a RR RR.
Thus Runs the World Away.
Like snowy lilies fleet as fine
Whose fragrant course is run,
Like dewdrops on the eglantine,
Like frost-work in the sun;
So vanish youth’s delightful dreams,
80 beauty’s charms decay;
Like Dlossoms strewn on
streams;
Thus runs the world away,
sparkling
Like foam upon the billows bright,
Like sunset’s gorgeous dyes,
Like moonbeams shedding silver light,
Over the jewelled skies;
So swiftly from our vision glide
Hopes, plans and projects gay.
Alone we roam at eveutide;
Thus runs the world away.
Of friends whom ruthless time destroys,
We're, day by day, bereft;
The spectres ot our perished joys,
Are all the comrades left.
Love's chain 18 broken link by link.
We sing the mournful lay,
Forlorn upon life's river brink!
Thus runs the world away.
It was to be served out on the veran-
da, a sort of open air annex to the
sitting-room, which was located in the
second story. The place was perfect,
with 1ts lace-worked drapery of vines—
purple wisteria, roses and clematis—
and there was a festive awning of
Roman stripe unfurled to the south,
subduing the sunshine toa hazy mel-
lowness,
**This is just the place to do the ideal
in,” said Amy Layng, who reveled in
the splendor of her friend’s newly-
acquired fortune, In the midst of
such enchanting circumstances you
sever ought to lose your temper,
Helene,”
Miss Martineau was swinging herself
lazily in a pretty hammock, with a look
on her face that expressed the most
profound indifference, Could it be that
she was already bored by the excessive
elegance of her position?
**If people would only let me alone,”’
she said, with a shrug, *‘I could be-
have like an angel. You never annoy
me, Amy, but,” she added, with a
comical sigh, “*1 feel as though it would
take me a lifetime to recover from those
tete-a-tetes with the dear Count, as
Mrs, Stuyvesant calls him,”
“Well, I don’t wonder at that,” said
Amy, laughing. ‘‘He’s not coming to
brief stare which gave no response to
the amused twinkle in his,
“It 18 just as I feared,” thought
Oscar, with a sinking heart. “They
have spoiled her among them,”
Helene caught a furtive glance at his
face, and thought how well it had ful-
filled its early promise. He was making
proper speeches to her now, She
listened with a conventionalized smile,
and then said sweetly:
“You must take a cup of tea with
me. Sit here, if you please, You will
find this a cozy corner, and I think you
will like my tea.”
**I have no doubt of it,” Oscar re-
plied. ‘‘As /schylus says—’
“Mr, Dwight,” she cried, flippantly,
**don’t begin by quoting Greek at me!
What had /Eschylus to say about tea?’
“Nothing. It was about women,”
“Oh! said Helene, laughing. *“*Like
other men, 1 presume he fancied he
knew a great deal about them.”
“1 don’t think he ever fancied that,”’
sald O:zcar, taking his cup of tea. He
was not such an infatuated fool.”
“Your tone 18 not complimentary,
Mr, Dwight. I fear you are a sad
cynic. You ought not to fill your head
with such heresy. It is not good for
you, pas du tout!”
“Pardon?”
“Why, you understand French—
perfectly, 1 remember.”
“Oh, yes. But my mind never han-
kered after a sandwich of tongues, I
always feel as though I had a slap in
the face when I am getting on smoothly
in one language and some one hurls at
me the fragment of another. 1 will
speak French with you, if you prefer
it,”” he added, more gently.
Helene flushed, How like him that
blunt speech was!
“Oh, nol!” she hastened
“What will you have? Try these com-
fits, You will like them, I am sure.
They taste just llke—--""
A luscious jacqueminot rose fell from
her corsage. He picked it up and
gravely returned it to her without a
thought of appropriating it.
to say.
**This is (like the guava preserve I
brought you and Amy from Marti-
nigue,’’ he said, tasting the comfit,
“Is 1t?” she said, carelessly, “I don’t |
care much for those things. I suppose |
you know most of the people here, Mr,
Dwight?”
“Too well,” he answered, briefly.
‘‘Barbarian!’’ she cried, ‘*That is
the tea, I suppose?”’
“He is not asked,” Helene replied, |
with a languid motion of a delicate |
feather fan which she held,
“Poor fellow! I will tell Oscar he |
must do his best to replace him.”
A dash of unaccountable color ap- |
peared in Helene’s face, but the parro-
keet feathers screened it.
**Is Oscar coming?” she asked, lan- |
guidly.
**I believe so. It is a tremendous
concession to you, my dear. He hates |
society, you know, and I don’t think |
he took very kindly to your engage- |
ment to Count Wierlawsky,” |
“Don’t he know it is all broken off?”
said Helene hurriedly,
“Yes,” said Amy, “but Oscar is an |
eccentric, you know, though he is one |
of the dearest fellows in the world. |
He was very fond of you, Helene, and |
I think he is rather afraid to meet you
: for fear he will find you changed.”
**What makes you think that?”
i “*He asked me whether you were just
the same as you were when you used to
study Greek with him, and copy his |
chemistry notes. I know he thinks |
society and wealth have spoiled you, !
though I told him the contrary. He
BAYS 8
“What?” said Helene, imperiousiy,
a5 Amy paused and went on sorting
her embroidery silks in silence.
“He says,” she continued, with a |
furtive glance at her friend, *‘that if |
you had never gotten rich, he would |
have been quite sure of you; but that |
now he could hardly say how you will |
turn oat,”? {
“Indeed!” cried Helene, with a little
railing lauzh, giving her fan such a
savage flirt that the ivory handle snap-
ped in twain; *‘I am indebted to Mr.
Dwight for his opinion. When a man
takes up preconceived ideas about me,
I never think it worth while to combat
them.”
She got out of the hammock slowly,
and trailed her blue cashmere morning
gown over the veranda.
**I am going to order bisque and car-
atnel ice,” she said, suddenly. *‘It is
the proper thing to have it served in
coffee cups, Amy. Shall I bring out
my Beluk service?” :
Amy adored planning, and the ar- |
rangements for Miss Martineau’s tea |
proved very absorbing. When Saturday
came the veranda looked like an en-
chanted garden. The floor was patched
with Oriental rugs, and plants were
blooming In every corner, while luxu.
rious chairs and divans were scattered
about alongside of oddly-shaped tables
with embroidered cloths and |
laden with dainty china.
As Oscar Dwight stepped through
the curtained window on to the veranda
in the wake of a butler who conveyed
us card to Helene, he realized that he
must be very late, for his fine head and
gray eyes overtopped a crowd of gossip-
ing tea-drinkers, already assembled.
Helene was sitting at the far end of
the veranda. He singled her out at
once, for she was taller than most
women, and her small head had a proud
aise which he could not fail to recog.
ize, She was at her best that afternoon
in a rich gown of crimson plush that
was set off with ivory satin and trim-
mings of duchess lace,
“How beautiful she has grown,”
Oscar murmured, with a sharp pang;
“and yet, if she had not come into her
fortune she would probably have mar-
ried that rascally B LY
This t was in his
snind when met Helene, and she
held out to him a hand of faaltless
shape and fairness.
“Ah, Oscar!” she sald with a lan-
smile—**or ought I to say Mr.
t? I am glad to sed you-—vrai-
ment, But To } makes
ve
not the proper thing to say.”
“‘1 never say what I am expected to.
I didn’t come here to see these people,
Helene,”
“Unfortunate have
people! How
“I came to see you,” he persisted, |
**1t 1s not often that I i
*‘Miss Martineaun,’’ said an attenuated
soldier who precipitated his bows before
ms
Oscar had a flerce desire to give him
a kick and send him all the way over.
He was bowing so profoundly that it
would have taken very little to do it.
“If Mr. Dwight will excuse mae,”
“Nol! {
stay here and finish your tea, Captain
Eyre will give me his arm.” |
Oscar watched her as she moved with |
languid grace over to where the pano
stood, He remembered her voice,
She used to |
of
Rose of |
sing “Killarney,” “Within a Mile
Edinboro’,” and “The Last
des Alpes,” and a waltz song of
Lezocq’s. Her voice had improved
with time and cultivation, but there
**She is just as much lost to me as |
sald Oscar, bitterly, and as soon as he |
could he went away. i
He left her with a listless handshake, |
He was the first to go, for her guests |
generally stayed late, and it was deep |
in the twillght before the last farewell |
was spoken.
There is nothing more forlorn than a
festive scene after the guests have de-
parted. Helene looked around the
veranda with a wretched feeling of
loneliness, and suddenly, with an ir-
repressible sob, she flung herself down
on the couch where Oscar had sat be-
side her.
“Oh, my lovel” she cried, with a
burst of bitter tears. “You do not
care for me at all.”
The moon had risen high and full,
Through the screen of tangled vines the
silvery light fell upon her prostrate |
form, which was shaken with a storm
of grief,
“Helene!”
She sprang up as though some one |
had struck her when she heard Oscar |
Dwight pronounce her name.
“What are you doing here?’’ she
cried, passionately, enraged that he
should have seen her tears,
“Pardon me!” he faltered, *‘I--i
lost a diamond stud this afternoon, and
1 thought"
**1 will call a servant to get a light,’’
‘“Helene,” he said, taking a step to-
word her,
“Well?”
“Have you qgaite forgotten the old
days that you treat me so coldly?” he
asked, in a gentle voice.
“It 18s you who have chosen to ignore
the past,”’ she replied, locking her
hands so that he might not see how
they trembled.
“You left me no other alternative.
Helene, speak to me! My heart tolls
me you have not grown so cold and
indifferent as you seem. There was a
time when you prized the love I gave
you. Is it utterly valueless now.?”’
“You do not care for me so much as
you used to,” she said, with averted
face,
“I love you, Helene. It is yours to
say whether it shall be more or less.”
Ra
please you. On, Oscar! don’t be angry
with me. How was I to know that
you loved me?”
“1 told you once.”
“Yes; but that was long, long ago.”
“Had you ceased to love me?”
“No; but—w?’
“Why should your love be stronger
tha®mine?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed; *‘only I
did not think you cared.”
He bent over and kissed her.
“Never doubt me agaln, dear,” he
said. *‘Think how nearly I lost youl
If I had not coms back and found you
here weeping, I should have gone away
and never seen you again.”
Helene bowed her head with due
penitence, As she did so a bright flash
of light from the floor made her cry:
**Oh, Oscar! There is your diamond!”
She stooped and picked up the jewel
from the floor. It was a superb white
stone, which was seen to sparkle after-
ward on the third finger of her left
hand, for Oscar had it set as an engage-
ment ring.
Maine's First Locomotive.
An Auburn veteran, who saw Maine's
first locomotive and her first: train of
cars as they moved for the first time
over a Maine rallroad track, tells of
that great event in the history of the
Pine Tree State as he lingered at the
tea table nonchalently sipping his third
cup of tea one evening recently,
“The first railroad ever built in
Malne,”’ said oar friend, “‘was between
Bangor and Oldtown. T'was about
the time of the Aroostook war, in 1839,
when the first train of cars that ever
sped over this State started early one
morning from Bangor to Oldtown, a
run of about twelve miles. It was a
red letter day for Bangor and not far
short of your modern Fourth of July
celebration.
“I shall never forget with what pride
I harnessed up the old mare and drove
into town the morning the engine made
her first trip. The old horse had all she
could do to lug us up into town, for
road hailed
engine start.
“Long before the engine had fired up
yi ry # so all ¢ ss tivaile 1
SAIN, 3
a good head of steam, all the available
start were taken up by all the eager In-
near, as some said, to see a grand
Maine
There was the old farmer and
girls and their grub-baskets in
hands, the village parson, the
see the
en-
ideas about introducing the locomotive
into the borders of Maine,
*““*What's going to become of our
sentiment of the crowd. It seemed to
them that horses would have go
As a matter of fact at that
for
womotive
to
$50 as in these days of the |
would cost you $300.
“But to return to my story. Just
before the time for the engine to start
all that were smart enough jumped into
the cab till 1t was crowded with
motive and railroad enthusiasts, and
The en-
gineer pulled out the throttle valve,
pulled the steam whistle and the engine
groaned and puffed as if it would run a
and
worked, but twas no use. The iron
horse was balky and wouldn't go. So
all bands jumped off the cab, laid hold
on the engine and pushed as if their
very existence depended on the extent
of their muscle capacity. The engineer
pulied out the valve again and this
time she started, slowly at first, but
goon our Jocomotive was out of sight,
while along the railroad tracks, hats,
canes, dinner palls and spectacles were
flying in the air and the people joined
in a grand up and down the center, to
the music of the fast receding steam
engine. And that’s the way we sent
out the first Maine steam engine a fly-
as he drained his fourth cup of Japan,
a lime .
INSECTS IN JEWELRY.
—
Should Suggest,
A writer on fashions in a London
contemporary says: ‘‘Standing the
other evening behind a gorgeously-
dressed woman, I was almost startled
out of well-bred indifference by the
sight of an insect clinging to the boun-
dary line of her low-necked biiice, Its
head was bent betwean its fore-feet, its
dart seemcd buried in the pearly white
of her rounded shoulder. Of course, it
hardly needed a second glance to assure
me that the creature was not real; the
body was in Labrador stone, yellow
siriped with brown, the head a deep-
ened sapphire, the legs golden, and the
whole made up a very capital imitation
of a hornet-the cloge proximity of which
to human flesh suggested horrible pro-
babilities, The taste for insects and
animals is all very well, so long as it 1s
confined to the harmless and more
refined species, honored by poets and
prose writers. The diamond butterfly,
with blood-red ruby spots on its out-
lizard seems a natural clasp for “
de corsage; the ho! , In
precious stones of various ki
QUININE CHEAPER THAN EVER,
What Causes This---Profits made by
Retailers,
It may be some consolation to suffer -
ers from malaria to know that there is
little if any impure quinine in the mar-
ket at present. This desirable state of
things is not due to any sudden spasm
of virtue on the part of druggists, but
arises from causes that are purely
economical, Quinine is lower In price
now than it has ever been; it is selling
wholesale at 55 cents an ounce, and is
s0 much cheaper proportionately than
its usual adulterants that a loss rather
than a profit would result from mixing
these with it.
“People are almost certain to get
quinine pure this season, no matter
where they buy it,” said the proprietor
of one of the large drug stores near the
Post-Office. ‘The most unscrupulous
druggist has no incentive to adulterate
it now as he did when he used to pay
$3 and §4 an ounce for it. Then
it paid to mix it with cinchonla, which
sold for $1 or so an ounce. Yes, that
18 abeut the only ingredient used and
it has the properties, though not the
strength of quinine. About the only
fault found with a compound of this
kind was that it lacked power. Noth-
ing injurious ever resulted from its use
nor, in fact, do I know of any sub-
stance that would probably be mixed
with quinine, which might harm the
system, The most despicable form
of fraud practised with this drug is the
short-weight dodge. This is worked
by some of the extreme ‘cut-rate’ stores
and unprincipled dealers, They sell a
pill that
quinine for a two-grain pill, thereby
making just double the usual profit,
which one would think large enough at
present,
| retall drugeist a little over 50 cents,
There are 430 grains in an ounce,
84 an onuce, allowing for the cost
of the rice flour and gum-arabic which
the time required to roll them.
of the high-priced druggists charge two
cents a grain, making a profit of about
per cent. on their investment.
cheap stores I referred to that give one
| grain instead of two to their customers,
i make almost as much as this, and few
| of them are ever found out.”
ness of the drug at this time?”
| asked,
“Quinine, as you are aware, is
rived from Peruvian or Jesuit’s bark,
de-
| chona which grow in the Colombian,
i of South America, The Countess
was cared of a fever by its use, and
the medicine there about the middie of
the seventeenth century. It derived
the name cinchona from her.
| bark used to be gathered by the Casca-
{ rillas Indians chiefly, who obtained it
ik
| it. This, of course, soon thinned out
| the more valuable trees and such
the reckless stupidity of the Peruvian
Government that, though it put every
obstacle in the way of the tree being
planted elsewhere, it never
by a system of forestry to
riches thus improvidentially wasted.
The result was that quinine became
| scarcer every year; the price of it went
up to an extravagant {
time it seemed as if the most 1mporiant
drug was likely to become unobtainable,
| It was at this time that the East In-
igian Government determined to try
| to naturalize the cinchona tree in India.
i To obtain seeds and young plants was a
| difficult task, but Professor Clement R.
{ Markham, Dr. Spruce, and others ac-
{ complished it, and In a short time a
| flourishing plantation was
| large quantities of quinine
Neilgherry Hills of Southern
on the
i
| great febrifuge. It is this increased
| production of it all over the world, one
{ might say, which 18 making the drug
{ demand for it becomes more widespread
{ in this and all other countries where
i * "Men shiver and shake,
{ Dose, swear and bake."
i ———
Mushrooms Made of Dough
“You =ctice on the bill of fare
, more per plate
gilded eating-house. *‘Calipash and
cacy, samed in the history of the
worlds metropolis as the acme of
epicurean delight, for ten cents more
than a fried meat ball. But the age
It sounds noch,
counterfeit. I am going to eat a
Spanish omelet,’ continued the stran-
ger gave his order to a colored walter,
who yawned and twisted his mus
tache, and the omelet was brought.
The stranger investigated the ingred-
jents of the savory mess with his
fork, and on the end of the utensil
produced a mushroom,
“Look at this,” he sald. Then he
picked at the appetizing vegetable
with his knife, scraped off the cover-
ing of sauce, and began paring the
stem, It crumpled under the opera-
tion in a decidedly unvegetable way.
The reporter’s eyes popped out on his
cheeks,
“What is it?” he asked.
Still the patrons like to
have the sensation of Sriaring mush.
rooms in that composition. If prices
were put up to the mushroom market
they would abandon the restaurant, So
they use dough. It is harmless. I
ad ust "in SoMmSoom,
dough, and not indalge in '
which might work injury.”
atus,
1883, has been sent to
Chinn & Morgan, and will
ufter
stud,
HORSE NOTES.
~Problem, Mr, J, I. Case’s $5000
trotter, is reported lame,
~Ten nominations for the $10,000
guaranteed stakes, to be trotted for at
Charter Oak Park, have made the
second payments, making the present
value $5000.
—F. B. Gardner, Sandersville, Tenn.,
has purchased of Henry J. Roberts, of
New York, the ch. m. Girofla, foaled
1878, by Imp. Leamington— Ratan, by
Lexington.
—Clay & Woodford, Runnymede
Stud, Paris, Ky., recently lost the
suckling colt foaled May 0, by imported
Billet, dam Mundane, by Lexington.
He was a full brother to Biue Wing.
— William Jennings, Glengar Stud,
the imported brood mare Frey, foaled
1870, by Dundee— Barricade, by King-
ston, out of Buttress, by Defense.
—J. N. Wilson, of Easton, Pa.,
sold to W. C. France, the b. m. Lady
nie. Lady Everett will be driven double
on the road with the b, g. Bob Pinker-
ton.
—Canton, full brother to Aladdin,
2.264, 18 now owned by White & Myer,
of Baltimore,
standing 16 hands, by Jay Gould
dam Lady Shipley, by Price’s St. Law-
rence.
Stock Farm, have sold the bay stallion
Roscoe Conkling, by Virgo Hamble.
tonian, dam Kate Thorne, to Willlam
A. Balley, of Steuben county, New
York, for $2000
—Trinket, record 2.14, by Princeps,
dam Ouida, by Hambletoniau, has been
bred to Dexter Hradford, a son of
Hambletonian, Trinket was lame last
spring, and she will probably never be
started in a race again,
~Steeplechasing is as dangerous in
Europe as here. The French jockeys
appear particularly reckless. One
was killed at Auteuil
spring, another one at Vincennes, last
month, and still another in Spain.
—Honesty, pacing record 2.22,
He trotted a mile in
2.35 the day he changed his gait,
now contemplated to make a trotter of
that mode of traveling.
~The Preakness Stable has had more
misfortune this sea-
son,
stroke in the death of
thrift, dam Imp. Constantinople.
Fleetwood, has become
He was at first
Bellevue Hospital, and left there but a
few days ago for the insane asylum
at Wood's Island. He was at ene
Park Course,
feature at
Philadelphia,
— Belle Oakley, record 2.2 by Gar.
ibaldi, purchased with Edward Medium
in 1882, by Commodore Breda
wealthy Italian nobleman, d ls
heavy in foal to Ellwood
which is making a reputation as a si
Belle Oakley won several
Europe, defeating American and
sian trotlers.
~The
$s
$3
3 i 8 1 vy i i
loss of the Preakness mare
a practice of exercising
mestead of shoes, We
Regina's shoes had
since her last race
hree
who make it
horses in plates
understand that
never been removed
Naturally they had become
worn and thin, and broke, with
result that one of the broken pleces
punctured her frog. Plates such as are
now in use are very light and thin, and
{ll calculated to stand the continual
sand tracks
weeks,
every morning for weeks.
—We think we are justified in
announcing the return of Mr. Pierre
Lorillard to the turf next season, and
that the famous cherry jacket of Ran-
hers, but perhaps
France, He has
yearlings now being
only
and
not
in England
McCann
is now an employe on the Rancocas
Farm, and stated to us that he had
lads, which shows pretty
plainly that they are not laggards
at Rancocus, but are going at their
yearlings with a view to an active and
certainly, from the quality of the year-
for more Wandas, Winfreds,
Savanacs and Dewdrops next season.
Mr. Lorillard has not Jost his taste for
racing. He came 0 Sheepshead to see
Savanac perform for the Suburban,
and left as soon as the race was {inished,
~Commenting on the betting on the
Suburban, the Wilkes’ Spirit says:
“We are told that the bookmakers
were heavy losers on the race. They
always are, according to their own
story. It is astonishing how predispos-
ing to philanthropy 1s the occupation of
a bookmaker. If we are to believe him
he loses so invariably that we can only
conclude thas his bank account is as in-
exhaustible as that of the Count
of Monte Cristo. That some of the
dour’s success
From all we can
searching for the
and his party won between $50,000 and
$75,000 at the most. But there were
horses backed in the Subur-
a FASHION NOTES.
— Black satin parasols are brought
out flowered or striped with jet em-
broidery.
~The wearing of wevy curls resting
on the neck is restricted to very youth-
ful ladies.
— Beads are much used on the sum-
to very large.
—Many of the new sunshades show
bouquets of jonquils or daffodilis tied
on with black ribbons,
~(old pendants for pins and chains
remain in favor, Quite new are the
| wild rose pendant.s.
{ ~—Dark blue etamine made up with
| merely a vest of moire, makes a styl-
{ ish and quiet dress for traveling.
-onvent cloth is a fine momie and
| procetta a very light, cool fabric woven
| like Henrletta cloth,
~The great novelty at present is
shaded siciliennes and velvets, They
range from the darkest to the lightest
hues.
-—A copper red velvet vest collar and
cuffs are handsome ina jacket of Ha-
vana brown cloth or of
cloth,
-Ulsterettes for girls of all sizes are
made of rough cloths in light weight
{| woulens that may be worn in cool days
all summer.
ie oy
lighter ecru
~A novel idea recently introduced iz
| the use of bright figured brocade
{ black ground for foundation dresses
under black lace,
—1t 18 seldom tha
| son a new departu
fabrics,
on
L 80 late in the sea-
5 made in dress
~— Velvet and plush enter largely into
all summer fashions, strange as it may
| seen, and even wraps and skirts are
made of cord de la reine,
| —As for the tennis shoes, if
| wishes to be very smart, there are pat-
{ ent-leather shoes exactly like gentle-
men’s pumps, but these are not so easy
to play in as soft kid ones laced up
| front.
— Half-inch surah,
gingham in effect, are purchashed lav-
| ishly for children for summer travel,
for ladies’ wrappers and skirts to be
worn with the very fashionable plain
one
thes
blocks in quite
woolens in drapery and bodice, or Nor-
folk jackets,
{| —Ecru canvas makes a becoming,
{cool and stylish dress, {rimmed with
stripes of black velvet, with Maud
Muller hat, faced with cardinal and
trimmed with hedge roses and velvet
loops. A scarlet silk neckerchief
{ knotted around the throat will impart
a gypsy-like brilliance and pictur-
esqueness to the whole,
~The plece laces so popular last year
find quite as many admirers this. The
| prices somewhat reduced makes it pos-
i sible to renovate a somewhat faded
dress quite into a look of newness
Lace over veils is sufficient to
soften glanng colors, besides conceal-
ing the wear and tear of a former sea
S00.
ATL
BiiK
s with bro-
charming
kilted
Two
s make a pretty ten-
‘ match, and
deftly twisted, will quickly be
into a tennis Many
gardless of sunburning,
caps; others cannot gel hats
y suit them. The sail
choice and a hapoy
dium, for while the wide br
the face it allows one at the same time
to take a ball that with a tiny cap,
leaving the sun in her eves, or with a
| very large one she might not be able t«
800,
We started with alternate
stripes of various widths, with checks
from the pin-head to half-inch, with
| spots, dots and figures. Suddenly, bai:
| lines of all wool, black and white, bluse
or brown, or green and while, were
| brought out, and every one must have
| a tailor-made hair line for travel, driv.
| ing, the mountains, etc. Made very
plain, yet artistic, these suits commend
themselves at once as really stylish
| and quite in keeping with the use ac
signed them, The material is forty
five inches wide, a wiry twist repelling
dust, vet soft and pleasant to wear, and
is sold for $1.25 per yard. But hau
lines must not be confined to wool in
summer, #0 there is a right pretty
foulard, a blue ground, the navy ting
preferred, which has white hair li
| one-half inch apart. This combined
{ with plain foulard and creamy Jace
{ makes a nobby suit for girls from 12 to
| 15. Nearly all stripes are this season used
{ for the skirt and accessions, the fitted
| and draped part of plain fabric. Thi
! does not, however, hold with the wool
| hair lines, which are mostly braid and
| button trimmed. Canvas is seldon
| used for the entire suit, bul moire,
| faille or taffeta milk is used for the
| skirt and often the plasiron, with cuff
{and collar of the same or exact shade
| in velvet.
—A pretty tennis suit lately worn
was made of dove-gray nun’s cloth,
with a scarf of Turkish embroidery
arranged across the front. This em-
broidery, in Anasene, was wrought in
a material of lighter weight, but pre-
cisely the same tint of gay as the
dress. The effect of the deep red and
gold, which were the dominant colors,
was intensified by the red lining of the
sailor hat that accompanied the
ress, and the cluster of gay red pop
pies that wreated the crown. Another
dress, in dreadful contrast, was made
of bright yellow flanpel, striped with
vivid cardinal, This was suggestive
of a vivid tropical bird, only that
neither parrots nor paroquets try to
tone themselves down by such an inar-
tistic device as a black hat, If fash-
ion 18 to be always Joliuired we, shall
—Three silk handkerchief
| caded borders will make a
sleeveless jacket to wear over a
skirt with a blouse waist
more handkerc
apren
above.
) s
nis to
3 one
yyy
wear jockey
4
7 jue,
enough
is an excellent
oul