"Twas Rank and Fame. "Twas rank and fame that tempted me To leave my happy home ; "Twas pride that Ra me from that spot, In marble h to roam. i’noe happy ‘mM my simple joys, Yet, ad I leave them all— Leave them for the wealth which proved A golden chain-a brilliant thrall, They tall me I am free from care, They deem me happy now, They speak of land, of spacious halls, And diamonds on my brow ; Fut ob |! they've Jroved A very curse, Which gladly I would fling. ¥ar from me, once again to dwell Where mem’ry loves to cling. Yes, gladly would I turn again To joys I cast aside For worthless baubles, which I deemed Would gratify my pride. I ook around-—on every side Wealth gleams in gorgeous dyes— Yet gladly would I fly from scenes That mock my weary eyes. "Twae pride, not love, that tempted me, When my hand to him I gave ; To glittering gold and sparkling gems, I bad become a slave, Amid the pomp and pride of wealth True pleasure never come, Ton late I learned the bitter truth— Joy dwells in Jove and home. Only a simple servant lassie? Yes, but for a that there will be servant las- sies in heaven just as as well braw folk. The poor were never despised by Him when He was on earth. Heigho! I havena written half a doz- en lines 0’ my story yet, and I'm sadly conscious that I've made blunders al- ready. I mean to write it a’ in Eng- noo and again I'm sure | you'll forgie me. When I warm to my work 1’ll get better on. This is the way wl’ a’ Scotch folk; when no ex- cited 1L's their own broad Doric they speak, but my conscience, if you once put up their birse it’s as fine sounding English they'll speak as any southener tumble in devoid of music, the grass long and green on the ves, and after main looking as though it had been combed down; what though the tombstones were gray and lichen clad, and leant in every direction except the right one— mother’s grave was there! You English maids may laugh at me, but ah! you little ken how dearly we Seotch mountatneers love our wild homes; besides you know—I'm only a simple servant lassie. Our Johnnie could play the fiddle so sweetly, It was th® merry airs auld Grannle liked the best, but there was one thing that Johnnie used to play and sing that never failed to bring the tears to my eyes at least; though some- how it was a sweet kind kind of mel. anchely it inspired, and neither grief nor melancholy ever injures the heart if tears can flow. Had I any other companles except Johnnie? Yes, a neighbor lassie would sometimes drop in, and-—weli, why should I deny it, sometimes a neighbor laddie—why shouldn't a simple Scotch lassie like me have a bit sweetheart? What for no? But it was only on Sunday evenings in the sweet summer time that Jamie and I used to take a lonely walk, And where did we walk, think? Why, down the line, You see in the far north of dear auld Scotland trains don't run on the Sabbath day, and the line Is the favorite promenade. Green, feathery larch trees bounded the banks all along, and the banks themselves were painted with wild flowers in the sweetest colors you could imagine— patches of crimson clover, patches of white clover, bads of orange trefoils, beds of bluest speedwell, and tall red ragged robinseverywhere, Then there was the hum of the bees, as they hummed from flower to flower, the sweel perfume of the clover and the wild, glad notes of the chaffle near his nest in the larch tree. And-—yes, and Jamie's voice, sweeter to me than all, Did I love Jamie? I dinna ken. Jamie never what you might call made love | to me, but I dare say I did like him a | wee bit, Bonnie black hair had Jam!le, | that ever stepped in shoe leather, My name is Jeannie, Jeannie Mec- | ean, that’s it a’ thegither, or com plete as I ought to say. From far, far | orth the Tweed I come, ay, and north | he Dee as well. As far west as the | Jwaln can penetrate among the Donside hills, on a bonnie braehead., among | bonnie green knolls, among woods o’ | lark waving fir and spruce, lighted up bere and there wi’ the tender | green of the feathery larch, and begirt wi’ bands o’ yellow broom snd gowden furze, thete stood my father’s humblecot. And every night my happy young life I used {o be Hed to sleep by a sound like waves reaking on a shingly beach; for, it it waan’'t the wind whispering and moan- ng through the trees, 1t was the inces- saat hurtle o’ the Don rushing on over tie pebbles and bowlders, So near were we to the river that dear Johnnie ould throw a stone right over it. A strong, strong arm had Johnnie. John- ne was my only brother, and I never had g sister. My mother died when Johnnie and I were so young that neither of us could remember ber, and Grannle kept my father’s house, Dear auld Grannie, with her clear caller, canty face, and Ler busy, happy ways, it is years ago since she has gone to her long bame in anld Kkirkyard. She aye had a asant smile for Johnnie and me, and | wad to tell us old world stories in the yng forenights ’o winter. Imagine if you can, gathered round that Scottish country fireside, a real dre of peats and wood is blazing and crackling on the hearth-—there 1s » other light. At one corner sits my | father in an easy chair, his day's toll is! past and his pipo is alight; at the other 1» auld Granule, and click, click, click, Lick, go her knitting wires as she tells herigle, Johunie and 1 complete the circle; our eyes are riveted on Grannle’s face, The smoke goes curling up the wide-chimney, the blaze sometimes fol. sowing yards high, the wind without is roaring and whistling round the house, shaking doors and dindling windows, but It makes us feel all the snugger within. I just creep closer to Johnnie, ean wy head on his shoulder, and isten, By and by Grannie stops speaking. and for a while the wind has it all its own way; then my father rises solemu- yv and puts his pipe away in the wa'- hole, “Bairns, SAYER, frrannple lights the black oil lamp, wih its dried rush wicks, and father talses the Book. He reads a chapter, then, to the half mournful notes of | sluzpe such tune as martyrdom, we sing, | peraaps, “The Lord's My Shepherd.’! | There was always plenty to do, and Johnuie and 1 were never sorry when | Sabbath came, Sabbath and a long | walk to the wee bit kirk on. the hill | hewd, where in earnest and impressive | voige our good minister would point | the way to happy spheres; he never | failed Lo breathe words of comfort for the wweary, consolation for the bereaved, | and hopes of future joy for all, i Never a Sunday passed that Johnnie | and I did not linger behind, till all the | other kirk folk had passed away out | and homewards, then we would go juietly round and visit mother’s grave. “T'his was not all sentiment, both of us loved mother, though we hardly re- membered seeing her. But her mortal remains were there in that auld Kirk yard, and they would rise again, such was our sitople faith; and we never looked upon mother as dead, but as a saint In heaven, she could see us, we thought, nay, might even be permitted to watch over us, and lovingly guard ard befriend us In trial and in danger, She saw us each Sabbath, then, us we bent low and touched the grassy knoll and la thereon our offerings of flow- ers. Humble enough these might be, but in spring there were Lhe sweet scented yellow primrose and sprigs o’ crienson ay, in summer there were al- ways rich buttercups and rich oxeyed dalgies, and a hundred wild flowers froma hedgerow and copse; even winter brought its garlands of red rowans and 118 evergreens, so all the year round mother’s grave never wanted beauty. That old churchyard and the wee bit kirk. 1 have but to shut my eyes and “they rise up before me. What though the us, ibe let us worship God,” he blue, blue een, rosy dimpled cheeks, a wi1' long strings that | fluttered o'er his back and shoulders, | and such a winsome smilel No, he never made love like, but he would | talk for an hour at a time about his| horses and kye, and I used just to look and laugh and listen. X ou may be think I'm dwelling too long on my younger days and our happy life at the little farm on the braehead —but the rest of my story is neither Joha- for to- I'm sure enough that nie nor I ever gave & thought morrow, In this respect we falfilled the Scriptures right enough. It never siruck us that our present life would not last till we closed our eyes for aye and went to sleep 1n the mools. But one wet, rough winter's evening, with the wind moaning in the chimney and the cold snow and sleet tearing over the hills and through the woods, | father came home looking wan and queer. No, no, I cannot dwell on this, That night he took to his bed, and in spite of the doctor's attention, in spite of the kindness of an English lady who was dwelling at the big house, he slipt quietly away one night and joined our! mother in heaven, What a change! The funeral past and a broken up home, Everything except the old eight-day clock, which Grannie wouldn't part with, sold by roup, Grannie herself ®welllug in a little hut by the hillside, and Johnnie a soldier in the gallant Forty-twa. And right handsome did he look in his Highland dress, with his brawny legs and his | bonnet and plumes. And I—a simple servant lassie, For the Kind Eaglish lady had taken quite a fancy to me and 1 was bound for the | south as her maid. As the tran rolled away from the station, as I lost sight of the woods, and hills and bon- nie braes, what could I do but lean bak In a corner of the carriage and cry-—lassie like. Poor Jame, tool Grief docs not break young hearts, and in my new home at Southsea, everything was very new indeed, and my heart leapt up one day with a nameless joy when I heard that the | Forty-second was coming to Ports- mouth, : My mistress was kindness itself, and | She was a lady, though not rich, and I'm sure would | have bitten her tongue at any time | rather than say a single word to wound | the féelings or hurt the heart of a sim- All would that all mistresses were the same! She never hindered me from going out, and, in- often suggested it. And so, many were the walks Johnnie and I had on the ramparts, and many a talk | of the dear old times that even now seemed so far away, And my mistress had always a kind word and a smile for me, and talked so naturally and so encouragingly that at any time I believe I would have laid down my life to save hers, After a few months of Portsmouth life my de © weeks in France, Johnnie saw us off, and I think I see the handsome, manly boy yet, with the sunny smile on sun- burnt face, in the dark tartan kilt and white spats, standing there on the sta- tion waving us good by with his bonnet and plumes, We were two months away, but re- turned at last, and the very next morning I went to see for Johnnie, I was rounding the corner of a street, when the slow, half mufilad sound of drums fell on my ear, and presently I could hear the music itself, It was a dirge, 8 coronach, played by the piper. 1t was no ordi. nary dead ‘warch, It was the grand old hymn, Johnnie's song and mine: O come-come-with-me To—-the—auld— Kirk--yard, To every word there was a stroke of the drum and a step of the men. And yonder Is the coffin and the bonnet and feathers, “Who is—dd-dead?”’ 1 erled, clutching the arm of a soldier who stood near me. He must have seen that I was chok- ing. He put one arm round ny waist the kirk itself was steepless, the bell kindly, as he replied: "Poor Jack Mclean, my lass, Are you his sweetheart?’ I remember nothing more for weeks, for all this time I lay raving with brain fever. - * * A year had passed away and a change had come over my situation in life. For my dear, kind mistress was obliged to give up house and go abroad, and I was engaged as general servant to a lady in Portsmouth, Now I was to know what indeed it meant to be a simple servant lassie under a thoughtless and unkind mis- tress. Perhaps she did not really mean to be unkind, perhaps she could not help it. I believe that, hard though her heart undoubtedly was, she would often have felt for me could she but have known how her words used to burn into my feelings. I’m sure I tried to please her. I'm sure I did what I could and as well as I could, but my whole life socn became a burden to me, I used to go to my room and, don’t laugh, cry and pray. That helped me some—don’t forget I’m but a simple Scottish lassie, Did my mistress scold? No, not downright, She nagged. O! that wor- | rying, nerve breakimg nagging, Low much more mean it is than any scold. in ! When mistress first asked my name and I told her *‘Je’nnie,” *‘I shall call | you Ann,” she replied. *‘I call all my servants Ann.” I'm sure master felt sorry for me, but he dared say nothing. I believe he was as much afraid of her as I was, though a kindly hearted gentleman he was, He would come in to dinner | happy looking and singing, and at | table begin to talk and laugh with his | pretily pets of children. Then mistress | would begin to nag at me as I laid the | dinner. And poor master’s face would fall at once. There would bs no more talk or laughing with the children after | that, He would hurriedly and silently awallow a few mouthfuls, then, making | some excuse about work to finish, dis- | appear. But the room never was enough to pleases mistress, the fire never burned brightly enough, the things were never properly put on the | table. I used to dread so lying too late of a morning that my night's rest was all one painful, confused dream. I would and look at the watch did this dustad again and again at 4, and If [ I dreaded to fall asleep again, I would hour or two, then go down to the cold kitchen among the beetles and strugle for another hour with wet sticks and damp coals before I got the fire to light. Was it auy wonder I got thin and worn and so nervous that my mistress’ voice suddenly calling, ‘Aun’ felt like a red hot-knife jerked into my heart? 1 now come to the turning point of my somewhat sad history, which would never have been written had I not thought this shnple narrative might move some mistresses to be a little more considerate of the feelings of their servants, What was my fate to be. [I often asked that question of myself, lassie like. Would Jame be my fate? Though I know he liked me, in his lelters he never breathed a word of love, but al- ways told me about auld Grannle and the eight day clock and about his horses | and kye, I had only one friend now in the world. And he—I feel sure you will laugh-—was the brewer's drayvman, When he called for an empty cask or to deposit a full one 1n the cellar, he al- ways had a gentle word and a smile | for me. He was a jolly looking young | man with a bandsome face, a burly | form, and an apron big enough for a | bathing tent. And If you'd only seen pitch the great casks about— why John was strong enough to Jift a | Cow, One day mistress tankersome than ever, and my eyes were red with weeping. John noticed it, and talked ever so kindly, and I told him all, and from that day for months | he al- ways had a word of comfort for me, Is! it any wonder that my heart warmed | to hum? | I used to Hght him down to the dark had been more to hold our little ccnfabs, But I'll never forget the morning John asked me to become his wife The tallow candle barely dispelled the gioom of that damp, dark cellar, and the daylight streaming in above | us from a grating, fought with the | gloom and was swallowed up. | “Which I've loved you for a long | time,” said John, ‘‘though I dursn’t| summon up courage to speak my mind. | But I have the pretliest little cottage | and garden in the outskirts as ever ye’| seed, And it only wants a mistress, | Jeannie, which it'll bs your sweet self and nobbut else,” I was so glad the cellar was so dark, #0 he couldn’t see my face; but next moment I was pressed closs to John's | big apron, and 1t did smell of malt and hops so, Yes, it is a sweet, wee cottage, and bonnie do the roses look twining round the porch m summer, and John is the dearest and best of husbands, Yes, I'm happy, and [I've almost forgotten that ever I was a simple servant lassie, Good by-—there is John coming. ~The desirability of Florida as a place for winter racing is now being actively canvassed, and It seems proba. ble that arrangements looking to that end will be perfected in the near fu- ture. Mr, Phil Dwyer has recently re- turned from a trip to that State, and while at Jacksonville inspected a site for a track about four miles from the city, which eontains a resident popula- tion of about 25,000, which is materi. ally augmented by visitors from the North during the winter months, Mr. Dwyer re the native population as anxious for a track, believing that it would help to build up the country and enhance the value of property, and they are ready to do their share if helped by Northern enterprise and capital, Great ideas travel slowly, and for a time noiselessly, as the gods whose feet ANTIPODAL APPLES. Londoners Eating Fruit From Orchards of Australia. the A few years ago had any one pre- dicted that the orchards of Australia would provide the fairest portion of the dessert for the London dinner in the height of the season, he would bave been set down as a dreamer gone wild with the colonial idea, Yet the miracle has been accomplished, Apples and pears, themselves the offspring of an English stock, have come to replen- ish the native supply, appearing in abundance precisely when they are most needed. In May and early June housekeepers are sorely tried to furnish the last course. English apples are few and shriveled. Those of Ameri- can growth are spent, Pears are not on hire, The time of strawberries has not come, except for the *‘swaggering’’ classes, Grapes are in their worst seas- on, The nuts of autumn are dry and musty, and oranges are over, Itis at this season that we are to be blessed with the noble and beautiful growth of Australia, of which as yet only the timid firstlings appear in the fruit mar- ket of the colonial exibition, Considering that these apples and pears have travelled a distance of 14,000 miles, and that the arrangements for HORSE NOTES. ~The 200 horses sold at the Bras. field sale brought $89,100, an average of $354. ~C, Braderburgh is driving his black pacing mare Bessie M. (2.16}) on the road. ~The once famous mare Hippia dled recently in England after foaling a colt by Galopin, ~A Dill is to be introduced in the New York Legislature making betting at race courses legal. -A Jockey club has been formed at New Iberia, Is., and a track will be immediately laid out, ~The West Park road is in a pretty Rood shape, and a number of people are taking advantage of it. ~The New York Gentlemen's Driv- ing Club has leased its present track for three years longer. ~ Harry Wilkes has had one of his hind legs blistered, but he is being Jogged on the road in California. —Oliver K, is described as looking big and strong, baving gained 100 pounds since going to California. returned to California. His owner, Mr. Salisbury, is now In Kentucky. their transport are yet imperfect, we must pronounce the experiment a c¢om- { plete success. In respect to looks, the | fruit wil compare favorably with the | very best either of native growth or of | American importation. No finer | or or bloom has been seen in Covent | Garden market, The apples might have been gathered in the garden of the Hesperides, pears show little signs of travel, only for t ap splended aequisi- the | recognized Y col- | The If heir tion to our dinner tables, Some of fruit, indeed, can hardly be iI to the names by which they are labeled. The scarlet nonpar- eils and the Sturmer pippins are larger average of The redstreaks and russets re- ighter hues of There are few | Ww an im- 1 ) their respective | kinds, their southern homes, of the varieties but which provement on the type in and size, In fineness fF 1 ture of flesh i 1-3 OL S8KiD they are at lea fi } rr * ' ty CIIeLT est £1 ’ | KE i namesakes, Wilct wil pear couglry par excellence, nately not represented in t! In Tasmania English a degree of ! scarcely cr perfecti edible t the superstition th a di tinctly English produ Casmania yut british stocks renew I’ here the 3 1, ail our worn their youth and vigor. Ribstone pippin is still to bx its more than original dele There the gooseberry acquires tive grandeur of character, Lotosland ot the south is chard of eaten tabléness, a posi In that i the future or- the empire, mmm AI Mss Far Scals Learning to Swim. When the young seal is about a | month old its education begins. One may wonder wherein this consists, and | this feeling will be intensified when we | in teaching the | It seems paradoxical | ~one can hardly belleye it—that the finest swimmer of all amphibious crea. | But it Take a pup and put it out of its depth, and straightway its bullet head sinks, its hind part flop about im- | potently, and its death by suffocation is the question of a few minutes only, | the littie creature not having the least least idea of lifting up its head and getting the alr. Such being the case its edacation is | a question of some little time, and is i takes him down to the | all day long, now washed by the surf | and now left high and dry, in another | moment parhaps to be rolled over and | over by the walter, After a few minutes of this he gets tired, curls | himself round like a cat or dog on the | hearth-rug, and goes to sleep, but only | for a short time, for the seal at all ages is the most restless of living creatures, Then again to the surf, paddling about Just like our own little boys and girls, every day expanding his ideas, and proving to himself that water is not such a dreadful thing after all. By re peated efforts, then, he learns to keep himself afloat, to recognize his own powers, and become thoroughly master of the element in which he has to spend the greater portion of his life, soins An IAI «White plush or white astrakhan is used to form panels, vest, collar and other trimmings for white wool dresses for girls In their teens. White silk musiin gowns, striped with bands of lace insertion, with moire sashes and dainty tulle bodices draped with lace, are among the new French imported dresses for debutantes and bridesmaids. “Who held up Moses’ hands while Joshua fought the Philistines?’ asked the superintendent, ‘Hur and Aaron" shouted the “She Aaron,’ softly corrected the new schoolma’am, the strong point of whom were shod with wool, ~—W. J. Gordon has decided to breed 2.17, or us young horse Clingstone 2d. his interest in Harry Wilkes now offers for sale the rest of his trotting stock. —Mr. Hayward, an uncle Archer, caught cold at the funeral and has just died from the ef- ~The stallion Mohican, by Hamble. can Star, has been sold to parties for $10,000, — Favorite Wilkes, the stallion for which Jacob Rupert, New York, paid $10,000 this week, has a record of 2 253. —R. B. Conklin, the venerable owner of Sound View Stock Farm and the stallion King Wilkes, is lying very sick al his residence, Greenport, L. 1. John Madden, who formerly owned the b. g. Jesse, well-known at Easton, Pa., says that the horse is not by Vol- unteer; that his sire 18 unkrown W. Bayres, Graham, New York, has sold to I. J ton, Orange, New Jersey, the 4-year-old colt Eldorado. by Knickerbocker, dam Magnolia, for $1000, —There have been g races every Sunday at Orleans Exposition half-mile and paying crowds ordinarily Lo see Lhe sport. —Ji. E. Maddox, Fort Worth, Tex., has purchased of Simpson & Hoffman, Dallas, Tex. the b. h. Hospodar, foaled 1877, by Longfellow, dam Capitola (King Alfonso’s dam), by Vandal. Price, $6000, A Chicago dispatch says Rohrback 1s there, and has sold tamous pacer Mike Wilkes to Howe, of Hudson, Wia however, will have the manageme the horse the coming season. x, pegord, 2, Kentucky of = * SUL trett WOW pacing his Sam nt of ee Tanner's b. Vernette 28) and Isase Kaufman's b, m. Geraldine (record, 2.28) have been matched for $500 a side. mile hbats, three in five, to harness, over Belmont Course on June §, 1887, ~— Troubadour, Elkwood, Master- piece, Ferona, King, Robin, O'Fallon, Supervisor, Dry Monopole, Maumee, St. Augustine, Gardey, Lottery and Lansdowne are the declarations in the Suburban handicap. In. -— AL a recent meeting of the Board of Directors of the Buffalo Driving Park Association, Mr. C. J. Hamlin was elected President and D. W. Burt Sscretary. The association has opened a subscription list to raise $250,000 for the purpose of holding a Fair similar to that held at St. Louls, twin City (st. Paul) Driving Club are: Beauprie; Treasurer, W. E, Steel; Secretary, D. W. Woodmansee, held the frst week in July. ~— William II. Redding, of New York, has purchased from David H. Blanchard, of Boston, for Antonio Terry, the b. 8. Milton, record 2.30; by Smuggler, dam Beatrice, by Fitch's Hambletonmn; price, §7000. Mr. Terry carriage horses, which will be shipped to France with the stallion in the spring. ~ A Gentlemen's Driving Club has been organized at Vice President, George H. Warren; George G. Hall, Captain W. C. Rod. gers, J. O, Whitten, Charles D. Pal mer jof Lowell, and H. BE. Hibbard, - Brigadier, the stallion, owned by H. C, Duffy, Cynthi- ana, Ky., died at the farm of his owner on February 14th, after an illness of two or three days, from inflammation of the kidneys, Ie was foaled in 1850, and was got by Monarque (sire of Gladiateur), out of Sweet Lucy, by Sweelmeat, ~Jt has always seemed to me that in every case in the rules of the National Trotting Association, where the julges are empowered to distance horses for any wrongdoing in the heat, or for drivers being short of weight, or in short, for anything except being behind the fag or too much running, that the words ‘“‘ruled out'’ should be substitu. ted for ‘‘distanced.’ The reason is, that for the sake of the reputation of the horses in the future the distinction shonid be If a driver inter feres with another on the homestretch, it is not the fault of the horse, but ten years from that time if a person reads that horse was distanced in that heat, perhaps in not very fast time, the pre- su is that he was behind the “: and it is laid up against the horse. It would be a very ssmple matter to make the change, and, as far as it goes, it WAS grammar, § would be a good one. — FASHION NOTES. ~Pearl-edged ribbons are still the only ones owned by fashion, and are used in great profusion for trimming dresses and mantles, as well as hats and bonnets, ~Spring mantles are also made with shoulder-pleces and gathered round the waist under a belt, Very pretty man- tiles for the demi-saison are of beige cloth, gathered on to a shoulder-plece of brown velvet, with belt of the same and full ‘sleeves gathered on to wrist bands to match, ~Some magnificent satin brocades are displayed, showing designs of an exquisitely delicate tint, on deep-toned grounds, some of which copy the pat- terns of Henri Deux gulpures to per- fection, The lace-pattern textiles are one of the features of the season upon which many variations are executed, —Very pretty tissues for tabs, shoulider-pieces and so on are In small chess-board patterns of velvet and plain silk; black and white, red and dark blue, beige and seal brown, old gold and meroon, marine blue and silver- The material of the dress should be of a ~The multiplicity of ways that ex- to have several changes of toilet ail There “ecorselets,”’ ete,, while other parts of the waists are of different ma- terials, —1In hats and bonnets there is a great variety. One pretty bonnet of ruby what looked like a biscuit- colored cloth handkerchief with pinked- out edges studded with an open pat- Hghtly gathered up over it, ted felt hats were trimmed with red ribbon, caught up quite to the top of for Very ~—In dress stuffs the demand stripes is still on the increase, tion are this week displayed in the ample windows of a Broadway impor- ter widely famed for the uncommon richness and variety of his superl dress materials, Regall fabrics of vel- leen-embossed satin are woven with alternate stripes plain silk p tobit ¢ f § eight and ten | 1ish i3i ® --Bpring oul-of-door jackets are of various styles, but one of the favorite models is th ing shape at the back, with Joose fronts. It is fastened with one bution only at the neck. The material is thin cloth, cashmere or sicilienne, In dark shades of blue, green, or brown, with a silk lining of some brighter color. generally red or heliotrope, or sometimes of plaid or striped silk. —In simpler costumes there a nie of plaid material draped over a . # + fis e Light-iHnt is tn il ioned, with shoulder-piece or plastron of the fancy material, With soft light materials we shall see a great number of piaited and gathered bodices. Fy the shoulder-pieces a stouter material will be required than for the bodice, may be of any thin material, such as nun’s veiling, Indian or Frenci cashmere, bengaline, blege or challer, wr — There is considerable variety the new spring costumes for outdoor. Some of them have draped skirts, but the greater number have the skirts plaited in large hollow plaits. Tabs of a different material are very fashion- able. Very frequently there is a tab put on the left side of the dress. The fronts of the bodice are praited on each side, with a tab of the other material in the middie, matching that on the The sleeve 1s full and gathered on to a wristband of the same ma- terial as the tab, This material is usually some preity fancy woolen goods stnped with velvet or plush or deeply- ribbed ottoman. —Inserted bodices are made in black and poppy-red velvet with black lace, in any light color with cream They form stylish, and at the economical, bodices fo al small enter- tainthents with any skirt. The velvet and lace are partially laid over each lace, same time deeper lace The sleeves are of lace but has a fanciful kind of of lace, kept in place by straps of velvet from the waist to the shoulder, ending in dainty bows, For ple and inexpensive ball gowns of tulle, tunic tucked alli over horizontally and run with floss silk. The silk bodices look as if they had been cut too high to the throat and drawn down to form folded berthas across the bust, with stomachers of net, —In evening dresses combinations of materials are also prettily arranged. It is of white muslin ¢ver a pale-colored faille slip; the muslin skirt Is gathered twice round by a narrow puffing, through which is run a strip of rose-colored ribbon; the ribbon is tied at the side in a bow, a muslin flounce is put on round the foot, edged with a border of Val. enclennes lace and trimmed with two strips of Jace insertion to match, The tumie is tnmmed round in the same way with a border and two stripes of Valenciennes lace insertion; the front is draped Into a rounded tab- lier; this tablier is folded back on the left side peasant. fashion; the back is caught up so as to form two large loops at top; the muslin bodice is lined with rose-colored faille, and finished all around the edge with a narrow gathered flounce; the fronts open over & peaked plastron or chemisette striped with lace insertion; turned-up collar, coverad with lace, and finished with a small bow of rose-colored ribbon, semi- full and semi-long sleeve, with strips of lace insertion gathered in the lower part ou to a bracelet of ribbon. This pretly toilet, which will look so well for a and evening parties in the spring, will also be useful later on as a summer dress for afternoon fetes and receptions,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers