after casting a glance at the
gave vent
" ‘
Save me!”
plunged into the water like the hero
he was,
“i will save voul”’
“You are brave nobiel"
the fair Daffo
round his neck.
Once more he
he cried,
she cried,
il threw her army
plunged
through the
land,
“I am saved said the girl, still entwi-
ning her arms round Alfred’s neck ,—
fair flower as she was, “How can 1
ever thank you sufficiently for your gal-
lant conduct?”
“Don’t mention it,” said Alfred half-
choked by the girl’s fair arms, “It's a
pleasure to risk one’s life for one so
beautiful.”
Now it must be confessed that Miss
Daffodil was not what might be called
beautiful, though a fine-looking girl of
about five-and-twenty summers,
The next day, and the next, and after
that they met on the beach, walking
side by side, the pleasant sound of the
restless waters in their ears,
She told him everything abeut her
self, for Miss Daffodil was very frank—
how she had money in her own right,
and how her father did not wish her to
marry, because he would loose it.
At length, one lovely evening, our
hero asked the all-important question.
“Daffodil, dearest Daffodil] he said,
“1 have loved———'’
“Oh, Alfred!” hiding her blushing
face in her hands.
“1 have loved you,” went on Alfred,
saver since I first saw those yellow sand-
boots and red stockings.”
“You wicked A 1" sald Miss
Daffodil, pinching him,
“Darling, will you be mine?” .
Of course she said yes, and the artist
was rendered the of men, look
ing forward to the time when he could
touch her money,
On meeting her on the following even-
ing, Alfred suggested they should
elope.
“Where to?’ asked Daffodil,
“I'll take you to my aunt's,” replied
Alfted, “We will with her un.
til our arse.
“Will she like me?’ asked Daffodil,
oul, I only too
well that his aunt would be giad to hear
had married a fortune.
|
i
The late O. F. Winchester began the
shirt business many years ago on a very
small scale, cutting out the garments,
which his wife and other women put
together. The business gradually in-
creased until Winchester & Davies
factory on Court street. The firm pros-
pered, and when Tylyer & Henry pro-
duced their magazine pistel he went to
Mr. Winchester, as a leading capitalist
but the
was refused,
and Win-
offered him £25000, No sale
to $10,000,
7.500, The first guns were made on
"
AAI ———————
Closing » River,
The Sacramento river is now so filled
up with debris and slickens washed
down from mines worked in the past
year that passenger and freight boats
can no longer reach Sacramento, Pas.
sengersand freight have to be transferr-
ed to light draft barges at a bend of the
river below the city. Allgrain from the
upper yilleys shipped by water has to
be lightered down if the barges draw
more than three feet of water. The
shoaling of the river has increased so
rapidly during the last three years that
unless measures are promptly taken by
the Government to thoroughly dredge
the lower basin there 18 every prob-
ability that Sacramento City and all
the great grain-growing valleys of
Northwestern California will be de
prived of water communication with
San Francisco. The Sacramento Board
of Trade has invited the California
Ssnators and members of Cougress to
take a trip up the Sacramento River
and see (he condition of the stream,
he inspection will be made in a short
time,
When anything is done, people seo
not the patient doing of it, nor think
how great would be the loss to man if
it had not beon done,
Never put much confidence in such
as put no confidence in others. A man
p! evil 1s mostly looking
in his bor for what he sees in
himself,
In order to the present, it is
to be intent on the h
The Burglar.
AAT
#'There 18 no use talking, Mr, Wylks,
I eannot stand this much longer, You
have been out every night this week un.
til after twelve, and I haven't slept a
wink, fretting about you, until I am al-
most tired out.”
“Well, don’t worry about me, degr.
Go to sleep to-night, and get a good
rest,”
“That's just like a man to talk so.
Go to sleep, indeed! 1 presume you
would, and leave the house to take care
ot itself, to be broken into by burglars,
and may be the whole family woald be
murdered. If you loved me as much as
you used to when we first were married,
you would not be willing to leave me
1 worry and fret, and get my nerves all
unstrung,”’
“It is necessary that I should attend
to these things, my dear. The country
must be governed, and growing needs
require constant watchfulness and new
laws, I don’t mean to be out any more
than I am obliged to. You must be
willing to sacrifice a little for the good |
of your country. Just make up your |
mind that you will go to sleep, and you
won't be troubled any further by wake-
fulness.”
“The idea of me coolly making up my
mind to go to sleep while you are out 18
perfectly preposterous. I wouldn't be i
80 “heartless.”
“Well, I won't go out to-morrow |
night. I'll stay in with you but to night |
I must.”
“Oh, dear! I suppose I must stand it;
but I'm sure something will happen, I
nave a presentiment, and when did my
presentiment ever fail? We may never |
see each other again, If you come howe
and find baby and me killed, don’ be
“I'll try not to be,’ replied Mr, Wylks
Then |
he gave her a good-by kiss and left her, |
and ghe hurried through the house to |
papers furnished so plentifully, and |
when she had got herself wrought up so |
that she could st still no longer,
she
doors and warned the gris against re- |
moving a single bolt or bar, Then she
returned to her cozy sitting room and
sat down in silence, listening for the
wretch, and |
trying to imagine what she should do if |
one of the villains should confront her
and demand her jewels and the key to
the silver clo el.
Time went on and the clock struck
11, still she was undecided what she
had better do if anything unosual
should happen. The girls had gone up
to bed, and were, undoubledly, ]
sounQ
Half an hour crept by. Baby cried
and Mrs Wylks has.
tened to him, for there was no nurse to
attend him. Mrs, Wylks would never
She shiut and fastened the bed-
room door, and lay down beside Ler 1it
tle one to soothe her to sleep, The
clock struck 12, and then Mrs, Wylks
heard a noise. Breathlessly she listened;
footsteps were creeping up the |
stairs. They paused a moment at her |
door, and then she heard the Knob turn, |
the mid- |
She |
“Something must be done,” solilo- |
herself from beside ber sleeping infant,
“I can't lie here and let everything be |
out of the house; I must do
Softly she turned the key, and gently
into the hall, determined to do some-
thing. Tremblingly she crept toward
woment to be met by the monster of a |
law-breaker. She gained the sifting- |
An idea suggested itself to her |
She clasped her hands together
for a second, then springing forward
she pushed the closet door to and turn:
ed the key. Only a few seconds’ work |
and she had him safe, She heard his |
cries to be let out as she fled up the
stairs to the girl's room, screaming.
I've got him! I've got the burgiar!
Now quick for the police! Aun, Bridg- |
et. He'll burst open the door! quick,
get up and run!
Aroused from their slumbers, the
girls rubbed their eyes and failed to un-
derstand the situation.
“Oh, be quick!” ened Mrs, Wylks,
wringing her hands,
“What is it, ma'am?" asked the girls
in the same breath,
“I'he burglar! I’ve got him down
stairs in the closet! Oh, hurry! He'll
break out, and then we're lost!”
At the name **burglar*’ both girls hid
themselves under the bed-clothes, and
paid not the least attention to Mrs,
Wylks' pleadings,
“He'll break out, I know he will, and
kill the baby, Oh, dear, ain’t you go-
ing to the police?” and Mrs, Wylks
tugged at the bed-clothes.
“Och! och!’ answered the girls, hold-
ing on to their sight cov v
“Oh, dear! I'll go myself. 1 won't
be killed! I won’t bave the baby killed!
I leave you to your fate!” and Mrs,
Wylks fled, closely followed by the
girls, whoobjected to belong left to their
ate, and, springing from their beds,
Shey bad caught hatever articles
betsy uated a protest in angry tones,
door was opened, and Mrs,
Wylks took her stand on the stops,
while the girls hurried away for help.
What a long time it seemed to Mrs,
Wylks, they were gone, She could not
the door, and calling to be released, not
even when she stepped into the hall and
listened, He had undoubtedly resigned
himself to conquering circumstances,
“Oh, how 1 wish Mr, Wylks would
come,’’ she said to herself, nesting her
baby close in her arms, *‘l knew some-
thing was going to happen, How glad
he will be to know that baby and I are
safe, Oh, I am so glad you have come!”
This last exclamation was caused by
the appearance of the two girls and half
a dozen police,
You've captured a burglar | under-
stand, ma'am,” said the captain, ad-
dressing Mrs, Wylks.
“Oh, yes, He’s in the closet up
stairs: that is if he has not gone out,”
and Mrs, Wylks pointed the way for
them to go, and followed closely in the
rear.
“Sure, they think you're a hero,
ma'am,” whispered Ann to her mis.
tress as they went up the stairs,
Into the sitting room they marched,
and arranged themselves before the
The captain unlocked and opened it;
Mrs. Wylks peered from behind the
open door, where she had hidden, and
She then came out to get a closer
with a rather ashamed ex-
“Why, Mr. Wylks, is that you?”
After a short and entirely satisfactory
explanation the officers withdrew and
more,
essen A
Siain in Mer Home.
Miss Gertrude M. Hover was found
dead at her residence in the village of
N. Y.. recently, seven
cruel stabs about the head and neck re-
vealing a hard struggle against
knife of the assassin. Miss Hover was
about sixty years old, and lived alone in
Chrysler's lane in a8 two-story cottage
surrounded by ample grounds, and was
in comfortable circumstances, Her
pearest neighbors on that street are
there. Some of them do not bear a very
good reputation, although no very seri-
ous charges have ever been made
against them, About 8B o'clock in the
morning a woman who sometimes work-
ed for the deceased went to the house
and found all the doors locked. She
notified a gentleman who lives near by,
dered woman's brother-in-law. When
he came he brought Dr. Wadsworth,
the Health Officer, with him, and with
some of the white neighbors they gained
an entrance to the house,
On the parlor floor they found Miss
Hiover lying. The room was in disorder,
the carpet being pulled from its fasten-
ings as if a terrible struggle had taken
place. A despatch was seat to Coro-
per Waldron, at Hudson, who arrived
at 11 oclock, summoned a jury, and or-
dered an autopsy to be made
The front door of the house opens
into a hall about eight feet wide, on the
baseboards, and walls of which were
several large spots of blood, which ap-
peared to have been made by a garment
Miss Hover's pocket
Her relatives think
Miss Hover was of medium size, stout
and muscular, and weighed about 160
pounds. She fought desperately for her
fife, and did not succumb until batter-
almost beyond recognition and
blirded with the blood that streamed
from her head, It is thought the first
kitchen, when the murderer, who
sneaked into the house while Miss Ho-
potatoes, stepped before her and struck
her in the face with his fist, She kept
a revolver in the house, and on regain.
ting-room to get it. As it is missing it
18 conjectured that she secured it and
had it wrested from her by the murder-
er or murderers, as it Is thought that at
least two men were engaged in the bu-
Here part of the stabbing was
done, and when the woman fell she was
dragged into the parior, where the fin-
ishing blows were given.
There is absolutely no clue as yet to
the murderers. Everything is mere
conjecture, The colored neighbors say
they saw Miss Hover Jast on Thursday
afternoon of last week. During the
morning of that day she called ata
mason'’s house (0 engage him to Tapas
one of the chimneys of her dwelling,
and told the children they could have
some fruit if they would come after it,
One of the boys, a iad of ten years, says
they went to Miss Hover’s on Saturd
morning about 10 o
rected by her
sete cys aA AAA A
THE FASHIONS,
{301d hairpins remain fashionable,
Silver jewelry is worn more than
ever before.
~AHlace effects in surah silk are
| again to be seen.
| Scarf drapery is much employed on
| dress skirts,
| ~—Parasol handles, Vienna leather,
| simula‘e old ivory.
| There is no more useful dress than
| & black silk one,
| Eton jackets of jetted black lace
| may be worn with dresses of any ma-
| terial or color.
—JLarge wooden or porcelain beads
are some of the decorations of the new-
est woolen laces,
— Velvet belts beginning at the sds
seams are fastened in front by buckles
of hammered silver.
~The day of much draped, much
cut up and flounced, plaited, shirred
and ruffled dresses is gone by.
— Absinthe and pale chloral is a
French color combination much in favor
on the other side at present.
~-Egypuian and Arabian faucies in
furnishing and decorating rooms are
the caprice of the moment.
~The latest version of the gable-roof
bonnet is the Judic poke, small, but
pronounced, and very chic,
| =To look well tinsel braid must be
of the finest quality, and must be put
on by an artist embroiderer.
—Peasant-waists, with facings in
{ front over fuil white m uslin waistcoats,
{ are worn by little girls under 7.
{| —Among the prettiest of costumes
| for morning dresses we must mention
{those of darg blue linen, worked in
| open work embroidery with red cotton,
| or else of pale buff linen, worked in
| red, blue or prune cotton. The em-
| broidery consists chiefly of circles of
| eyelet holes and of large wheels filled
up in lace stitches, The edges are scal-
| loped out and worked round in button-
| hole stitch; the embrowdery entirely
{ covers every part of the dress; the
| scallopedout bands form the trimming,
{of course. Embroidery is, in fact, em-
ployed for the ornament of all styles of
| tollets ; for silk dresses and elegant
| mantles the patterns are work in
| beads of all colors. The skirt fronts
and panels are covered with jet pend-
ants, small gold sequins, or patlerns in
leaden beads. These beads have, let us
hasten to say, but the appearance of
lead, and not its weight.
~The long cloaks intended for in-
fants in arms are made of soft surah or
pretty cashmere in white and delicate
colors, A pretty one in white cash-
mere is shirred at the neck and trimmed
| with fine lace, French merino, with a
| long sack and cape reaching half-way
{ down, is embroidered in blue, to match
| the material on both edges. More
| dressy is one of white surah, also made
| with a deep cape, which Is shirred at
the neck and finished with a band of
| embroidery above crimped silk fringe.
| A pink cashmere is made to look quaint
| with & narrow collar of embroidery
| shirred at the neck; it falis over a sack
| tucked in front and back and tied with
| & ribbon. Embroidery and lace have
| taken the place of Irish point trimmung
| this season for thess garments. A
| pretty cloak for a two-year old child is
| of white pique with a shoulder cape
fitted to the waist and a pleated skirt.
It is trimmed with diagonal bands of
| fine insertion. Hand embroidery forms
| a dainty trimming for these little ones’
| dresses,
| —A lovely imported costume is of
| the new shade of terra cotta in trico-
| tine. The skirt is made plain with a
| deep knife plaiting at the foot. The
| top skirt is draped in the belt and over
| the hips. The drapery is of the new
| guipure and silk braid, passamentene.,
| The belt, collar, cuffs and epaulets are
| also of passamenterie. Open-work tis-
sues in the style of either lace or can-
vas, which are so fashionable this year,
| now appear for the early autumn sea~
| son, both in silk and fancy woolen ma~
| terial, striped with chenille or velvet, or
| brocaded with small silk patterns, But
| besides these there are a variety of ele-
gant fabrics equally in favor. Grace
silks, shot of two colors and frequently
| brocaded besides in a variely of pale
| terns, striped pekins in silk and plush,
or velvet, sicilliennes spotted with che-
nille, are all in great vogue. In fact,
the choice of the materials adopted by
fashion is almost unlimited; olaids,
checks and chess-board patterns, dots
and stripes of every variety, are equally
a la mode. But, of all tissues, the
most beautiful and most stylish is une
doubtedly silk lace in the piece,
trimmed with silk guipure, It can be
worn over black silk for the daytime,
and over colored silk for the evening,
or on occasions when a more dressy toi-
let is required.
— Autumn bonnets for city streets
row. with high trimming directly on
top, and Increasing in height toward
the back. The sides are very close to
the Lead, and the small crown is in
horseshoe shape; sometimes a ho
made of beads outlines this Rou
the end is slightly curved
in the greater number merely
Bpwan parallel to the outer slige.
any bonnets show no defined line
e
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