ELLEN OSBORN'S LETTER.
Gowns and Wraps for the Breezy
Autumn Days.
At a Word W© Fans from the Tropics to
Cold Siberia—Novelties la the Use
of Fur—The Autumn Bride's
Trousseau.
COPYRIGHT, 1805.
As we toiled on through the heat of
summer and tried to make believe that
winter was really coming, there wero
men who divined it from afar. And so,
at the first touch of September cool
ness, there leaped as if by magic from
a hundred hiding places the very garb
of winter—fur. And at one word we
have passed from the tropics to Siberia.
Everywhere tillage so presses upon
the wild life that Adam saw that fur
grows more and more expensive. It ia
almost the one exception to the univer-
A I)C>:IIS AL FAN(3 Y IN FUR.
Ral rule of falling of prices, and so I am
sure it is pleasant to know how one can
make such excellent use of a very little
of it as in the handsome red cloth capo
with diamond patterns in black braid,
and the wide collar of black miffet,
which I have been admiring. Or its
companion garment, a long evening
♦ oak of dark heliotrope cloth, lined
.with a lighter shade and with silver
brocade; with jet ornaments, a roll col
lar of sable and a narrow strip of the
same rich fur on the cuffs.
The coat of sealskin lends encourage
ment to the little women who wear
i FUR MODE IN TRIMMING.
Eton and zouave shapes becomingly,
for there will be a considerable run
upon fur garments in these cuts th's
autumn. Another popular fur garment
will be the cape, either of fur entirely
or of cloth with a fur collar and a
second, shorter capo overlapping the
longer one. Slim young women will
find short, loose-fronted sealskin coats
recommended to them, but in longer
garments both economy and the wish
to avoid crushing weight will point to
combinations of fur and cloth.
A pelisse of black satin merveilleux
is an example.
It has Watteau folds in the back, is
lined behind with rose and black bro
cade, but at the sides and in the front
with squirrel lock. The square collar,
like a Puritan's neck • bands, only
broader, the inner collar coming close
about the throat, and the cuffs are
lined with mink.
Sleeved or sleeveless, all fur garments
have to be made roomy enough at tho
sides to shelter the big sleeves of the
moment.
Furs are sometimes continued, as in
a cape of black Persian lamb with a
shoulder cape edged with sable tails,
and a cascade of these tails falling
down the front, even below the hem.
A coat and skirt costume of Persian
lamb with ermine collar is another
combination. May I humbly venture
the opinion that neither of these is
equal in good taste or beauty to the
better combinations of velvet, cloth or
satin with soft fur.
These are novelties in the use of fur:
Fur with an applique of velvet upon
pale satin, in Paisley or Dresden de
signs, tho satin shining beneath and
between the velvet bars.
Fur over a silvery brocade with
groups o.f blurred china flowers in deli
rate. faded colors.
Fur with rich green Lyons velvet,
lined with old gold brocade. Fur in a
huge rolling collar, in a strip down the
front on each side, in the tails and
paws used as trimmings.
Fur with jet, velvet, passementerie
and lace, all in one garment!
Winter will be worth while that
shows us all these wonders of tlio
street. Surely never before was a ma
terial so dignified and rich as fur used
in combinations with such perishable,
delicate fabrics.
Is "silver-fox" offered? I have read
of a dealer who says that less than two
hundred silver foxes are taken in all ,
the world in a 3'car, and that all these, i
practically, go to Russia to be worn by ;
princesses. A single skin is worth one
hundred and thirty to three hundred
dollars, and a fox is absurdly small.
Rut dealers are enterprising. What
will they do if the fur seal really be
comes extinct? Can the characteristic
fur of this long suffering beast be imi
tated? I doubt if it has been yet, and
for this reason seal is a pretty safe fur
to buy.
Green is a good rich color, not quar
relsome against others, and a key to
strong combinations. A chrysanthe
mum green cloth walking dress I have
seen which is a dream. The deep,
square collar reveals a bit of mulberry
velvet at the throat. The edging of
the collar and of -the cuffs is sable fur,
and the tails are worked into the front
of the bodice. The buttons are of sil
ver repousse, the skirt is lined with
mulberry satin. The toque is of green
cloth and mulberry chenille, vel
vet roses of the mulberry hue, and an j
osprey's ravaged plumage. It is the ■
very soul of somber autumn, glowing
at heart.
What a gown that would bo for an
autumn bride's trousseau! The au- j
tumn bride demands her share of at- j
tention and perhaps a little more. In !
actual wedding gowns there is—well, |
the merest trifle of change, hardly no
ticeable at a glance at the big sleeves,
the medallion front, the long, plain, or
lace edged train. The going-away gown
and the bride's reception and dinner
gowns are quite otherwise, and usually
represent the latest breath of fickle
fashion. Certainly this is the ease
with a going away costume which I
have been admiring in a friend's trous- !
seau. The loose, plain bodice front i
buttons with big buttons, the skirt is :
plain, the material of all a smooth j
gray cloth. Over the blouse bodice, and
over the big sleeves falls almost to the
waist a triple cape with wide, emhroi-
dered collar. Beneath this piling of
Pelion upon Ossa, the tightly cased
arms from the elbow down look like
pipestems. The return of the cape is
a calamity to most figures; but it cer
tainly has returned.
I should have said that this fashion
able in the extreme garment was
crowned by a hat which can only bo
described as an hour glass crown on
very wide brim, with huge plumes and
bows, all in blaek. The steeple crown
| is robbed of its full effect by the wide
brim, reminding one of the contending
and mutually nullifying principles of
Ormuzd and Abriman.
And speaking of hats, it may be well
to add that the steeple crown, though
quite advisable, is to be by no means
common. Far more usual is the hat
with no crown at all, or the mere faint
indication of one, scarce rising from its
j enormous brim.
For the brims are enormous. A tiny
close-fitting crown, shallow as as aucer,
insecurely supports a structure two
feet wide over all and with an enor
mous sail area. Cock's plumes, ostrich
feathers, steel or rhinestone ornaments,
velvet and satin Dresden ribbon are in
favor as garnishes.
As to the bodies of these aspiring
creations, count felt and chenille in the
lead, and add that velvet is a favored
material in -millinery, as it is with
dress and cloak maker and even with
the furrier.
There is absolutely no change in the
lcnickerbocker situation. Plenty of
moral, intelligent and good-looking
women are wearing bicycle bloomers,
but I have yet to hear of one society
leader following the Paris pointer,
j The bloomers may be none the worse
for that. Ellen Osborn.
Striicino manners are bad manners.
—liobcrt Hall.
THE SILENT SISTERS.
BY I. ZANGWILL.
They had quarreled in girlhood, and
mutual ly declared their intention
never to speak to each other again,
wetting and drying their forefingers
to the accompaniment of an ancient
childish incantation; and while they
lived on the paternal farm they kept
their foolish oath with the stubborn
ness of a slow country stock, despite
the alternate coaxing and chastise
ment of their parents, notwithstand
ing the perpetual every-day contact of
their lives, through every vicissitude
of season and weather, of sowing and
reaping, of sun and shade, of joy and
sorrow. Death and misfortune did
not reconcile them, and when their
father died, and the old farm was sold
up, they traveled to Loudon in the
same silence, by the same train, in
search of similar situations. Service
soparatcd them for years, although 1
there was only a stone's throw be- 1
tween them. They often stared at
each other in the streets, lionor, the
elder, married a local artisan, and two
and a half years later Mercy, the
younger, married a fellow-workman of
Jane's husband. The two husbands
were friends, and often visited each
other's houses, which were on oppo
site sides of the same sordid street,
and their wives made them welcome. ;
Neither Honor nor Mercy suffered an
allusion to the breach; it was under
stood that their silence must be re
ceived in silence. Each of the sisters
had a quiverful of children, who played
and quarreled together in the streets
and in one another's houses, but not j
even the street affrays and mutual
grievances of the children could pro
voke the mother's to words. They
stood at their doors in impotent fury,
almost bursting with the torture of
keeping their mouths shut against the
effervescence of angry speech. When
either lost a child, the other watched
the funeral from her window, dumb as
the mutes.
The years rolled oil, and still the
river of silence flowed between their
lives. Their good looks faded; the
burden of life and of child-bearing was
heavy upon them. Gray hairs streaked
their brown tresses, then brown hairs
streaked their gray tresses. The
puckers of ago replaced the dimples of
youth. The years rolled on, and death
grew busy among the families. Honor's
husband died, and Mercy lost a son,
who died a week after his wife. Chol
era took several of the younger chil
dren. llut the sisters themselves lived
on, bent and shriveled by toil and sor
row even more than by the slow frost
of the years.
Then one day Mercy took to her
death-bed. An internal disease, too
long neglected, would carry her off
within a week. So the doctor told
Jim, Mercy's husband.
Through him the news traveled to
Honor's eldest son, who still lived with
her. By the evening It reached
Honor.
She went upstairs abruptly when he
told her, leaving him wondering at her
stony aspect. When she came down
sho was bonneted and shawled. lie
was filled with joyous umaze to see
her hobble across the street, and, for
the first time in her life, pass over her
sister Mercy's threshold.
As Honor entered the sick-room,
with pursed lips, a light leapt into
the wasted, wrinkled countenance of
the dying creature. She raised her
self slightly in bed, her lips parted,
then shut tightly, and her face dark
ened.
Honor turned angrily to Mercy's
husband, who hung about iinpotently.
"Why did you let her run down so
low?" sho said. "I didn't know," the
old man stammered, taken back by her
preseuce even more than by her ques
tion. "She was always a woman to
say nothiu'."
Honor put him impatiently aside and
examined the medicine bottle on the
bedside table.
"Isn't it time she took her dose?"
"1 dessay."
Honor snorted wrath fully. "What's
the use of a man?" she inquired as sho
carefully measured out the fluid and
put it to her sister's lips, which opened
to receive it and then closed tightly
again.
"How is you wife feeling now?" Hon
or asked after a pause.
"How are you now, Mercy?" asked
the old man, awkwardly. The old
woman shook her head. "I'm a-goin'
fast, Jim," she grumbled weakly, and
a tear of self-pity tiickled down her
parchment cheek.
"What rubbidge she do talk!" cried
Honor, sharply. "Why d'ye stand
there like a tailor's dummy? Why
don't you tell her to cheer up?"
"Cheer up, Mercy!" quavered the old
man hoarsely.
But Mercy groaned instead, and
turned fretfully on her other side with
her face to the wall.
"I'm too old, I'm too old," sho
moaned. "Thisis the end o' me."
"Did you ever hear the like?" Hon
or asked Jim angrily, as she smoothed
his wife's pillow. "She was always
conceited about her age, settin' her
self up as the equals of her elders; and
here am I, her elder sister, as carried
her in my arms when I was five and
she was two, still hale and strong, and
with no mind for underground for
many a long day. Nigh three times
hex' age I was once, mind you, and now
she lias the imperence to talk of dyin'
before me."
She took off her bonnet and shawl.
"Send one o' the kids to tell my boy
I'm stayiu' here," she said. "And
then just you get 'em all to bed
there's too much noise about the
house."
The children, who were orphaned
grandchildren of the dying woman,
were *sent to bed, and then Jim him
self was packed off to refresh himself
for the next day's labors, for the poor
old fellow still doddered about the
workshop.
The silence of the sick room spread
over the whole house. About ten
o'olcck the doctor came again and in
structed Honor how to alleviate the
patient's last hours. All night long
she sat watching her dying sister, hand
and eye alert to anticipate every wish.
No word broke the awful stillness.
The first thing in the morning, Mer
cy's married daughter, the only child
of hers living in London, arrived to
nurse her mother. Hut Honor indig
nantly refused to bo dispossessed.
"A nice daughter you are," she said,
"to leave your mother lay a day and a
night without a sight o 1 your ugly
face."
"I had to look after the good man
and the little 'uus," the daughter
pleaded.
"Then what do you mean by dc
sertin' them now?" the irate old wom
an retorted. "First, you deserts your
mother, and then your husband and
children. You just go back to them as
needs your care. I carried your mother
in my arras before you was born, and
if she wants anybody else now to look
after her let her just tell me so and
I'll be off in a brace o' shakes."
She looked defiantly at the yellow,
dried-up creature in the bed. Mercy's
withered lips twitched, but 110 sound
came from them. Jim, strung up by
the situation, took the word. "You
can't do no good up here," the doctor
says. "You might look after the kids
downstairs a bit when 3'ou can spare
an hour; and I've got to go to the
shop. I'll send you a telegraph if
there's a change," he whispered to the
daughter; and she, not wholly discon
tented to return to her living inter
ests, kissed her mother, lingered a
little and then stole quietly away.
All that day the old women re
mained together in solemn silence,
broken only by the doctor's vkdt. He
reported that Mercy might last a
couple of days more. In the evening
Jim replaced his sister-in-law, who
slept perforce. At midnight she awoke
and sent him to bed. The sufferer
tossed about restlessly. At half-past
two she awoke, and Honor fed her with
some broth as she would have fed a
baby. Mercy, indeed, looked scarcely
bigger than an infant, and Honor had
the advantage of her only by being
puffed out with clothes. A church
clock in the distance struck three.
Then the silence fell deeper. The
watcher drowsed. The lamp flickered,
tossing her shadow about the walls as
if she, too, were turning feverishly
from side to side. A strange ticking
made itself heard in the wainscoting.
Mercy sat up with a scream of terror.
"J-iru!" she shrieked; "Jiml"
Honor started up, opened her mouth
to cry "Ilushl" then chocked herself,
suddenly frozen.
".lira," cried the dying creature,
"listen! Is that the death spider?"
Honor listened, her blood curdling.
Then she went towards the door and
opened it. "Jim," she said in low tones,
speaking towards the landing; "tell
her it's nothin'; it's only a mouse. She
was always a nervous little thing."
And she closed the door softly, aud,
pressing her trembliug sister tenderly
back on the pillow, tucked her up
snugly in the blanket.
Next morning, when Jim was really
present, the patient begged pathetic
ally to have a grandchild with her in
the room, day and night. "Don't leave
me alone again," she quavered; "don't
leave me alone, with not a soul to talk
to." Honor winced, but said nothing.
The youngest child, who did not
have to go to school, was brought—a
pretty boy with brown curls,which the
sun, streaming through the panes,
turned to gold. The morning passed
slowly. About noon Mercy took the
child's hand and smoothed his curls.
"My sister Honor had golden curls
like that," she whispered.
"They were in the family, Hobby,"
Honor answered; "your granny had
them, too, when she was a girl."
There was a long pause. Mercy's
eyes were half-glazed, but her vision
was inward now.
"The mignonette will be growin' in
the meadows, Hobby," she murmured.
"Yes, and the heart's-ease," suid
Honor, softly. "VVe lived in the coun
try, you know, Hobby."
"There is flowers in the country,"
Bobby declared, gravely.
"Yes, and trees," said Honor. "I
wonder if your granny remembers
when wo were larrupped for stealin'
apples?"
"Ay, tha* I do, Hobby, he, he!"
croaked the dying creature, with a
burst of enthusiasm. "We was a pair
o' tomboys. Tlio varmcr he ran after
us, eryin' 'Ye! Yel' but we wouldn't
take 110 gar. He, he he!"
Honor wept at the laughter. The
native idiom, unheard for half a
century, made her face shiue under
the tears. "Don't let your granny ex
cite herself. Hobby. Let me give her
her drink." She moved the boy aside,
and Mercy's 1 ips automatically opened
to the draught.
"Tom was wi' us, Hobb3'," she gur
gled, still vibrating with amusement,
"and he tumbled over on the heather,
he, he!"
"Tommy is dead this forty 3'ear,
Hobby," whimpered Honor.
Mercy's head fell back and an expres
sion of supreme exhaustion came over
the face, llalf an hour passed. Hobby
was called down to dinner. The doc
tor had been sent for. Suddenly Mercy
sat up with a jerk.
"It be growin' dark, Tom," she said,
hoarsely; "hain't it time to call the
cattle home from the ma'slies?"
"She's takin' rubbidge again," said
Honor, chokingly. "Tell her she's in
London, Hobby."
A wave of intelligence traversed the
sallow face. Still sitting up, Mercy
bent towards the side of the bed. "Ah!
is Honor still there? Kiss me—Hobby."
Her hands groped blindly. Honor
bent down, and the old women's with
ered lips met.
And in that kiss Mercy passed away
into the greater Silence.—Outlook.
A Classical Instance.
"I hear," said Diana the huntress, as
she rested her toe for an instant 011 the
pedestal, "that Fygmalion is in love
with Galatea."
"Indeed!" ejaculated the Hust of
Minerva; "well, it's a cinch that he
gets the marble heart. * —Puck,
GENIUS AN I) MARRIAGE.
Mrs. Burnett Is the Latest Un
happy "Literary Woman."
She Earned the Family Money for Many
Years and Then Forgot to Look
Up to Her Husband—Other
Matrimonial Failures.
Frances Hodgson Hurnett is the latest
woman to add proof to tlie theory that
genius on the feminine side of tlie fam
ily does not make a happy home. "In
compatibility of temper" is the sad ex
cuse put forth when homes like hers
are broken up.
It has never been known to fail when
a woman's power of earning 1001103* is
greater than that of her husband that
breakers are ahead, and it is an irrefuta
ble law of nature that it should be so.
A woman of a large inheritance who
marries a poor man has the advantage
of him in a certain way, but the woman
who earns the family money possesses
an advantage gigantic in comparison
and as impossible to overlook or deny
as if it were tangible.
No womanly woman, sa3*s the Chi
cago News, relishes being married to a
man to whom she cannot look up in all
respects and whom she does not feel
superior to her in man 3' ways. Re
formers may howl themselves black
hut they can't alter this stern fact one
bit. And when a woman discovers that
she has much more talent and a larger
head for business than her husband
there is going to creep into her heart
first surprise, then pit 3* and then care
less contempt. A man does not shine
in this kind of a light. In Mrs. Harnett's
case her husband is as talented as she,
though in a different direction. Dr.
Swann M. Hurnett is one of the leading
oculists of the country. To bo sure,
his wife paid for his education in this
direction with money earned by writ
ing; still, that was no pro
vided the couple hud amicably under
stood one another. Mrs. Hurnett has
lived in Europe most of the time for
the last few years, and when home she
and her husband were only formally
polite; congeniality of spirit seemed
entirely wanting.
Other literary women have shared
the same experience. John Oliver
MRS. FRANCES HODOBON BURNETT.
Ilobbcs, the English writer, otherwise
known as Mrs. Craigle, has just secured
a divorce because she was miserable in
matrimonial life. Gossip now has it
that she is going to marry George
Moore, the novelist, with whom she has
collaborated in several stories. One
would think that she was leaping out
of the brambles into the briers doing
this, for two geniuses are as bad as an
army in the amount of damage they
can wreak. The artistic and literary
instincts produce in a person a sort of
irrationalism, a restless morbidness,
tender nerves and a large demand for
sympathetic tolerance, and if an un
comprehending husband is unable to
give this a husband of like tempera
ment is more than apt to refuse to give
it. Women of genius usually have
checkered lives. George Eliot, with
her strong intellect and knowledge of
cause and effect, was not proof against
the matrimonial fate of literary women,
as her various wedded and uuwedded
experiences show.
Ouida seems to have had a prescience
of what would follow if she married,
and so wisely stayed single. Can any
one imagine Ouida married? Much as
she stoutly admires men, she could
never make one happy. He would shoqt
himself or get mangled somehow when
she turned on him a.stream of her biting,
withering, devilishly sarcastic elo
quence, poured forth ull for his benefit.
Eloquence of that sort is admirable on
paper and directed in an opposite line,
but when there is a hint of the per
sonal in it it becomes uncomfortable.
Ouida trying to fry potatoes following
on a cataclysm in the kitchen; Ouida
moaning over an unreachable cobweb
or musing on the turning possibilities
in a worn gown; Ouida mixing a salad
dressing or sewing on a suspender but
ton—oll, no! it is impossible to conceive.
It is not charitable to advise geniuses
to stay single, for they need the fullest
of life to expand in and in which to
spread their minds; yet the history of
their matrimonial tangles is hut a his
tory of the divorce courts. The men
who are talented are as unfortunate as
they are. A little American actress,
who was married to a prominent writer
of plays, threw up her hands when her
divorce was mentioned. "Yes," she
cried, "I am divorced from him at last!
My dear, whatever 3*oll do, never marry
a genius!" Her dramatic emphasis was
sufficient to express poor Jane Carlyle's
unspoken thought and Harriet Shel
ley's and that of Shakespeare's neg
lected wife and their innumerable sis
ters. When the genius is on the fem
inine side of the house the result is
worse.
Doesn't Live Half His Life.
A Spanish mathematician, figuring
out the average allowance of sleep, ill
ness and the like, says a man thirtj'
years of age has only really lived about
fourteeu or fifteen .years.
Kill.lv ami Physical Exertion.
Three hours of close study wear out
the body more than a whole day of
close physical exertion. ,
for Infants and Children.
THIRTY years* observation of Castoria with the patronage of
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Castoria docs not contain morphine, opium, or other nnrcotie property.
Castoria assimilates the food, regulates the stomach and bowels,
giving healthy and natural sleep.
Castoria is pnt up in one-size bottles only. It is not sold in bulk.
Don't allow any one to sell yon anything else on the plea or promise
that it is just as good " and " will answer every purpose."
Seo that yon get C-A-S-T-O-R-I-A.
Thefac-aimile 1. on every
signature of wrapper.
Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria.
H ill II ll'i I Hil ■ 111 III! Will —B—
Printing
and
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The TRIBUNE'S job printing |
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OF TIIE "TiIIHUNK" AUK SO LOW AND
j T K VDVF.K I ISING SO SATiSFACTOHY j
TH AT TIIE INVEST Mi NT IS M IL
STANTIAL V BEIT UN ED IN A
V Kit V SHOUT Tl .VK HV Ill;
UEST CLASS OF lIUVEUS
IN THE .HEGION WHO
1 BEAD* THESE COLUMNS UEGCJLAHLV.
1
GET THE BEST
When you are about to buy a Sewing Machine
do not be deceived by alluring advertisements
nnd be led to think you can get the best made,
j finest finished and
Most Popular
for ajnere song. it that F JYVLFF
reputation by honest and square
] Sewing- machine that is noted
is easiest to manage and is
Light Running
There is none in the world that
can equal in mechanical con
struction, durability of working
parts, fineness of finish, beauty
N EW HOME
It has Automatic Tension, Double Feed, alike
on both sides of needle ( patented ), 110 other has
it; New Stand (patentees driving wheel hinged
011 adjustable centers,blius reducing friction to
the minimum.
WRITE FOa CIRCULARS.
THE NEW HOME SEWING MACHINE CO.
ORANOB, MASH. BOSTON, HASH. 28 Union SQUARE, N. Y
CuiCAuo, 111. ST. I.orw, MO. DAI.I.AA, TKXAS.
SAN FRANCI <o. CAL. Atlanta, UA.
rr- - RALE BY
I). S. Kwing, general agent,
1127 Chestnut street, Phila., Pa.
CAN I OIITAIN A PATENT? For a
Pmmpt answer and un honest opinion, write to
I*ll NN A CO.. who have had nearly fifty veara*
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tions strictly confldential. A llundhooU of In
formation concerning I'atents and liow to ob
tain them sent free. Also a catalogue of mechan
ical nnd scientific books sent. free.
Patents taken through Munn k Co. receive
special noticeinthe Scientific A uicrien 11. and
thus are brought widely before the public with
out cost to the inventor. This splendid paper,
issued weekly, elegantly illustrated, has by far tho
largest circulation of any scientific work in tho
wot Id. S:t a year. Sample copies sent free.
Building Edition, monthly, fJ.foa year. Single
copies. v.> cents. Every number contains beau
tiful plates, in colors, and photographs of new
houses. With plans, enabling builders to show tho
' a m ,! J t x. vr S '£ ns , secure contracts. Address
MLNN & Co., NEW YOKE, 301 BUOADWAY.
\ ———
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wide movement, should take the Si mile-Tax
ton; or . Price. $l5O per year. Sample copy
tree. Address:
JOHN F. FORI), Business Mgr.
507 Fagin Building. St Louis, Mo.
Bookkeeping, I | \l.tls I Tenth Year.
PeumanHhin I "IS! MISS I
and all tho I OOLLKHE, I 1 ,f"f 1
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wc can secure patent in less time than those J
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