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Vol. XV. No. 13. TIONESTA, PA. WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21, 1882. $1,50 Per Annum.
A Kiss for Slslcr.
Bhe was a Tory littla girl,
And ft I bout and kixnivl lior,
"Thnre, that in for yourwlf," I said,
" And llilri la for your sinter."
Laat nlqht I calKl in friendly way ;
Bonio guy girl frionda wero thoro,
And laugh and Jpht wont gayly round
To banish weary care.
Tho little girl came romping In
And un'o mo laid alio
"I dive that tins to nizzor Boll,
'Ou Utlt for hor wis mo.
".lie 'inRml nio lots o' tirtinn an' eaid,
When folksos 'ouldn't aeo,
I might dive 'era to 'on dust wa4
Till 'oii'ii alone wiz mo !"
I blimh'.'d. and si did nis'er Coll,
The gay girl friend., a'i mo I
I Wished tho horrl I things
A thuuBiind mi!', b at eea I
ER0M NATURE'S LIPS,
I WHAT TUB NIGTIT SAID.
John French leaned buck in, his neat
in the dimly-lighted car nnd thoncht
It was an' uncommon tiling for John
French to thin It much, and either tho
thinking itsdf or the subject of which
he was thinking was fur from pleasant.
For there was n frown upon his f.ice
which made it darker even than either
nature or tho shadows of the n;ght
could have done. It did not make the
face less Lau.b imo, perhaps, but it
inado it lees lov.V. 1j ; it charged it from
k faco that would have else been called
good to ono which could only be ojlle J
strong.
A man across the aisle from John
French was studying him. Too full of
the cares of business to sleep, he, never
theless, was honestly trying to banih
the thoughts of business by studying
intently the face of a man whom he hud
nover seen before, in tho hope of fixing
upon the nature and charaoter of a man
who would probably never cross his
pafljfaf ain.
"This mun bos seen a great deal of
life," said the gray-haired student of
human nature to himself, "and has
either found much evil in those around
him or has had evil in his own heart
which ho has not found out yet. Tne
world is not in harmony with him nor
he with the world."
And the observer was right.
" lie is a man with tastes beyond his
means; he has the courage of a man
who believes ho can trifle with evil
habits and escape thefr natural results;
he is noble in many things meita in
some; he drinks, while ho takes a pride
in never being under the influence of
liquor; ho has grand possibilities in bin
nature, bat I wouldn't trust him."
And the looker on was right 'again.
Bat he knew as little of it all as we
generally know of those whom we
merely meet in the bustlo of life. lie
would never havo guessed that John
French was on his way to a wedding,
and that wedding his own, but so it
was. And with every "mile the frown
was growing deeper.
The young man pressed hi face
against the window, shaded the glass
from the light of tho car and looked out
iirfb the night. ' A farmhouse, with a
wooded hill behind it, dim and dream
like in tho uncertainty of the night of
mist and rain, shot, like a scene in a
panorama, back into the pbscurity, and
the man who was flying with the wings
of steam toward the woman who was
to be his wife in less than twenty-four
hours, followed the scene backward
with hungry eyos, and envied the
hmnble happinens wLio'i he pictured as
thelot of tnoso who lived there. lie
coveted a place in that humble home,
with all that might fall -to his lot be
cause of it.
'.Life couldn't be worse," he mut-
terod, and then shut his teeth closer
together with a round that was half-way
between a p roan and a curse.
A cool, dark lake, with little ridges
of white rolling over its blackness,
stirred his heart. It seemed to whisper
of peace. The tnought of suicide,
which comes sometimes to every man,
. however 6ane, stole through his mind.
Not death by any of tho means he had at
hand ; not ju any of the ways he might
'readily command ; no, not that ; but a
thought that when jife had become
moro unbqarable than now, when heart
and brain and nerves had grown wearier,
he would eek out this little lake seek
it out iu tho night find It with the
white waves just breaking its surface,
jtud lie down, under it to rest and dream
for ever.
Long reaches of plowed land and pas
ture land succeeded, and he wondered,
with a dull pain at his heait, how those
who gained a living there could bear to
live so, toiling early and late, summer
and winter, for tho little they could
get.
Then his own pain came back again,
and his head sank more heavily and
wearily against the pane. Perhaps he
slept a little then; bat if. he did the
drip of the rain against his window
seemed like tears shed by tka night for
him. And later, when he surely slept,
the monotone. ,:s sound of the train was
ohanaed by his dream into the beat of
a hammer, forging a chain which he
knew was for him. The whole night
seemed saving to him some of the stern
est things which nature can say to mun
gome of the most fearful things which
truth can say to falsehood.
For John Frenoh poor JohnFrench 1
poor in every tense of the word, had
engaged himself a yenr ago to one of
the loveliest and noblest of women,
and had known, without feeling, the
goodnops and truth of hernntnre. She
was heiress to an enormous fortune
when ho won hor, and with the unself
ish trust of her sixteen years had given
her love to him unreservedly. Had
she been older or wiser thin story
would never have boon written", for she
wojild have lnid aside her bridal robes,
made swered by her tears, and proved
herself, h heroino; while ho would have
accepted freedom from her' hands and
proved himself a coward and a villain
a Week ar?o. But, not because of
the lovo slio had for hira, but because
of that which she was to tmm ho had
for her, Geraldino Royal had not of
fered hira his freedom.
And John French was hurrying to his
wedding with a woman he did not lovo,
lovely and noble though sbo was a
woman whom ho had never pretended
to Lis inner self to love and over his
heart her last letter to him laid like a
lump of load! For it told him that the
fortune ehe hnd oueo enjoyed was gone;
that hor futlur would have nothing
whatever left when all his dobts wore
paid. And s ho straggled slowly back
to painful consciousness from scarcely
lens painful sleep, the beat of tho hoofs
of tho mngio hted of the rails was
thundering in his ears: "I'ou cannot
e.seaiio I You cannot escnpel You
canuot escape !''
And the frown which had slowly
deepened ns ho slept darkened into a
fierce tco.vl as he raid, between his set
tooth:
" No, I cannot escape 1 It is poverty
lifo long poverty, toil, drudgery, for
evermore I"
As ho fettled back into his eeat to
K t a lit llo moro of that physical com
foil which men always instinctively
i:o!., whatever their mental pains mny
be, there was a crash. The car was
torn and twisted and crushed; men and
women and children went from the un
conciousness of sleep down into the
unconsciousness of death. Others, less
fortunate, wero prisoned in the wreck,
which took tiro almost at once. As the
car went over on its sido tho old mau
who had watched and studied John
French foil across tho aislo against
him fell with his head against a
oorner of the sent and was dead almoot
instantly. But in the one moment in
which the spirit held the body in its
control belore giving it up forever tho
hand of the stranger had clutched the
handle of John's valise with such a
! grip as might have been expected had
life depended on his getting and keep
in it.
French was unhurt. The man bo
hind and tho wom.m in front were killed
instantly, and French, who had thought
with pleasure of a grave in the lake
among the hills, had uot even a scratch.
He aided those others who wero not
disabled, and these who came from
ontsido, in the rescue. Most of those
not killed at ence were saved. But
when the dead were dragged from tho
burning car, after the living had been
aided, no friend could have identified
them. Tho man who had made John
French Lis study might have been
young or old for all that one could say
when it was all over, and he lay among
the ruins of the disaster, still clutch
ing the remains of the valise.
French was thoughtful of the woman
he was to marry thoughtful despite
the lack of love, and he wrote a tele
gram to send to the station a mile and
a half away. It was as follows :
" Torrihle.acciJont.
I escaped unhurt.
Joux fuEseu."
As how out to baud tho message to
the train hand ho was to go to tho
station with messages for help, he passed
tho man who had died at his side.
The accident had happened in the
dawn ; .tho clouds wore going away with
the night. Tho spirit of tho darkness
seemed to 6ay : ' Sorrow may endure
Tor a night, but joy cometu in the morn
ing." Tho strength of day, which grows
out of the weak uess of night, was coming
into tho lives of the men who had
escaped, and that, too, despite the
ghastly record night had made. The
bluhh upon the eastern sky deepened
as John paused it brightened and
strengthened the sun rose as brightly
as though there were no care nor sorrow
in the world. The voices of the night
were dumb ; day reigned again.
And a man stooping over the body of
the dead said : "We can identify this
one. ' See, the name is deeply engraved
on the plate which still remains ou his
valise. His name is John French."
So it happened that Qeraldine Boyal
read, a dozen hours later, how her lover
had died. So it happened that John
French lived to prove hiiijself a scoun
drel, and to widow the heart of the
woman -who loved him by the use of
the weapon which death had put in his
hand. lie did not send the message.
n. WHAT THH DAT TOLD.
Unless bad men prospered for a time
there would be no bad men. If their
prosperity never ended there would be
a dearth of good ones. The prosperity
of the bad does not belong in romance ;
it is an inevitable conclusion of log to.
Nature is truth ; and so John French
prospered. Or, rather, since "John
French " had been carved on a white
blub in the churchyard at home, and
written in tears on the heart of a frail
young girl, left desolate by worse than
death on her wedding-dav, let ns say
fiat John Arlington prospered. For
John Arlington was the name he chose
in that new Nlife which acoident had
offered him, and which he was not brave
enough to refuse.
John Frenoh (or Arlington) had no
father nor mother, sister nor brother to
mourn for him. But :o cut himself oil
entirely from those he had known and
loved was hard enough, even though
there were no ties of kindred to bind
him to them. John Arlington went
among f-trangers; he allowed his beard
to grow; he wo.'oomod the rnddy tint
which travel ami exposure gave to Iuh
fuoe; lie visited various countries; he
tried mnny ways faward wealth and he
succeeded iu them ull.
So the strong man who took steamer
for America leu yeara after tho liight
wheu John French died and John
Arlington i'm-.t appeared among men
was a rich, a couteuted, ulnioiitu happy
man. Uo ha 1 ucquirod his possessions
by honest toil by mental tuought and
endeavor; no on. could say that any act
of his had been nn net of trtwid; so far
as business weal ho was tbe soul of
honor. Arlington never touched liquors;
he had no bad habit; his life would
have been to bitn the straightforward,
honest, open, manly one which it
seemed to ether men, bat for the blot
he had placed upon it when he found a
woman with a loving heart needing ten
derness and meijry, and deliberately re
solved to give her neither.
The passage wwi a stormy one. Most
of the passengers kept to their rooms
for days at a time. But Arlington was
too much used to travel to mind a rough
sea. Ho staid on deck many hours each
day.
John French had failed to love a most
beautiful and worthy girl when he was
a young man; and John Arlington, now
in the bright days of a strong man
hood, sometimes so"fi?ht to excuse it to
himself by tho plea that ho had no ca
pacity for loving; ia all his wanderings
he hnd never seen a woman who had
claimed his serious second thought or
look even. So it is not to bo wondered
at that he smiled n little contemptuously
to himself when he fot.nd, as he did ono
day, that he was getting in the habit of
listening anxiously far the voice of a
woman, in a room not- fur from his own,
who read for long hours at a time in a
full lich voice, evidently unconscious
of any listener. S1j never went on
deck, and Arlington found his room be
coming more attractive than the storm
ontsido Ho wondered what it meant.
He felt he would be a fool to fall iu
lovo with a voice when he had passed
fair faces untouched by love. He found
out that the woman only road by day,
and ho took to spending tho evening
hours outside, while in the daytime he
waited and listened. He found out
early in tho long voyage, mode longer
by adverse winds, thai;, read what she
might and as long asj she might, bhe
always read one poem after a while, and
then read no longer.
And John Arlington used to go up to
the deck in the gathering darkness and
look away over the storm-tossed waves
while thinking of his past, and begin
ning to dream a little o! his future of
a future for even hirn with the words
of Jean Ingelow rin ging in his ears :
"Wo shall part no more iu tho wind and the
rain,
Where thy lant farewell was said;
But porhapa I shall moot thee and know theo
attain.
When tho eoa gives up hor dead."
He never doubted that the poem was
a favorita with the woman because of
some boreavement in her past life; the
sadness in the tones told him that. Ho
believed that the vevso stood in her
mind as a finality, tho end of some
heart history; the woman read as though
waiting for something that could only
come into her lifo when death indeed
gave up its own. He wondered if he
would find her faa as fascinating as
her voice. He found himself trying how
he might plan soDoe way to Beo her.
She seemed to Laflle him.
But waiting for anything always
brings it. Not always as we wish it,
not always to be a possession of the
life, but across the path which we walk
the thing we long to see and know will
pass. John Arlington listened to the
voice and waited for the woman. Tho
time was coming.
It had been a terrible night, but was
a more terrible day. The voices of the
day were speaking of the infinite power
of nature, and as officers and sailors
listened to them as they shouted and
raged around tho vessel they were
learning the lesson of human weakness
and human despair.
. At noon tho captain called the pas
sengers together. The boats were frail
in the eyes of the women and children
who looked at them. But he had done
his best, and in half an hour the boats
must stand between them and eternity.
He could not save the ship.
ttorn discipline held control thero;
the boats were loaded rapidly and with
care; the men went last, and the captaiu
last of all. No braver man among the
passengers helped the captain iu his
oontrol of a brute force which could
have crushed all physical opposition,
but could not dare a contest with the
moral might of will-power, than did
John Arlington. He was no coward
now whatever his past had been.
A woman came slowly across the deck
just as the last boat-load was almost
ready to go. There was no fear iu her
eyes as she looked on the waves and
the storm. But one would have guessed
that she cared but little for life by the
look on her faoe as she came to the
boat. She evidently had no faith in
the boat saving them; she looked upon
death as inevitable; and the words she
muttered were almost the words of a
prayer this time:
"Perhaps I shall moot thee 'and know thee
aain.
When the eo givos up her dead."
John Arlington heard the words aud
turned toward her. More beautiful iu
womanhood thau girlhood ha I proiu
iiei, more be.iu'i.'ul than hetiaiovrtr
dreamed wan possible, this woman
stood before him. In her eyes he saw
that a love she had not long years ago
had never faltered for an instant ; but
it was a love for dead John French.
She ncithor hnew nor noticed living
John Arlington. And he stepped into
the boat by her side, knowing that he
must be saved with or die with Geral
dino Royal ; knowing that the voice
from out the past had done its full
work ; knowing that ho loved her with
the full strength of his life, and that he
always should, feeling that death on
the wild sea with her would ba better,
much bettar, than life anywhere with
out her.
nr. what the storm satd.
Had Geraldine Royal been earlier
when the ship was sinking she and John
Arlington wonld have gone in different
boats, aud the story of either would
have been a fragment. Only one boat
load of passengers was saved ; but the
boat which left the ship last was the
one.
Geraldine Royal had had a hard life.
One year before she had a little money
left her ; not a great fortune, but enouch
to give her a year of travel in the OH
World and allow hor to settle in comfort
in tho New. John Arlington followed
her. He had money to spend freely.
He found out where her home was to be
made, and he bought a large estate,
with a great house, a quarter of a mile
from the cottage she had rented. He
journeyed to it one day, over the road
ho had gone so long before toward the
wedding which had never taken place.
He was glad she had not gone as far as
the place where the accident had been.
He never wanted to 6ee that place
again. He found the home he had pur
chased to be all that the agent had said
it was. A large roomy house stooii in
the midst of a broad green park, sur
rounded by great trees. Beyond the
park was n lake, all his own ; ' further
away, hidden from sight of the house,
bnt not from sound, by the noble trees,
was the railroad. Not far away in tho
other direction was the house where
Geraldine Royal lived with a hired com
panion. Around all were the eternal
hills.
Miss Royal had received some favors
from the man who had been saved with
her. She liked him. She was pleised
to find that he had settled near her.
Time had agod the man, and her loy
alty to the past left her no thought of
the possibility of this man loving her.
She enjoyed the society of this genial
neighbor of hers, and that was all. But
Arlington never looked iu the great
rooms in his house without thinking
how much she would brighten them
and his life if he could win her.
He did not try in one year; he did
not try in two; but one hot August af
ternoon he stood with a letter from her
iu his hand. He remembered burning
i halt hundred letters she had sent to
John French; this was the first one she
had ever written to John Arlington;
His servant had carried her a letter tell
ing his love; her companion had
brought him a letter which he almost
ieared to open. He removed the en
velope after a while. Tho letter was
very brief. She respected him, but she
had loved a man, John French by name,
who had died while coming to marry
her; her heart held his memory sacred;
she had no room for other love; she
should always love John French; she
hoped to find him and know him and
love him wheu the weary earth-life
should ba done; she kindly, but firmly
nnd bejond appeal, declined the ofl'er
on which John Arlington had staked his
future happiness.
John Arlington stood with a white, stern
face and fought the most terrible battle
with himself that ho had ever fought
It was the battle of a man mad with
despair. Should respected John Arling
ton live and try to live content without
that which loved John French might
have had? Or should living John
French go to the woman he had
wronged, tell her his shameful secret
and dare the worst?
Ho made a coward's choice for a
second time in his life, and went.
Tho wind was riding and the big drops
of rain were beginning to fall as he
knocked at the door. The woman re
ceived him kindly; she liked him yet.
But they both stood, and the faoe of
eaoh was whiter and sterner than usual.
"Is there no hope?"
" I am sorry, but there is none. 1
loved John Frenoh too truly to ever
marry another."
"Miss Royal Geraldine I am John
French!"
For a long minute she stood looking
at him, her face growing older and
whiter and more sad as she looked.
Then she sank into a chair with a sob.
"Why is all this as it is?" she
moaned.
He told it all ; he did not try to spare
himself ; he saw it would be useless
before he had gone far with the dread
ful story. She heard it all in silence.
He did not auk for her love when he
had finished. It would do no good.
She slowly rose to her feet.
"If it is possible for a woman to love
a man aud to despise him utterly at the
same time, 1 do it. I did love you to
my shame I say it. To my deeper
shame I say I love you yet. Bat iu all
tho universe I can conceive of no more
hideous ciime than you have done. I
despise you as much as I love you. Go I
I never want to bee .you or know you
or hear of you ugain, in this world or
any other. Go I Go forever !"
And Jjhn French went out with
bowed hcud into the rain and storm,
hi d no oun has ever heard of him or
of JliUii Arhu-' tcn since.
, They dragged the lake next day, but
they found nothing. They might have
used more care if they had known of
the eyes that watched its white waves
with longing twelve years before. Bnt
they micht havo found nothing even
then. He wont away; he has never re
turned; he never will; that is all that
can be said.
All that was ever found that might
have served as a clew was a little scrap
of paper with a few lines written on it
which might mean much or little. They
were these fcily:
"Forever is a long word. I hope to
outlive her forever."
And on the other side:
" The storm is abroad. It speaks to
me. It tells that terrible truth: 'What
soever a man soweth that shall he also
reap. "
The Center of Population.
What statisticians understand by the
term center of population, it may be
well to explain, is the point at which
equilibrium would bo reached were the
country taken, as a plane surface with
out weight, but capable of sustaining
weight, and the inhabitants distributed
over it in number and position as they
are found at the period under consider
ation, each inhabitant being supposed
to be of equal weight, and consequently
to exert pressure ou the pivotal point
iu direct proportion to bis distance
therefrom. The first censns of the
United States, taken iu 1790, showed
the center of population to be on the
eastern shore of Maryland, about
twenty-two miles from Baltimore, and
near the thirty-ninth parallel of lati
tude, From that point it has moved i
westward at the average rate of abo'i';
fifty-one miles in a decade, never devi
nting as much as a degree to the nori
or south of the thirty-ninth parallel.
In 1880 the center wns near the vil
lage of Taylorsville, Ky., about eight
miles west by south of Cincinnati, the
westward progress being fifty-eight
miles, and the deflection to the south
about eight. The census of 1890 will
probably discoveritin Jennings county,
in Southeastern Indiana. If there is no
great change in the rate of Western
movement of population, the central
point, still traveling, as it doubtless
will, on a line closely corresponding to
the thirty-ninth parallel of latitude,
will not cross the Mississippi river un
til 1950, when it will be found not far
from the mouth of the Missouri. It is
not improbable, however, that it will
never reach that stream, but will re
main nearly stationary somewhere in
Southern Illiaois. There are large
areas of country in, the far West unlit
for habitation, save where deposits
of the precious metals ara
found, and other considerable
ureas where grazing, whioh supports but
n Bcanty population, will always be the
chief indastry. The increase of popu
lation in the trans-Mississippi region
may not, therefrre, much more tlmn
counterbalaace the increase in the older
settled portion of the country after the
close of the present century. In esti
mating the changes and progress of the
future we must not forget that, marvel
ous as is the growth of the new West,
it is only a little more rapid than that
of the great middle region between the
Hudson and the Mississippi. The State
of New York, it must be remembered
added 700,000 to her population be
tween 1870 and 1880. Pennsylvania
460,000, and Ohio 532 0C0. The in
crease in eaoh of these old States would
made a Western State as populous as
Nebraska. New York Tribune.
Cannibalism iu Fiji.
It certainly is a wonder that the Fiji
isles were not altogether depopulated,
owing to the number who were killed.
Thus,' in Namena, in the year 1851,
fifty bodies were cooked for one feast.
And when the men of Bau were at war
with Ytr-ita they carried off 260 bodies,
seventeen of which were piled on a ca
noe and sent to Rewa, where they Were
received with wild joy, drugged about
the town, and subjected to every spe
cies of indignity ere they finally
reached the ovens. Then, too, just
think of the number of lives sacrificed
in a country where infanticide was a
recognized institution, and where wid
ows were strangled as a matter of
course I Why, on one occasion, when
there bad been a horrible massacre of
Namena people at Viwa, and upward of
100 fishermen had been murdered and
their bodies carried as bokola
to the ovens at Bau, no
loss than eighty women were
strangled to do honor to the dead, and
corpses lay iu every direction of the
mission station ! It is just thirty yeais
since the Rev. John Wdtsford, writing
from here, described how twenty-eiftht
victims had been seised iu one day
while fishing. They were brought here
alive, and only stunned wheu put into
the ovens, Some of the miserable
creatures attempted to escape from the
soorohing bed of red-hot (.tones, but
only to be driven back and buried in
that living tomb, wherfce they were
taken a few hours later to feast their
barbarous captors. He adds that more
human beings were eaten on this little
isle of Bau than anywhere else in Fiji.
It is very hard, indeed, to realize that
the peaceful village on which I am now
looking has really been the soene of
Huoh horrors as these, and that many of
the gentle, kindly people around me
have actually taken part iu them.
Cummin j.
A European firm has patented a news
paper printing press which, it is claimed,
prints in four or five different colors at
the same time. It is somewhat similar to
presses used in printing wall paper.
FOlt J HE L.IDIES.
New nod Nuie. Tor Women.
There are in Taris a hundred women
journalists.
Many St. Louis ladies are learning to
play on the banjo.
Widows, savs Clara Bell, writing
from New York, are fashionable just
now. A yonng widow with any charms
at all can have all the suitors she wants.
Miss Rosa Rosenthal, of Atlanta, Ga.,
has the honor to be the first young
lady iu the State to receive a diploma
which entitles her to write M. D. after
her name.
The employment of a female physi
cian as the head of a female insane re
treat at Harrisburghas been so success
full that Dr. Alice Bennett has been
placed in chsrge of the 400 lunatio
women at the Norristown (Pa.) asylum.
Certain philanthropic yonng ladies
of Fort Smith, Ark., have organized a
band called the "Orphans' Friends,"
for the purpose of sewing buttons on,
etc, for the young bachelors who are
away from home and without domestio
assistance iu keeping their harness in
repair.
Worldly mutation never hid a more
powerful illustration than in the death
in London, tho other night? of Ldy
Agnej MacLeau. She was the daughter
of an English marquis, the widow, first
of the Comte de Montmorency, and
afterward of a clerpyman named
MacLeau; and she was ejected from her
poor tenement in London and died in
the waiting-room of St. Pancras work
house. A fashionable novelty in perfumery
l.as been invented in Austria, and is
caded " the book of soap." Each leaf
is enough when torn out for one good
wash. The books vary in sizes ; tho
smaller are for the hands only, and aro
no larger than pooketbooks. Tho leaf
is soaked in a basin of water for three
seconds, then it floats and is placed in
the center of the hand, where it soon,
with gentle friction, froths. A page of
soap sounds strange, and stranger yet,
the soap is excellent ; it is no. unlike
nn ivory tablet.
Fashion Fanclea.
Laoe frills are worn around the neck
and wrists as much as ever.
Lace of various kinds is the preferred
trimming for silk underwear.
Large sagging puffs form the paniera
of many new model costumes.
Stamped gold-figured stockings
come to imitate the gold embroidered
ones.
New table linen of the finest grades
comes in tinted grounds, with damask
designs in white on one side, while on
tho other the order is reversed.
Baby dresses without waists, the
skirts attached to the yokes or bands
around the shoulders, will be tho popu
lar summer garments for little girls
under ten.
Dress skirts are surely growing fuller
end wider, and this decided tend ncy
to bouffant styles has, as history plainly
shows, been almost invariably tho fore
runner of crinoline.
Pretty damask towels, with Mother
Goose's melodies illustrated in the
colored borders at tha ends, are cut in
two to make fancy bibs for children.
The figures and the legend in verse are
both put into the designs.
The most startling parasols exhibited
thus far are those of vermilion satin,
lined with old gold silk and trimmed
with double ruflles of wide gold lace.
The ferrules are surrounded by a
wreath of brilliant scarlet roses mixed
with small yellow sunflowers.
For small boys and girls there are
Manila hats with wide brim springing
up in basin shape from the crown. Tho
brim is faced with velvet.- The trim
ming for girls' hats is ostrich plumes ;
boys' hats are trimmed with a large
cord aud several silk pompons.
Pleasing costumes are made of
camel's-hair cloths in dark colors,
finished with many rows of stitching
done on machines which make the chain
stitch, in silk twist, shaded colors. Tho
effect is unique, and this finish is pecu
liarly suitable for dreuse3 worn on thu
street.
Velvet is used as drapery and finish
on the most most ethereal materials. A
late costume is of nun's veiling in
grounding pale maize color, with a
lloral design thrown up on the faoe of
carnations in shades, of moss-green,
made up with scarf drapery and other
finish of moss-green velvet.
The newest caprice in French lingerie
Is to combine lacus of two tints in one
article of underwear; for instance, Hat
collarettes and vests of the llax-gray
twine lace have ruches and plaitings of
ivory white Languedoo laoe with them,
and the same arrangement is seea in
fljhus and doubled frills.
Paris millinery presents many new
caprices this season, snoh as a saucy
sailor hat called the boston, a hand
kerchief bonnet lager than the Fan.'
chon, soft crowned turbans of ntw
shapes, and finally the climax is reached
in a revival of tho caleohe bonnet with
a shirred rattan top, that this genera
tion has only seen worn upon the stage.
Wash dresses of linen lawn, cham
bery and Scotch ginghams, preparing
for summer mornings in the oountry,
are made as simply as even the laun
dress could denie, with a round
basque, apron overskirt and gathered
flounces, but they are given an elabo
rate effect by their garniture of em
broidered musbn for collar, vest, cuff;
i and edgings, on, the flounces.