louses,
iting a
Pa.
Son,
Pha-
prices.
. Bring in
ew. Don’t
11 cost.
y
ED.
II kinds of
‘Sea Foam’
o handle
nght in car.
Store in
ons,
Thanking :
. queens of the circus.
{By giving comfort where we may,
By lighting up a mourner’s way;
The sum of means that we employ
To turn a fellow’s ills to joy—
This is the measure of our days,
A veteran in the wars of life,
~ A prisoned soldier in the strife
Of soul with stingy, envious Time
‘Ise who makes hisactions rhyme
"To universal brotherhood.
Thotigh long or short hath been his oad,
oa
8, when it
1 to him in the sudden hush as if the very
heart of the world stopped beating.
Then in bad weather he and his mother
could shut themselves up in their own
little nest, or if it were fine were free
{to wander outside the town into the.
fields. It was only at such times that
{his mother really talked, but alone
with her boy she would string out stories
{ about: the old farm where she had spent
1 her happy, free girlhood. :
{| about the old house with its pent-roof
i} and gables; the well by its side, with its
.} long sweep, which moved with a mourn-
‘{ ful musical creak when the bucket was
Ted heard
lowered. He was used to lions and tig-
ers, and there was satisfaction in the de-
‘Centuries or decadés his abode 3 scriptions of the soft-eyed oxen and cows
Among his kind, it matters least
So fellows by him have been blest,
- His life is measured by his plan
Of dealing with his fellow man,
This is the measureof hisdays.
And much methinks of time he gains,
For all his labors, allhis pains,
. For reaching outward far and near
To succor want and shelter fear;
: No stingy paddock’ hems him in
To mean desires or groveling sin,
A widow's blessing him avails,
An orphan’s prayer some good entai’s,
‘While stretching outward over man.
He converse holds with Nature's plan,
~ And solving life’s deep mysteries,
. Hegrasps eternal verities—
This is the measure of his days.
—T. C. Rice, in New York Press.
_ TED’S LAST TRICK.
yr UST about every-
thing had seemed
_# to come to Ted by
7—- instinct until he
was taught the
great ‘‘ring trick.”
He had been born
in the circus, and
long before he
could walk was
fa aR used to riding
gound and round the ring on the
silearned pony,” swinging his bare legs
and crowing with glee every time he
—— ——
passed the starting post. He climbed
© 1adders and poles, holding on by his
* chubby little hands, as soon as he could
foddle alone, and crept 1nto risky places
“ avhere, as the whole troupe used £0 say,
‘watching him with joy and pride, he was
obliged to ‘‘hang on by his eyelids.”
‘. When he was five years old he used to
« perform regularly with. old Benny, the
“ famous ‘‘bare-back” rider,” in the ‘‘wild
Indian’ act. All the glitter, color, stir,
life of the circus was the [joy of the
“Joungster's existence. He was so. used
to the sight of expert riders and acrobats
_ going through their parts he had no
- thoughts of any possible danger attend-
“ing their exploits, and all that others
. “coul
do he felt he could do, and longed
to do. His father had been the wonderful
. yider, Llewellen, killed, unluckily by a
‘Kick from his favorite horse’s hoof just as
he carelessly stooped to feel the fetlock.
That was when Ted was but two years
old, and Llewellen had been so much
beloved that the company adopted the
boy, as it. were, and took pride in his
cleverness and promise, for there could
be no doubt that nature had given him
_ the true eye, the steady head, the indomi-
. table nerve and the quick sense of the
laws of balance which are needed by a
. nan whose profession itis to dangle
_twizt heaven and earth. His mother
was a farmer's daughter, who had made
a romantic match by running away with
the handsome ILlewellen. She had re-
mained in the community after her hus-
band’s early death as a sort of ‘‘wardrobe
woman.” It was she who refurbished the
old costiimes, braiding them with tinsel
and ‘sewing on fresh spangles. She was
_ called Mrs. Llewellen, and she and her
boy lived in a small compartment of the
‘great property van, which, when the
show moved from town to town, was
drawn by six white horses. Few ex-
periences pleased Ted better than this
sort of royal progress, which, in spite of
its grandeur, was extremely convenient,
since his mother could cook their meals
or go on with their Sewing while they
were in motion, and Ted could eat his
‘bread and butter while he nodded and
waved to the boys gathered at every cor-
ner to welcome the procession, :
Ted had learned to read from the
_ great garing hand-bills: ¢‘Greatest Show
on the Universe,” ¢‘The Unequaled and
* Matchless Troupe,” etc., and his heart
had thrilled with a sudden conviction of
his own pre-eminence when he spelled
out *Master Edward Llewellen, the Re-
matkable Infant Rider and Acrobat.”
But his pride was in the fact of his
belonging to the circus, and not in him:
‘self. For all the members of the troupe
were so interesting, so superior. = There
was old Benny—not that he was old but
so-called to distingmsh him from young
Benny, the lion tamer. Actually there
vas nothing that old Benny could not
do; it was he who performed the famous
bumpkin trick, at which Ted was ‘never
tired of gazing; in the first place mount-
‘ing the horse on the wrong side, and
holding on by the mane as if he were
going to fall off; then, after committing
every possible blunder, suddenly show-
“ing his real powers and going through a
series of dazzling transformations, until
he emerged the inimitable Benny, the
“King of the Circus... Then there were
the clown, a great friend of Ted's; a
«quiet melanchaly fellow who played the
banjo, and the lady riders, chiéf of whom
svere. Mrs. Bill and Miss Fanny, rivat
All were so ac-
complished, so splendid in their attire
(at least on occasions), and so kind and
tender to Ted, 1t was little wonder if he
thought it the finest life in the world.
; times when his mother sighed over
ent of his life,
ting, balancing, and above all thi
‘wh leaned forw: ]
=
—all the tender, patient creatures of the
| farm, besides the fierce turkey gobblers,
{ hens, and fluffy, downy chickens. Close
4 by the farm ran a little river, where the
| geese and ducks paddled, and on the
{ other side was' the wood, where there
were always rustles and murmurs, where
nuts pattered down in the autumn and
squirrels whisked their tails and chat-
tered in defiance of the intruders who
poached on their winter stores. The
garden and the orchard, tog, were some-
thing to hear about. Ted knew epery
‘| flower which grew in the borders, and his
mouth watered at the account of the ap-
-{ ples, white and red, which ripened on
the hillside. It is a great deal to know
as much about the world as Ted did, so
he used to tell old Benny about the farm
which was to him such: a wonderful
fairy tale. Tus
«Pity now your mother couldn’t go
home and take you to see her folks,”
said Benny.
¢Go home and take me,” said Ted.
¢ Why, could she?’
¢“Why not?” said Benny.
This new and startling idea dawning
on Ted’s mind took his breath away.
«Mother,” he cried, running to her,
ttwhy don’t you take me down to see
grandfather and grandmother and the
flowers and the apples?”
s¢Ah, why not?’ burst out the home-
sick woman with a bitter cry. ¢‘Be-
cause I gave all that up when I ranaway
with your father. Because they woulda’t
my knees to them.”
“Why wouldn't they speak to you?”
said Ted, aghast.
«Because I belong to a circus,” she
replied.
Ted comprehended the pain behind
his mother’s words, although he did not
understand the words themselves. He
was indeed really amazed that anybody
should not be proud to know the distin-
guished people he was used to. But he
realized now that the reason that his
mother sighed sometimes was that she
felt shut out from the old paradise, and
he began to sigh, too. Perhaps'he was
tired; perhaps he had in hi8 young
energy gone a little beyond his childish,
streiipth, but he began ‘to feel fretted by
the noise of the circus, and a curious
homesickness grew in him for the
whispers of the forest, the early morning
rush of the birds, and the sight of
‘animals not trained and kept in cages, but
playing about the fields. He longed
to climb the hill £nd meet the
wind, ready to buffet him when he
reached the top, and to dabble his feet
in the cool stream where his mother's
brothers used to swim on summer af-
ternoons.
nights when the animals were restless,
when the lions roared and lashed the
bars with their tails, and the tiger snarl-
ng paced their cages, and the hyenas
yelled and the elephant trumpeted, and
the horses frightened, snorted and
stamped in their stalls, Ted could not
sleep. There was no air to breathe, and
the ‘many scents made him long for the
fields of clover and the garden with iis
beds of mignonstte.
««Mother,” he burst out over, ‘why
don’t they like the circus?” :
¢Who?" said his mother, startled.
She sat late on her sewing as usual, but
she had supposed the boy was fast
asleep. !
«Why, grandfather and grandmother
and the rest of them.”
- «:Some people don’t like a circus,
Ted,” she said gently. ‘It's just a feel-
ing.”
«But it’s the greatest show on earth!”
«J know it's a great thing in its way,”
said Mrs. Llewellen, ‘‘but you see, Ted,
my family are quiet people and their way
is different. I suppose it is partly the
spangles, and the crowds, the gaudy,
make-believe, which made father feel
that nothing is modest and honest and
real about anybody who belongs to a
circus. But if father knew old Benny,
if he knew him as you and Ido, he
would say he was a good man. And if
he knew how everybody had to work, to
go over every part again and again he
would . see that no good performer
could be dissipated or lazy.”
It was just at this time that Ted was
learning the ‘ring trick” and certainly
there was plenty of hard work about that.
It was, as we have said, the firet thing
that Ted did not take to by natural in-
igtinct, as a duck. to. water. Never be-
fore had he shrunk back from what he
was bidden to do, giving way to a fit of
trembling. As old Benny said the new
trick was no harder than the trapeze, and
Ted liked of all things to go flying from
rope to rope to the topmost ring, loving
the idea that the heart of tho spectators
somotimes sank into their boots at the
conviction that he was in danger. Now
he suffered nameless terrors; he felt
clumsy, he had lost faith in himself. The
truth was up to the present he had gone
on doing everything that came 1n his way
without a thought of what might happen
if he failed. Now he was like a Som-
nambulist who awakens to find himself
in a position of danger. It was as if he
had to learn his tricks all over again,
gaining again piece by piece by hard trial
and proof instead of heretofore swiftly
and inerringly by instinct. Old Benny
was patient and tender with the little
Ie
| fellow.
seal you have to do is to catch hold
of the ring and turn round on it, said
speak to me; no, not if 1 went down on.
The season was hot, and on |
don't like it.” :
“You have not got used to it, and it’s
there that the fun comes in,” said Benny.
| You never had a stumble yet, not even
a balk; you're like a bird.”
Ted hung his head and confessed to
himself that he no longer felt like a
bird. He was so weary. There was a
gray haze over all this narrow world of
his, and each day it settled closer and
closer. He felt dull, inert, as if he.
longed to sleep; at least to sit down
aimlessly and dream wide awake about
the hill and the river and the cool, quiet
nights in the old place. *‘I myself have
hated to do things that I grew mighty
proud of when I had got at the knack of
them,” said Benny. ¢‘Come, now try
again, Ted.”
Ted braced himself up and went
through the rehearsal, but when it was
all over he burst out crying and sat”
down all in a tremble.
“It’s a safe sign to be a little afraid,”
said Mrs. Bill. “It isn’t the tricks one
is afraid of that one trips in, but” those
one feels sure of.”
They all flattered and encouraged
him, and Ted felt ashamed of his faint-
heartedness. A regular salary was
promised him by the manager as soon as
he had made a success of the ring trick,
and this was what he and his mother had
been looking forward to ever since he
was ten years old. 4
It was odd how he dislik ed the ring
trick, when it was simply a matter of
swinging himself up to the topof a
high, tall framework on rings which
hung on horizontal bars. The supports
below were twelve feet apart, but met
with another transom beam and ring on
the apex. The way was to catch the
lower ring, swing round on if, then with
the impetus gained to leap the gap,
seize the opposite ring a little higher up,
and so on from right and left and leit
and right to the top ring and down
again. It was a pretty feat, and, per-
haps, no harder than any other of the
flying tricks, but it needed a clear head,
| and the trouble was that Ted had got
into a dreamy mood. He was so home-
sick nowadays for the farm and for the
different life. He liked better to brood
over the idea of the bees humming over
the flower beds and the doves and mar-
tins calling for the cows than to give his
whole heart and mind to the actual
‘things he saw and touched. . :
However, practice makes perfect, and |
by the time the new season opened in
Brightown Ted had mastered the ring
trick. There was a famous programme,
and Ted had six different parts; in the
Indian act, the buffalo hunt, the chariot
race, and so on, finally to the wonderful
ring trick, now eshibited for the first
time. The excitement was good for Ted.
The dull, weary feelings he had suffered
from of late vanished, his blood warmed
to his wish, he liked the mad gl op, he
felt the joy of his own youth and strength
and was ¥eady to take wings and float in
air. The tent was packed with admir-
ing spectators, and all the performers
were in high spirits. © The ringmaster
and clown cracked fresh jokes, at which
even the members of the company could
laugh. = The horses were like the wind,
the performing dogs and elephants and
bears all seemed singularly intelligent,
ane altogether it was one of the great
days of the greatest show in the universe,
and the *‘ring trick” was to be the grand
climax. :
<All right?” said old Benny to Ted as
the little fellow ran out of the dressing-
tent in his scarlet tights and cap.
He stood for a moment measuring the
supports and frames with a knowing
glance, then, with a bound, caught the
lowest ring, spun round, and light asa
squirrel leaped to the opposite one and
thus zigzagging mounted to the upper
ring. Here, just to rest and steady him-
self, he swung round twice, then reversed
before he should begin the descent. He
liked it up there. A cold breath of air
freshened him. The middle flap of the
tent was open for the sake of ventilation
and light, and as he swung he caught
glimpse of the sky dotted with tender,
fleecy little clouds, like sheep in a pas-
ture, as his mother once .said. His
thoughts wandered to the farm for a
minute, then he suddenly remembered
what he had to do; yes, he had to re-
verse. . He quite forgot that he had al-
ready reversed. What was this? Where
was the ring? How stillit was! How
cooll Who was it gave a sharp cry?
What was the roar? Not of wild beasts,
but of men and women. Oh, that crash
—_the end of the world must have come.
«I'm not hurt,” said Ted, ‘‘really I'm
not!” 3
Then he fainted away and was carried
out in old Benny's arms. Word was
passed round that the boy was not hurt,
and the show went on to its close, al-
though all the performers were flurried
and everything went badly. ;
Ted had broken no bones, strange to
say; he had fallen on the cushion, yet
somehow he was hurt and badly hurt.
Nobody quite kigew why they were afraid
it was his back. \Days came and went,
and he lay on his little bed holding his
mother’s hand. ae
«I couldn’ get up to-day,” he would
mutter m ‘alarm when anybody came
near him, ‘but I’m getting rested and
perhaps by to-morrow—"
He was so used to playing his parts
that he was ashamed thus to lie and eat
the bread of idleness. But he and old
Benny used to plan the wonderful feats
he would accomplish as soon as he got
well. Yet it was soon. understood that
he would never regain his old powers,
«You see,” the doctor said, ‘‘he is
shattered. His age is in his favor, and
if he could have a good home in the
country—"" :
¢‘He shall have a home in the coun-
try,” said old Benny, and he did not
lose an hour. He set off to Mrs. Lie-
wellen’s old home, he saw her father and
mother and pleaded Ted's case with
them, but he did not need to plead long.
Ted had his first glimpse of the house
and the river and the road within a
week. The sight of it brought color to
he. , You know all the hile there is 8
his cheek and the light to his eye
“Why, mother,” he cried,
"oI paid. Tt paid to have
were to fall you would not be hurt.” the fall. Perhaps we couldn't have come
“F shan’t fall,” said Tom, “but I{homeif I had not been laid up."-=
Courier-Journal,
Freaks of Human Nature,
* ¢We doctors have a much better ope
portunity than most people for studying
human nature,” said a Washington phy-
sician to a Star reporter the other day.
#«Most patients do not consider it neces-
sary to put on airs before their medical
attendants. One thing that has often
struck me is the disregard which young
folks generally have for the old.
don’t mean that they are not courteous
to them, for courtesy to one’s elders is a
matter of ordinary education; but when
it comes to really caring for them they
are lacking as a rule.
*¢One is shocked to read of the man-
ner in which savage tribes all over the
world leave the old peoplc to die neg-
lected, even depriving them of shelter
because they are no longer useful. Even
in civilized countries the same thing is
often done. Go to Savoy and you find
that the aged and infirm are put out to
beg on the public highways. It is com-
monly said that the love of the child for
the parent is much less strong, even
among the most enlightened people,than
the affection of the parent for the child.
There is a reason for this, which phi-
losophers find in a natural law. The love
of the parent for the child is necessary to
the perpetuetion of the race, for which
nature makes provision beyond all things
else: but, on the other hand, there is
no such reason of necessity for care
taking on the part of the child in behalf
of the parent.
- 80 I am not surprised to find in my:
practice ever so many instances where
old people are neglected by their chil-
dren, who are apt to regard them as a
burden, considering often that they would
be very much better out of the world
any way. Another thing even more re-
markable ‘that I notice is that conjugal
affection is very apt not to survive long
illnesses. If the wife is an invalid the
husband ofttimes becomes indifferent to
her after a while. = Or, if the husband is
sickly, the wife finds it burdensome. In
either case the well partner to the mat-
rimonial bargain becomes,though uncon
scionsly, resentful of the invalidism of
the other, aud in many cases seeks. dis-
tractions outside of the home. >
On the other hand there are men and
women so constituted as to be fitted as ib
were by nature for the duty of taking
care of invalid wives or husbands. I
have known a man to marry three times
and on each occasion to select a bed-
ridden spouse. There was in him evi.
dently an exaggerated impulse to provide
for and take care of a mate.
every one hears frequently of women who
marry drunkards for the purpose of re-
forming them, Their impulse may be a
similar one, arising from the desire to
Lact the part at once of wife and rescuer.”
What the Blind Have Done.
lk “The blind have done more for the ad-
vancement of the world than one has
‘any idea of at first thought” said Pro-
fessor Herman Amann, at the South ern.
¢‘Have you ever thought of how many of
our greas men have been deprived of the
privilege of sight? Homer got his name-
from. the Greek word meaning blind
man, yet he wrote the greatest epic
poems that have ever been given to the
world. The fact of John Milton’s blind-
ness is well known. Then there was
Huber, the blind naturalist. It seems
astonishing that a man totally deprived
of the use of visual organs shoula be able
to outstrip every scientist of his day in
the pursuit of minute examinations ito
insect life, yet Huber did this; He pro-
vided himself with fine optical instru-
ments, and an intelligent, keen-eyed as-
sistant, and in this way he discovered
more about the organic structure and
minute physiology of the bee than all’
the savants who preceded him had done
together. = His treaties on the respira-
tion of this insect, how it makes its
of the scientific world before it was
known that their author was blind.
John Gough was another blind natural-
ist who achieved a great deal. Not be-
Jing able to use his eyes, he used the tip
of his tongue, themost sensitive part of
the body, in examining the minute
structure of plants. There was once a
blind sailor who could climb the tallest
mast pick his way with ease through the
intricacies of the rigging. On land he
was an organ-builder, and did marvelous
work.”—8t. Louis Star-Sayings.
rE —— ee,
The Most Powerfal Explosive.
Chloride of nitrogen is the most
wonderful, as well as the most powerful
explosive known. For seventy-seven
years, from 1811 to 1888, the secret of
the composition of this terrible explosive
was a mystery. Dulong, who lost one
eye and three fingers in the year 1812 in
a vain effort to determine its component
parts, was the first man of scieatific at-
tainments to give the stuff thought and
study. Later on Faraday and Sir Hum-
phrey Davy devoted a great deal of time
and attention to it.
Before entering the laboratory .both
Davy and Faraday always provided them-
selves with thick glass masks to protect
their eyes from flying pieces of glass,
which were most sure to start on a tour
of the room whenevera drop of the dan-
gerous stuff was exposed. Faraday once
narrowly escaped death as a result of
making an experiment with two
drops of the yellow, oily agent of death
which he had dropped into a small silver
thimble prior to making an experiment,
and at another time had his table ruined
and the glass mask on his face broken
into bits by less than one grain of if.
In 1887, as above hinted, Dr. Gafter-
mann of Gottingen, Germany, succeeded
in analyzing the mysterious compound.
It is the only known substance that will
with a bright beam of light, whether the
beam be from an electric lamp or the
sun.—8t. Louis Republic.
| Immense flocks of crows have exterm.
of California,
Of course
honey, wax, etc., excited the admiration
instantly explode on coming 1n contact
inated the grasshopper pestin some parts
SUEDE IS SERVICEABLE.
Of all the many materials which have
enriched the recent range of choice,
both for personal and home adornment,
suede is, perhaps, susceptible of the
widest range of treatment. Tt makes the
softest of pillows, the dawntest of book
covers, the most unique of bonnets, and
the smartest of waistcoats. It is servi-
ceable, it is beautiful, and it can be
found in a variety ot colors, so that its
uses need really be limited only by the
ingenuity of womankind.—New Orleans
Picayune.
A HELYFUL VIRGINIA GIRL.
In the family of George Munday, liv-
ing between Waterford and Wheatland,
the father, mother, a son, and daughter
were all down with the grip, leaving
only the youngest daughter, Florence,
about eighteen years of age, to aid the
rest. She attended to the household
duties and the sick, and for two or three
days fed and curried six horses, fed and
milked six cows, and also walked through
the snow about a quarter of a mile car-
rying corn, and when she reached them,
feeding it with straw and fodder to thir-
ty head of cattle. Having to go toa
neighbor to send for a ductor for one of
her sick; their condition was discovered,
and of course there was plenty of help
afterward.—Richmond Dispatch,
NEW MATERIAL FOR PETTICOATS,
There is a fabric for petticoats which
on the surface is soft like lamb’s wool,
bt the back shows it to be of a stock-
inet manufacture. It is admirably warm
and soft,and is made in pure white,light
pink and light blue and sometimes
striped. Others of the more expensive
flannel petticoats are worked nearly all
over in an open guipure pattern in siik;
but beauty is thought of before utility,
as the warmth of the petticoat is con-
siderably diminished." The petticoats
for wearing next the dresses are
sufficiently beautiful to take the place of
dresses altogether, for they are often
made of the richest black silk, shot and
brocaded with flowers and edged with
black lace over a color and headed by
ruchings.—8t. Louis Republic.
: FASHIONS IN MOURNING.
Deep mourning has but little to do
with fashion and is subject to few
changes. We have, therefore,not much
to say about it, except that heavy KEng-
lish crepe is worn in larger quantities
than ever, the whole front of the dress
being frequently covered with it, while
a very deep border goes around the foot,
and that crepe veils are so long and
ample they fall almost like a mantle at
the back, nearly to the foot of the skirt.
But in slight mourning many pretty nov-
elties are to be noticed this season. A
dress of black silk or woolen material
may be rendered very elegant by a
Gretchen belt and necklet of black vel-
vet, studded all over with jet. The belt
is peaked top. and bottom and finished
with a handsome jet fringe, deeper in
front and at the back than at the sides.
The necklet is a plain band of velvet,
studded with jet and trimmed with a
fringe like that of the belt. = The two
combined make any black dress look
very stylish.—New York Herald.
TREND OF FEMALE THOUGHTS.
The latest index of the British Museum
furnishes some interesting data as show—
ing that while women, as a subject of
interest, as a problem to be solved, as a
possible outcome, was never of more im-
portance than: during the past ten
years, the aspect of her case changed
materially in that time. These indexes
are issued every five years and include
the subjects of all books published ‘in
every civilized country during the pre-
vious five years. ‘A comparison of the
two indexes issued during the past de-
cade shows that works on the social po-
sition of women increased in the last
half of the decade, as compared with the
first, from fifty-tour to seventy-two; on
education of woman, from eighteen to
twenty-five; on employments of women,
from nineteen to twenty-seven; on wo-
men’s clubs, from three to ten. . Dress
reform, on the contrary, decreased from
seventeen to four, and works on dress,
dressmaking, needlework and embroid- |
ery, seventy-eight to sixty-four. These
figures are more significant from the fact
that books on tailoring in its” higher as-
pects, as indicated by such a title as
‘:‘Philosophical Work of F. Pickle on
Cutting Gentlemen’s. Dress,” increased
from twelve to twenty-three. ' Perhaps
the most significant decrease is that from
116 to seventy in works on marriage.
From this it may be argued that women
of to-day are much more interested in
questions of education and employment
and of making for themselves a place in
the world than they are in dress, fashion
or any feminine vanities, and that mar-
riage alas! difficult as it is to believe, is
having less place in their thoughts than
of yore.
ANGLO-SAXON GIRLS.
Few things are more noticeable at as-
semblies in these islands ‘of fair women
and brave men,” as the poet says, than |
the improving physique of the Anglo
Saxon girls. Whatever class may be the
subject of observation in this regard, the
same feature seems to prevail throughout.
If Lord's cricket ground, for example,
be visited at the time of a great gather-
ing of the aristocracy, as on the Oxford
and Cambridge cricket match, or the
Eton and Harrow match, the one thing
which cannot fail to attract attention is
| throughout all classes.
the remarkable predominance of tall and"
divinely fair girls who are to be seem
gracefully strolling over the grounds .
during ‘the intervals between the im--
nings. Then if the scene be changed
and the observer makes his way into the:
parlor of middle-class persons, the same
prevailing ¢‘tallness” of the fair attend-
ants will again meet his gaze. Thus:
abundant evidence is forthcoming that
this is by no means an isolated feature
of the maidens ot the United Kingdom,
but that it prevails, on the contrary,
Judging, how-
ever, from the prominence, which it has
gained during the past three years, there
is quite the possibility that it will de-.
velop in time into a racial characterisie.
The women of ancient Lacedemon, we
are told, were speciallyinstructed to **
on” as much muscle and as little cloth-
ing as possible. Each of these instrue-
tions, however, was given, so to speak,
as a matter of business, in view of the
warlike virtues which were required to.
be fostered by the race. But England:
is not Sparta, and the tallness and good
physique of the girls in this country are
teatures which are not wooed as the result.
of commands, from the Secretary of State
for the War Department, but merely as
the outcome of healthy exercise,indulged
in for the sake of amusement. Thus
lawn tennis and other outdoor games im
this country are producing an effect upon.
our race which could scarcely have been
anticipated.— British Medical Press and
Circular. :
FASHION NOTES.
It is no longer good form to wear:
black underclothing. : a
Sleeves and collar of Persian lamb are
seen with dresses of black cloth.
The fashionable muff is very small
indeed, no larger than is absolutely nee-
essary. hr :
Some very handsone sleeves and coll-
lars of sealskin are made for tailor cos--
tumes. ht
. Lace garniture and embroidery effects.
will not relax their hold upon public:
favor.! } A
For evening, wide strings of chiffon, =
tulle or crepe lisse are tied beneath the
chin in a great fluffy bow.
Tailors will again make astand in f8-
vor of short skirls that escape the
ground for all walking dresses. i
Long military capes of mink are very
fashionable. They are made plain, or
finished with a deep border of mini
tails, a
Sealskin and Persian are very popula
in conbination. : The sleeves and collar
are made of one material,the body of the:
garment of another. - : :
~ A white enamel apple blossom, with:
the edge of the petals overlapped with =
frosted gold and a jeweled centre, isa
new and pretty broach. Ti
. Pretty dresses of gray stuff are trimmed
with shoulder frills, cuffs and.collar of
red chiffon. Chiffon is still the favorite.
material for bodice vests.
The striped mores are still in demand,
‘but for rich visiting and reception toilets
uncut velvet is being depended upom
more than for years back.
A caprice of the mode is a walking
dress, half cloth, half velvet, which, if
the materials are bothin the same shade,
or in rare harmony, may pass with
taste. :
The bowknot grows more and more
coquettish. Burmounting a stickpim,
with a jewel in one of its fluttering
folds, it adds the last touch to the:
toilet. !
Yellow velvet pastiles and Van Dyke:
panels are on white tulle. This desigh
is duplicated in black and in scarlet
Sapphires and pearls are diamonded over.
a white net. si
A buttertly screen for a chandlier globe
or small lamp is made with a gilded
clothespin. The rounded top serves fox
the head, and through the pin are crin—
kled two wide, printed wings of tissue
paper, flecked with gilt spots. It is ex
tremely simple to make, and is useful
and pretty. :
The very nearly tight-fitting jackets
of seal, in three-quarter length, are the
most popular garments for young ladies.
They may be either all seal, or with Per-
gian lamb sleeves and collar. The for—
mer is more favored by the ladies of:
quiet taste, while the latter is by many.
thought to be more dressy.
Crepe-finished Indias are soft, and the
shading .rich. = The bengaline weaves
are numerous this winter. The all-silk
‘bengaline is' pliable and very lustrous,
having much the effect of sicilienne.
Victoria and cable cord bengaline are as
silk counters for many a day. 10
The close-clinging skirts still hold!
their own, especially for young women
with good figures; a few add some rib-.
bon streamers, or beaded waisth:
with falling fringe of the same on the
hips. They are still made with the cross
wise seam at the back, and thus form the
plaits gathered close togethar at the tops .
the skirt widens in descending into the |
fan-like form. a
It is seldom, indeed, that there is of-
| fered so pretty a fabric for so little money
| ag the Yeddo crepe shown this seasom.
The colors are varied and are all well
produced. Even the black is not bad,
i and the white is prettier than any other
white goods of like grade. The
pink and blue are each excellent. This
material makes pretty evening gowns
house wear, and will be a dainty ad:
to the list of simple Summer dresses,
artistic fabrics as have been seen on the: :