WHAT'S THE USE?
What's the use of crying?
The sun will shine again,
What's the use of sighing?
Life isn't wholly rain.
You will not always have to stand
The cold old world's abuse;
Some day you'll get the upper hand-=
So what's the use?
SELES LEEPER EP ELBE EEPE OEE PEPER PEPPER bb bb db db bidbh (
LADY FAY.
|
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wi
Sool se ol
"er
Lady Fay Ferenice looked in at the
big north window. Her slight, silk
clad shoulders shivered with a delight-
ful excitement. She tapped at the
French window, and laughed. It was
& pretty accomplishment; it suggested
spontaneity rather than practice. The
man within, frowning over an easel
and sucking at an empty pipe, started.
He came forward and threw the win-
dow open.
“Lady Fay, by all that's
he said.
«prank Derwent, by all that's—!
You see, I know my Sheridan.” She
stepped in daintily, a very little figure
outrageously {rilled and flounced.
“Shall we establish a new ‘School for
Scandal’? If we only could! But
nowadays scandal requires no school.
1 knew you were here. You long to
ask me how but you can’t get a word
in edgeways. My maid. She recog-
nized you in the village—after ten.
Really, maids have so many oppor-
tunities. They are allowed out by
themselves until ten once every week.
And if they smile at the butler the
privilege is extended. I should 80
wonderful!”
about grinning at him always. She
sald, ‘The mysterious artist, Mr. Jones,
Don’t
at The Den, is Mr. Derwent.’
frown. No one else knows.”
“But a woman and a secret’ ——
“That's unworthy of you. Don't you
know that we only tell secrets when
they are to the disadvantage of other
females? And I wanted to keep this,
and Elise wants to keep her place.
Why do I want to keep this secret?
Oh the country gives me primitive im-
pressions that it is improper. I come
to see you in a studio—horribly untidy
place, Frank—alone. And you are
here incognito. It’s thrilling—and dear
Lady Jane—have I told you I am stay-
ing with the Hollingtons? I am, it's
my penance for a season wickedly de-
lightfu!; my doctor said, ‘You're rum
down’ (which sounds like something to
do with a motor car, which is absurd),
‘go and be as dull as you can be’ So
naturally I thought of dear Lady Jane.
I've been a thorn in her fiesh—she has
so much that one has to be a huge
thorn to be at all impressive—and now
she has her reward. She will be
shocked! Think of it, Frank! Isn't
jt Cranfordish? Shocked! She will
germonize, and I shall be flippant, and
both her Nonconformist conscience
and her droll, evil thinking heart will
rejoice!”
{. “But I am your cousin,” Frank Der-
went interposed. He was a tall lazy
Jooking man, young to be an Associate.
old enough to be interesting. Many
people said that he was handsome,
some that he was ugly, a difference of
opinion which ifivariably suggests dan-
ger.
«When was cousinship a bar to scan-
dal? Don’t you want to know why
1 have come?”
“No.”
“Why not? That's a horrid remark.”
She pouted picturesuely.
“I know.” He looked at her stead-
ily, half quizzically, and she looked
away. Her hair, as light as spun silk,
had brought a memory of sun into the
studio.
“you don’t!” she said, hastily.
“We naturally gravitate toward each
other. In other bodies it is called the
law of attraction.” He gave the sen-
tence a caressing finish. A smile flick-
ered over her face. “Ever since you
came out we have obeyed the law. You
have confessed to me as many of your
gins as you could remember. I have
invented as many peccadilloes as my
imagination could compass to match
your confessions. Each time you have
been engaged I have been the first to
experience desolation. How many
"times have you broken my heart? You
have even criticised my work frankly
very frankly, and I have quarrelled
with you over a frock.”
“yes, we've been chums, good chums
for a long time,” she said, pausing in
‘front of the easel. “Don’t you find
- painting monotonous, Frank? You are
shocked. But I should get sO tired of
canvas—and oils smell like a garage
Why don’t you do things like Max?
He's much funnier. I am sure his
caricatures are lovely—when you know
_ who they are. Did I tell you Lady
99
ane won't allow me out alone?
“But”
“Oh, I started with a girl. She's
ings who go to
scenery and not tobogganing.
1y—it is, isn’t it?
guch a steep hill. She went at
canvas standing with its face agains
ghe wall. Derwent moved it out o
reach.
Jane’'—
|
staying with Lady Jane, too. She (the
girl, not Lady Jane) has a passion for
views—one of those extraordinary be-
Davos Platz for the
I told
ber the view from the Beacon is love-
It ought to be, it's
it
. eagerly and I came on.” She made one
or two lunges with her parasol at a
“Then, when you g0 back alone Lady
“Oh, no. The girl will come on here.
1 am afraid she thinks you are a wom-
an. I said I was going to see a friend.”
“She does not know you very well.”
“No,” Lady Fay acknowledged very
What's the use of moaning?
It will not alter things
What's the use of groaning?
Beneath misfortune's stings?
Yerhaps you'll be an ace some day,
Though now you are a deuce;
But no one makes complaining pay.
So what's the use? {
LL] Times.
Angeles
By
WALTER E. GROGAN.
Be le oe Be ote oe ode
Be Bode 2 ole
TERT Ree YT
“Then we may be interrupted at any
moment?”
“yes—and when Lady Jane Knows
that you are here—— She is scan-
dalized at the idea of your painting.
She says there is no excuse for a man
in Burke doing such a thing, that
Jezebel painted, and we all know what
happened to her. So I shall not be able
to see you again down here.”
She really was very pretty. Der-
went moved slowly over to the couch
on which she sat.
“Has it occurred to you, Fay, that
whenever we want to see each other
one has to go in search of the other?
It—it is a waste of time.”
“There is the expectation.”
“There is always the danger of a
rainy day.”
“Or a sunny day. The sun is terri-
ble this afternoon, and I freckle so
easily. But I don't see how we can
obviate the difficulty. You couldn't
set up a studio at our place. There is
the question of models—and mother
loaths the smell of paint. We always
go to Monte when the painters come.”
“No, Grosvenor Square is out of the
question. There is only one way.”
She scratched meaningless ciphers
on the floor with the point of her para-
sol, watching the operation intently.
“Don’t you think the ‘only way’ is
5s JO oh
always—v ell, heroic?”
“Every one has prophesied it,” he
suggested. She really was attractive
and, after all, it would be eminently
prudent and practical. It seemed in-
cumbent upon an Associate to be mar-
ried. Much can be done in the interest
of art by an interested wife, who is not
artless. Dinners open doors.”
A lifted cheek showed an added glow
in its coolness.
“It would be rather hard upon them
to—to make them false prophets. On
the other hand, if we establish them”
She paused suggestively.
“It certainly would be a compliment
to their intelligence at once subtle and
delightful.”
“And later Lady Jane would be glad.
I feel that I owe Lady Jane much.
She has been my skeleton at the feast
so long. It is refreshing to be famil-
jar with one’s skeleton.”
“But she—she hates me!”
remonsirated.
“yes. She has always prophesied a
bad ead for me. Think of her delight
in the contemplation of an end out-
Derwent
marching her imagination. Don’t
frown. It really is a beautiful trait
in my character. [ am being unselfish.
ls that the wrong word? 1 always do
say the wrong thing on these occa-
sions. Never believe that experience
teaches, Frank. Experience, when var-
ied, muddles. But it does seem hope-
less, doesn’t it? Everybody has expect-
ed it for ages—and the worst of it is
that I can’t quite dislike you.”
“No, that is hopeless—no one can.”
«I have never seen enough of you
to discover your worst faults—that
may be remedied. Oh, if it is, Frank
if, seeing so much of you—the TLollerts
will insist upon lending us their coun-
try house. I know, they offer it every
time—I grow to dislike you'—
“1 think it will be impossible,” he
said. “But in any case we need never
see too much of each other. Of course
{ could never see too much of you—
cela va sans dire—but for your own
comfort I suggest calling to recollec-
tion the married couples we know.
They are never bored with each other’s
society-—the occasional limes when
they meet must ever keep their fresh-
ness. There is not one circle in Lon-
don, there are several; there is not
one country house, but several; not one
vacht, but many. 1 really think—I
speak for your consolation—that we
need never meet except possibly at our
own fanctions and—er—Christmas
Day. I throw in the latter as a sop to
popular sentiment.”
“You are so considerate, Frank.
You underssand more than any man I
know. Whether vou are considerate
for me or for yourself [ am not quite
sure.” She spoke a little wistfully,
which he did not notice.
“As long as the end is reached I
hardly see that that matters,” he said,
cheerfully.
“And I suppose we have reached a
real, definite, decisive end?”
“Yes—or a beginning. There is al-
ways a haziness about these matters.”
“Then we have decided. It must be
diamonds, Frank. I never accept any-
thing else—half-hoop, of course. You
nad better get a few down to choose
from. That is what I generally prefer.
And you must be very, very attentive
to me while we are engaged.”
“I insist upon a short engagement.
And you will dismiss your cavaliers.”
“All of them, Frank?”
“I think all. I have a sympathetic
neart, and I really could not bear to
see them.”
“There are sacrifices!”
and then lifted smiling lips to him.
tap at the window startled them.
“Go round to the door, Sydney!”
Lady Fay called out promptly, without
turning round.
thing wrong with the catch of a French
t
£
She sighed,
A
window like that!" she added, as she
heard footsteps retreat toward the
door,
He had not noticed the face of the
woman at the window
at one time.
strained
strange note in his tones.
up at him quickly.
a while.
shall not want it, really—housekeeper’s
ter explain.
are not a woman.”
quite eagerly, and Lady Fay smiled a
“There's always some-
window. How like a woman who is
“Sydney?” Derwent inquired eagerly.
“The girl, you know, Oh, yes, it is
wn absurd name. But appropriate.”
“Sydney Egmont?”
“Yes.” Her voice had a surprised
vadence. “Do you know her?”
“I did—I saw a great deal of her
Derwent spoke in a con-
yet there wus a
She looked
manner,
“Ah!” she said, and then mused for
“Can't you order tea? We
But I think I had bet-
You see, naturally she
will be surprised at finding that you
tea is terrible.
He jumped at the chance of escape
little forlornly at his retreating back.
She smiled again, but quite brightly,
however, when Miss Egmont entered.
“You are alone, Fay?" Miss Egmont
demanded. She looked white. Lady
Fay noticed that quickly.
“Yes—isn't it stupid? I waited for
you an eternity. I do hope you found
all the trees and fields and things
lovely to look at?”
“You were with a man?”
“]—1 am afraid so, Sydney. It gen-
erally happens to be a man. 1 really
don't know why—coincidence, 1 sup-
pose. Frank has gone to order tea,
Lut I told him distinctly that we should
not drink it.”
“Frank!”
“My cousin, Frank Derwent. He is a
lucky man—he was made an Associate
a few months ago and now” She
broke off and waited.
“Then I am to understand”—— Miss
Egmont murmured, perfunctorily.
“How dear of you to guess! I'm
afraid it is foolish of me, but every
one said it would happen. 1 suppose it
will be in the autumn—that will mean
rushing off to town and Paris at once.”
“I—I am very glad, Fay,” Miss Eg-
mond said, unenthusiastically. “1
hope you will be very happy.”
“Of course, there is always a chance.
And I love shopping. Mother doesn’t
—it tires her. I believe she is unique.”
Lady Fay watched her friend under
her eyelashes.
“But Fay—are you never serious?”
Miss Egmont demanded.
“I sincerely hope not. Only the mid-
dle class are serious. It's what they
eat, I think. I am told their cooking
is atrocious, owing to the Education
I can't tell why it should be, but
acts.
it is.
A door opened and Frank Derwent
entered very stiffly.
“Oh. Frank,” said Lady Fay, “this
is Miss Egmont. She wants to con-
gratulate you. I think she said you
knew her?”
“Some time ago.
Sgmont hardly remembers me.”
spoke as stiffly as he held himself.
She gave him one quick glance. The
little color left in her cheeks fled.
“Mr. Derwent, I believe?” His stiff-
ness apreared to be communicated to
her. “I think we met’ —
“Three years ago. There was
river”
“Ah, yes.
of the river.
think?”
He bit his lip. Her elaborate indefi-
niteness piqued him. Lady Fay sat
watching both under the screen of a
charming detachment.
“l was painting,” Derwent assured
her. “It was not my only occupation.
[ was dreaming of—more important
things.”
“Really! It’s so long ago.” The in-
difference was a trifle too obvious.
“Three years!” cried Lady Fay,
shuddering. “An eternity! Time is a
horrible monster—I am always killing
him, and all the while I have the
knowledge that he must turn the ta-
bles one day.”
“Miss Egmont has found that time
obliterates impressions,” Derwent de-
clared, with unnecessary pique.
“Time's one redeeming feature,” Miss
Egmont said, with conviction.
“We are growing morbid,” Lady Fay
declared. “It is hardly a compliment
to Frank's work. I told him he wasn't
amusing, Sydney. He won't do nice
black and white caricatures like Max
——he won't even do portraits, which is
nearly the same thing. Don’t you ever
do portraits, Frank?”
“I tried once—it was never finished
—it was not a success.” He was look-
ing at Miss Egmont, not at Lady Fay.
“The beauty of portrait painting is
that when the sitter is aggrieved all his
or her friends rise up and call the pic-
ture lifelike,” Lady Fay said, sagely.
She rose and wandered around the
studio—a gay little figure like a stray-
ing butterfly. “Why is this canvas
turned with its face to the wall? Is
I dare say Miss
He
a
I have some recollection
You were painting, I
striding forward.
prevent her seeing it.
the canvas.
features of Sydney Egmont.
“This is three years old, Frank?
che said quietly.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you finish i?”
“The sitter went away.”
ney?’ Miss Egmont, twisting a glove
looking out of the window at the broad
merely pathetic.
at her friend's back. Men were un
observant animals, so Frank did no
it?” She looked, raising eyebrows, Before the guests leave tea and
at Derwent. “I believe it is—and 1 | sweetmeats are again served, and as
shall be horribly shocked.” She pick- | it is neither etiquette to refuse them
ed it up. nor to leave anything behind that one
“Don’t touch it!” Derwent cried, | has once taken, several of the small
He was to late to
A half finished
study of a woman's face smiled out of
The woman's face had the
“Why did the sitter go away, Syd-
sunlight and biting a tremulous lip,
gave a shrug of the shoulders that was
meant to convey indifference and was
Lady Fay smiled a little wry smile
dd they ever see? Her left hand went
straying to her left side. Her friends
unanimously held that though charm-
ing she was heartless. Yet undoubted
lv there was a pain there; a throb, a
catch, what you will, but certainly a
pain,
“And you let her go, Frank? Why?
[t—it really is not a bad attempt.” sing-jacket, whit lov LrRW BI
She looked at the canvas quizzically, i A " ' Ol Bove s ey op
and ‘under cover of her little hand dals, and mushroom hat, Just ahea
of the stubby, peevish horse ran
again pressed her side,
“She—she did not care—to finish it.” man: clearing. O : \ HoutinE
: " , clear ray by
He found phrases hard of making. 3 clearing our way vy. sioy ng
with Nera a ot e's YPRANY sounded like Git! to the
Sfie allowed me to commence—and | 0 FELT OW and then dext
"POW yx tor
then went away.” Evidently, it was hr Ane. NO ne 3D dexter
not the unfinished portrait that rank-
led, He was watching the effect of
his words upon the impassive back.
There was a light, half hopeful, in his
eves, that Lady Fay had never before
seen. “I should never have missed it
if 1 had not seen,” she whispered to
herself. “I shall always miss it now.”
“What a silly reason! If she had not
cared she wouldn't have gone away.
Oh, don’t tell me. I know. I have had
quite an extensive experience of such
matters. You hardly remember now-—-
I'm sure I am very hazy about all
mine. Of course I've had so many
quarrels—and when there is only one
it makes a difference—But you dom’t
know—you're just two children quar-
relling about something you are neither
clear what, and sulking in two absurd,
come afterwards it would have been a
shock. Like marrying a prince and
finding him turned into the beast. You
might smile at him, Sydney, encour-
agingly—anything to alter his expres-
sion.”
“But Fay"'—
unable to keep joy
from her voice.
“My dear child, I'm a sportswoman—
Miss Egmont was
entirely absent
not a poacher. He's your bird. Of
course, I'm glad to be able to add
Prank to my list—though brief, it
I believe you think—well,
absurd things. I have discovered that
Frank can be serious. Just imagine a
butterfly being unequally yoked to a
tortoise! Quite absurd. And we were
agreeably and mutually accepting each
other to be rid of each other—at least,
we found out how very little we need
see of each other. Aud now I've chat-
tered away all the awkwardness,
haven't [?—and Frank completes the
dozen, and I'm off to sing comic songs
to hymn tunes for the horrification of
Lady Jane!”
Half an hour afterwards Frank Der-
went, looking absurdly happy, said,
“Pshaw! Lady Fay! She has no feel-
ing at all—shallow, quite shallow.”
counts one.
“I wonder!” mused Miss Egmont.—
Black and White.
CHILDREN’S PARTY IN JAPAN.
Dress of the Attendants—How They
Are Received and Entertained.
#It may be interesting to know how
a Japanese children’s party is con-|
ducted. Formal invitations in honor
of the house child are sent out. At
3 p. m. the guests arrive, frequently
attended by servants.
The house child receives them at
the top of the house steps, says a |
writer in Junior Toilettes, and con- |
ducts each to the reception room. The |
hair of the house child is drawn back,
raised in front and gathered into a
double loop in which scarlet crape is |
twisted. Her face and throat are
whitened, the paint terminating in
three points at the back of the neck,
from which all the short hairs have
been caremully extracted with pine-
ers. Her lips are slightly touched
with red paint, and her face looks
like that of a cheap doll
She wears a blue flowered kimono
with sleeves touching the ground, a
blue girdle lined with scarlet, and a
fold of the scarlet crape lies between
her painted neck and her kimono. On
her tiny feet she wears white tabi
(socks of cotton cloth), with a sep-
arate place for the great toe, so as to
allow the scarlet covered thongs of
the finely lacquered clogs to pass be-
tween it and the smaller toes.
All children are dressed about alike,
looking like a lot of animated dolls.
They are met by the house child with
formal, graceful bows.
She and her mother squat before
each guest and present tea and sweet
meats on lacquered trays. After these
are disposed of they play very quiet
and polite games.
One of their plays is most amusing.
It consists of one child feigaing ill-
ness and another playing the doctor.
The pomposity and gravity of the lat-
ter and the distress and weakness of
the former are most successfully imi-
tated. Unfortunately the doctor kills
his patient, who counterfeits the
death sleep very effectively with her
whitened face: then follows the fu-
neral and mourning.
ladies slip the residue into their ca-
pacious sleeves.
A Provisional Name.
‘| tle clergyman to be baptized.
asked the name of the haby.
“Dinah M.,” the fathar responded.
“But what does the M. stand for
asked the minister. 3
upon how she turns out.”
“Why, I do not unders
said the minister.
1 fand you,”
i
and bomb-shell disnosition
t
uncomfortable corners. Frank, you
. AB : ” Th led from the rear of the theatre to
look diabolical when you frown.” Der- :
“ , the stage.
went turned away angrily. But I'm i
. . : rs On one side sat the orchestra,
glad I saw you like that; if it had Lich
consisting of from two to six girls
A girl baby was brought to a Seat
He
0
“well, I don’t know yet. It depends
ke mine, 1
"Seattle
GEISHAS OF KYOTO.
How Their Dainty Dancing Impreseed
an American Visitor,
When we arrived at Kyoto, we
drove from the station to the hotel
in our first Japanese carriage, with
a coachman in indigo tights and. dres
nimbly another man, literally a foot
ously swinging an overtrustful baby
out of harm's way, just like a Central
Park policeman.
But that night, when I had sewed
princessy-edges of ruching into my
economy gown, and we went to the
grand performance at the Geisha
School, we trundled along as usual
in our beloved ’richshaws, each with
its glow-worm lantern swinging
cheerily on the handle-bars.
On the floor, in little four-by-four
boxes, people squatted on their
heels, as at any ' Japanese theatre,
giving the effect of a human checker-
board, after the pattern of the Queen's
Croquet-Ground in ‘Alice in Wonder:
land’ And all the tiny, honey-color-
ed people were marvellously clean.
On each side, a narrow, polished
boardwalk (called the Flower Path)
(according to the dance), playing
their samisens, with a plaintive disre:
gard of tune. The notes were few
and low, but made a certain throb,
curiously persistent, and—after a
time—more suggestive to me than any
“low music” I ever heard. Sometimes
one of the girls recited, in a voice £0
strangely unnatural as. to suggest
caterwauling; but I'm told this is the
acme of art.
Just as the Japanese “supes’’ per-
form their tasks on the stage in a
naively obvious manner, trusting as
ostriches, in their black, cowled
gowns, so here certain old women
squatted calmly on the stage, helping
the little performers slip in and out
of their kimonas (numberless as the
wrappings of a mummy), adjusting
obis, and playing deus (or should I
say dea?) ex machina as frankly as
the long-hidden will in an old-fashion-
ed novel.
There were many dances, of which
we, alas! saw but three. Still—
though I am a poor, ignorant foreign-
er, and haven't an esoteric mind—
they gave me intense pleasure. The
subtle symbolism passed innocently
over my stupid head, but there was a
seductive flexibility, especially of the
hands and wrists, and a finish extra-
ordinary in these little neophytes of
fourteen (the most wonderful of all
was only ten). The dancers sidled,
with an alluring, sinuous motion,
snapped open and manipulated their
fans in a dozen bewildering ways,
sank to their knees to gather the
fallen petals of the peach-blossom,
shuddered at an erratic butterfly
(gnivering galvanically under the
manipulation of one of the old fe-
males), and always with the lithe, in-
stinctive grace of a kitten, while
their brilliant costumes flamed and
undulated like a field of silken pop-
pies in the sun.
Queer little exotics they were,
trained to delight Oriental sybarites,
but fantastically pretty even to our
alien eyes.—Constance G. Alexander
in the New York Post.
Curious Uses for Plumbers,
Washington householders who have
helped to spread the tradition that
plumbers are robbers may be called
upon to readjust their view. It is
the monthly bill that comes to the
head of the family from the plumber’s
shop that makes him think that all
the trade are either sadly inefficient
or absurdly slow. He has the impres-
sion that for every five dollars’ worth
of work done he has paid a bill
amounting to fifteen dollars at least.
But that the discrepancy is not entire-
ly due to the piratical instincts of the
plumber has been discovered by an
energetic and observant citizen, who
recently got the boss of a plumbing
establishment to talk about the busi-
ness. This boss told of a woman who
telephoned to his shop and asked that
a plumber be sent up to her house
right away. “What do you think she
returned half an hour later. “She
wanted me to wash her dog.”
“Go back and wash him,” said his
employer, and he did. It took him all
afternoon to scrub the canine. The
woman theerfully paid $3. A woman
—not the same woman—in an excited
tone of voice asked that a plumber be
sent to her house for three hours.
When the man arrived,
After minding the
hours, while the mother
ed to the shop.
large.—New York Post.
Richard’s Reasoning.
the week and Jesus on Sunday?”
| Artman. He isn’t Jesus.”
“Yes, he is.
“Oh, if she turns out fhice and
sweet and handy about the house, like | then Mr. Artman comes ‘round and
her mother, T shall cadl her Dinah | gets ‘em.’—Effie S. Black in Lippin-
May. But if she has a fiery temper | cott's.
shall call her Dinah Migh
frankly. ‘‘She never would.”
tond of views to come blundering at a
count. Besides, people iz love, wha
t | Post Intelligencer.
wanted?” asked the workman, when he,
the woman,
who is well known in society, brought
out a box of her husband's best cigars,
the latest magazines—and a baby.
infant for three
was out
shopping, he colected $1.80, filled his
pockets with good cigars, and return-
No wonder that in
one city, at least, plumbing bills are
Richard startled his mother one day
by asking, “How does it come that
Ned’s papar is Mr. Artman through
“Why, Richard. he is always Mr.
On Sundays we sing
‘Give your pennies all to Jesus,” and
The Arabs use camel's milk as a
Keep Sponges Clean.
By rubbing a fresh lemon thorough
ly into a scoured sponge and rinsing
it several times in lukewarm water It
will become as sweet as when new.
Bread Box Improvement.
There is an improvement in bread
boxes. The up-to-date one has a slop-
ing top, fitted within which is a slid-
ing lid. The box is well provided with
ventilators, each screened with fine
wire. The sliding lid is not only more
convenient to raise, but it fits more
tightly than the ordinary one and is
therefore recommended as being se-
cure against the inroads of insects.
Glass Teapots.
Glass teapots are gaining in vogue,
and lovers of the beverage are rejoic-
ing with the well-meaning persons
who are forever on the lookout for
germs. The pots are made of tem-
pered glass and are trimmed delicate-
ly with bands of gold or silver, The
charm of the crystal teapot lies not
wholly in its beauty. There is the
additional advantage that the tea-
maker can see just what quantity she
has in the brew.
To Bake Fish.
In baking fish, use a special drip-
ping py. Place three or four thin
slices of salt pork or bacon in the
bottom of the pan, lay the fish on
top with or without dressing, cut
gashes across the fish at inch inter-
vals, and put into these tiny strips of
fat pork; dust with salt, pepper and
flour; lay thin slices of pork or bacon
on to the fish, or simply brush with
pork drippings, olive oil, or butter;
pour in a cupful of boiling water, cover
closely and bake in a hot oven, basting
often; allow about fifteen minutes to
each pound of fish; when done lift
carefully on to a hot platter, garnish
with thin slices of lemon and parsley
and serve with Hollandaise or sauce
tartare.
Furniture for the Nursery.
The furniture should consist of clos-
ets and shelves within reach of short
arms for toys and picture-books, so
that at the earliest possible age the
principles of neatness and order may
be taught. There must be small chairs
just to fit, a table for tea-parties and
games, a rocking-chair or two for the
small mother who still rocks doll-
babies, and, possibly, if the room is
large enough to permit, there may be
a small sideboard to assist at the din-
ner-parties, a settle, a small desk, a
couch, a bookcase, etc., etc., declares
Harper's Bazar. There are diminutive
pieces of almost every kind of furni-
ture, although as yet neither Chippen-
dale nor Sheraton chairs have been
seen. There are the Brownie chairs
and tables in brown and green; Mis-
sion library sets upholstered in red
leather; dainty drawing room sets in
delicate cretonne; bedroom sets in
white enamel, Mission, or curly maple,
fascinating wicker chairs in green,
white or brown, just like mamma's on
the piazza; bent wood chairs and tables
warranted to endure through several
generations; and the ordinary willow
and pine chairs which are not as in-
teresting. , If the nursery for day and
for night are the same there must be-
white iron or brass beds, ehiffoniers,
and a dressing-table.
Recipes.
Grape Fruit Cocktail—Allow one
large fruit for four guests; remove
the pulp and mix with it the pulp of
three oranges, one banana, dried, four
figs cut in bits, one cup dessert rais-
ins seeded, and one-half cup Maras-
china cherries. Sweeten with powered
sugar to taste and add two table-
spoonfuls of syrup from the cherries.
Serve very cold in lemonade cups.
Meat and Potatoes.—Mine cold beef
or lamb; if beef, put in a pinch of pul-
verized cloves; if lamb, a pinch of
summer savory to season, very little
pepper and some salt, and put it in
a baking dish. Mash potatoes, mix
with cream, butter and a little salt,
and spread over the meat. Beat up an
egg with cream or milk—a very little
—Spread over the potatoes, and bake
a short time, sufficient to warm
through and brown the potatoes.
Johnny Cake.—A real, old-time john-
ny cake calls for three cups of yellow
cornmeal, three cups of sour milk, half
a cup of flour, two tablespoonfuls of
molasses, one beaten egg, a teaspoon-
ful of salt and a liberal teaspoonful of
soda in a very little milk. Soak the
three cups of sour milk with the In- |
dian meal over night. In the morning |
add the other ingredients and pour the
mixture into shallow, greased bakin
pans. Bake it in a quick oven. I
should be only about an inch and
half thick when done, and should ha
a crisp crust.
Cream Candy—Put three cups gr
ulated sugar in a saucepan with gae
cup of water and three tablespoonfuis
of vinegar. Stir a few moments until
the sugar is dissolved, and then set
over the fire. Do not stir after it
reaches the boiling point. Cook until
a spoonful dropped in cold water
clicks like glass. Pour on buttered
plates, and as soon as cool enough,
pull over a hook. Just before pulling
flavor with a few drops of lemon, va-
pilla or strawberry. It will work
through the mass while pulling. Draw
into sticks the size you wish and cut.
substitute for that of the cow.
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