i age— {
They died and made no sign.
But work that shall find its wages yet,
And deeds that their God did not forget,
‘Done for their love divine—
These were the mourners, and™Hhese shall
The crowns of their immortality.
Oh, seek them not where sleeps the dead—
Ye shall not find their trace;
No gravenstone is at their head,
No green grass hides their face;
But sad and unseen is their silent grave
It may be the sand or deep sea wave,
Or lonely desert place;
For they meeded po prayers and no mourn-
ing bell—
They were tombed in truehearts that knew
them well.
They healed sick hearts till
broken;
And dried sad eyes till theirs lost light;
‘We shall know at last by a certain token
How they fought an1 fell in the fight.
Salt tears of sorrow unbeheld,
Passionate cries unchronicled,
Ana silent strifes for the right"
Angels shall court them and earth shall
sigh
® “That she left her best children to battle and
die.
— Edwin Arnold.
An Egyptian Incident.
“] am going to put an end to this
Bayptian plague,” growled Colonel Mac-
Pherson. *‘We come here every winter,
sail up the same old river, look at the
same old pyramids—no modern additions
or improvements—see the same abomin-
‘able old images that have worn the same
grotesque aspect for fifty centuries: ‘and
broil on the same uncomfortable decks
and all because that boy of mine wants
to become known as an Egyptologist. To
the deuce with beetles and sacred cattle.
I'm tired of it all.”
Qut of breath with exertion necessary
to this long sentence, Colonel Tavish Mac-
Pherson leans back in his comfortable
armchair and closes his eyes for a ‘nap.
The cause of his trouble is not very ap-
parent, and as he sits there under the
awning, with his half pay running on at
the Horse Guards, with the rents of his
«deer forests and sheep farms in the High-
lands faithfully collected and accounted
for by the factor, and with his member-
“ship fees paid up to date at the Carlton
and United Service clubs, one could
imagine that even Egypt would appear
something other than a house of bond-
age. The Colonel’s dahabeah, with her
big three-cornered sail trimmed to the
breeze that ruffles the waters of the Nile
and bears her onward to Assouan and
the Great Cataract, is as quiet and rest-
ful albeit picturesque an object as one
would care to see, as on this December
evening, 1870, she creeps up the river,
the lookout man on the bow watching
that the channel is followed, and the
steersman, impassive as a mummy, lean-
_ ing upon the long handle of the tiller.
Forward on the deck face downward
or curled up in all sorts of odd positions
lie the crew,a motley collection of Arabs,
Nubians and Osmanlis. There is nothing
stirrmg. The mark of ihe desert is on
all around. Even the sun, now nearly on
a level with the Nubian mountains away
on the horizon, looks tired and dusty.
"The intense quiet bothers the Colonel;
so he yawns and growls once more. He
is a widower with two children—the
elder a lad of eighteen, who has already
made something of a reputation as a
student of Egyptian remains, having
been enamored of tne land since the evil
day when the Colonel first proposed to
winter on the Nile. = The second is a
gentle lad of ten years, well liked by
everybody. He gives his vote for Egypt
every winter, because Jack asks it asa
favor. They are ashore now after relics,
and have promised to report when’ the
dahabeah ties up for the night at
Assouan before warping her way through
the cataract.
The Colonel’s eyes follow a movement
in the tangled group of figures on the
deck. Two men rise, shouting at each
other the while. = The Colonel and the
dragoman, who had just poked his head
out of his room on. the deck, look on
lazily. Suddenly one of the disputants
makes a rush at the other—fhe gleam of
steel is seen and the crcw close around
the men. A quick stroke, ashout, anger
changed to agony, and a Nubian lies on
the deck with the dagger of Aboo, a
powerful Arab; in his breast.
All this so quietly that the Colonel is
still growling that there is nothing stir-
ring to be seen in Egypt, when he reaches
the group, and stooping over the wound-
ed man, draws the dagger out. It has
left an ugly wound, but not dangerous
and as the wounded man is taken in charge
by his comrades, the Colonel turns to
the dragoman for an explanation.
‘With many profuse apologies the
dragoman telly how the two men were
sleeping side:by side when the Nubian
inadvertently put his foot against the
Arab’s face. That was all, and the
dragoman smiled and bowed.
The Colonel, an old disciplinarian,
“looked black as bpight. In effective
English he ordered the dragoman, after
be had discovered that the matter was
pot reckoned important enough for
Egyptian law to recognize, to anchor the
dahabeeh and send a boat ashore with
the culprit and his baggage, To the
dragoman’s question as to how Aboo was
to get back to Cairo the Colonel thun-
dered that he might walk. The drago-
man bowed and smiled—it was a habit
* be had learned from a French friend in
Cairo—and translated the Colonel's re-
smile and a bow, directed to Aboo’s bare
‘feet—his shoes might wear out, but—.
Aboo having obtained his dagger and
ring—his onlyarticles of baggage
‘ashore muttering. revenge, which
n interprets to the Colonel
and a bo
oored at
theirs were
The dahabeeh
. este: — corer ots - - roses
[ment, says, pointing to the wounded |
Assouan. The wandering relic hunters
return and all aboard retire, for is not
the cataract to be traversed at sundown
to-morrow? ©. i
Before sunrise Colonel MacPherson
gentleman's body servant; who cried
1 excitedly: *‘Wake, master] We can't
find Master Bob. Here is a bit of paper
that lay on his bed.”
While the Colonel rubbed his eyes and
looked at the scrap of Arabic the man
produced, a commotion occurred out-.
side and the drageman rushed in with
Aboo’s dagger in his hand. It had been
taken from the breast of the Nubian
stabbed to the heart during the night.
The boat that had been towed astern of
the dahabeeh after Aboo’s trip ashore
was gone. There was no doubt, ex-
plained the dragoman, with his custom-
ary smile, ‘that the Arab had'lain ashore
until the lights went out, swam aboard,
knifed his enemy, and left again in the
boat. At this the Colonel, still holding
the paper in his hand, turned pale and
tremblingly gives in to Jack who knows
Arabic. = Dragoman and crew crowd
around while he slowly.reads: ‘‘Aboo
might have killed the English dog to-
night, but to steal the pride of his tent
was a better revenge.”
They searched for the fugitive with
shrinking hearts after a time, but never a
trace of the boy, dead or a living did
they find. Almost mad with grief, but
not until the hot weather threatened his
life, Colonel MacPherson returned to
Cairo and laid the terrible affair person-
ally before the Khedive. - Butit was all
in vain. Year after year he haunted the
Nile, promising backsheesh to an un-
limited extent for the restoration of his
boy, but the Arabs shook their heads—
Aboo had disappeared without leaving
any trace. To the father who searched
for his lost boy there was no lack’ of in-
terest now in Egypt.
* * x * *
¢Forward by the right, march!”
Clear and loud comes the command
and the ugly, ill-conditioned steeds of
the camel corps moved forward with un-
gainly step. The wells of Aboo Klea
are within sight and Sir Herbert Stew-
art, who marched nine days ago with
1500 picked men across the desert to
reach the Nile and thence to press on to
Khartoum, feels that his mission will be
successul and that Gordon will be speed-
ily relieved.
So does Captain Jack MacPherson, of
the Egyptian army, attached for the
present to the camelry, as he sails along
on one of the ships of the desert.
This is an unseaworthy ship, and as it
tosses more than usual he ejaculates,
“Ugh, you brute, if there isan Arab at
the wells I will trade camels.” With
this he looks forward to the rocky defile
by which the route lies, aud sees flutter-
ing above a ledge an Arab banner. For
an instant he looks at it through his field
glass, and then rides in haste back along
the ranks. A word in Sir Herbert’s ear.
The troops are halted and a zareba is in
process of formation when with beating
of war drums and discordant yells that
remain unanswered—for the throats of
the men are too parched and thirty to
hurrah—a great body of Arabs starts
trom the underwood around the entrace
to the defile, and, headed by many stan-
dard bearers, rush in upon the British
square.
Of the fight for life in that square and
the determination with which the Arabs
fought to break the ranks there is no
need to tell. How Burnaby went down,
fighting gloriously, and many another
brave man beside him, history records.
With the utmost coolness (for he has
deen through many such scenes) Captain
MacPherson, after the first rush, picks
up the rifle of a dead soldier,unclasps his
cartridge belt and plugs away steadily at
the nightshirt brigade, as the soldiers
have nicknamed the Arabs from their
long white robes.
But see! what change is this in his
face as the foe forms in a compact mass
for another rush? And listen to the re-
quest he makes to the men around him:
“Don’t shoot within a dozen yards
each. side of that bauner,” he says in
such a tone of voice that the soldiers
look up in surprise and see a white, set
face.
‘Let them come right up before you
fire,” he adds, ‘‘and wait till I give you
the word. You'll agree to that, won’t
you, Roberts? It's a matter of life and
death.” This is to the officer in com-
mand of the company.
«Matter of death to us all, I think, if
you don’t speak in time,” growled Rob-
erts, frowning at the advancing der-
vishes; ‘‘but have your way.”
MacPherson makes no answer; the
pallor of his face increases; now it is
ashy gray as the Arabs rush in on the
square. Of all the oncoming hundreds
he sees only two men—one the standard-
bearer, and beside him a young fellow,
wonderfully light of skin for an Arab,
and with a cap on his head instead of
the usual tangled headdress of greased
hair worn by the dervishers.
Kneeling as the Arabs come within
fifty yards of the square he takes delib-
erate aim. A flash, and at the same in-
stant the standard-bearer falls prone to
the earth. The fair-faced Arab seizes
the banner and rushes to the front. An-
other shot and he, too, falls. Ina voicé
that rings above the din .of the battie
MacPherson gives the order to fire, and
the Arabs, met by a volley at such a
range, stagger, and through the smoke
are seen to fall back a few paces. In-
stantly MacPherson rushes out from the
square, and before his comrades or the
enemy have time to interfere he is again
in the midst of his comrades, trembling
and pale, but bearing in his arms the
young Arab, who still grasps the banner
he plucked from the dead leader's hand.
The Arabs, mightily * thiohed in that
last brush, fall away. The fight is over
and the men, crowded round MacPher-
son, who is bathing the wounded Arab’s
thigh where the bullet entered, ask what
it all means.
Roberts, who is uader the impression
that the banner was the prize coveted by
MacPherson, and that his care’ for the
Arab is an atterthought, remarks that
the game was hardly worth the candle.
‘But Ma Son, ng up for a mo-
was awakened by the shout of the young
Ee —_—
“My brother.” ea aig
‘Instantly the ween, most of whom have
heard the story of the Colonel's béreave-
ment, crowd around the stretcher. Sure
enough, the resemblance cannot be dis-
puted. :
+See,” says MacPherson,becomlng less
constrained as the intense strain of the
last few minutes is relaxed. ‘‘I can trace
on the back of his right hand the out-
lines of an anchor. I ‘remember when
he put it on he was a very small cub.
His hand looked as if it was poisoned,
and he came to me and got me to scrape
most of the ink out again. That's why
the mark is so faint. Roberts, send a
man out there to bring in the big fellow
I shot. That was Aboo, and I think you
will find a bullet in his head.”
The last words are spoken faintly and
MacPheson falls back in the arms of a
soldier. Where he stood there is a pool
of blood, and on examination it is found
that he, too, has been wounded in the
thigh.
*k * *
They were an odd-lookicg pair, the
brothers, as they walked together in the
garden of the army hospital at Cairo. It
was fortunate that Jack knew Arabic,
for his long-lost brother had to learn
English over again, having heard never
a word of his mother tongue from the
night when Aboo, after - gagging him,
tumbled him into the boat lying astern
of the dahabeeh until his brother's bul-
let brought him back to civilization. Of
his wanderings he could tell little except
that his captor and he had been way-
farers for years in the Soudan and along
the desert highways until the ‘insurrec-
tion broke out, when he was pressed
into the Mahdi’s service, Aboo being a
volunteer. After awhile, he told his
brother, he became rather fond of fight-
ing. »
“Imphm!” said the colonel, as his
elder son translated® these remarks,
t‘there is some of the MacPherson in him
yet,” then. He nodded paternally to-
ward Bob, and then, turning to Jack,
said tenderly, **God bless you, my boy,
for bringing hack my Benjamin, even
with a bullet !”— Toronto Globe.
Au Island Tiaat Smokes,
The revenue cutter Corwin has arrived
at Fort Townsend, Washington, after
four months of cruising mn the northern
seas. The Corwin was instructed to visit
the unfrequented .parts of Bering Sea,
and ascertain whether the seals were
changing their haunts. The investi.
gation was extended over a wide range.
Bristol Bay and the north shore of the
Aleutian Islands were included in the
cruise, and the almost unknown island of
Nunikaki was circumnavigated.
Captain Hooper declares, as the result
of his observation, his belief that the seals
are not changing their haunts, and he
thinks they will continue to frequent the
old rookeries. ;
The mysterious little island of
Bogoslov, which has excited so much
wonder in scientific circles, was also
visited. It lies about sixty miles west
of Iiiuliuk, and since its discovery in
1796 volcanic eruptions have changed
it appearance to such an extent that it is
hardly recognizable. ‘When first found,
Bogoslov was a single, needle-like peak
or islet about 311 feet hich. In 1884,
after an earthqnake had been felt at
Iliuliuk, and a shower of fine ashes had
covered that settlement, an extension of
the island with another rocky peak,even
narrower and sharper than the other, ap-
peared. A strip of sand spit and rock
connected these two peaks.
In the winter of 1889-90 more dis-
turbances were felt at Iliuliuk, and when
Bogoslov was visited during the next
summer most of the stretch of sand had
disappeared, leaving only a very slender
strip, and the soundings were radically
changed. This summer the Corwin
found the connectirg chain of sand and
rock entirely gone. ¢‘Sail Rock,” as
one of the minor peaks was called, had
disappeared, too, while another peak
spouted fourth fire and lava that cast a
crimson hue over the waters for many
miles in all directions. In a short time a
passageway for ships was found between
the peaks by the Corwin. Soundings of
the passageway vary from twenty fathoms
to no bottom. Off the shore, where
once there was good anchorage, the lead
failed to find bottom.
The rocks continue to steam and
sputter. The peaks, which seem more
like geysers than volcanoes, have noreal.
crater, nor, with the exception of the
one mentioned, do they discharge lava.
The exhalation is like steam, white in
color and very dense, possessing a dis-
agreeable odor. It shoots out as if under
heavy pressure from many openings in
the rocks, and these steam jets uniteina
great cloud rising to an immense height
in calm weather. It was distinctly seen
by the officers of the Corwin, and ap-
peared like a white cloud at a distance of
thirty miles. = The top of the island is
seldom visited, foritis always enveloped
in a cloud of steam. The island is wear- -
ing away rapidly under the continued in-
finence of the internal heat. Great
masses ‘of rock break from the top and
sides and fall into the sea. The island
was covered with seals, sea lions and sea
fowls, and the temperature of the water
around it 1s much higher than at any
other point.—New York Times.
Guarded by a Gray Goose. >
In a country town in Northern Penn-
sylvania there lives a little old man who
sells milk, carrying it from house to house
morning and evening in a small hand-
cart. There is nothing strange about
that, but his companion on these daily
trips is the very strangest'you ever heard
of—an old gray goose, who follows him
about in the most dignified manner, and
stands watch over the cart, letting no
one go near it in his master’s absence.
His name is Major, and his master says
that be is just as useful as’ a dog would
‘be.—Neo York Journal.
An upstart is a man who has been
more successful than the man who tells
you about him.— Elmira Gazettes
bi ane on i Vie i
< =
“WOMAN'S WORLD. |
PLEASANT LITERATURE FOR
FEMININE READERS.
FOR HOUSE WEAR.
For house wear a very handsome dress
is made of the princesse shape—and it
may be mentioned en passant that all
dresses are being made on this pattern—
crossed and draped, of iron gray swanskin
silk. The corsage closed in bias over a
double ruche, which is stopped by a bow
on the skirt. The right’ side of the
corsage is draped at the shoulder with
three pleats, which are held together
with abow. "A ruched collarette. The
skirt is ornamented with two rows of
embroidery, separated with small ruches,
a double ruche ornamenting the bottom.
The sleeves in bias, rather high shouldered
and gathered, being narrow at the bot-
tom and trimmed at the wrist'with two
rows of embrodery and ruches.—New
York Herald.
THE SCOOP BONNET.
The scoop bonnet is a favorite because
it is generally becoming and isso shaped
that while being a bonnet it has the
youthful appearance of around hat. The
distinctive feature of the scoop bonnet
is that it has no brim at all, and that it
lies perfectiy flat upon the front of the
head, just over the forehead. This gives
a very nice chance for a becoming face
trimming. Women with small, regular
features find the scoop bonnet very be-
coming if trimmed with a standing bow,
which is placed on the front of the bon-
net in the most.upright, aggressive man-
ner possible. Around the edge of the
bonnet there must be a heavy ruching of
gome kind of velvet, and at the back an-
other upright bow. This makes a very
pretty hat, and one which will probably
ba 1ashionable all winter,-—New York
World.
A WOMAN AS TRAIN DESPATCHER.
1t is said that the office of train
despatcher on the New London North-
ern Railroad is held by Miss Lizzie E. D.
Thayer. As this is a single-track road,
her position is one of great responsi-
bility, since she controls the movements
of all trains from one end of the line to
the other. Miss Thayer was for some
time assistant to the former train de-
spatcher, and upon his resignation, pend-
ing the appointment of his successor,
she proved herself so thoroughly capable
of doing the work of the place that the
position was conferred upon her. She
is at her office from seven in the morn-
ing until six at night, superintending the |
181 miles of track under her care. She
has a man assistant, but the responsi-
bility is all hers. During her two years
of service there has been no accident for
which she is to blame.—New York Wit-
ness.
THE SILK SKIRT. 5
What seems an extravagance to many
women is the silk skirt which a good
dress.-maker always insists a wool gown
shall be made over. . Yet even to the
economist there are several points in its
favor.
(ng the reign of two gowns, the foot
truffle, perhaps, being replaced. It is
lighter than cambric and has besides a
certain buoyancy, which adds to its want
of weight. Its slippery surface prevents
the wool clinging and does away with
the disngreeable swathed sensation which
wool gowns on cambric linings are suze.
to evolve. One may even economize a
little in the amount of overmaterial when
the silk skirt is used. Itis beginning
to be understood that there is a rationale
at the bottom of many so-called extrava-
gancies; no woman for instance, nowa-
days who respects herself wears the atroc-
ity known as a sham skirvt—and the
silk underskirt is a conspicuous example
of such well conditioned luxury.—
Chitigo News.
LOVELY OLD SILK GOWNS.
Speaking of economy reminds me of
the lovely old silk gowns that every-
body’s mother or grandmother is pretty
sure to possess. How often have I
gazed upon those quaintly cut remnants
of past glories and thought what .a de-
licious frock this would make if only the
widths were straight. Now is your
time, clever girls. Gored skirts are
with us again, so repair to the old-fash-
ioned camphor chest that nearly every
well regulated household possesses, and,
with a little headwork, a neat hand and
a few accessories you can turn yourself
out a dinner gown or an afternoon dress
that will please yourself and everyone
who is fortunate enough to see it on you."
I speak, not blandly, but from expe-
rience, for I have just finished making
over a simply lovely old lilac silk poplin,
I am very proud of it, for ‘with my
own hands I have done this thing,” and
I don’t believe ¢‘Mme. Adelina” or
madame anybody else could have niade
a more successful thing of it. —&¢. Louis
Republic.
INFLAMMABLE GOODS.
+My business here is to seil things,”
remarked a middle-aged salesman to his
friend, as he made a memorandum of ‘a
cash sale in his book; ‘‘and, of course,
1 expect to sell whatever goods people
ask for, if I have them in stock. ButI
do wish they wouldn't come here and
buy Canton flannel for curtains and dra-
peries. There is nothing that I sell
that makes me so uncomfortable as this.
Ihave had some frightful experiences
with these goods, which I suppose have
made me unususlly nervous. about them.
There is nothing in the whole range of
dry-goods so inflammable as the fine
grades of Canton ‘flannel. ]
the house set on fire “repeatedly because
some one lighted a lamp in the vicinity
of a Canton flannel drapery. I used to
be very fond of this sort of goods, bus
there is nothing that would induce me to
put a yard of it in my house. If you
want to understand the occasion of my
fears, just take a bit of the stuff and
ear the flame of a lamp. The
1 travel over it faster than a
1 have sometimes thought
One silk lining often serves dur- |
I have had
e :
| suppose no one would thank me
vice on the subject.”—New York Ledger.
EARNINGS OF LITERARY WOMAN.
Women are more favored in literary
work at present than are men. For ex-
ample, Mrs. Burnett has a larger inconie
from royalties than is received by any
man. Mrs. Humphrey Ward will make
a small fortune out of her “David.”
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps commands the
highest prices for all the magazines.
Mrs. Margaret Deland sets her own fig-
ures. Sarah Orne Jewett receives as
much for a:short story ss does the most
successful male author. Anna Katharine
Green sustains .a comfortable home solely
from the proceeds of her pen. Ella
Wheeler Wilcox sells everything she
writes, Amelie Rives writes little, but
what she does write and sell brings her
the best prices. Maris Parloa lives on
the income of her pen. Mary J. Holmes
receives a larger yearly check from her
publishers than does many a bank presi.
dent. Amelia E. Barr is kept busy sup-
plying stories and articles at flattering
figures. ¢*The Duchess” makes several
thousands of dollars each year with her
pen, while ¢Mrs. Alexander” does the
same. *‘Octave Thanet” has more than
she can do at the most remunerative rates
‘of payment, and one might go through
an almost endless list of women, such as
Julia Magruder, Elizabeth B. Custer,
Frances Courtenay Baylor, Harriet Pres-
cott Spofford, Miss McCelland, Mollie
Elliott Seawell, Louisa Chandler Moul-
ton, Ellen Olney Kirk, Grace King anda
score or two of others.— Chicago Post.
= FASHION NOTES.
A feather ruching is used for the
neck.
A few embroidered dress patterns are
shown. :
A rare jewel on a slender chain pleases,
fastidious tastes.
Flanuelettes will be much used for
drapery this winter.
Swivel handles of buckthorn are made
for ladies’ umbrellas.
Brown will be the standard color in
dress goods for winter.
Ornate vases of Berlin ware are among
the new importations.
Oxford ties of black ooze calf are suit-
able for all house gowns.
Rough fancy clothes are fashionable
for long cloaks and mantles,
Safety matches lie concealed in a min-
ature little wood basket of silver. :
Sleeves are still made high on the
shoulders, and are made very full about
the top.
a half to eighteen inches in depth are
used as trimmings.
The elqngated basque bodice or coat
is now modified to meet the require:
ments of short women. Se
All kinds of odd silk and velvet
sleeves are allowable with wool = gowns,
the most common, however, being the
leg-of-mutton. ; ol
Here is one of the axioms on which
the art of good dressing is founded:
Fashion must be followed, but at a be-
coming and discreet distance.
Very handsome dresses for the season
are made of black drap d’ete or Bedford
cord, garniturned with bands of real
black ostrich feathers, often with an ad-
ditional decoration of rich black. silk
passementerie above the featherband'on
the skirt, on the panel showing at the
left side of the gown, and on the bodice
and sleeves.
A new variety of hat is called the
Brighton; ¢hat with a cleft crown being
so styled. In place of the fancy open-
work straw of which the model was first
made, the Brighton is now produced in
a soft hairy felt, like pressed camels
hair.
ing to brown, and the hat is trimmed
with a simple brown silk cord or brown
velvet.
Blue Haglich serge costumes, with
coat and dark blue felt hat to match, will
be fashionable during the entire season.
Tweeds in brown and blue mixtures are
also popular. Golden brown crossed
with red forms another pretty combina-
tion.
ties, but a special sort is that woven by
the fishermen in the Orkney Islands dur-
ing the winter when they are unable to
carry on their ordinary vocation.
"The perfection of American silks ‘and
tapestries now brings within the reach of
the moderate purse the new satin damask
hangings in colonial or Louis XV.
patterns. They are lined with silk and
draped now in irregular festoons, falling
Some of the portieres, called Derby, are
reversible and require no lining, express-
ing the colonial patterns on both sides
alike. They are looped or draped with
heavy cords, Ga
A simple bodice that you want to
freshen up for house wear will look quite
elaborate if it is turned in a little at the
neck to permit a full frill of chiffon to
fall over-'it and to extend down each
side of the cloging so that the buttons
and buttonholes are, entirely hidden and
a soft, fluffy effect is produced. The
prettiest chiffon is that which has a fine
scallop for its edge and a fleur de lis
crescent, or tiny dot embroidered just
above it. . ;
Exhibited among new cloakings are
cloths as soft and flexible as velvet, which
show a shaggy nap both outside and in-
side. = Some of the fancy cloths have a
rough reverse side like camel’s hair.
These require no lining. Some of the
patterns have blocks and stripes or
canvas-checked and . netted meshes,
Among the lining stuffs are those of wool
| sateen, with a smooth satin facing.
These keep their color perfectly, and
' outwear all other linings of silk or satin.
‘It is estimated that there are now 16,-
{750,000 sheep in the colony of New
Zealand, as against 16,116,00 a
a te Th
Beads and metal fringe from four and
The most popular are of fawn:
color, with a nondescript pattern, shag- |
These tweeds are of various quali-
to the floor only on one side the opening. |
If you clean sil
wet or very damp. ~ A
ironing on the wrong side
silk dry and then lay a thi
over it and iron on that.
which has been worn on
| renovated by sponginz and press
{ fully and adding a vest, colla
| of some new material. When
' past wearing there will always
that is good to make a school
the little girl, and with the
! a little bright plaid or braid
| gervicable but quite pretty little di
tan be made. 5
RESTORING A CARPET
An ingenious woman has
floor a carpat rescued fro
struction to a condition ¢*
as new.” The work of
not done by a professional
under direction at home.
was tacked to a fratae that
good distance from the groun
breadth was scrubbed with
using temped water and |
soap. Next it was rinsed an
well as possible by rubbing °
cloths. = The rest of the dr
to the wind and sun. The carpi
be shaken and grease spots remo:
gasoline or benzine before scrub
New York Post. : fain
; ;
L hands, pressing an
mostly. BScald them, rinse
the line fo dry. Do this in
ing, and after they are dry
over carefully and mend any
need it. The next morning
in well-boiled starch, but do
them too stiff or they will
graceful folds. If you do no
white, add strong coffee to t
until the required shade is
The best way to dry them after
starched is to have frames,
pieces as long as the curt
end pieces as long as the wides!
with holes and pins for shor
to other widths. Sew wh
around the bars of the frames and pit
the curtains to them, bob a
sides. On a bright day the
very quickly. They may be hung ove
a sheet on the line until partiy dry, and
then pinned to a sheet that has been
viously pinned to tbe carpet; b
frame is much more convenient
will lool very nearly, if not gq
good ds new.— Farm and. Fireside
White Potato Pudding—One and
half pounds of potatoes finely mashed
quarter of a pound of hutter, one po:
of sugar, six eggs, and four blades o
mace powdered. - Bake, without pastry,
in a rather shallow dish, or with pastry
in pie plates. th ;
Fried Chickens—Wash your ¢hicken
cut them in pieces, season them wil
pepper and salt. Have in a pan som
hot butter and lard mized; dust som
flour over each piece, and iry th
slowly till of a bright brown on b
‘sides; teke them up, put a little water i
a pan, add some butter rolled in flour
thicken the gravy, and more pepper
saltif required. Young spring chickens
are only suitable for frying. -
Beefsteak—Put two large tablespoon
of lemon into your chafing-dish. Add
one pound of beefsteak, cut one incl
Over this pour a gill of good stock (made
by melting canned extract of beef in hol
water), then a gill of port wine, simm
for another ten minutes, when the'j
of a lemon is to be squeezed over the
steak; it is then ready fo serve. i
Potato Soup—Boil six large pared
potatoes in sufficient water. Meantime
put a quart of milk in a double kettle to
boil, with one stalk of celery and a
onion. When the potatoes are cooked
turn off the water and mash fine and
light, then add the boiling milk and a
tablespoonful of butter and salt to taste.
whipped cream. “A good substitute for
cream is a batter of cornstarch and milk
Stewed Celery—Six heads celery, one-
half pint white stock, three tablespoon=~
fuls of craam, butter and flour, one blade
of mace, pepper and salt. Wash the
celery, strip off the outer leaves and cut
it into lengths of two inches; put thes
stew till tender for about twenty-fiv
minutes; then add the cream, mace,
flour; simmer for five minutes; pour into
a dish and serve. se ee
cooking apples; pare and cut into pieces,
the form of a brick, a sufficient quantity
to weigh a pound and a half; stew over
them a pound of granulated sugar and
the peel of a lemon shredded finely, and
cover them up close in a bowl. Next
small preserving pan, with the sugar,
ete.; and two large spoonfuls of the
juice of a lemon. = Simmer very gently
“and, as the gfhces of apple become clear,
take the t. When cold; build a
wall with them on a small
place the lemon-peel of i
“the syrup into the middle. ¢
to eat with it, :
fuls of utter together with three slices
thick. Cook slowly for ten minutes.
Rub through a strainer and add a cup of
into a stewpan with the stock broth and
pepper and salt and a little butter and
Apples a la Cremone—Choose the best
day put the apples, piece by piece, into a
d a
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