The North Wiad blow at aleht oF the sen,
ering a mel
ot snc death.
1 bring in the wave with the broken spar,
And the gray teas curling over the bar,
Drifting at night from a cold bright star—
Sorrowtul, sorrowful, all of me!”
The South Wind blew at noon off the ses,
Singing, “Sorrowful, ‘sorrowful, come to
‘me!
Ising of the golden buttercup breath,
1 sing the peace of death.”
1 bring in the shells with tus laughing tide,
And follow the brown sails home, and slide
In the drowsy heat down the meadow side—
Sorrowfu!, sorrowful, come to mel” -
The East Wind blew at morn off the sen,
Crying, “‘Sorrowiul, sorrowful, all of mel
I sing of the piercing icebery’s breath,
1 sing of the horror of death,
And the tempesl’s shriek in the rigging
: black,
And the soindrift wreath and
wrack, +
And the boat that never again comes back—
- Sorrowful, sorronfull all of mel”
The West Wind blew at dawn off the sea,
Calling, “Sorrowful, sorrowful, come td me!
1 sing of the joyous salt sea breath,
1 sing, There is no death!
I murmur of sea caves rosy ani deep,
And the glittering bay where the shoal fish
the rolling
| deap, ?
And the lapse of the tide as it sinks fo
sleep—
Sorrow.u!, sorrowlul, come to me!’
—A. E. Gillington.
THE FALSE SUMMONS.
LY AMY RANDOLPH.
HE. red curtains
a were drawn,
fire blazed cheerily
~ ou the hearth, and
“the! click of the
sleety rain against
the window-panes
only seemed to
heighten the enjox-
ment within, where
a shaded lamp gave out its serene glow,
aod the pictured folds of aa ancient
Chinese. sereen shut all possible and im-
possible draughts away “from the ruddy
fireside.
- Doctor Fengrove saf on one side, with
' ‘the newspaper in his lap: Mrs. Fengrove
eat on the other, tranquilly occupied in
darning stockings, while a chubby year:
old lay asleep in its crib, just where the
firelight touched its curls with fleeting
glimpses of gold.
Well,” said the doctor, letting the
newspaper slip down to the floor, “tthis
is comfortable. I don’t often get an
_evening at home since—Hello!' ‘What's
that? Some one knocking at the kitchen
door.”
Mrs. Fengrove rose and answered the
summons. ‘Presently, she came back.
«It’s Milo York, doctor,” said she.
«Milo York, eh?” Doctor Fengrave's
cotintenancegdarkened ‘as he spoke.
“Dida’t I te
my door again?”
‘¢‘But Les hungry, my dear,” pleaded
the gentle-hearted woman, ‘‘and home-
less. Mr. Evarton has turned him away,
aad—"
«I don’t blame Mr. Evarton!” tartly
interrupted her husband. ‘A miserable,
drunken loafer, who—""
+] don’t think he has been drinking
to-night, doctor,” said Mrs. Fengrove.
¢‘He looks pale and tired. He says he
has had nothing to eat since noon and
Las no place to sleep.”
**That’s no affair of minel” retorted
Doctor Fengrove, who, though free-
hearted and hospitably inclined in gen-
eral, had hardened his heart like a flint
against this particular instance of hu.
manity.
Mrs. Fengrove still hesitated.
¢ What shall I tell him?” asked she.
Tell him to go about his business,”
returned the doctor, energetically stir.
ring the fire until a red stream of sparks
flew up the chminey.
Mrs. ¥engrove closed the door, and
went back to the kiteben porch.
«Milo, ” said she, ‘my husband will
hav, nothing to say to you.”
++I don’t blame him much,” dejectedly
responded Milo York, who was, indeed,
an unpromising-looking subject enough,
with his unkempt hair haaging over his
brow, his garments in rags, and the end
of his nose chilled and purpled with the
bitter night air. ;
But t's a dreadful night, » softly
added Mrs. Fengrove. “Wait out here
—the porch will shelter you irom the
rain. The coffee-pot is on the stove yet,
and 1'll bring you a plate of bread and
cold meat and a bowl of coffee.”
**Thankee, ma'am,” said the tramp,
gathering bimself like a heap of rags
into the corner, to wait.
He drank his coffee and ate his supper
like a famished hound, and then Mrs.
Fengrove gave him a tattered old shawl,
long, since ‘cast aside by her husband.
+¢Take this,” sue said, ‘‘and lie down
in the barn loft; there's plenty of good,
sweet hay thero. But be sure you're off
before . the doctor comes out in the
morning.”
‘*Thankee, ma'am,” again uttered the
nan; and he disappeared like a shadow
into the howling tempest.
«Where havt you been all this time?"
suspicibusly queried the doctor, as his
wile came into the softly illuminated
arch of the Chinese screen again, Mrs,
Fengrove turned scarlet under his pene:
trating glance.
«JI only give Milo a little—some-
thing to eat and drink,” she faltered.
«You know the Good Boek says: ‘Turn
not away thy face from any poor man!”
+4Yes,” dryly coughed the doctor,
sthut T guess the Good Book didn’t make
any allowance for tramps. And I tell
' you what, Dolly, it iso’t safe to harbor
these ‘miserable wretches, with Aunt
Dorothy's silver tea-set in the house, let
alone your own spoons and forks, es:
pecially as. 1 am obliged to be 80 meh
‘irom home.”
Mrs. Peagiove sewed on in silence; ;
she was ‘almost gorry she had told pour
rk 3
the
[ Milo York never to darken -
essen
——
; hay Jott, © but she lacked courage to con- >
fess the whole thin
to her husband.
31t will be all
told herself. *But Milo York mustn't
come banging around here any more.”
In the dead of the tempestuous night,
‘there came a ring at the doctor's night’
bell. Old Mr. Castleton was very ill—
dying, perhaps! The doctpr was wanted
at once!
With a yawn, our good Esculapius
rose out or his warm bed. dressed him-
self and, saddling old Roan. set out for
his midnight ride of six long miles. But
when he reached Castleton Court, all was
still and dark. He rang two or three
times before a night-capped head popped
out of ithe window—that of the old
squire himself.
»+Dear, dear!” said Squire Castleton.
ssWhat’s tke matter? Nobody ill, 1
hope!”
«+ Why, you are, aren't yout’ testily
demanded Doctor Feogrove.
4¢12 Not a bit of it!” said the sguire,
in surprise.
¢:Didn’t you send for me?”
«No, I didn’t,” said the squire. **And
better come in out of the sleet storm
and say it.”
««No,” said Doctor Fengrove, setting
his teeth togetho r, I'll not come in,
thank you.” :
«It ain't a joke, is’ it?” questioned
Squire Castleton.
¢sI'm afraid it’s something more se-
rious than a joke,” said Doctor Fen-
grove. *‘Good-night.”
And,
spurs to him and trotted rapidly away.
Evidently, the night call wns a con-
certed plan—a plan to leave his homes
unprotested—and his mind turned, with
keen distrust, to Milo Yurk and his tale
of distress.
“God keep Dolly and the little one
safe until I get home again!” he mut-
tered, between his closed lips. ‘‘Faster,
Roan, faster!” with a touch of the
whip, which was scarcely needed, so
thoroughly did the good horse enter into
the spirit of his rider. “You know not
how much may depend upon your speed
to-night!”
Meanwhile, Mrs, Fengrove, who had
just fallen into a restless slumber, after
locking the door behind her husband,
was unwontedly startled once again by
a low, steadily continuous sound like
the rasping of some hard instrument.
She eat up in bed ‘and listened a min-
ute. Under her window the sound of
mufiled and subdued voices was audible,
even above the rattle and roar of ths
wintry storm.
s‘Barglars!” she gasped to herself,
¢‘And my husband is gone-—and-— Oh,
Milo York is at the bottom of this! How
wrong it was of me to give him sheiter
in the barn!”
Springing to her feet, she threw on a
blue flannel dressing gown, and hurried
to the cupboard, where her fsw simple
treasures were kept, besides the square,
morrocco cas: containing Anat Dorothy's
service of solid, old-fashioned china.
She turned the key and was just drop:
ping it into her pocket, when a rude
grasp fell on her arm.
«No you don't!” muttered a gruff
voice. ‘‘Give that here!”
Mrs. Fengrove’s heart turned chill as
death as she found herself facs to facs
with ‘a tall, rufianly man, waoose face
was half hidden by a sort of visor or
mask of black leather, while another
man was busily engazed in ransacking
the bureau drawers opposite.
stGive it here!” he uttered savagely.
«Or,”” grasping the throat of the sleep-
ing baby, who had awhkened with a cry
of infant terror, *‘I'll wring the brat's
neck as if it were a chicken's.”
Mrs. Tengrove gave a shriek of
affright, but at the same second a stua-
ning blow from a spade handle felled
the man opposite, like a loz, to the
floor, and a strong hand, twisting itself,
vice-like, in the neckerchief of tae near-
est villain, compelled him to loose his
hold of the child.
You will, will you®’ thundered
Milo York. *Not if I know it, I
guess!”
And suddenly closing with the
burglar, there ensued a desperate
struggle for 2 minute or two, during which
Mrs. Fengrove's blood seem=d turning to
ice within her veins. It was brief, how.
ever. Milo flung his opponent heavily
to the ground, and, tearing one of the
sheets from the bed, he twisted it around
and above him, kootting it here and
there, until the cowardly burglar lay
helpless and pinioned at his feet.
s¢I’d oughter cut yer throat,” said
Milo, ‘a. fightin’ babies and women, yoi
mean skunk, you! But I won't; I'll
leave you to the law, and if that don’t
grip you tigh§ enough, I ain't no good
zuesser!”
And, with equal rapidity, he tied the
hands ‘and feet of the other man, who
still lay insensible on the floor.
¢fs—is he dead?” gasped poor Mrs.
Fengrove, scarcely daring tolook in that
direction.
ssNo—he ain't got his deserts.” Milo
answered, wiping the sweat from his
brow. “He'll live to be hanged yet,
ma’ani, never fear.”
At this moment the sound of old
floan’s gallop on the half-frozen road
struck like welcome music on Mrs. Fen-
grova's ears.
+My husband!” she cried out, nysteri-
cally. “My husband!”
Milo York wert down and unfastened
the door—the burglars had effected their
nefarious entrance through the parlor
window-—and Doctor Feagrove found
himself face to face with the tramp.
¢s York!” he exclaimed.
$+Yes, sir, *York,”” nodded Milo.
tAnd if it hadn't been ‘York,’ your
wife and the little un would have been
in a bad fix.”
«Oh, husband!” shrieked Mrs. Fen-
grove, flinging berself into his arms,
+sMilo York has saved our lives!”
ef ain't altogether sartin about that,”
added Milo, *‘but I guess I've saved your
money and valuables.”
«But how came you here?” qestioned
Doctor Fengrove.
«I was a-sleepin’ out in the barn,”
said Milo. “*She told me I conid, She
4 me a blanket and food and drink
ght, I dare say,” she 3
if you've got anything more to say, you'd’
turning: old Roan’s head, he set |
: had gone |
picioned ase right So 1 just
got and crept arter ‘em, and hers
p
they is,” with a nod toward the two eap-
tives on the floor.
into the hall, where they won't interfere
cuffs.”
«How can I ever reward you for this,
Milo?” said Doctor Fengrove, in tones
stifled by emotion.
“J don’t want no reward, ” said Milo,
stoutly. $4'd’a’ done more nor that for’
her,” with a twitch of his head toward
Mrs. Fengrove, “Ah, sir, .you don't
know the sort o’ feelin’ a man has for
the only person is all the world as holds
out a helpin’ hand when he's ready to
drop with hunger and faintoess! ‘And
now.’! more briskly, “L'il go.”
Dally anid the dogtor,as the honest
fellow vanished. *‘what would have be-
come of us allthis night if you had not
been more merciful and tender-bearted
than Il God be praised that your sweet
woman-nature gained the victoryl”
That was the last midnight alarm that
our doctor's family ever sustained. The
two burglars, discovered to be old and
experienced hands at the business, were
safely lodged 1a State prison for the
longest practicable term; the gang was
effectually broken up, “and the neighbor-
hood was at peace again.
And Milo York is an objectless, de-
spised tramp no longer. He is Dr. Fen.
grove's ‘‘hired man” pow, as much a
friend as a servant, and you may see him,
with the baby playing around him,
«All I wanted was a chance,”
York says. —The Led cer.
Milo
In a Thiei’s Eye.
The eye always indicates the charac.
ter of the man. This is particularly true
tell in almost every case whether or not
a man is a thief by simply looking hin
squarely in the eye. A well-known Alle-
gheny detective, in speaking of this
matter to a Pittsburg Press reporter the
other day, said:
#+Yes, [ can pick a thief out every
time. [can't tell you what it is that
gives the mau away except that it is the
expression of the eye. In the first place
there are few thieves that will look you
squarely in the eye unless they ‘are
obliged to do so. = They will avoid your
glance as long as they can, and even
when they do facs you and gaze steadily
at you it is aiways with the same expres-
sion. Although their eyes may be wide
open and the gaze apparently steady,
you will see, if you look closely, that
there is something away back through the
corner trying to avoid "you. Tr have
‘picked out numbers of thieves by this
little dodging movement. I never saw
a thief who was tree from it.
«Everybody has met that man who
resolutely refuses.to meet a steady gaze
for more than three or four seconds at a
time. Itis pot fair so say that all such
persons are dishonest. In many cases
the peculiarity is a direct result of bash-
fulness.
«¢A little close observation will enable
the observer to put persons in the class
to which they belong. The man whose
eye is almond- shaped is almost always
dishonest at heart, if not in overt act.
The eyzs of some of the most notorious
thieves in the country are of this pattern,
and the expression given he Jace by
this sort of eye is very striking.”
Another characteristic thief’s eye is
one whose lower lid is straight while the
upper one is more or less arched. The
straight lower lid is always noticeable,
however, the effect being a very cunning
and foxlike expression. Deztectives
usuzlly have very naticeable eyes, keen
and clear, although one of the best thief
takers that the writer has ever known
hag big brown eyes, as innocent in ex-
pression as are those oi a frank and hon-
est schoolboy. fais . is his natural ex-
pression, but when he becomes inter-
ested in snything his lids close and his
gaze is as penetrating as that of an
eazle.
ee
The Home of the Doll,
The finest dolls now come from Ger-
many, which has overtaken Franc 1n
thisindustry. Nuremburg, as everybody
knows, is the most important center of
the manufegture. It has been the home
of doll making for many centuries. A
generation ago “the finest dolls had wax
heads, but this material had the disad-
vantage of being very perishable, and it
has gone altogether out of fashion. The
best heads nowadays are of ‘‘bisque,”
which is a kind of porcelain with a rough
finish, Papier mache is molded into
shape for the bodies, lexs and arms, the
wrists and ankles having ball and socket
joiats, so that the hands and feet can be
putin any position. The fact seems re-
markable that one can buy to-day a doll
of the tine description, with hair that
looks like human hair, dressed even to
shoes, stockings and cap, for so small a
price as $1. Half a dozen yearj ago the
same article would cost $3,-—V ashing:
ton Star.
Rude Middle Age Manners.
During the earlier portions of the
Middle Ages meat and barley formed the
principal articles of diet, and she highs
est culinary attainment was that of roast-
ing a pig and disguising the taste, so
that the meat was taken for chicken.
Everything was rude.
tures the lord and his Iady dispensed
with forks, and sometimes knives, at
their meals, and not unfrsquently ate
together from the same plate. ‘In those
times,” says a writer, about the year
1300, speaking of the age of Frederick
II., ‘‘the manners of the Italians were
rude. A man and his wife ate off the
same plate. There were no wooden
handled knives, nor more than one or
two drinking cups in the house. Candles
of wax or tallow ‘were not known; the
servent beld a torch during supper. The
comizon people ate flesh but three times
a week and kept tkeir ccld meat for sup-
per. Asmall stock of wheat seemed
riches.’ ‘= New York Obsetver.
s¢And if youll just
lend a hand, doctor; we'll hist ’em out
with folks, and then I'll go over to the
village for the constable and the hand-
any sunny day, at work in the garden,
of thieves, for the expert detective can
For several cen- |.
{ pert little upstanding bows, or a jeweled
ORNAMENTS ‘IN THE ROUGH.”
Two of the most beautiful articles of
feminine adoroment are singularly ugly
and unattractive in their crude state.
Tortoise shell, as it comes to market
from the ‘est Indies, id’ coarse, dirty |
and lustreless, aod only the most skilful
and patient manipulation makes it the
rich and beautiful material it eventually
becomes. Ostrich plumes, as they arrive
in this mariet, look lke bedraggled
turkey feathers, ‘and they pass through
a score of hands before they become the
fluffy and gracefitl adjunct to feminine
attire.—New York Sun. =
PREFERS SINGLE WOMEN TEACHERS.
Superintendent Laue, of the Board of
Education, approves of Daniel R. Cam-
eron’s proposal to discontinpe the em-
ploymeant of married women as teachers
in the public schosis. « The Superinten-
dent said the other day: ‘As a rule
married women are not satisfactoty
teachers.
their time to the work of teaching.
They fill two positions, eithér of which
demands undivided attention. For
some years the number of married
women in our schools has been increas-
ing. The result has been injdrious, on
the whole. I believe the practice should
be checked.”—~Chicago News Record,
A PRICELESS FAN.
Amongst the treasures belonging to
Adelina Patti is one that she values
above all others—namely, a fan which
bears words written by almost all Euro-
pean sovereigos, The Queen of En-
gland has written: *‘If King Lear spoke
the truth when he said thac a sweet
voice was the most precious gift that a
woman could possess, you, my dear
Adelina, must be the richest woman in
the world.” The Emperor and Empress
of Austria have simply written their sig-
natures. Kaiser William I. wrote.
“Der Nachtigull aller Zeiten.” The
Czar: ‘Rien comme votre chant.” The
Queen Regent of Spain's words are:
+A L'Espagnole, une reine, que est fiere
de la compter au nombre de ses sujets,”
and the Queen of the Belcians has writ-
ten the first bar of the ‘‘Russwalzer,”—
Chicago Herald. we
: PICTURE HATS.
The 1arge *‘picture” hats were much
ased at English weddings during the sea-
son, and are finding more and more
October will see a
favor over here.
number of fashionable weddings, and
at several of them the English fashion,
& number of bridesmaids in ‘‘picture”’
bos and pages to carry the bride's train,
will be seen. The train of an Eaglish
bride's wedding gown is something to
be borne, indeed. ILike their gigantic
wedding cakes, it has never been im-
ported in its full length. Some striking
bridesmaids’ hats of “the ‘picture’ sort
were those at a recent wedding. They
were of black lace, stiffened, and were
trimmed with white roses and tied with
green velvet strings. Less striking but
prettier were some others at another cere
mony, of white lace beautifully trimmed
with helietrope velvet and feathers, and
tied with strings of the same hue.—New
York Times,
EXIT PLUSH,
Esit the fashion of plush! We wore
mantles and cloaks of plush, we garaished
sur bonnets and gowns with plush, and’
sur drawing rooms Lroke out in curtains
and cushions of the same rich fabric,
And then there came a day—that day
which always comes, alas!—whea plush
bad come down. Then our souls re-
volted. Homely serge replaced ‘our
handsome draperies, and as for our per-
ions, they were clad in velvet or
velveteen; in fact, in anything but plush.
Witness the result. Yet, as far as in-
trinsic. beauty goes, could there be a
more beautiful fabric than good plush?
Its durability also is far iu advance of its
sisters, velvet and velveteen, but unless
skilfully managed it is apt to have a
clumsy effect when worn. = We had be-
gun to realize this when Mary Jane ap-
peared in her Sunday best’ profusely
tiimmed with the same said plush. That
decided us, and for the last two or three
gears plush has been placed on the Index
Expurgatorius, and there, until the wheel
of fashion turns round once more, it
seems likely to’ remain.—New Yori
Press.
THE NEW OOIFFURES.
The new coiffure for young ladies is
| opied from the classic simplicity of the
Clytie busts, and 1s formed by waving
the front hair in long regular waves on
each side of the parting leaving a few
short hairs to break out carelessly from
the rest and fall on the forehead.’ The
hair is then coiled softly and smoothly
at the back, with a few wavy loose locks
in the neck.
Another pretty fancy is that of dress-
ing the hair in a long, loose coil from
the crown of the head nearl y to the neck,
the heavier part of the mass being
twisted in" the centre and lighter curled
strands being massed at the top. A
fringe of curls falls in the neck. Not for
many years have so many and such
elaborate decorations been nied as part
of the coiffure. Flowers, ribbons, all
manner of fillets, pins, diamond and
pearl charms, amber and gold ornaments.
The girl with the cameo face wears a |
single rose, drooping just back of her
left ear; the girl with the round and
piquant, face wears a ribbon of gold with
i wo
They are unable to devote all
& ages Fortier adorns her tresses in a |
fashion borrowzd like m z
of our orna
‘ments, from our savage sis’
Free Press, ee
ily
WHY WOMEN FIB ABOUT THEIR AGE. i
A woman will always tell a story |
about her age,” is ap adage that has
driven many women to do so who would
never have tnought of fibbing if they
had had any reasons to think their stuts
ful statement would be believed.
isn’t so much a clinging to rhe;
youth that impels them to this sort of
thing, for if one looks young what
matters it whether thirty or forty birth-
days ‘have been put down to thei
count; but one does not Tike to be nade
out older than the actual age that can be |
proved by the record in the old family
Bible. Therefore, aseveryone mentally
adds three or four years to the uttered
sentiment of a woman regarding her age
it behooves her, if she ishes. them to
know really how old she is, to just sub.
tract this number from the genuine one
and let them add it on, making her out
just exactly what shes. Another very
trylng thing in connection with this sub. |
ject is that men, false, fickle and fair, will
rot admire a woman so much. who eon:
fesses to forty even though she looks but
twenty. The Philadelphia Times thinks
men are superticial critics and unless they |
‘Know for a certainty the years that have
passed over some golden-brown head
they will be taken by the owner so long
as she manages to look and act young
and does not acknowledse the age that
she does not show. N o matter how
beautiful she appeared before, once she
confesses to over thirty she becomes ‘‘a
well preserved woman' in his eyes, not
the adorable bit of feminine loveliness
he has been wont to praise. = Therefore,
not innate untruthfulness, but the force |
of circumstances compels a woman to
tell a story on this one topic ak least,
i Fashion Norms.
Glycerinated water renders the skin
soft, white and supple.
A favorite combination for evening
wear will be pale green and white.
Poplins ate very popular, and ‘make
‘up charmingly in the Russian styles.
Persian lamb is advancing {a price be.
cause it is a fur thatis fashionably wor-
shiped.
Ribbous on the hair, on the gowns,
and on the wraps wil be fashionable
this winter,
Use rain water for washing he face
whenever possible. Itis excellent for
the complexion. °
Poudree coiffures withijot ornaments,
are introduced 1a Londo snd Patis, and
meet with favor. ;
White beaver, pale fave, cionamon
and dark plum cloth are chosen for
coats, with collar, cuffs and pockets of
velvet.
High jet collars are worn And jetted
lace en tablier, disposed across the bodics
or front of skirt for black satin or silk
gowns,
One of the latest French fashions is to
have the corsets and silk petticoats
match exactly; this has avery pretty and
finished effect.
AA new use of an oldidea is the adapta.
tion of the rosette to lines of hat trim.
ming other than silk, velvet and ribbon.
The feather rosette is seen in grea’
variety.
Cloth crowns and large squares ol
cloth for folding upon turban frames
have rosettes thrown up in silk moss.
Rhinestone pins are in rosette form, as
also jet ornaments. :
Magenta, is notable in the feather col.
ors because it is old enough to be new.
Pale straw color is effective with black.
Wood color is used repeatedly, and is
combined with every shade.
A fall frimniing of a novel kind is a
drapery of velvet workdd with silk on
the edge in a floral pattern and laid
around the crown of felt hats of the
new shape, shortly curved up all round,
and which, looked at in. front, appear
Very narrow.
Worth has introduced. for carelage,
opera and reception wear white or light]
cloth short cloaks, lined with blue, rose
or velvet silk, which is turned up, to
finish the lower edge of cloak, for a
quarter of - a yard, and embroidered i in
gold, silver or white floss.
The prettiest new feather is a white
aigrette, curled up/in a crisp tangle of
feather threads, so fino and delicate that
the aigrette looks as though made of
spun glass. These spun-glass aigrette:
make the tail to some of the queer birds.
One such has brown wings made of twa
fluffy brown chicken feathers, and a head
as green as grass.
Violet and green, green with dark
purple and light lavender, and the latter
alone, are frequent. A. spray aigrette
that is very beautiful is green, with a
glint of gold. It is made of ostrich
tips stripped close to the rib all the way
up, and gracefully curled. Green in
rich shades is, next to’ brown, the most
universal color.
‘Beautiful hats are of snow white open
work lace, black velvet, white tips and
aigrettes, and rhinestone jet buckles.
The number of tips and aigrettes on one
hat is remarkable. The broad brim of
lace, with low, full Tam crown of vel.
vet, the feathers fastened at one side by
the big buckle, and turning backward,
Coffee is use
‘the stove, in
“eloser and last lon ¢ Most: er
1 fer the old—fashio! red blackin
stove shoul
‘a month, but it should be kept clean’ by
innstactly wiping off.any clots of grease
. rhe pi pon it. The flues
3 be cleaned as
—Boston Cultiva-
flour, z y
bubble, and pouring on them a a
i ly. Into
picked upremains of id
or broiled fish. _ About. t
be the right prop
sauce. Season it well and
fork until it is ‘heated t
the juice of halt a lemon just before
vegetarians | gt
of stewed toi
1
thin slices and’ let it cok about
“minutes. Pepper aad. sait to ts
New Tors World,
| wHEX MEAT IS DONE. :
The orthodox rule for the cooking of
meat, fish and fowli is to. allow a quarter
cipe needs |
Some families like rare, others well-do
meats; again, a
‘thick or remarkab
grown and mature mea
and mutton, are Dest
oozing from them; whi
white meats, such as lamb
etc., are absolutely dangerous unless doe
through to be bone, A ‘good ru ;
allow twelve to fifteen minutes accordi
“10 the taste of the family and the thici
ness of the joint, for the cooking of
every pound of be ad 0
to cighteen ing of
every pound of pork, veal, lamb, ham, A
bacon, fish and every kind of fowl.’ :
‘Accidents happen, however; the oven.
may. be too hot or too cool, the fire toc
5
‘meat Self, Wher it is sufficiently cooked
“How can this be done? By carefully ob.
serving the appearance of the meat around
the centre bone or bones. 1f the le ?
trials, this will be found to bs an infal-
| hible method. ‘It is quite right that next
‘to the bone beef and mutton should ba
red and juicy, but if the beet be blue or
| the mutton has that strange, raw look
| peculiar to mutton that has just felt the
heat of the fire, the joints need a little
more cooking; while white meats should
be white, even to the bone, with the ex-
ception, porhaps, of lamb, which many
people prefer with a Tittle piaky files +
oozing through,
MUSHROOMS,
Mushroom’ Stew—Peel a gallon of
fresh mushrooms, sprinkle with salt and |
pepper, put in a saucepan with a teacup
of boiling water and two tablespooas of
butter, Let simmer ten minutes, pour
in a pint of cream, thicken with four,
| let boil up once, and serve.
Fried Mushrooms—Take ‘large mush-
rooms, peel.and remove the stems, 10il
in grated cracker, dip in beaten eggs,
then in the cracker meal again, sprinkle
with pepper and salt and fry in butten,
garnish with sliced lemon.
Mushrooms and EcoS—Peel and cus
“large mushrooms in. halves, stew 'ten
minutes in a little water, to which add
an ounce of buster, season with ‘salt and
pepper. Drain, put the mushrooms in
a baking dish, break enough fresh exos
to. cover the top, dust with salt and
pepper, spread with stale bread crumbs
and bits of butter, set in the oven uatil
the egos set. |
Baked Mushrooms —Select large firm
mushrooms, peel, cut off the stalks close
to the top, place them upside down a
a pie dish, sprinkle with salt and pep.
per and lay a bit of ‘butter on each
mushroom, Bet in a quick oven twenty
minutes, baste two or three times witha
little melted butter. Serve hot. -
Shells of Mushrooms— Chop one
onion, fry in butter, when brown adda
pound of finely chopped mushrooms and
simmer until half cooked, soak two an-
chovies, pound them 1n a mortar with a
teaspooniul of French mustard and three
tablespoons of brown gravy, mix with
and pour in with the mushrooms, boil
three minutes and fill the shells,
Scalloped Mushrooms—Cover. the bot-
tom of a buttered dish with a layer of
dried bread crumbs, sprinkle over with
pepper and salt and bits of butter.
moisten with cream, place a layer of
mushrooms alternately with bread un~
til the dish is full. * Uover the top with
bits of butter, pour over a pint of cream
and bake for one hour.
Macaroni = with Mushrooms—Parboil
half a pound of macaroni, drain and set
to keep warm. Puta pint of water, onc
small onion, a sprig ‘of parsley and a
tablespooful of vinegar in a saucepan
with a little salt and pepper. Bet over
fire, let come to a oil and add a quart.
of peeled mushrooms, let cook fen min-
utes, ‘stir in two beaten ‘eggs Put a
layer of m Aron
ars the special features of ‘these hats;no| eo
strings are use i.