THE QUEEN'S PARDON -!: & By Clive flfU iHVI N' the Heights of Portland the December mist, still nndispcrscd by sunrise, hung thick, obliterating nil truces of the prison build ings from the roads, whore several ships of the channel squadron lay nt nnchor, and also from the strag gling row of houses nt the base of the northwest slope. In the prison itself there was no iignt as yet save in the corridors, up and down which the ever-alert wardens paced monotonously to anil fro. In most of the cells the prisoners slept, tired out with the previous day's hew ing of stone ninl uncongenial tasks nut In one the occupant, a man of thirty-five, (rood-looking In spite of prison garb, close-cropped hair, nnd the ravages of toil and despair, lay on bis bed awake. A little more than ten years ago he lind stood in the dock of a west of England city listening to a judge with n hard voice, though with kindly eyes, pronouncing sentence of llftecn years' penal servitude. All that an eloquent counsel could do bad been done for him, but to no avail. The evidence seemed conclusively damnatory, anil the foreman of the Jury, after an ab sence of half an hour, answered "guilty" to the usual question with a ring of conviction In his voice. The judge's words to Thomas Ilarborde fell on deaf ears. lie stood stupidly gazing at a young girl sitting nt the back of the court In company of n sweet-faced old lady, as though he saw nothing. At last a warder touched him on the shoulder, nnd the sairo instant a pite ous cry of, "O, Tom! Tom! They're going to take you nway from me," rang out In the court, over which the dusk of hit? afternoon was creeping, grad ually blotting out the features of those who sat at all In shadow. The prisoner turned round ns though about to say something to the judge on the bench, and then, led by the warder, he van ished down the dock stairs to the cells, to be known no longer as Thomas Hnr hordc, but by vnrlous numbers: At Portland convict prison as "No. 27." The sense of Innocence brought him tio meed of satisfaction; It merely filled him with desperate wrath anil blackest despair. In the early period of his solitary confinement he found himself confronted day In and out with the crushing sense of legions of hours, minutes and seconds before he could hope to be a free man If ever he wore to be one again. By good conduct against the very thought of which he at first rebelled, refusing to accept any boon at the hands of fate he might reduce these years to two-thirds maybe. What then, millions of seconds, each one to him, a prisoner, an appreciable part of life; hundreds of thousands of leaden-footed minutes, ench one tilled with a poignant despair, must pass ere the time of release drew near. At work, under the scorching sun or in the keen air of winter, In the quarries it was all the same. Thes hours nnd minutes became embodied In the per sons of the warders and f .llow-prison-ers. in the presence of his chains. From a possibly dangerous n-.nti he became almost an Inanimate machine; a mere cogwheel in the round of daily toil and. prison discipline. At first he attacked the stone ns though he were revenging his wrongs up m human tle-h and blood; at last he tooled ir with the unthinking regularity of an automaton. It takes a year or two to trample the human element out of a man of llar borde's type; but the effect of some walls, silence and brutalized compan ions. If slow, Is none the less sine Only in his case he became an automa ton instead of an animal. Through the long December night, while the ni'st enshrouded Portland and restricted the range of light. at the T5II1 to half a mile or less, and while the sirens resounded f-mn the light house gallery almost continuously, an swered faintly by others from vessels far out at sea, or booming harshiv from others near at hand, lay awake reckoning the w hours nnd minute? which Marie, el;:, ,1: co:r.---; the remaining two yars "f He had Jnt. dropped off in sleeping condition' when his term. :to a ha!f- oil door hard face opened, nnd instead of tin or the warder come to tell him to tlilv up, nr saw the governor ai d hapiain, with the warder In the lia-kgi-o-md. What could It mean? lie rorang up, milling his eyes, and almost- lc-foro he knew what was happening the gov ernor had told him in a few words that he had received the Queen's par don, and then proceeded to read the same. What did it nil mean? No other thought germinated tu his dii!l"d brniu. rice! Free to go where he willed! Free to walk out of the jail gates! Never to return witiiin the stone walls which had shut him in from the outside world, as surely as though no other world than that con tained within them existed. The prison bell clang-,!, startling him into a stnte of wakefulness The governor had finished reading the of-flcial-lcokliig paper, and with tie- '.: elusion of the formal part of his duty he added a. few words of coiig-.ut-iia-tlon. n.irliorilo seemed to have n,o comprehension of their meaning. lie remained stnndlng in the centre of the narrow cell speechless. At last the chaplain made him understand the Im port of the document which had Just been read over to him. Tree! l.'ree! It Is Impossible," he exclaimed, and then he (brew himself on the bed In an agony of Joy. The rlinging of the bell c fresh, the slam rnlnif of doors, the echoing of footstep dowu the resounding corridors, recalied him to a senso of his position. A wardor entered with a suit of clothes. With trembling fingers he removed his prison garb; worn, soiled with weather nnd labor and Intolerable. The trousers felt chilly after the thick, tlght-lltting knickerbockers, and rough, thick worsted stockings. The oat seemed to fit hi in nowhere. With one Jook ronnd bis cell, on the Mali of which be had done Innumerable, calculation to keep himself from Insanity bred by t tie terrible silence and sfio-e of loneliness, "Mo. 27" now uo longer o a g Holland. Mi mere figure, a machine, but n human being, stepped Into the corridor. There was a breakfast for him such ns he bad not tasted for nine long years, but he had no appetite. The one Idea now possessing bis mind was home, escape whilst the governor wns willing for him to depart. He swal lowed a few mouthful, drank a few gulps of cocoa, nnd then with the al lowance money In his pocket hurried to the gateway. He wns free, Free to go wherever he liked. Tree to start for home ns fast ns steam could carry hint. Free to stretch out his nrms to the placid gray-blue waters of Western Hay now denuded of their mantle of fog and sparkling In the sunshine. Free to breathe the pure air uncontamlnated by companions criminal nnd vicious. Hut the waters, the hillside, the lovely stretch of verdant country extended before his eyes, had no charm for him save that they spelt freedom. Itehind him lay the prison house, the flagstaff from which no ensign of dread fluttered to tell of his escape, llefore him lay freedom. lie rushed down the road, waving his arms with the reawakened Instincts of a boy escaping from school, obliv ious alike to the sympathetic gaze of women he passed, and Hie half-contemptuous remarks of the men. He dashed Into the bleak, shabby little rail way station, only to learn that there was no train for an hour. Already his limbs, unused to such riotous move ments and still feeling the lag of the chain, had begun to fall him, making the half-jocular suggestion of the soli tary reporter, that he should "take a little exercise and walk to Weymouth' out of the question. "I'll have to wait," wns nil he could think of to say. "Doin' time ain't altogether exhil arating' or strengthen' work," the porter remarked. Ilarborde nodded his head, yet longed to tell him he was nn innocent man. The porter, however, had van ished, to return In a few moments with a paper. "Here, mate," he exclaimed, with rough kindness. "You won't know all yesterday's news. I'll go ball." Ilarborde seized the paper. No! he knew nothing of yesterday's news, nor that of thousands of days which had once been yesterday. He coma see nothing at first. The print swam In a confused jumble before his eyes. When his sight cleared he commenced to read. How strange it was! He used to be a great reader before he became "No. 27." And now he seemed to know nothing of the world. New names confronted him everywhere. Names of those In nuthority, names of towns, jinnies even of countries. Where was Mashonaland and Mata beleland? He was confused. He rend on. This delicious new found turmoil of the world, how good It was after all. At last his eye caught a small para graph stowed away nt the bottom of the third column on page six of the paper. He read and reread it over nnd over again. "Her Majesty, the Queen, has been graciously pleased to pardon Thomas Ilarborde, who was convicted of forgery at the Winchester assizes some ten years ago. and who is now completing his sentence of fifteen years' penal servitude at Portland. Ilarborde will he released this morning. The step lias been taken in consequence of the dying confession of a man at P.ristol." Nothing more! Now he knew why he had been released. And so death had taken Edward Tilwell out of the hands of justice. It was hardly fair of death. The porter came up whistling to tell him the train would start in ten min utes. He got up. thrust the paper Into the man's bauds, and pointed to the paragraph. "That's me." "You Thomas Ilarborde?" exclaimed the man. "Then nil I've got to say Is it's a hanged shame the Queen didn't ' I send a coaeh-nnd-six for you. Let's ejleive your hand, man, to wish you 1 I .-or.rl In,-': C.il n missis? No? So much the better; poor soul, if you had, it would '-ut her up terrible." "No." said Ilarborde, ns though speaking to himself, "I was to have been married; but that's years ago now, nnd I'm an old man." "did!" Interjected the porter, "you're no more than flve-and-thirty. I'll go bail. You do look older, to be sure, lint wait till you've been out n bit, you'll soon rub off them lines and look a bit more uppish." The engine at the end of the short train of carriages relegated to the Portland line after becoming too thor oughly out of date for even the Somer set and Dorset local s'M'vlce between Weymouth and Dorchester, gave a thill, wintry squeak, and Ilaiborde, In a fever of apprehension lest It should start without him, tumbled Into the first carriage that came handy, ticket less. The porter cure n th" door. "You've got no ticket. Here, give me a shilling, and I'll gt it for you. l'.ool; to Wey mouth?" "Yes." said Ilarborde, fumbling In his pocket for the money. "Now you're all right." the porter ex claimed, returning a couple of minutes later; 'here's the ticket and the change. No, thanks; you'll want all you've got. Cood bye. mate, nnd good luck." With a livinp mid a groan the train moved out of the station and ambled along the line running nt the back of Chesil P.ench at the rate of eight or ten miles r.u hour. Ilarborde was one of half a dozen passengers, but there wns no one eise In his compartment. He sat thinking of nil that had happened. lie had heard nothing of those nt home for many months: they might nil be dead. How would he have the courage to go to the door with this possibility? What would he do If .lane told him his mother was dend? He covered his face In his hands nt the thought, and sobbed ns only a strong man can sob In the corner of a carriage. With n great Jerk Hie train pulled up at the station, Hint Ilar borde got out. HI fellow-travelers regnrded him with curiosity because his friend, the porter, hud told every one of them who he was when he ex amined their tickets, Inveighing , bit terly the while against the caustic humor of pardoning an Innocent man. Hnrborde noticed nothing of this. lie Inquired of a porter the next train on to the Junction for Applebnry, nnd then discovered thnt he wns both hun gry and faint for want of food. Ho went out Into the slippery, muddy street nt the back of the house on the Parade, and at length found a quiet little eating house, where ho was served with a meal by a girl who had a pitying eye, nfter consultation with her superior In coiun and. At 3 o'clock he was again on his way In the train, in the company this time of other fel low creatures, who one nnd all regard ed him with a feeling akin to thnt with which they would have submitted to the company of a dangerous animal. Ilarborde noticed It nfter a time, and putting his lmnd to his head suddenly made the discovery that his hnlr was noticeably short. After this he real ized that he wns a marked man, nnd no longer wondered why the lady opposite drew her warm plaid dress away from his feet, and the other lady with two children sidled ns far from him as pos sible, and asked the guard to find her seats In another carriage at the next station, lie was Innocent, but how could ho explain It to them? If they could but know how he had suffered surely they would weep. He lindn't the paper with him: even If he had perhaps they would not believe that he nnd the Thomas Ilarborde mentioned In the paragraph were one nnd the same. Two men got in where the lady with the children got out. They ench of them threw blm a glance, shrugged their shoulders and then became Immersed in their pnpers. It was quite dark when Applebnry was reached and Ilarborde. luggage less, speedily passed out of the station without being recognized. There seemed littlp alteration In the place. Several of the shops now gay with Christmas goods nnd finery In the main street now had large plate-glass windows In place of more countrified fronts, but were otherwise much as fifteen years ago. For a moment he stood confused, staring up and down the street, regarded by the passers-by with curiosity. Then he remembered that he would have to go along the street, past the grocer's whose window projected a yard Into the footpath, turn down the by-street, nnd then again turning tuke the road leading to his home. In ten minutes he reached the garden gate. He had run part of the way, and now he could not make up his mind to go up the drive to the door. What If they were all dead? He grew sick at the very idea. There .was n light in his mother's room, which was at the front of the house. What if she was 111 perhaps dying? At last his legs carried him up the drive which swept around the little front lawn in a seml-clrcle. He heard the bell tinkle shrilly at the back of the house. The sound seemed like home. All at once he remembered how, years ago, he banged It with a long-handled broom till it jangled against its fellow on either side. Tin? door opened. A flood of light streamed out on to the gravel. It wi s a strange lace, nnd the face sent nn Icy shock to his heart. Far outside himself he heard a voice he did not recognize ns his own asking if Dr. Ilarborde were in. A yenr seemed to pass before the servant said: "No;" adding, "did you wish to see him par ticular?" "Yes." "He'll be In in half nn hour." "Is Is Mrs. Ilarborde In? Is she alive?" said the man nt the door, throwing the words at her when once his tongue consented to frame them. "Why, Lor' bless ine, yes! Come, none of thnt." Hut It wns no use. The mnn she had just noticed had suspiciously short hair and a strange, wild-looking face, hnd pushed past her, thrown open the sitting-room door, stumbled into It nnd thrown his nrmti around n sweet-faced old lady who rose In alarm at his sud den entrance. "My son! my son?" rang out through the house. ".Mother! mother!" The girl stood rooted to the spot, then she ran to Jane, and the two of them came out Into the passage. In the vsitting-room with Its pink-shaded lamp a woman was seated kissing every line on her son's face every line that the long years had written. And he stroked the hair that still lay thick, though white, in a coll at the back of her head. Suddenly the mnn Btnrted up. "Jess?" he asked, huskily. Some one who had lain, half-stunned with Joy, In n wicker chair (veil out of the range of the lamp-light, camo into his vision. "Jess!" he cried, folding her In his arms whilst the room swam round, "my Jess!" "Tom!" came the answer. "But I am old," said he; "so old." "And I also, with the sadness and loneliness of waiting. But now now I am young again." The voico of the elder woman broke the silence nfter a moment: "For this my son was dend nnd Is alive again." And they began to be merry. Bluck nnd White. What Ckii a ISojr Do? This Is what a boy cun do, because boys have done It: He can write a poem. Alexander Pope wrote his famous "Ode to Soli tude" when he wns only twelve years old. Ho can write a great book. Mae auley wrote, his first volume, the "Prl maalne," which took the literary world by storm, before ho wns In his teen. He cun wrltt n successful play. 'Jon O'Keefe, the famous Irls'i netor mid playwright, wrote a play that is con sidered (food to-day, when he wos only fifteen. He can become famous. Charles Dickens did his "Sketches by Boz" so well thnt before be wns twenty-two his name wns known to nil the world. He can "make his mark" so well that It will open his career. Palmertou, England's great statesman, was ad mired in school for his brilliant work, and wrote letters bomn in English, French and Italian, that are models of composition to-day. He can enter great university be fore he is thirteen. Wlllinni Pitt did It Louisville Couiler-Jouruul. I Lbjl&i til 11 Frail Khftflp Snlt. Experiments recently made In France for t!ie purpose of nscertnlnlng the nutritive value of salt for sheep, show that sheep which had been fed snlt gained In weight four nnd one-hnlf pounds more than those which received no snlt. I lrt rinnt Smixtl Ara. peclnl crops, such ns potntoes. fruit and other kinds of vegetables, may be exceedingly profitable in mnny locnli tles. but In making a chnnge In your products be sure and go slow nt the beginning, planting but ii small area of n crop with which yon nre unfa miliar, nnd learn your market and de mand ns well ns the adaptability of your soil for It, before engaging ex tensively In It. Fnrm 'nlcp. All stock should be kept out of the young orchard. For pigs milk and milt feed make Hie cheapest feed for winter. Whenever n sheep Is seen, to refuse water there Is something wrong with 11. With nil stock the value of good feed Is wonderfully Increased by close nt tciiiiou. Pruning the fop of the free to corre spond with the loss of roots In re moval Is best done in the spring. A horse does better with just enough food to replace the wnstes of his sys tem, nnd of a kind to keep him feeling well. One of the best systems of economy On the farm Is that which not only uinlntalns fertility, but keeps It con stantly Increasing In the soil. Harness hung nt the rear of horses will not last half ns long ns If hung where the nnimonla cannot reach them. Have a harness room. A sulllclent amount of bedding should be stored under shelter so that it will keep dry and can be used ns needed. No matter how favorable the season the stock should not be allowed to run In the pastures or niendows too Into. The grass plants must make some growth ns n winter protection. A cow with n big udder Is not always an enormous milker, nor is n thick, yel low akin an unfailing sign of rich milk, although these nre among the indica tions, respectively, of abundance and richness of milk. Watch the hen that first comes off the roost nnd that last retires at night. She Is said to be the best layer. There ought nlways to be a shallow box full of dry dust In every poultry house, both winter and summer, nnd It should be often renewed. A constant nnd never falling dust bath Is the very best remedy for lice. A Chrap Piggery. Tn building a house for pigs it Is more a question of sensible arrangement than of costly material or accurate architecture. The plan described Is de signed especially for a farrowing pen, and Is Ideal for that purpose. The floor space used Is ten by fourteen feet, divided into two five by seven pens with a two-foot alley off. It Is six feet high In front, four feet In the rear, and the partitions are three feet high. Openings are cut In the rear, so that the yards can be reached, and nn upciilng is cut In each pen to the alley Just large enough for the little 5X7 JX7 pigs to get through and feed from the trough set across the middle of the alley. The whole arrangement is simple and Inexpensive, yet thoroughly comforta ble, even though built of old material so that some cracks are left; these will serve for ventilation If care is taken to have the portion where the bed Is well sheltered from wind. ' In the Illustration the two pens (marked fix7) are showu. B B Is the alley way, A the trough for the little pigs with the openings described cut In each partition near the trough. C C Indicate the troughs for the sows. By the way, when pigs nre growing, try the virtue of beef meat in the ration; It will do the pigs n lot of good and save feeding so much corn, which Is bad for them. Indianapolis News. Krrping Miepfi, Sheep are the most profitable stock on the farm, nnd no farm Is complete without a Hock of sheep. Twenty-five or fifty ewes will destroy mora weeds and briars on the farm thnn four good mm and will turn them into money, writes n correspondent In Farmers' Cubic. Let anyone drive thwiugh the country nnd they will find the neatest and cleanest farms where sheep nre kept. It Is true that there are some clean farms, where there are no sheep, but they could be kept as clean with sheep, which would prove a profitable Investment for the farm. Sheep will rid the farm of weeds where other stock will not, and nnyono who will tnke the cure of sheep tan make 1 X per cent, on his Investment. The farm will become richer nnd the (lock better. There Is no better meat for th table than good mutton, A great ninny peo ple say they cannot eat mutton, but I find that Is a mistake where they get good mutton, I have been In the sheep business for twelve years, and we have had a lot of fun nbout such prejudice. They all eat It. ami all we need to do Is to send good sheep to market and there will plenty of de mand for It. The only thing Is to pro duce n good article. We need more sheep nnd better ones on our farms. There has never been a time In (lie tn-elvo years we have been breeding but what good Iambs would bring five or six cents per pound In May or June. Anyone can take even common sheep and a good' ram and have lambs by that time that will weigh from eighty to 100 pour.d3. The ewes will shear -1 D from seven to ten pounds of good wool, which comes In extra. It don't mnttcr how good or how poor the land Is, sheep can be raised at r profit if they receive the right kind o care. We believe that there is more clear money In the sheep business thnn In nny other line of farming nnd stock raising. Sheep nre easier to handle thnn nny other fnrm stock, and the work with them more plensnnt. They nre the best soil fertilizers we hnve. Qnrdlnn of tba Halnncud Ration. Most dairymen find that they get the best results from their cows during the month of June, when they are pas turing on luxuriant grass. In supply ing winter feed It should be the aim to get Just ns near June conditions as possible. Analyses of fresh mixed pasture grasses show digestible nutrients ns follows: Protein, 2.5 per cent.; carbo hydrate. 10.2; and fat, 0..". From this It will be seen thnt there Is a liberal supply of protein, and If we nre to approximate these conditions In winter It Is necessary to furnish feeds thnt contain plenty of protein. Where cows hnve been wintered on feeds deficient lu protein the milk flow Is greatly stim ulated and the yield Is greatly In creased when turned on pasture. The experience of this station Is that when we continue to feed plenty of protein there Is not this difference In turning cuttle on pasture. In a test conducted with twenty-one cows, In the spring of IS'.lil, we fouud that in a lot of eleven that were turned on pasture there were seven cows that gained In the yield of milk while four lost, the average being a weekly gnln of 3.0 pounds per cow. Eight cows out of eleven gained in the per cent, of butter fat, the average being 0.18 of one per cent. One cow lost both In yield nnd In test, while three others lost In yield and gained In test. There were five cows that gained both In yield nnd In test. This shows thnt there was very little gnlned In total production by turning on pasture, but this is accounted for by the fact that the cows previous to being on pasture were fed liberally on a ration contain ing plenty of protein. At the same time thnt we carried on the pasture experiment, n lot of ten out of the twenty-one were fed on soiling crops. These cows did not yield as well as those on pasture, as might be expected In early spring, when the grass Is green and succulent. Only three cows out of ten gnlned In the yield of milk, the average result being a weekly loss of 4.2 pounds per cow, Seven cows gained in the per cent, of butter fat, the average being n gain of 0.09 of one per cent. As In the pasture lot. one cow lost both tn yield nnd In test, and six lost In yield but gained In test. As far ns theexperience of the station goes, when cows nre kept on a liberal ration thnt Is well balanced and ap proaches the conditions existing with June grass, there Is very little increaso In yield nnd practically no decrease In test due to pasture or soiling crops, Kansas Experiment Station. Thit Ttutlnr Fat In Milk. The contention that the butter fat ot milk lies in the quality of food given to cows seems to be conclusively dis proved. It depends on the row nnd not the feed, otherwise nny Indifferent cow, scrub or "any old thing" might be mado a good butter cow by enough good feed ing. But this Is not so. The New York Experiment Station has gone pretty well to the bottom of this matter, nnd here are the facts froji a recent bul letin: 1. A cow fed during ninety-five days on a ration from which the fat had been all nearly extracted continued to secrete milk similar to that produced when fed on the same kind of hay and grain In their normal condition. 2. The yield of milk fat during the ninety-five days was 02.0 pounds. The food fat eaten during this time was 11.0 pounds, .r.7 only of which wns di gested, consequently nt lenst .r7.2 pounds of the milk fat must have had some other source than the food fat. It. The milk fat could not have come from previously stored body fat. This assertion is supported by three con siderations. (Ii The cow's body could hnve contained senrcely more than sixty pounds of fat at the beginning of the experiment: (2) Khe gained forty seven pounds in Ixidy weight during this period of time with no increase of body nitrogen, nnd wns Judged to be a much fatter cow nt the end; (3) the for. matlon of this quantity of milk fat would have caused a marked condition of emaciation, which, because of nn Increase In the body weight, would have required the improbable Increase In the body of 104 pounds ot water and Intestinal contents. 4. During fifty-nine consecutive days 3.8.8 pounds of milk fat were secreted, and the urlno nitrogen wn9 equivalent to 83.3 pounds of protein. According to any accepted method of Interpreta tion, not over seventeen pounds of fat could have been produced from this amount of nietabolished 'protein. Si. This quantity of milk secreted bore n definite relation neither to the digestible protein eaten nor to the ex tent of the protein nietubollshed. In view of these facts It Is suggested that the well-known favorable effect upon milk secretion of a narrow nutritive ratio Is due In part to a stimulative, and not only to a constructive function of the protein. 0. The composition of the milk bore no definite relation to the ninount and kind of food. 7. The changes In the proportion of milk solid were due nlmost wholly to changes in the percentage of fat. Volca Culturr, Baby heard Leila say that one of tin. girls lu the choir had strain d her voice. A few days afterward Leila went Into the kitchen und there on tho floor snt baby, holding the tca-stniluer to her lips ami singing through it. "Oh, baby," sho said, "put up tho tea strainer." Hut baby answered, "No, I'm strain ing my voice." Little Chronicle. In tho French army soldiers are al lowed to have gardens In any spare barrack ground and grow vegetables, which help out their rations. ew York City. Simple blouses or hlrt waists till a need nnd always are In demand, however much more elab orate ones may be liked. This one is laid In box pleats for Its entire length and Is becoming to the generality of womankind, while it Is absolutely sim ple and well suited to wear with the Jacket suit. The sleeves nre among the latest of tho season, wide and full at the shoulders and narrow at the wrists where they are finished with deep cuffs. As Illustrated the material Is royal blue taffeta with figures of the same color, but nil tho season's wait ings nre correct. The waist consists of the fitted lin ing, which Is optional, fronts and back, A LATE DESIGN which are laid In box pleats, and the closing Is made at tlie centre front. The sleeves are In one piece each and can be nrrunged over the linings or Joined to the cull's as may be preferred. The quantity of material required for the medium size Is three nnd three fourth yards twenty-one Inches wide, three and three-eighth yards twenty seven Inches wide, or two surd forty four Inches wide. ' Yrllow ltose Tanl, A flowered chiffon In yellow rose tones wus made with a plain full skirt over nn uuder-sklrt of taffeta and an interlining of plain yellow chiffon. Tho waist was full and plain, cut low und square, and .had a very high glrdlo sharply pointed top and bottom. Around the decollete was a flat bund of heavy creum Ince headed by a tiny quilling of cream chiffon. On one side wus a rose and leaves mode of chiffon and ribbon. The slecws were a short elbow length and were composed of three small puffs divided by bnnds of the luce. Chltton Wllh Floating. Chiffon Is well adapted to accordion pleutlngs. A lovely blue with a flow ered border had a double skirt, both accordion pleated. The bodice, also pleated, wji mostly of the flowered part, as were the plea tod sleeve. There was a glrdle.of the plain chiffon and a large rosette of blue chiffon und tulle directly In front on the bodice. In llrown anil Craam. For a symphony in brown consider a girl seen on Broad street. She was the rare sort of girl who can wear golden russet brown. Her choice wus a long, close, severely made cont of broad cloth in that shnae, showing only a few Inches of the sslrt of the some. Be- neuth this tripped pretty russet tie and spats. Her muff and little tailored neckpiece were ot the calfskin newly used this winter, and her small, close toque was fashioned of the same silky golden brown and creamy skin. Tho whole ensemble made a picture sar rorlnlly and artistically delightful. Newark Advertiser. Loom Outrr Wrap In the outer wrnp this senson coats nre worn loose nnd baggy, with dol-mnn-shapod sleeves nnd tapes f the regulntion coachman cut cover the gown almost entirely. A long pongee coat, severely plnln. wns lined with gray and white squirrel fur, tho lining being entirely concealed when the coat was closed. The only trimming was of several silk frog trimml.igs down the front. This Is another Instance of thin fabrics being utilized out of season. Fortunntely, In this case, however, the fur lining supplies the necessary warmth. Nrw Nliort Kliwm, t'nhappy is the woman who has not a pretty wrist. She looks on the new wnlsts and the new theatre and visit ing gowns with despair, for they al! have short sleeves. Not necessnrlly el bow sleeves, but with the cuff ending a good four Inches nbove the wrist The fashion Is pretty and graceful, but It call for a well-turned wrist and forearm. The short sleeve and the transparent giilmpe nre characteristic of the fashions of lom nnd will prob ably continue through the coming year. Sevan Oorml Ptaattiri Hktrt. The skirt thnt Is snug over the hips yet provides abundant fulness below remains a favorite and Is promised continued vogue for an Indefinite period BY MAY MANTON. of time. This one Is quite novel and eminently effective, while It suits the woman of generous proportions ns well os her slender sister, n feature by no menus nlways found In 'till skirts of any sort. The model Is made of brown henrletta. In the new shade known as onion, stitched with cortlcelli slik and Is exceptionally smart, the material be ing ono of the latest whims of fashion. It can, however, be reproduced lu all seasonable suitings and In till materials in vogue for separate skirts. The skirt Is cut In seven gores, the front, side front and back gores being extended to form straps, which are lapped over pleats, laid at tho front edge of each succeeding gore, nnd at the back Is an inverted pleat that can bo stlched Hut, as Illustrated, or pressed Into position, a may bo preferred. The quantity ot inatei'lnl required for the medium sl.o Is eight and three fourth yards I weiily-soven Inches wide, Ave yards forty-four Inches wlda. or i four yurdi Ufty-tvo Inches wide.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers