A BEQUEST.
When I confront the death of that last day,
Which, deud, shall bo the birth of endless
night,
Then, true companion of the narrow way
We walk together, not the tiny mite
Of pebbles wo pick up—the pinch of gold,
The fruiting acres, or the little name
I leave—would I that you should bless me
for,
Or cherish. Jiathor let me leave the old
Endearments as n legacy, the same
Eternally as now you know they are.
—Aloysius Coll.
j The Old Apple Tree, ►
I was disappointed in my friend. We
had arranged to spend the day on the
river. I had not met liim for years,
not since our Balliol days, until I saw
him again after seven years at the
'varsity sports in the early spring. He
was the same as ever, stanch and
genuine and generous, it was he who
had suggested and settled the details
of our trip on the river. It was to
be on June 15, and we were to have
had a long, healthy, exhilarating day,
with plenty of hard exercise and a
long chat about old times.
The day .came and I was in river-rig
at the boathouse agreed upon half
an hour earlier than we had mutually
fixed. But Fry did not come. I know
of nothing more irritating than to
have to hang about for another fellow
to turn up when one is alone like that.
At last, I got a note by his servant.
His excuse for not coming seemed
to me a flimsy one. His wife's father
had fixed a sudden meeting of family
trustees, and afterward he bad to see
bis sister on business of consequence
relating to a trust. Hoewver, whether
it was an excuse or whether it was
a reason, he was not coming with me
for our projected river trip—that was
clear. It was annoying, but I trust I
am too philosophic to feel anything
deeply that cannot be helped. I coun
termanded the pair-skiff and had out
a single canoe.
In five minutes I was"on the bosom
of old Father Thames." The hack
neyed words, as I thought of them,
were in themselves a comfort, and as
I paddled on I thought how a gay
heart wants no friend. Solitude has
charms deeper than society can af
ford. Out of my memory teemed
troops of friends, and they were with
me as I willed; they came at my call
and vanished as I wished when
thought of another suggested.
I was veritably festive in my lone
liness. Everything was new to me,
ar.d yet familiar; the lazy cattle, knee
deep in the water, the trim villas fes
tooned with roses and clematis, the
laughing weirs, the fleets of graceful
swans, the barges and the pleasure
boats, the pools where the water-lilies
grew. How lovely it all was, and how
sweet (since fate had willed it so)
to enjoy it undisturbed and solitary!
"If this be loneliness," I thought,
turning my canoe into a backwater of
the main river, along which 1 had al- j
ready paddled with the stream for
several miles (I had passed through
two locks), "I have been often lone
lier among hosts of friends!" And I
fear there was some conceit in the
delight 1 enjoyed; cast thus upon my
own resources I was proud of my
buoyancy of spirit. I found myself
ever and anon peopling the passing
banks and woods with creatures of
my own imagination, making of the
whole landscape a background for the
creation of an as yet unwritten rom
ance. I wove fairy tales. I am a
professed writer of romances, and I
determined that the beings born of
my river dream should awake and live
In words on the shelves of libraries.
I was now in a lovely backwater
more beautiful than the Thames it
self. The bankside flowers were more !
abundant and nearer tom
they hedged me about. The pale
blue eyes of innumerable forget-me-
Jiots smiled upon me, wild roses and
brambles bloomed and their thorns,
the leaves of the osiers whispered
everywhere, and weeping willows
hung their arching boughs right
across the narrow creek which it now
pleased me to explore.
The water was clearer, too. Pad
dling slowly along between the lawns,
I looked into the depths of the water.
With all its wealth and wonder of
plant-growth, the waving forests of
submarine weed, where I could see
elioals of minnows. Now and then a
school of perch, startled by my pad
dle, darted into the shadow of the
weed, and a huge jack, sulking in a
deep green pool, made me long for a
rod and line.
While thus engrossed, bending my
head over the side of the canoe, in
which I continued to drift slowly
along, I failed to notice how narrow
the creek bad become, until suddenly
I found myself close to a lady lying
on a lawn —so close that I was almost
touching her. She was quite at the
edge of the grass, which slopped to
the river. Half a dozen cushions
Were about her —her book lay open. I
had never seen so glorious a picture,
nor one that burst upon my vision so
suddenly. She was in something
white and dain:y, her hat was hung
on a branch, and the old, gnarled
tree under whose shade she reclined
■was covered with apples. Her hair
was tangled and golden, and her eyes
full of light and laughter.
For a while I sat staring at her in
bewilderment. Then I stammered.
"Where am I?"
Her answer was perfectly calm, but
It was not chill; no. her voice was so
soft that the simplest words she ut
tered were a melody.
"You are in my father's cordon,"
she said.
"And I—l ?"
"You are a trespasser."
But she smiled as she said it, a
smile that showed two rows of pearl,
sparkling in the sunlight that dap
p'ed her face.
'And you?" I said. I know not
what I said, but soon I asked her
name, and she told me it was Eve.
"And this is Paradise," I answered,
looking through the leaves of the old
apple tree at all the beauties of the
garden. '
Then we talked. Of what? Of
everything. Of solitude, of friendship,
of books; I fear, of Canada—and of
| love.
Then she bade me go, and I could
j not. Nor would I if I could; and when
at length I obeyed her and was about
togo, she bade me stay.
So I stayed, and soon had moored
my canoe and stood upon her lawn. I
cannot tell how I of all men —modest
almost to baslifulness —could have
done so, but I did.
Of the flowers that grew wild there
by the water's edge I made her a
crown, and this I put upon her tan
gled golden hair. She was my queen
i there and thenceforth forever; and so
I told her, the poets aiding me.
Two roses that I had not seen be
fore bloomed on her face, and she
ran away light-footed and lithe of
limb, over the lawn into her father's
house.
But I could not leave; I could not!
I looked for her, but she did not come.
Once I saw the curtains of a window
drawn aside, and her face peering out
upon me, but she would not come
again.
Well, I stayed, that was all! HOVJ
I had the impudence to do so I cannot
tell —but I could not go.
She was a long while indoors. T
heard her at the piano. I knew it
was her touch, though I had never
heard her before, but I was confident
it was she. Besides, now and then
the piano stopped suddenly, and I
saw by (he movement of the window
curtains tiiat she was peeping to see
whether I had gone.
At last I grew ashamed of my in
trusion, and. stooping from under the
fruit-covered branches of the old ap
ple tree. I went to my canoe, unfast
ened its moorings, and was about to
withdraw.
But, as luck would have it, just as
I was about to get into the canoe,
she came out to me across the lawn.
Her gesture to me was that I must go.
I said what I felt, regardless of all
order, of all propriety. "Eve," I said
passionately, "you do not know me.
nor who I am, nor I you; but I know
this, that I love you. Yes, I love
>ou. and shall love you forever. Your
heart is my Eden. Do not shut the
gates of this, my earthly paradise. I
must, must see you again, and I will!
Say that I may."
She looked down and blushed.
"May I?" I faltered.
She did not reply. But her silence
was a better answer than words.
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
She looked so pretty when she said
it that I was about to dare yet more.
I had the temerity to formulate the
idea that 1 would take her in my
arms and steal from her lips a kiss,
when I heard a shout —
"Hullo, old chap! Is that you?"
I looked up.
"What. Fry?" I cried. "Is it Fry?
It is, by all that's wonderful!"
"I'm awfully sorry, my dear chap,
that I couldn't join you on the rivet
today. Abominably uncivil you must
have thought me. But I didn't know
you knew my sister."
He looked at her and he looked at
me. I think we were both blushing.
"But you do know each other, don't
you?" he said, for we both looked so
awkward that he seemed to think he
had made some faux pas.
"Oh, yes!" I said, "we know each
other," and I stole a look at Eve. The
glance she gave me was a grateful
one.
Three months afterward there was
i a river-wedding, and, as we were
! rowed away from church in a galley
I manned by four strong oarsmen, and
' I handed her out of the canopied boat
; onto her father's lawn, the wedding
| bells rang out merrily, for Eve and T
\ were man and wife, and I gave her a
husband's kiss under the old apple
tree.—The Sketch.
Tlarnh-Voired Cannrlen Kxiled.
"Moulting is the crucial time for a
[ canary's voice," writes Ida Shaper
; Hoxie in an article in Ladies' Home
> Journal. "Some birds lose the little
i that they have; others, of course blos
] som out into promising singers. As
soon as a harsh tone is heard, out goes
that unfortunate bird, for promising
singers must never hear a harsh chrip.
' When I asked what became of the tin-
I fortunates I was told by the fanciers,
'Oh, we sell them, of course. You
know they can sing in a way, and
: many people don't know the difference
i between a good singer and a bad one.'
i jviy mind went back to a certain can
ary 1 had had to live with once in
i America! I wondered what percent-
I age of these outcasts who were hund-
I died together in a cage out of hear
ing of the more favored birds and al
lowed to chirp as they please, goto
America. One of the men who dc
j votes all his time to the canaries, al
lowed me to spend several hours
among bis birds. I sat a long while
trying to analyze the exquisite sounds
: that came from a dozen tiny cages
j with closed fronts hanging high cn the
wall. I could have gone to sleep had
I chosen—the thrilling was so soft
and sweet, not at all like the songs of
me lusty-throated American birds.
Peculiarities are certain traits
: which your neighbor has which are
| different from your own traits.
t\cw York City. The waist that
closes at the back remains In favor,
and is promised extended vogue. The
♦ery charming May Manton model
FANCY WAIST.
shown has the merit of being simple
of construction, at the same time that
it is sufficiently elaborate in effect to
be appropriate for afternoon and infor
mal evening wear. The original is of
loulsine silk, with cream guipure lace,
and is made over the litted lining,
but all waist and gown materials are ,
suitable, silk, wool and cotton, and the
lining can be omitted whenever desir
able. Silks and wools are better and
more serviceable made over the foun
dation, but washable fabrics are prof- ]
erable unlined.
The fitted foundation is snug and ]
smooth and closes at the back together <
Jr" MI WAIST.
with the waist. The fronts proper are
tucked to yoke depth and gathered at
the waist line, but the backs are plain
across the shoulders and show only
slight fulness at the belt. The lace is
applied over the material on indicated
lines, the scalloped edge making an
admirable effect over the plain waist.
The sleeves are in bishop style, with
pointed cuffs, and the neck is finished
with a plain stock, to which are at
tached turn-over portions of lace.
To cut this waist for a woman of
medium size three and a half yards of
material twenty-one inches wide,
three yards twenty-seven inches wide,
two and a half yards thirty-two inches
wide or tvo and an eighth yards forty
four inches wide will be required, with
one and a half yards of lace seven and
a half inches wide, and three-eighth
yards of narrow edging to trim as il
lustrated.
Misses' bailor Shirt Waist.
The shirt waist with sailor collar,
and shield of contrasting color is, and
will be, a favorite for young girls
both for school and afternoon wear.
For the school the materials chosen
are cheviot, linen, madras, flannel,
cashmere and the like, for the more
fancy waists silk of simple sorts, em
broidered and plain cashmere in light
colors. The May Manton model shown
in the large drawing is suited to both
uses and all the fabrics mentioned,
but in the original Is of moire louisine
silk, showing lines and dots of blue
on white, with trimming of blue vel
vet ribbon, and shield, tie and cuffs of
wnite silk banded with blue. The
foundation is a iitted lining, on which
the waist proper is arranged that is
eminently desirable when silk and
wool fabrics are used, but which can
be omitted when washable materials
are selected. The lining closes at the
centre front, and fits snugly to the
figure, but the waist proper is drawn
down in gathers at the waist line and
blouses slightly at the front. The
shield is attached to the lining, when
it is used, to the waist, beneath tlie
collar, when the waist is unlined, and
is attached permanently at tlie right
side, hooked into place at the left.
The sailor collar Is seamed to the neck
of the blouse and the tie ends are at
tached beneath Its points. The sleeves
are in bisnop style with narrow polnt-
I ed cuffs.
| To cut this waist for a girl of four
teen veava of aire three and a half
yards of material twenty-one Inches
wide, two and a half yards twenty
seven inches wide, two and a quartet
yards thirty-two inches wide or one
and three-eighth yards forty-four
inches wide will be required, with
three-quarter yard for shield, stock
collar, tie and cuffs, and one piece of
velvet ribbon to trim as illustrated.
A Bolero Witli Wide Flowing Sleeves.
The up-to-date bolero is furnished
with sleeves, and these are quite wide
and generally flowing. Lace is the
proper medium in which to carry out
this stylish model. Any thick material
would be inappropriate. There is a
hard and fast line for the termination
of lace bolero sleeves. They finish ex
actly half way between elbow and
wrist. The same model can be exe
cuted in fine batiste. The all-over em
broidered batiste is as costly as piece
lace for a blouse or bolero, htill it is
used, as is the plain batiste, because
it is so beautiful and so well adapted
to the purpose.
Trimming With Cretonne Applique.
A novel style of trimmings very
much in vogue is applique cretonne.
The design is simply outlined by a
chain stitch, and many are the artis
tic variations to be attained thereby.
On a white silk ground a rose pattern
in soft shaded tints may be outlined
in self-colored silks. Or a very pleas
ins effect is created by a tine gold cord
defining the pattern.
"Five-Ciovcd Skirt With Habit Hack.
The tendency of the latest skirts is
to extreme snugness at the upper and
pronounced flare at the lower portion.
No style contributes to that end so
perfectly as the habit back and the
circular flounce, and the two com
bined make a marked feature of ad
vance models. The May Manton mod
el shown is admirable in every way.
Being cut in live gores it suits the
great majority of figures and allows
for remodeling the skirts of last season
when so doing is desirable. The orig
inal is made of novelty material, in
shades of brown and tan, with trim
ming of narrow brown braid over
light tan, and includes the graceful
and becoming flounce; but this last
can be omitted and the skirt used
plain; or, again, the material can be
cut away beneath and the flounces
seamed to the lower edge.
The live gores are carefully shaped
and fitted without fulness at the belt
and provide just the snugness required
by fashion. The flounce falls in fcoft
undulating folds and widens as ,'.t ap
proaches the back, forming admirable
lines. The placket can lie at the centre
back or left front seam as desired,
but in either case should be provided
with au ample underlap and an abun
dant supply of hooks and loops, that
there may be no danger of gaping.
To cut this skirt for a woman of
medium size thirteen yards of mate
rial twenty-one inches wide, ten
and one-half yards twenty-seven
inches wide, eight and seven-eighth
yards thirty-two inches wide, seven
and a quarter yards forty-four inches
wide or six and three-quarter yards
fifty inches wide will be required when
flounce is used: nine yards twenty
one inches wide, seven yards twenty-
FIVE-GORED SKIRT.
; seven inches wide, six and a half
yards thirty-two inches wide, five and
a half yards forty-four inches wide or
live yards fifty Inches wide when
' flounce is omitted.
ISlouao Worn Mostly at Ilomo,
The blouse is still with us, but is
worn more in the home than with the
outdoor toilet excepting for coats and
skirts. Many tucked and corded
blouses fasten at the back, leaving the
pouched front entire. Coats are of
varied types, but the extra long three
quarter shape is quite an accepted
fashion for evening and carriage wear,
and the fashionable opera wrap is in
pelisse form, with bell sleeves, and a
ruff takes the place of the high collar.
A Beauty Hint.
For one who loves a dainty bath
there are many simple ways of medi
cating or perfuming it. Almond meal
is always nice. Oatmeal sewed in a
bag of cheese-cloth and then thrown in
the water for a few moments is good
for the complexion. Perfume tablets
may now be purchased to make frag
rant the bath. Everybody knows how
valuable a few drops of household am
monia are for all cleansing purposes,
but not every one knows how refresh
ing a tablespoonful of it is in the
daily bath. For bathing the face to
remove sunburn milk, buttermilk or
lemon juice are all good. Very good,
too, is the water, cold, in which a
cucumber has been boiled.—Philadel
phia Times.
Made Her Fortune in Oil.
A woman who has made a success
ful venture in oil is told of by the
Woman's Journal, which says: "West
Virginia has an oil queen. She is Mrs.
Mary Ihrig, formerly of Slstersville,
now living in the Tyler county field,
where her venturesome spirit and
good luck have been bringing in a:-.
Income of about S7OOO a week for a
month past. Mrs. Ihrig was formerly
engaged in the shoe business; but, as
it did not pay very well, she began
to dabble in oil. She is reported u. be
developing, with success, what was
considered a few months ago the most
uncertain wild cat territory in the
state, and she is preparing to sink
new wells as soon as rigging can be
hauled to her property. She has
bought a handsome home in Parkers
burg, and will direct her new interests
from that place.
Make* Her Living us a Rlark.mitli.
Miss Cela Holbrook, daughter of
Rufus Holbrook, has continued her
father's blacksmith shop in Sherborn,
Mass., employing assistants and carry
ing on the establishment. She is 19,
but was only 17 when her father died,
leaving his family in very poor cir
cumstances. Her mother had died
eight years earlier. Her brother and
three sisters, all younger than herself,
she supports by her business ability
and enterprise. In addition to carry
ing on the shop she has taken a con
tract from the United States to car
ry the mail twice a day from the rail
road station to the postofllce and re
turn. In the summer she carries the
mail on her bicycle; in the winter on
foot, making four miles' travel daily.
Yet this young woman, who for two
years has been practically the head
of a family, when she comes of age
will not be allowed to vote.
Out-of-the-Orrihiarv in Millinery.
A shade hat recently "created" for
an automobile girl is substantial
enough to bo able to stand wind and
dust and yet gracefully pretty. It is
of yellow straw and has a scarf and
bow of scarlet ribbon spotted and
striped with white. There is a touch
of black under the brim and at one
side are several gold-painted dark
quills.
A traveling hat of emerald green
straw trimmed with black velvet is
odd and very becoming to a fair
aaired wearer.
For an outdoor fete is an original
nat made entirely of wild oats and
straw cunningly pleated in together,
a huge bunch of ripe mulberries and
their foliage give a quaint touch and
a wonderfully tied bow of mulberry
colored velvet completes the very
striking effect.
A shade hat of green horsehair, or
crinoline, is the shade of the unripe
almond. It is artfully trimmed with
bunches of mulberries and leaves.
A veritable inspiration is a hat of
cream-white embroidered lawn, the
gracefully waved brim faced with
rose-pink tulle. The only trimming is
a big bow of black peau-de-soie and a
high Spanish comb of jet.
Three Magpie CoAtnmeg.
Black and white, black and white
I.? still the cry. A white glace silk
gown recently made had a sucession
of shaped flounces piped with black
and white striped silk mounted on
net, giving a very light effect; and
from the waist downward the skirt
was threaded with black velvet, end
ing in long, tagged ends. A charming
little bolero of shaped frills to
match the skirt showed an under
bndice of net, striped with velvet,
drawn into the waist by a belt of
mauve glace.
A white voile was fitted to the
waist by means of tiny tucks, with a
wide plastron of tinted guipure show
ing between the triple box-pleats at
the back, a deep shaped flounce cut
up in tabs caught down over a wide
'.and of guipure by tiny straps of
cream velvet and gold buckles, and
the bodice, carried out in the same
style, had the upper part all of lace,
a wide gold buckle defining the back
of the waist.
A very smart gown was of black
alpaca arranged In loops at the hem,
piped with white glace silk, the white
repeated in the front seams and in the
double loops of the pretty, quaint bo
lero; its deep square collar of ecru
embroidered batiste and the new
ficelle lace had a tiny collar and re
vers of satin turning back from it,
while the skirt was of white chiffon
and the belt of silver. —New York
Commercial Advertiser.
A Memory Hook.
A good many young people and old
er people, too, have begun the delight
ful task of arranging a memory book
to record the happy times they have
had and the delightful people they
have met. Its make-up is easier, it
is of more general interest, and much
less tedious than the old-fashioned
journal, with its daily recount of of
ten trivial and unimportant events. A
large scrap book, strongly bound, with
guards or extra strips between the
leaves to admit the pastings and entry
ol souvenirs, is tne first requisite. A
pretty over-cover can be made of
denim in blue, green or brown, or of
the ordinary tan canvas, with Jho
title in embroidered lettering in out
line, or in gold running through the
centre.
The title itself may be as fanciful
and poetic as one wishes, so long as
it is in harmony with the idea,"For
Memory's Sake," "The Light of Other
Days," etc. A spray of forget-me-nots
or a scattering of the blossoms on the
outside or on the fly-leaf inside gives a
dainty suggestiveness. Let the cover
be large enough to meet over the
edges and bound with a neat braid
or ribbon, stitched on and tied across
the ends and at the front.
As this is a keepsake book for the
years of after life, it is worth some
trouble to make it pretty and attrac
tive. The filling of the pages will be
according to the tastes of the maker.
A girl of 19 summers has made her
memory book really a very dainty
piece of work. She selected almost
entirely social happenings, using invi
tations and other suggestive memen
tos. One whole page was given to a
visit to a friend at Thanksgiving time.
On the upper part of the large page
was the tag which was on her trunk;
under it, arranged in a design, were
the little hand-painted dinner cards,
and so on. Again, on a page commem
orating a clambake, given on the
rocks of a summer watering place,
were some sprays of the seaweed that
the clams were baked in, dried,
pressed and fastened in the book by
little strips of brightly tinted paper,
etc.
The Memory Book for traveling
should be much smaller —portfolio
size—to admit of use on the steamer's
deck, or on the long journeys by
train. Many a delightful incident,
with its accompanying souvenir, can
be slipped into its pages for future
fastening, that would otherwise be for
gotten and lost forever in the crowd
ing experiences that follow.
"My Memory Hook is the most pre
cious thing I own," said a young fel
low. "It has helped me through many
a dismal evening in a lonely city
room." Years added to its value, and
in the library of the maturer man or
woman successive numbers will
stand like ledgers of the pleasure
times of youth.—Washington Star.
The first asters of the season are
out. a sure sign that fall fashions will
soon be seen.
Flower crowns independent of
leaves and foliage without flowers are
features in millinery garniture.
The very latest novelty in corsets
for bathing purposes, is made of per
forated rubber mysteriously stiffened
so that it answers all the require
ments of a genuine corset.
White is always the most popular
color in underwear, but during warm
weather it is more than ever desir
able when thin frocks are worn. In
winter pink and blue garments are
popular.
Cameo brooches have been rescued
from the oblivion in which they have
lived for some time past and serve a
very useful purpose as belt and skirt
fasteners. They are not usually worn
as stock pins.
Persian patterns represent the lat
est idea in hosiery and many of the
effects are especially pretty. Palo
blue, pink or lavender groundworks,
with odd Persian designs, are partic
ularly well liked.
The newest petticoats are washable,
and enchanting they are with their
close tops and full bottoms, which are
made to flounce and furbelow by
mounting, in points or straight rows,
narrow trimming-edged frills upon
wider ones.
One of the newest hats is called the
Napoleon, but it is greatly modified
from any example of headgear asso
ciated with the little corporal. It has
several points and is worn folded well
back from the forehead. It shows the
entire front of the coiffure.
In later years there has been a re
action in favor of cambric underwear,
and the chemise is regaining popular
ity. It is to be found in the prettiest
and daintiest of mokes, French gar
ments in the soft French nainsook,
with the most delicate of embroidery,
and less expensive and less fine gar
ments of ordinary cambric, but still
pretty and dainty. Some of these are
made skirt length, trimmed on the
t lower edge, forming a Hnatioa
I carment.