THE WORLD WOULD BE BERTIER, If men cared less for wealth and fame, And less for battle-fields and glory; If writ in human hearts, a name Seemed better than in song and story; If men, instead of nursing pride Would learn to hate it and abhor it, 1f more relied on love to gnide— The world would be tke better for it. If men dealt less in stocks and lands, And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; If Love's works had more willing hands, To link this world to the supernal, If men stored up love's oil and wine And on bruised human hearts would pour itt : If “yours” and “mine” would once com- bine, The world would be the better for it. 1f more would act the play of life, Ard fewer spoil it in rehearsal; If bigotry would sheathe its knife Till good became more universal; If custom, gray with ages grown, Had fewer blind men to adore it; If talent showed forth truth alone— The world would be the better for it. If men were wise In little things— Affecting less in all their dealings— If hearts had fewer rusted strings To isolate their kindly feelings. If men, when wrong beats down the Right Would strike together and restore it, If right made Might in every fight— The world would be the bets r for it. AE RAO A BRIGHT FACE. thought that I was entirely disgraced took such deep root in my mind that I doubt if I were, at the time, any better morally than the most hardened con- vict within the walls. 1 began to hate the world, to mock, within myself, the very idea of honesty and virtue, Bun- days we were compelled to listen to long sermons, delivered by preachers not distinguished for eloquence, 1 sometimes thought that, knowing we could uot leave the chapel, they tock a peculiar delight in lengthening their discourses, One day Mr. Gray came out, but he did not pay any special attention to me, This stung me, and as [sat on a bench looking at him I won't say that 1 was listening te him I cursed the old man; I ought to have been ashamed of myself, but I had for- gotten the meaning of shame. The uppermost thought in my mind waa the thought of esca I had lost everything but my desire for freedom, My chance came, Ooe night while a number of us were penned in a stock- ade, near a coal mine, into whose dark vaults we were daily driven, I heard one of the guards say to a companion that he was so sleepy he could scarcely “80 am 1,” the companion replied, “and, to tell you the trath, I wouldn't be surprised if I do some litle nodding to-mght. My name is Henry Debson, I am not ashamed of the uame, even though | it was disgraced. My parents came to Arkansaw while 1 was very young. My father hating the idea of ever living in a town, settled in the wilderness, where. after several years of toil, he succeeded | in opening up one of the best farms in | the State, Being educated and refined, my parents were the leaders of our | neighborhood society, and so familiar did our name become that we were known far and wide. Just about the time I attained my niveteenth year, my parents were taken ill of a disease | which was at that time spreading over the country, and in spite of the best madical attention that could be pro- cured they died, both on the same day. As I was the only child, the property, | of course, came into my possession. | Well, it is unnecessary to dwell upon this part of my eveutful history, so I will—ignoring several years—proceed | to relate a painfnl experience. One day our neighborhood was shocked by the discovery that a Mr John Mapleson, one of the most promi- | pent men in the community, had been murdered, I was particularly shocked for during the'evening before the mur- der, Mr, Mapleson and I haa strolled to- gether through the woods; and, starting to contemplate, he was found near a certain old house where we had separs- ted. The next day aiter the body was found I was arrested, charged with the crime, and, after an examination before a justice of the peace, I was remanded to jail to await the action of the grand | jury. It would be in vain to attempt a description of my embarrassment —of my indignation, Not before I saw my- self surrounded by iron bars did I real- we my awful situation, What stung me most was that a man named Evaus —a man whom I well knew and who bore the reputation cf being a gentle- man—ewore thet he saw me stnke Mr. Mapieson near the oid house, but sup- posing that we were playing with each other, he paid no attention to the affair, put that in horror he soon afterward discovered that Mapleson had been stabbed. He did not stop at this—he produced a knife—which he and several other men had seen lying near the murdered man-—a knife bearing the initials of my name. The grand jury found an indictment against me, and I was arraigned before the cirenit court. I sold my farm and employed able counsel, experienced lawyers, who did everything they could for me, but after a tedious trial I was sentenced to be hanged, A more mis erable, utterly disconsolate being never gat in a cell, waiting to be choked to death. Preachers came and prayed for me, but my mind was so distraueht that I could not fixit upon death. Oae preacher, a venerable old man, particu- larly fmpressed me. “On, Mr, Debson,” saad he, ‘ask the Giver of all good to forgive your sins, Only a few more days now and you will stand at the judgment bar of God, Let me beseech you not to throw your time away. You have friends in beaven, pray for the glorious privilege of meet- ing them. Do not think of the tor- tures of death, but thivk of the sublime Jife beyond the grave.” “1 am not guilty, Mr, Gray.” “Oh, young msn, de not hold out in such obstinacy. Do not, I beg of you, I implore you, do pot perish with a false | hood on your lips.” “1 tell no falsehood when I swear that I am innocent.” “Mr. Debson, you need not hope for | executive clemency, You are very young, but the governor has refused to do anything in your behalf, : “What do you want me to do, Mr. | Gray?” “Acknowledge your crime and pray God for pardon.” 1 have committed no crime,” “Think of your perishiog soni,” “] am innocent,” “I pee, Mr, Debson, that it is useless | to talk to you.” “Yes, on that subejot.” “Remecnber that day after to-morrow you must dis,” ““All right.’ *‘Good-bye. I bope that the Lord may change your mind,” When the good man had gone I mused during a long time over what he had said, yet there occurred to me no thought of regret that I had so plainly spcken to ham, There is a strange resignation that comes to a man who is condemned to die, Weary nights of contemplation dull his dread, take off the keen edge of fear. It is not a phi. losophy; it is a “‘don’t care” which sel. tiles apon him, I was not afrmd to meet the king of the universe, and that not a shadow of hope Crawling over where several of my vile associates lay, I communioated the agread with me that our time had We kept the secret closely our stealthy move about 2 e’clock in the morning, with but little trouble. He was sitting, leaned back against a stump, and was sound asleep. I took his gun and box on the ground near him, We spoke mile from the scene of our imprison. Then we stopped and laughed. number of miles from the " but we knew that Hunger began to pinch us, This was serious, for, dressed as we were, we dare not go uear & human habitation, The quite a “stockade, It was better to risk re-capture than to apon a farm, Walking up boldly we entered the house, There was no one at home except a little girl, about twelve years old. beautiful child I have ever seen. Bhe She exercised a strange influence on me. that purity existed in the worid. Bhe took a special liking to me, and when I hinted that I would like to bave an old suit of clothes, that I was tired of wearing ugly stipes, she—not knowing that she was committing a crime—pro- enred for me an old suit of clothes, the gate I kissed her hand. My com- panions, three vile wretches, were not impressed by the little girl, and had I not possessed 8 gun 1 am sure that they would have robbed the house. We had not gone much farther when pursuers came within sight, Then there was a race tor liberty. 1 was fleet, more so than the wretches, About the time night set in two of my fellow convicts had been captured. The other one kept close to me. A gun fired. I heard a yell, Looking around, 1 saw him fall, The darkness and the dense woods protected me, I escaped. Find ing a canoe, | crossed the river, The face of the little girl was constantly before me, I succesded injmaking my way to New York. In the great city I was compara- tively safe. Under an assumed name I went to work io a manufacturing estab- lishment, I bent my every energy to the work, and, from time to time, 1 was promoted. Three years from the time I entered the establishment, I was the snperintendont of the entire works. My services became so valuable that I was admitted as a partner. I saved my for a moment did 1 forget the orushing fact that I was & conviet, Openmg it, I saw that sheet. The uvext moment I was thrilled Below start ling head lines appesred the following: “Several years ago a highly respected left on a chair, convicted of the erime of murdering one our most prominent citizens, a Mr, Dstson escaped and went, knows whither, Now oomes the real About a monih ago, a man named Evans, who swore that he had was taken wiolently ill. Be- jieving recovery to be impossible, and by bitter enmity, had murdered Maple- After a short trial, during which he did not atiempt to make a defense, he was sentenced to be hanged. and was witnessed by a large crowd of people. The public deeply sympathizes with young Debson, and should he ever come back to the State he will receive an euthusiastio ovation, 1 cannot describe my sensations, 1 iis ied 3 my viace of business, and after relating to my partners the expe- rience through Acs #4 I had — 1 My eall upon the governor snd intercede in your behalf,” I purchased the farm where I had spent a happy octuldhood. Every one was desirous of bestowing honors upon me, and the governor himself, came out, and in the presence of a great crowd thanked the Lord that a great wrong had been averted, During all this time I had not ceased to think of the little girl whose beautiful face had banished my intentions of becoming an outlaw, I had gone to the house where I had seen her, but her father, a Mr, Miller, had moved away, and no one in the neighborhood knew his place of residence. One night at a theatre in Little Rock, I saw that face, I knew it in a mowent, At the eoncla- ston of the performance, I followed the girl, who in company with an old man, went to & hotel. I introduced myself to Mr, Miller and he introduced me to his daughter Ida, ‘1 have seen you before, somewhere,” she said, “Yon have seen me,” “When?” “I will tell you when we become bet ter acquained,” I did tell her—told her one night when she had promised to be myjwife, Several years have elapsed since our marriage, We live in New York most of the time and old man Miller lives us, I have built a monument above Mr, Gray's resting place. cosas AI AAS Spanish venJdetas, About a year ago a gypsy named Moralis was assassinated at Zerza, in his comrades named Silra, Tbe latter was in due course tried and condemned to the vengeance of the victim’s family. two families for three years, but there had been no open quarrel until the mur- der of Moralis. Soon after the execu- tion of the murderer, which took place last month, the two families met on of Caceres, They had their mules and cattle with them. There were about fifty on each side, including women and children. A regular pitched battle en- sued, revolvers knives, and sticks being freely used by the men, while the wo- men employed their nails with consider- able effect, and the children threw stones indiscriminately, The result of the stfuggle was that the heads of the two families were both killed, two of the women, and several of the children, There were ten or twelve wounded, and the bodies of the dead were horribly mutilated, If the mounted police had not interrupted the fight, there would have been many more lives lost, Seve- ral of the mules were killed, and the baggage of the two families was strewn about in such disorder that the road for nearly half a mile looked as if a large army had beaten a retreat along it. i —— Substitue For India Habber, The dried milk of the bullet tree, or Mimusopsglobosa, from Guiana, is like. ly to come into greater use as a substi- tute for India rubber and gutta percha. According to Sir William Holmes it possesses much of the elasticity of India rubber without its Intractability, and of the ductility of gutta-percha t its friability; while an Ameri- much with CAll no i ut ital irm of manufacturers recently pro- ced {tthe best gum 1n the world.” According to a recent of Mr, Denman, government botanist, of Brit- ish Guiana, its strength is very great, and it is specially applicable to belling for machinery. DBalata withstands ex- posure to light and air, whereas gutia percha is apt to deteriorate under ex The electrical properties of the gun are also sald to be equal to th see of gutta percha. Balata is now regu. larly collected in British Guiana, but it is usually worked up at home as a su- perior Kind of gutta percha; whereas it is a different gum, being softer at or- dinary temperatures and less rigid in cold ones, It appears, in fact, to occu- % 4 repors posure, rubber and gutta percha, and is grow- ing in use as it becomes betler known. SN Overtaalng the Drain The trouble with a man engaged in perplexing business affairs which over- tax his brawn, bring about loss of appe- tite and general prostration is that he and that he must have rest and medica ments, and meantime turn over his business matters to some well man to manage until he recovers his own ne vexes the tired brawn until it gives away aitogether, [It has always seemed pot have been taken io band earlier by made to take the absolute rest he re and will, with a fine nervous organiza. Lhe loss of weight is often a good test the system by mental harassment, aud when the scales tell this story, a man ought to ery halt! and get rest at ail hazards, People of phlegmatic tem- danger, but active brains and high strung nerves, when overtaxed, invite is the sweetest of all blessings? so" An Ancient Prayer Book, In the Vienna Hotbibliothek, there is parchment MS., written between the ears 1516 and 1519, the private prayer of the Ewperor Charles V, It the traces of long use, The Town of Ayr. messmo There were the ‘‘twa brigs” crossing the yellow flood ot the stream, whose current here is muddier than in its wind- ings above the town, Half contemptu- ously 1 crossed the larger bridge (I was always an adherent of the testy ‘‘auld brig’) and walked through the narrow, dirty, almost medimval street to where the “auld brig” looked down with defi. vice of years, But there was many a year in the old one yet, It was paved with cobblstones, laid with irregularity, and was so narrow that the two wheel- barrows of the poem would have found difficulty in passing. The posts at each end prevented the carts from going through, which rattied over its plebeian neighbor, and it was therefore quiet and deserted. At the other end of it was a bold Highlander from the garrison, who had persuaded a young lass (I know her name was Mary, for she looked it) that there was something in the stream of old Ayr that should be investigated, for hand in band they were gazing intently over the edge as I approached, I peeped over, but fore, left the bridge and walked slowly up tavern. I stumbled up the dark stairs, pushed open the door of a room on my left and walked in, There was nothing remark- deal table ran the length of it, and the wall on either side was lined with stifl- | backed chairs, It was quaint, but other | nnnoticed; yet many beve sat in the old | ohairs and looked at the dim portraits lon the wall at the chimney place with {its relics of bygone days. For the { soenes of a century ago come back | again, and we of the modern time may | sit and repeat what we can remember of | the poem that hes made this spot im- | mortal, and then silently steal | the stairs and depart, The interest of Ayr centres in Tam O'Shauter tavern; but the houses up and down High street, on which the tavern is situated, are curious old bnild- ings, small and irregular, and suiting the character of a Seottish shire town, At one part of the street a tower pro jects beyond the line of known ss the Wallace Tower, built on a historic site which had some connection | with the Wallace family. such relics, but the fame of Burns has 80 far overshadowed the name of town that nothing unconnected with the poet can attract mneh attention. At a turning in the road turee ocot- tages came into sight, unpretending as all the cottages in the neighborhood were, with only one story with perpen- dicnlsr walls, and with a thick roof thatched with straw. In one of these the poet was born, and the piace is well preserved through the efforts of a society formed for that purpose, The original fashion. The cunous old fire- place, the stiff, old-fashioned chairs, | the sptoning-wheel in the corner, and the bed, built into the wall like a cup- board, still remained. “Alloway’'s auld haunted kirk” is far- ther slong on the same road from Ayr, and a little place it was, quite of proportion to ite fame. As I approached it a picturesque object, clad in the thinnest rags, arose irom one of the graves and hastened to point ont all the details in the broadest Scotch, Here in front was the grave of Robin's father, Here within the building sat Old Nick in a favorite miche, and through this opening Tam saw the witches, Witches are proverbial for the ease with which they accommodate them- selves to circumstances; for otherwise they must have felt somewhat crowded, as the kirk seemed hardly large enough for a good-sized horse to turn about in, | The Doon was not far distant. in time of Burns, the man o'rags informed me, the old road approached the Kirk in | another direction. Dat, however that may be, the ride from the kirk to the banks of Doon seemed ridiculously short, but, donbtless, Catty Sarks at one’s heels lengthened out the time amazingly. The Doon itself is a picturesque little stream, flowing modestly through the ! green fields and crossed by a pretty bridge, Near it is a monument to Burns, erected by thesociety which has taken his cottage in charge. But this was quickly scen and did not partiou- larly interest me. I retraced my way to the town, leit the ubiquitous | waiter smuling, and took the train on a | little branch -ratlway which Ayr and Mauchline, about eleven miles distant, ou —-—snntlien With a Halge. “No, my son, he replied as he put | on his hat, “you can't go to the circus,” | “Bat why, father.” { “Well, in the first place I can’t fool | away my money on such things.” “Yes, but I have enough of my own.” | “And in the next piace it is a rough | crowd, the sentiment is unhealthy, and | no respectable person can countenance such things," “But, fathe— “That's enough, sir! You can’t go! 1 want you to enjoy yourself, but you must seok some more respectable amusement,” An hour ister a ourious thing hap- pened in the circus tent, A boy climbed to the top flight of seats and sat down beside a man who had just finished » rp en HORSE NOTES, —~General B. F. match his stallion, Mambrine Dudley, receipts, ~The famous English 2-year-old colt | The Bard has won sixteen (consecutive | races this year and $45,040, Walker, col red, the yearling chestnut colt by Lisbon-Spinola for $2000. ~The National Association should suggest the word “Course’ {0 be used, instead of *‘Park,’ in connection with appropriate, — Herr H. Moessinger, Frankfort-on- in this country. —Slipalong has proved a great disap- time she started, but she never won. ~**The prospects for a revival interest in the sport of horse racing Philadelphia,’ said Dr. Marshall, *are | very encouraging. A better element of society i8 becoming interested in the | longs—that of the noblest sport in the | category.”’ { Maud 8.7? Mr. Burd, her trainer and { to Mr. Bonner at his stables in New York in better condition than she ever | was before. Mr, Bonner intends driv- | ing her ot for the winter, I do not believe there is any foundation to the { rumor that she will be retired from the | track. 1 can state on { next year, and it will be no trick for ber to come out in the spring and beat 12 (xa | 2.08%. — Eight thousand people witnessed ay oo th ult, race, King Almont, Westmont, Pilot Knox, Montgomery and King Wilkes were the starters, Pool selling was prohibited, but many private bets were made, Pilot Knox was the favor- ite before the race at §25 to §20 against ithe field, The race was for a cup, valued at $1,000, offered by the Spird of the Times, and a purse of $7,125. lot Knox won the first heat, Leating his own record by 1 seconds, Time, 12.194. When the horses were called for the second heat It was announced that Westmont had been drawn having become slightly lame, In the second | heat Pilot Knox won in 2.204, King | Wilkes second, Montgomery third, The third heat was very exciting, Pilot Knox winning by a neck, Montgomery second, King Wilkes third, Time, 2.20, | —Frank Siddal said recently in refer- ence to the challenge by Gabe Case to match a pair against the pacers, that be | had paid no attention to the challenge and would not do so, “It is simply a | money-making scheme on Mr. Case's part and I knew as soon a8 I read the challenge that was not bona fide. He does not own a team. His scheme is probably this: He will fix track and hire a scrub team against mine. He would not race more than one thousand dollars, but would probably have no trouble in ing five thousand tickets at two dollars apiece. After deducting all his | expenses he would have a neat Little | sum remaining as the fruits his venture. He would pot have any trouble in drawing a crowd of that size at that price, No, sir; I didn’t buy the team for racing purposes and don’t think that they will ever be entered in | & race,” ~The principal winning stables at the autumn meeting of the Coney island Jockey Club were as follows: The Rancocas Stable, two races and £14.930.256; Dwyer Dros, six races and $8500; B. A. Haggin, $7975; W. L. . one race and $6745; Morris & Patton, two races and $6140.50; R. P. Ashe, three races and $3175; D, O'Con- nor, three races and $3175; Preakness | Stable, three races and $3506; Wiliam Jennings, three races and $3105; Mr. Kelso, two races and $2100; Wilbam Lakeland. two races and $2190; N, W, Kittson, one race and $2121; Blohm & | Co., two races and $2600; Mulkey & Co... one mace and $2256.50; J. E. McDonald, one race and $1880; M. T. Danaher, three races and §1825; George 1.. Lorillard, two races and $1755; | Davis & Hall, one race and $1740; P, {| C. Fox, two races and $1840; Hayden | & Barry, one race and $1500; A. | Shields, one race and $1500; E. Corri- | gan, two maces and $1430; R. C. Pate, | one race and $1300: A. W., Weingardt, | two races and $1195; J. W. Thayer, lone mace and 1005: E. J. Baldwin, | $1018; M. N. Nolan, one race | $1000: G. B, Bochanan, one race and | $000; F. T. Walton, one race and $850; William Donohue, one race and $825, ~The tamous brood-mare Ivy Leaf, | property of General W, G. Harding, | died at the Belle Mead Stud, Nashville, Tenn., on September 17, from eolic. She was a chestnut, bred al Woodburn Farm, Kentucky, bv the late R. A, Alexander, foaled 1867,and by imported Australian, dam Bay Flower, by Lex- mgton, out of Bay Leaf, by imported Yorkshire. The following is a list of her produce: 1872 Missed to Enquirer, 1873 Ch, ¢. Bazar ( Waddell), by Jack Malone. 1874—Lost foal by imp. Bonnie Scot. land. 1876-8. ¢. Bramble, by imp. Bonnie 1876-8, f. Bonnie Leaf, by imp. Bon- nie Scotland, 1877=Ch. f. Byeand-Bye, by Imp, Bonnie Scetland, 1878-8. {. Brambaletta, by imp. Bon. a Beat f. (died), by imp. Bonnie 1 . v Sootland, 1880-Lost foal by imp, Bonnie Scot. wlOh, f. Eclat, by Enquirer, » 1883. ¢. Thistle, by imp. Great ln oy pm nck the it iv up his to pit for 101 se of Scot sesamin FASHION NOTES, a Tinsel isa prominent feature in all fabries prepared for bonnets; god 18 not as much seen as it has been, copper, silver and lead being foremost, I -~High full bodices of lace over a | low corsage of colored silk or satin, | and ornamented with a parure or { fichu of beaded tulle and lace, are adopted for small evening receptions and evening concerts, — Pilot cloth jackets, cut square and | fastened with gilt buttons, are stylish i for little girls, Children's gloves are | better made in Dresden than elsewhere; they are known as Saxony gloves, al- | though of the soft undressed kid cailed | Suede, — New traveling dresses are made of gray or tanfeolored mohair, This ma- terial sheds thedust easily, and is com- | fortable to wear on long country and | mountain jaunts, Dust “re made of mohair to protect nicer dres- ses in traveling. --New and beautiful semi-long vis. {ites of black velvet, brocaded with bronze and gold leaves, are unported, They are lined with gold-eolored satin | sublime, and trimmed with broad bands of black Ziblinette, sprinkied with tiny | flecks of gold, CiGAKEs ~Omne of the new trimmings is a wide band of galloon with a wide fringe at- | tached, of two shades of olive wood | beads, exquisitely carved, intermingled with finely carved black wood beads i completed with a fringe of polished | rosewood beads shaped like fuchsias, | —Small pelerines of muslin or eta. | mine are very graceful. These peler- are trimmed with some sort of pretty fancy lace, and with bows of ribbon matching the dress, elae, more soberly, with black velvet ribbon, suitable to wear with any dress, ines 01 ~The latest in millinery, as is always the in summer, shows perfect taste, Capotes are made of tulle, silk mull and the skeleton that looks as if worn a8 a head cooler with the balx straying through the open meshes, These bonnets require but little rime | ming, and the nies, to be in keeping, should be of lace or tulle. Cie ~The crowns of many new felt bone nets are quite crescent shape, lying flat the head. A perfectly plain princes:e wnnet of felt, when worn with a woolen suit that matches it exactly in color, has a decidedly stylish air, this case it is best to choose the first, a8 you can get more var in the dress goods, almosl auy and every good shade, in fact, A threatened in modified for those made broader, 1 { may be sel giving the pretty vy COOT puff at the top of the siveve is French dresses, It is who dread Ww be sv the information that at the elbow only, ashioned effect of close {it of the Walsl 15 again puff, as cuff, hand, Té ik £3 § ala gf The ts the VO LIE s hanging sieeve, sleeve from elbow i softened by another long ; must fall over the Wild ~It depends on the weather whether the excessively high bonnet trimmings will be ridicu or otherwise it i» not every face that can bear gilt feath- ers and bright colors piled up above it, 50 unless you are very be- omingness keep the feathers and op- knots of velvet down 10 quiet colors, otherwise they may { au ele~ gant woman a and vulgar show block. Individual tasie and ve- omingness are the only safe : 1168 BOW {for “what is worn.” ous /11T f tha BUI i iE trans COATS ori $13 il id ul~ €Im- threads —ashmeres, both dressed ar dressed, with machin ght broideries in colors and metallic woven to resemble the richest applique work, are made deep French polonaisg shapes, 10 Wear over of velvet, poplin, and satin. These are so effective and rich looking that dinner, opera, and reception loi= lets of them are considered altogether distingue, For instauce, a ‘‘Louise” polonaise of pale champignon woolen, wrought in point “coupe’’ or solid em- browdery, is worn above a skirt of heavy Ottoman satin or velvet of deep cactus red, Vandyke brown, or dark sapphire aiue, being up in tive SRITLS — Black satin ribbea, with gold picot edges, is used to trun black velvet bon- nets, The stylish high bows are fall and more like a half rosette than a bow, Of ribbon two and a half inches wide six loops are made, each being deeper than the width of the ribbon, and two pointed ends are added; they are then strapped closely and set erect just back |of the brim on top of the bonnet or | slightly toward the left side. A bit of | stiff net is the foundation for holding these loops. A skield-headed enamelled | pin or perhaps two quills of feathers or lof beads in quill shape are thrust through them. Still other cockade bows are made of velvet or plush cut froth the piece and bunched in careless. looking fashion. —Full gathered coals are still the | style for very little girls, the skirts cut | like a long full basque and the neck | and fronts fitted into shape by the | gathers described as “‘smocking,”’ that {is a “Mother Hubbard finish” by | hopey-combing the gathers, both at the | peck and waist. Little hoods are pop- ular and a broad satin ribbon ties in these quaint coats. All that is neces- {sary is a plain sacque pattern with seams only under the arms: upon this you lay the material quite full and gather the neck and waist Joosely on the pattern with a few threads before
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers