By P. curious chance, Cho descend* mts of Colonel Knowltou, wro sent Nathan Ilale, the young Revolution ary hero, on his fatal mission, are now living next door to the descendants of the young patriot's family in Chicago, England never finds any dangerous germs, bugs or worms in American apples, although she uses twice aa much of that fruit as Germany does England's imagination is several de grees loss icrtile than Germany's, ac cording to the Mail and Express. The Springfield Republican re marks: Presidents Eliot and Andrews take satisfaction in the fact that "few college men go wrong," yet fancy for a moment what it would mean if many ot them did go wrong? Tho great ma jority of college boys came from su perior homes, where the best influ ences are supposed to prevail and where iney have been pretty well grounded in the moral law. Why, indeed, shouldn't tho majority of them be decent, respectable, law abiding citizens? It would be sad if they did not. A San Francisco physician claims to have discovered a serum that will neutralize alcoholism. He say 3he has found an element in blood of drunkards which ho names alcocytcs, aud announces lie has produced an antidote which, when injected into tho blood, will remove ike craving for alcohol. 11" his discovery will enable people to indulge appetite for wine on festal oce:v ions without acquiring un controllable fondness for it, it will have a certain use, but ho docs not seem to claim for it tho virtue of en abling any one to drink without be coming intoxicated. Ho its usefulness at best can hardly become so great as the temperance reformers might ask. •The city of New York is making no effort to di. guise its uneasiness over the decline of its export trade. The following significant paragraph from tho New York Tribune makes this only too evident: The export trade of New York is declining. That is tlio f jnerete fact tho commercial aud in dustrial interests of this city have to face. A generation ago this port had more than two-thirds—nearly three fourths—of the entire export trade of the whole United States. Now it ha 3 little more than one-third. Its ex ports have decreased fifty per cent, in thirty years. The process i 3 not checked. Exports were less in 1896 than in 1890, aud threaten to be less in 1900 than in 1890. Yet tho exjiort trade of the nation i 3 rapidly increas ing. It is increasing at other ports at tho expense of New York. That is what statistics prove. Between 1380 and 1807 the foreign commerce of the nation increased to the extent of $300,- 000,000. Of that sum New York got only $90,000,000, while Boston got $63,000,000 and Galveston $29,000,- 000. Assuredly that is a state of af fairs which prompts a vigorous asking of tho question, What are you going to do about it? Tho movement in favor of good roads lias been steadily pushing for ward, and has, indeed, made notable progress in the last two or three years. ; Remembering that in all practical re- ; forms the early steps are the hardest, ! the friends of tho movement have good reason to feel encouraged. In ! New Jersey, Massachusetts, Long Isl and, Pennsylvania and elsewhere there are now many really model roads, aud one earnestly wished that road com missioners from all over the country could bo taken to view these good roads and thereby receive a much needed object-lesson. It is only wlien we consider the proportion of bad roads to good in this country, or tho ratio of good roads here to those in England and the Continent, that we realize what a task remains to bo done. Colonel Albert A. Pojie ha 3 been identified with the good roads agita tion from the start, and he is, indeed, often familiarly spoken of as "tho father of good roads." In an article in tho Outlook Colonel Pope gives an encouraging review of what has been done in Massachusetts. In New York a bill known as the League of American Wheelmen bill is before the Legisla ture, which provides for the estab lishment of a State Highway Commis sion similar to the Massachusetts Board, and other good road bills are also under consideration. It will not be long, declares tho Outlook, before tho farmers and general taxpayers learn that they are under an absolute delusion if they suppose that good roads arc not to their financial advan tage. That the bicycler profits thereby also, and that to him is largely due the agitation, in no way affects the fundamental fact that good roads mean cheap local carrying, increased general convenience aud a higher kind of civilization. BILL ANTHONY, MARINE, Captain Sigsbee was writing a letter to his wife in the cabin when the explosion occurred on the Maine. All the lights were instantly extinguished. Sigsbeo was thrown out and ran into William Anthony, a marine, who, despite the shrieks, groans, flames and bursting shells, stood at 4 'attention," gravely saluted and said in an even voice: "Sir, I have to inform you that the skip has been blown up and is sinking." Then he waited for orders. The next day Anthony said to Sylvester Scovel when spoken to about his conduct: "Oli, that's nothing; any Yankee marine would do it." Anthony has served the United States in the army and navy for twenty four year 3. When above the awful din ro:JO the sailors' voices shrieking "Help! help! For God's sake help us, ere we sink into the sea !" When the light from bursting shells showed tho clocks with blood were reeking, At "attention" ttood Hill Anthony, with courage bold and free. Straight and cool as on paretic, from the danger never shrinking, The orderly saluted as in steady tones ho said: "I have, sir. to inform you that the'ship's blown up and sinking;" Then waited for his orders while the shells crushed overhead. In the fury of a charge, when the cannon roar and thunder. And men are drunk with fighting, acts of bravery arc seer.. Hut to stand still at "attention" while his ship was rent asunder Was the kind of courage shown by Hill Anthony, murine, T n tho roster of tho heroes who have striven for Old Glory a f High on the roll of honor give Hill Anthony a place; And when our theme is courage i<*t us not forgot tlie story Of his standing at "attention" when death stared him In the face. —N. A. Jennings, In New York World. <1 o u 1 HI THE COST OF A LIFE. S © . # /Sfev DY MRS- BURCKHARDT. /OAx §S @ U® ©®II v GP-gj# Tis very uufortun y ate. I really don't know how it can -ifev have happened. Nos. 20 and 22 ore 'Y both engaged. If you would step into the drawing room a moment I will iii- The manager of the Seacliff Hotel rubbed his hands together, an \\, smiled ingratiatingly at the couple before hiin; Mr. Thompson, stout, prosperous and middle-aged; Anne, slender, blonde and lovely,, with "bride" written largo all over her at tire, from the picture ha\ llie fawn traveling cloak lined with white satin, and the watch bracelet set in tur quoises, down to hor now patent leather shoes. "Will you go upstairs and wait, my dear?" he said, turning to her. "Oh, no! this will do," she said, indifferently; and pushing open the door of tho writing room, she walked in. Away from her husband's eyes she drew her breath hard, her gray eyes bad the look of a child; rudely awak ened, she clasped her hands together with a gesture of nervous dread. A man, the solitary occupant of the room, turned his head at tho soft rus tle of her silk-lined skirts, and aS their eyes met both uttered a cry. "Charlie! You herer" "Anne! My God, is it you? I'm not too late!—say I'm not!" ho cried. "I was married this morning. We —we are on our honeymoon; but wlmt has that to do with you?" said she, al most fiercely. "You—you broke off \ our engagement. I would have been true to you in spite of everyone." "Then there has been foul play! I was sure of it. Look, Anne, I had , such faith in you that, when there was no auswer to my letters, I knew they must bo tampering with you. And then came the news of your en gagement—my sister wrote to mtf; she always was jealous of you—and I got leave somehow. It was the Colonel who managed it for me, and I have traveled day and night to be in time. I haven't slept or eaten since; auu I ineet'you here, married," Ho was close to her now, his hand some face flushed and quivering, bis strong hands clenched in a masculine impatience of suffering. Anne shrank away from him, white and trembling. She could hear her husband's voice speaking to a waiter outside. "Anne, haven't yon a word for me? Tell me r\iy you have done this hid eous thing! Was it his money?" he demanded. "IJis money? No, no; I never heard from you. I was so lonely and miserable," she faltered. "Oh! Char lie, Charlie! What shall we do?" Slio held out her liandn to him with n little gesture of appeal, but he did not take them. He was beginning to see that it bad been better for them both if they had never met again. "I don't know—(iod help usl" he said brokenly. "To meet you. like this! Is he—does your husband ?" Tho door swung tipen —Mr. Thomp son was entering. It was sueh a stale device by which they had been parted that it seems al most impossible Anno could have been taken in by it! But, after all, a well-brought-up girl does not lightly suspect her mother of such an extreme measure as suppressing letters from au ineligible lover; and Mrs. Carruth ers' daughters were eminently well brought up, so, when Charlie Daere's letters suddenly ceased, she began to believe tliat the popular opinion as to his inconstancy was well founded. She suffered a good deal under the bslief; her wrists grew so slender that hor bangles were too big; the roses faded out of her cheeks, and the once ready smile came and went infre quently, and Mrs. Carruthers was genuinely sorry for her child. She supported herself, however, by the re flection that it was all for Anne's ulti ma, c good. Mr. Thompson was obviously only too ready to marry her, and endow her with his twenty thousand a year, his big country bouse, his moor in Scot laud, and his share in the business of Thompson, Goodrich & Co.; and Mrs. Carruthers was sure that Anne would bo happier iu tho long run as his wife than to a young man with nothing but his pay and good looks. Mr. Thomp son was forty-five, rather bald; but personal experience bad taught her that after a few years a husband's banking account is of infinitely more importance than his looks, so she felt justified on high moral grounds in putting a stop to one engagement, and doing her best to bring on another. At first Anne resolutely avoided Mr. Thompson; but by degrees the kindli ness of his manner and the sense that other women would gladly have had his attentions gratified her; and then a feeble longing to be revenged on Charlie, to show him she was not wear ing the willow for his sake, grew upon her. Moreover, she was of an affec tionate nature, and the disgrace in which she had felt herself with her mother during the time she had held herself bound to Charlie had weighed on her heavily, aud she turned eagerly to the approval which graciousness to Mr. Thompson brought her. So it is not to bo wondered nt that less than a year after Charlie had gone West with his regiment, Anne found herself awaking on the day of her wed ding to Mr. Thompson. She lay on her little white bed look ing dreamily around tho room, lit tered with all the paraphernalia of packing. Her goiug-away dress was stretched across two chairs, a huge trunk, gaping open, gave a glimpse of dainty cambric and lace, and across the passage she knew her wedding gown was displayed on the spare room bed; but her imagination refused to realize that she was indeed going to be married, though the previous night she had seen the drawing room blocked up with costly presents, such ar Mr. Thompson's wife was likely to have, and the dining room already laid for tho breakfast. Smart clothes, diamonds, and excitement are some times very effectual in drugging the mind, aud for the past week Anire hnd refused to let herself think, so she was not going to give way to it now. She sprang out of bed and dressed herself quickly. There was something she wanted to do before her mother came to her, so when she had put on her plain white dressing gown she un locked a trumpery rosewood desk and took out a packet of letters, a bunch of faded violets and a photograph. She slipped the last two into an en velope and went swiftly downstairs; for, it being June, there was only the kitchen tiro available. The cook had just gone out to the side door for the milk, so there was no one to witness her holocaust. She did not feel any pain over it, only a desire to get it done before her mother came, and she even laughed a little as she heard the cook boasting to the milkman of the number and value of the wedding presents. The morning seemed to pass with her like a dream, in which her share was only imaginary. Her mother's kisses, the crowd in the church, the service, the wedding breakfast with its endless speeches, the fussy oificious ness of the bridesmaids who helped to array her iu her traveling gown, the smiling farewells and good wishes, were all indifferent to her; but when at last she aud Mr. Thompson were in the carriage that was to take them to the train, and he laid his hand or\ lier arm, she suddenly awoke to rckU* ties. "At last I've got my dear little wife to myself," he said; and passing his arm around her, turned her face up to his with one plump hand and laid his lips on hers for the first time. "Don't Don't! You mustn't!"cried Anno. Her words seemed to fall over each other in her haste; her heart was beating like some caged wild thing. "Did I frighten you, my darling? Come, you musa't bo so shy of your husband," ho said, smiling at her in dulgently. "I—l don't like being kissed. l— am tired," faltered Anne. She suddenly seemed to have be come aware that sho belonged to this man. His short blunt lingers, on one of which was a big signet ring, his double chin, the big creases ou his cheek when he smilod filled her with repulsion. "Are yon tired, dearest? Does your head ache?" he said, kindly so licitous at once. "Yes, it does, rather," said she, catching at the immemorial excuse of womenkiud. She shut her eyes and leaned back in the corner while he fussed over her with smelling salts and eau-de-cologne. They had engaged rooms at the sea side resort, but thcro had been some mistake about them, and it was while he was talking to tho manager that Anne went into the writing room to wait. "Oh, yes, that will do quite as well!" said Mr. Thompson, coming briskly in and speaking over his shoul der to a waiter. "Anne, my dear, it is all right now. We have three rooms on tho first floor; they aro tak ing up our things. Why, my dear, what is the matter?" "I liavo made a mistake," said Anne, liardly knowing what elie said. "This—this is Charlie Dacro." Mr, Thompson had heard a sketchy outline of his wife's previous love af fairs from Mrs. Carruthers. "Boy and girl affair"—"mere fancy"— "quite unworthy young man"—the phrases seemed to ring in hit: brain now. A dull flush rose slowly to his face; he laid his hand on Anne's arm. "I have heard of Mr. Daere," he said coldly; "I think you had better conio with me." "You have stolen her from me! Yon know best yourself by what means!" said the younger man savagely. The situation was insupportable; a primitive emotion was out of placo in the commonplace room, with its writ ing tables littered with directories and hotel stationery. "I gained my wife by no means of which I need be ashamed," said Mr. Thompson, with a certain dignity. "But it was all a mistake. He wrote, only I never had his letters. He was coming back to me," said Anne, helplessly. "I don't understand; 'perhaps I am dense. You mean to say you only married me, believing Mr. Dacro was falso?" began the elder man, con fusedly. The door swung again, a busy traveler bustled in, bag in hand, drew a chair noisily up to a table, and began to write. Mr. Thompson beckoned impera tively to Anne. "Come! I ihust speak to you," he Buid, sharply. He held the door open for her, and she obeyed him mechanically, leaving her lover standing by the mantel-piece, powerless to stop her. Mr. Thompson led the way up the first flight of stairs, a waiter threw open a door, and Anne found herself alone with her husband. "Now, perhaps, you will explain. This man, what is he doing here? By what right does he address you?" he said. There was a tone of Bharpness in his voice. "He did not know I should be here. Ho was coming home from tho West to stop my marrying you. He thought he would be in time," said Anne, al most in the voice of a chidden child. "But he is too late! You are my wife now. No one can take you from me." The remembrance of the hand some young face belowmoved him to a touch of brutality. "But I can't live with yon now! Don't you see? I can't, oh, I can't!" cried Anne. "You are my wife. You are bound to live with me. You thought it possi ble half an hour ago, Nothing has changed since then." "But I didn't know, then! I thought he had left off caring for me. My mother knew. It was she who made me marry yon," panted she. All her delicate color bad faded, even her lips were white, he; eyes were full of terror. "Oh, won't you be kind to me And let me go?" ... "To your lover?" "No, no! I will never see him again if you will only let me go." "But don't you know I love you? Yes, as dearly as you love that iffan downstairs. Haven't you a little pity for me?" Anne looked at him dully. His round, florid face had not paled; he looked as prosperous as ever. Lov& her? Lore was young, aud strong, and comely, with ardent looks and melting tones. Her heart could not recognize him under this guise. "I am sorry. It is not my fault. We have loved each other so long. Oh, if you will only be kind enough aud let me go!" She came up close to him in her earnestness. Her hat had fallen off, ho could see the littlo tendrils of hair curling round her tiny ears, the depth of her eyes darkened by coming tears. "You ask too much," he said, with sudden ffhger; "I love you, you are my wife, and very beautiful." He had both her hands in his now, and was drawing her nearer. Anne did not speak, only looked at him with a white face of terrified repulsion. He could see the pulse in her throat beuting furiously. "You would not be the first wife who had lived down a fancy for an other man, and lias been happy with her husband," he said slowly,and then the girl broke down into a storm of wild, hysterical weeping, cowering away from him with bent head. "My poor child! my dear little girl! You are quite overdone," she heard his voice saying in quite a changed tone. "Come and sit down and let us think what is for the best." She suffered him- to lead her to a couch, and sat down,burying her head in the pillows. Mr. Thompson was not accustomed to women, and her long-drawn sobs, and tho pitious heavo of her shoulders went to his very heart. "You ask mo to let you go, Anne; but what would you do then? Would you go to your mother?" "Oh, no, no!" "I thought not. And as /on bear my name, in common fairness to myself, I could not let you go out alone in the world." Sho said something incoherent be tween her sobs of wishing she were dead. "For God's sake, child, don't treat me as an enemy!" he said bitterly. "Listen! Yen must share my home, there's no help for that; but in all other respects I will leave you utterly free; only I ask you for your own sake not to see that man again." Through her own distress the sense of his generosity reached Anne's soul. "You are very kind to me," she said faintly. "I will think it out. I will see whether I can think of anything better; but you must give me time," he said. "I will let you know to-morrow. Per haps you would like to go to your room now; the waiter might bo coming up with the dinner." Anne complied, thankful to ba alone, and sent word by the maid that she did not want any dinner, so tho bridegroom dined alone under the watcliful eye of the waiter, who formed his own conclusions on the situation. Anne was lying on her bed, worn out with the emotions of the day, when, about nine o'clock, she heard a rap at the door, and her husband's voice asking if he might speak to her. She got up and went to him, look ing at him with eyes full of appre hension. - "I am going out for a stroll and smoke, and I thought I would ju3t come to see how you were." "Oh, I am better, thank you," said Anne, quickly. He paused, looking at her with an expression she could not interpret. Stoutness, a bald head, and a florid complexion cut one off from much comprehension by ono's fellows. "Well, good night then," he said awkwardly. "Good night," said Anne. Ho hold out his hand, and she laid hers in it. Ho could feel the nervous twitch in her slender fingers. "I am going to think it over, you know. Good night," he said once again, and turned away. He lighted a cigar, and, strolling along the shore, proceeded to think it over. What conclusions he came to can never be certainly known, but the following paragraph appeared in the evening paper: I "Fatal accident to a bridegroom— A most [lamentable occurrence took place at Narragansett last night. Mr. Kichard Thompson, senior partner in the well-known lirui of Thompson, Goodrioh & Co., and who had just started on his wedding trip, was washed nshore a few hours after he had left his hotel for a stroll. His body was discovered by some fisher men, and was easily identified by the papers in his pockets." It was nearly a year later before his bride-widow married Charlie Dacre. His voice and looks, when he had bidden her farewell at the door of her room, haunted her. It was absurd to suppose that a well-to-do merchant could carry love to such a height as to lay dowu his life to make a woman who did not love him happy, and yet —no! she dared not let herself believe it. Such a love would have demanded a life-long fidelity to its mere memory. So she married the man she loved, with "vhom she was happy enough; but the memory of her brief honey moon never quite faded from her mind. —St. Louis Star. Paupers Go 011 Strike. The guardians of the poorhouse in Oldham, England, recently discon tinued the daily allowance of half a pint of beer to each inmate,whei'e'upon most of them went on strike, leaving the institution. The "Fiendish Hi\lr-rin." ■When will women discover how to dress their hair without hair-pins? Hair-pins, one understands from a woman who has recently written a hook about women, are the chief ob stacles to feminine independence. "How truly fiendish a hair-pin can be no mere mun cau ever know. When it presses against the skull and pro duces a local nerve-torture of an in describably vicious nature, a man might imagine that the easy thing would bo to pull it out. A woman feels so tremendously at a disadvan tage if her hair is untidy. She can not even argue till it is neat again."— Argonaut. A Strange Love Affair. A touching romance in the life of the late Bight Hon. Charles Pelham Villiers, "Bather" of the House of Commons, has been disclosed by his death. In early life he fell deeply in love with a Miss Mellish, and his af fection was returned as far as could bo done by a lady who for some reason had taken a vow to lead a single life. Mr. Villiers remained true to his first love, and never married, and his con stancy so touched Mis 3 Mellish that iu her will she left all licr fortune—a considerable one—to liim absolutely, j He, however, never touched the | money, leaving it to accumulate with interest, while ho lived very simply 011 his own modest revenue, supple mented by hi* Cabinet pension. By the time of Mr. Yillier's death the capital originally left by Miss Mellish had grown to a sum considerably over a quarter of a million sterling. Of this total he, by bis will, left §75,000 to Rev. Montague Villiers, Vicar of St. Paul's Knightsbridge, and a somewhat similar sum to Mr. Ernest Villiers.— London Telegraph. Tlio Women of Muscat. The women wear a garb which is distinctive from that of other East erns in general effect, though not in detail. While the men don brilliant robes, the women put ou brilliant trousers, a sort of compromise be tween knickerbockers and breeches, end above is a loose waistcoat of vel vet with big buttons, but in the streets this is often hid by a long en shrouding black shawl. They do not cover their fnces entirely as the Per sian women do, nor do they hide the lower part of the countenance accord ing to the custom of the Egyptians. They obey the Koran law of hiding the features, but the hidiug is per functory. Around the head, and, consequently, stretched over the face, is black cloth with holes cut to see through, another to breathe through, and a fourth, if necessary, to sneeze through. These holes are frequently quite large; and, instead of the woman being a mystery, I could always tell at a glance whether she was young or old, ugly or beautiful. Around their ankles aro big silver bangles; other bangles jingle on their wrists, and heavy loaded weights Bhako from the lobes of their ears. Chambers's Journal. Watches For Shirt Waists. Everything seoms to point to the fact that the shirt-waist girl will bo greatly in evidence next summer. Not only are the shops filled with madi as, percale, lawn, gingham, dotted swiss anil silk shirt waists of all shades, designs and styles, but the art of the jeweller is also called into requisition to beautify these favorites of the up to-date tailor made girl. P.ecognizing the fact that the long gold chains now in vogue are entire ly out of place on the plain bosom of a stylish shirt waist, and that the stick ing in and pulling out of watches from tho snug leather, velvet, ribbon and jowelled belts which are de riguer now is not only very troublesome, but eventually proves to be the de struction of many dainty Geneva timekeepers, the manufacturers set their wits to work to devise something which would do away with the long neckchain and the inconvenience of dragging a watch in and out of a tight belt, with the happiest result imag inable. Examining tho novelties made in one of tho leading jewelry stores, I came across what seemed to be a rather large sized shirt button. Close inspection showed that it was a min ature watoh. Its face is no larger than an ordinary enamelled shirt stud. At the back, connected by a short shank, is another button, very much larger, in which the works of the watch are contained. The girl who wears it has only to bend her head down to find out the time. These little watches come in many different designs, and range iu price from 89.50 to $25 and 830. —New York Herald. lScautlTul Lips. A woman "beauty doctor" wlw makes the molding and coloring of the lips a specialty said, when asked to talk of her methods: "The first thing to be considered, is tho rigidity or laxity in appearance aad action of the lips. If they tend to stiffness or steruess of expression, one Ahould begin to make them supple by geiitle but constant massage treat ment, supplemented by the cultivation of an intelligent smile. Understand Ke. I do not mean a perpetual grin, for that deepens the lines round the mouth, and gives the face a haggard, pained expression anything but be coming. The smile to be cultivated is more a brightening of the whole face with a sensitive parting and curving of the lips. It is not necessary to stretch them. "Then, instead of firmly closing the lips, as 30 many women have a habit of doing, which gives heaviness to the jaw and hardness to the mouth, they should learn to bring the lips together very lightly, allowing that always agree able dimpled effect in the corners. It is that position which makes the mouth of a healthy child so kissable, and gives to him such an eager, interested expression. "But where the mouth is inclined to stand open, with loose, undefined lines, the vigor of the massage should be re doubled, using the treatment as a tonic to tone up flaccid nerves and muscies. With such a mouth the object must be to learn to hold the lips with firmness, tempered by grace, going through the practice as facial gymnastics for stated periods, and until the training be comes a natural habit. "Closely compressed lips, I think, are most common among women, and, as a rule, uot overhealthy women. To me this habit is indicative of nervous ness, and I always supplement my treatment with a good nerve tonic. This is especially necessary where tho lips are inclined to be pate and rigid. "Besides a thorough massage once a day, you should spend ten minutes, morning and evening, standing before the mirror, and with thumb and fore finger pineh the curves of the mouth, accentuating their dolicacy and clear ness. Until you have given this meth od a fair trial, say one month, it is im possible for you to judge tho happy re sult. lam sure at the end of the first month you will be so pleased with tho result that you will look upon it ns a necessary feature of your toilet, as mueli so as combing your hair aud brushing your teeth. I have seen the shape of tho flattest, straightest mouths changed by a few months' treatment of this sort. "For that rickredcolor so much ad mired in the lips, which can never bo imparted by paints, one must have a good circulation. The manipulations of a good masseuse are very beneficial, and should send the crimson stain to the surface by stimulating quick cir culation. The massage movements for the lips are always upward and circu lar. They are so simple that after a few treatments by a professional any ono can learn to do her own work. Of course, however, after all's said and done, health, exercise and amiability are the most potent factors in rounding, tinting and shaping a sweet mouth."—London Mail. Fashion Notes. Clasps for cloaks are being restored to favor. ■White broadtail is used for vests in cloth gowns. Silver passementerie is a favorite material for bolts and band trimmings. Some of the newest sash belts are of black silk net, edged with a fringe of jet. Some now and beautiful evening silks havo tiny turquoise, pale green and light rose-colored stripes on a white ground, with baby rosebuds scattered carelessly about. Plush is making a vigorous bid for favor again, and used in combination with Venetian point lace, embroidered with gold and silver thread, it makes a very rich dress trimming. Organdie-sublime is a lovely fabrio for summer wear. The color tones are exceedingly soft and beautiful, and the designs are quaint and bi zarre, and thorougly artistio. Ombre effects will bo soen in the newest silks for next season. In Paris and Vienna these ombre styles aro already popular, and nu especially handsome quality of silk is shown. Narrow fringes of silk, jet spangles and beads are for wraps and edging cross tncks on blouses and skirts. Deeper silk fringes will be sown on capes, flounces and as a basque to blouses. Silk-figured djalmatta is a lovely fabric much likoan East Indian weave. It is fino and soft, of light weight and suitable for late spring and summer wear. It may bo had in seventy dif ferent colorings. Velvet is a favorite material for the atre hats, and the most stylish trim mings are ostrich or fancy feathers ar ranged in a kind of fan at one side. Imitation stones in buckles, buttons and other ornaments are seen on all the hats. Lace collars and yokes, both black and white, will again be worn, and at this time of year t thoy can be bought at most reasonable prices. They jareja good investment for summer gowns, aud will besides help to freshen up somo pet gown that has done duty all winter. Veiling tulles in the best taste are in black aud white. Tko most fash ionable mesh is as tiny as possible. A double veil of Mechlin tulle, in pure white, is shown in Paris. Over the white tulle an almost invisible mesh of black is worn, showing small dots of chenille.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers