TGEIBIY AT KINS.
‘ It was quite—”w“.~ r. romance in the be.-
ginning, rather runny in the middle,
and in the end positively audacious.
Little Gertie Kingston, driving a
pony along ”a. country lane that skirt-
ed a big field in which a battalion of
soldiers were exercising, pulled up to
watch them, when without the least
warning, down went the front rank
on their knees. An officer shouted
"Fire!” and off went the pony as fast
as he could lay his legs to the ground.
Remembering a very steep, unpro-
tected declivity not more than a mile
ahead, the frightened girl, she was
only 13, set her feet against the
splashboard and pulled desperately.
She cut her gloves to ribbon‘s; but
Bobs galloped on with speed una-
hated, and, dashing round a corner,
almost plunged into a. co pany of
soldiers. ‘
The men sprang right and left—all
but one. He made a leap at the run-
away and caught hold of his bridle.
Terrified anew, the pony dragged him
some little distance, but, failing to
shake him off, eventually gave up the
struggle.
Of course, Gertie burst into tears
when quite sure the danger was over.
So the soldier got up beside her and
drove her half a mile on her way.
“I’ve only a shilling,” she said-of-
fering the coin. “I wish it was a sov-
ereign. If you tell me your name.
.Uncle John will send you one. I
thank you very much, and. shall never
forget that you saved my life.”
The soldier took the shilling and
eyed it comically. He was a well-
set-up fellow, and he looked very
handsome in his red coat. So, at
least, Gertie thought.
“I can’t take this, don’t you know,”
he said, smilingly.
And he tossed the shilling into Ger.
ties lap.
“But won’t you tell me your name?”
she urged, thinking that the small-
ness of the reward was the reason or
its non-acceptance.
The soldier laughed merrily.
“With pleasure. It's Tommy At-
kins. Private Tommy Atkins. Now,
don’t you forget it.” "
- And with another laugh OE he ran,
Gertie watching him, very sorry that
the despised shilling was all she had.
The soldiers formed when “Private
Atkins” rejoined them, and, turning
the corner at the double, passed out
of the girl’s sight.
Nine years passed. Gertie was now
Miss Kingston of Balcomer. She had
not expected any such stroke of for
tune, but two male cousins had
died, and a third had offended. Mr.
.iaynor, who, being able to dispose of
his. property as he saw fit, had be-
queathed a few thousands to the of-
fending nephew and the Balcomer es-
tate to Gertie.
The girl, never to her knowledge,
met this distant cousin Richard; nor,
indeed was she aware that she had
displaced him. That had been kept
from her.
During all these years she had not
forgotten Tommy Atkins, the name
by which she persisted in speaking
of the .sOldier who had stopped her
pony. Although only a private, he
was her typical here, a veritable Pa-
_ Iadin. ‘
It was not surprising, therefore,
that one of her first resolves, on re-
alizing what seemed to her unlimited
wealth, should be to reward her hero
in the proper manner.
Having ascertained that the Hert-
ford Fusiliers were stationed at Pem-
bury she visited a jeweller’s shop and
bought an elaborate gold watch and
a massive chain of the same costly
metal The watch she left to be suit-
ably engraved.
“Presented to Tommy Atkins, of the
1st Battalion, Hertfordshire Regi-
ment, by Gertrude Kingston, as a
mark of gratitude.”
“I don't suppose that is the soldier’s
name,” Miss Kingston explained, “but
I want to put it on the watch. He
saved my life, and that was the
name he gave me”
Having purchased the most expen-
sive purse the shop contained, she
placed inside 'it five bank notes.
When the watch had been delivered
she set out alone for Pembury.
To and fro before the door which led
to the ofhcers’ quarters at Pembury
barracks Private ,Glossup was doing
sentry-go-
Miss Kingston stopped in her path.
“Can you tell me.” she asked, “if
there is a soldier here named Tommy
—'I‘homas Atkins?”
Private Glossup grounded his Lee-
Metford.
“That’s my name," he said, with a
knowing wink; then bringing his ri-
fle to the shoulder smartly, he
marched to the sentry box, turned
right about face, and marched back.
At this juncture Sergeant Smith ap-
peared in the doorway, smart in sash,
gloves and sword, and swinging a
natty cane. Miss Kingston addressed
her question to him.
“Somebody’s been having you on
toast, Miss,” he answered, interrupt-
ing the explanation which she had
concluded was very necessary.
Stepping aside to make room, he sa-
luted an officer who passed in—tall
and handsome, with a face bronzed
to copper color. The battalion had
not long returned from India.
“That is he!” exclaimed Miss King-
ston. “I should know him anywhere.
Will you kndly tell him that a lady
wishes to speak to him? Stay a mo-
ment,” she went on, producing he1
card case. “Give him this card, and
say I am the girl whose life he saved
near Balcomer about nine years ago.
My pony ran awdy and he stopped
.it. I dare say he will remember.”
He conducted her to aii‘ orderly
room, gave her a chair, and entered
his, commanding oflicer’s quarters.
Lieut-Col. Graham, almost the
youngest officer of that rank in the
. ,_. .. ..\ ---
1. 1111111. Y - nonw 111.114; e AziErT‘E ‘
British army, had just taken off his
gloves when the sergeant cutere..
and, saluting, gave him the card.
“Lady wants to see you, ” he said.
The colonel started. "Miss Iiing's:
ton, Balcomer Hall!” he exclaimed, 1 1
tones of surprise. “What the dicke21:
dees she want with me. I won’t see
her; Tell her—tell her—don’t tell her
anything. It wasn’t her fault--” This
to himself. “Did she mention her busi-
ness?”
“Not exactly, sir. I was to say that
you saved her life about nine y 9.1%
ago. Stopped a runaway pony, sir.
She asked for a soldier of the name
of Tommy Atkins—begging your par-
don, sir,” added the sergeant with an
ill-concealed grin.
Col. Graham pondered for a moment.
“By Jove! I remember,” he c1ied at
length. “She must be the little girl
in a short frock who wanted to give
me a shilling, and begged me to tell
her my name. You say she asked for
Tommy Atkins?”
“Yes, si1. And she recognized you
as him—begging your pardon, again,
sir.”
“Then she doesn’t know me? I’ll
see her. What a coincidence? And
she really thought I was a private?
Did she have a good look at me when
I passed?”
“Not more than a glimpse, I should
say,,sir.”
“Ahem! Crockett!”
“I want you to change tunics with
me,” said the Colonel, “or lend me
yours, anyway. You are about my
size, I think.”
“Then Miss Kingston entered Col.
Graham was standing at attention,
with his thumbs pressed tightly
against the seams of his trousers, in
the stiffest, I’ve—just-swallowed-a-
bayonet attitude that he could assume.
But his eyes said: “Awfully pretty
girl,” as plainly as eyes could speak.
“I’m so glad to meet you again,” she
said. “I’ve never forgotten you; and
I’ve brought you a little gift, if you
will accept it.”
Col. Graham executed a half right
turn and faced Private Crockett.
“Is it against the regulations to re-
ceive a reward for doing my duty,
sir?” he asked.
“I—I—I don’t think so," stam-
mered Crockett, almost as red as the
tunic that covered his manly breast.
Miss Kingston looked at him in sur-
prise, then glanced inquiringly at her
hero, whose bronzed features were the
most wooden expression that he could
summon up. Evidently she suspected
something. But she produced the
watch and chain and the purse and
presented them with a few graceful
words.
“I had the name you gave me en-
graved on the watch,” she said; “but
that is not correct, I think.”
“No, Miss,” answered the Cplonel,
glancing at the case. “That was a
joke. But Tommy Atkins will do very
well. I am very much obliged.”
It was rather' a singular coincidence
that on the day following her return
to Balcomer Miss Kingston should re-
ceive a visit from Miss Raynor, a spin-
see-1' sister of the late Squire, who had
hitherto, for some reason or other.
held aloof, and that this white-haired
old lady should almost at once intro-
duce the subject of her nephew Rich-
ard.
"You don’t know him, I think, my
dear.” she said. “He is Lieutenant-
Colonel of the army, and I must tellyou
that he was always led to expect that
he would succeed to Balcomer. Un-
fortunately for him, he quarrelled with
your uncle, and, in consequence, you
are here.”
“I never heard a word of it.
did he quarrel?”
“My brother wished him to marry a
certain lady, and Dick did not see his
way.”
"What a shame!” exclaimed the
girl, deeply interested. “I am so sor.
ry! I feel that I have no right to
Balcomer. Can’t something be done?
Is it possible to divide the property?”
Miss Raynor smiled.
“Wouldn’t that be rather quixotic,
my dear?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I
think I ought to do it.”
Miss Raynor soon afterward took
her leave. But a week later she paid
another visit to Balcomer.
“I have heard from Dick,” she said,
“and he’ll call on you the first time
he is .in the neighborhood. He says
he doesn’t resent your being here in
the least, and he will be very pleased
to know you.”
Miss Raynor had scarcely been at
Balcomer fifteen minutes—devoted to
praises of her nephew Dick—when
“’hy
that gentleman arrived and sent up
his card.
Lieut. (.‘ol. Richard Graham, 1st
Battalion I-Iertfordshire Regiment!”
exclaimed Miss Kingston, reading
from the card. “Why I was at Pem-
bury ten days ago and I saw—”
“Dick!” interrupted Miss Raynor,
blandly.
“I don’t know, I saw Private Tom-
my Atkins and, I think, his Colonel.
It’s very funny. The Colonel looked
and spoke like a prince, and Tommy
Atkins like a gentleman.”
The footman retired. Next moment
the Colonel came in, and Miss Kings-
ton stood face to face with her hero,
across whose white waistcoat the mas.
sive_,chain she had given him was
proudly displayed.
“Why—why—" she began, blushing
almost as red as Private Crockett
when seated in the officer’s chair, “we
are old acquaintances!”
“And cousins,” added the Colonel,
bowing.
“You saved my life!”
“11 pleases you to say so. I have
com; . 1 thank you for your after to
share Inc- fialconier w.:11 me."
“It would be a 11in to divide Bal-
comer, my dears,’ interposed Miss
Raynor, shaking her white ringlcts
archly. Isn’t there a. better way to
out things straight?”
FARMING BY ELECTRICITY.
finch Attention is Given by Inventors to
Perfecting Farm Machinery.
It is a fact commented upon by the
Patent Office officers in Washington
that much of the attention of inven-
tors of late has been turned to the
adaptation of electricity to farming.
The procuring of power is, after all,
the principal obstacle in the way of
electric farming. Remove it, and all
the minor applications 'are easy
enough. There are several methods of
obtaining this power within easy
reach of every husbandman. The
physical aspect of the country will,
generally speaking, decide the method
to be used in each locality.
As currents have already been sent
100 miles we can anticipate the spec-
tacle of the future by supposing an im-
mense power plant to exist in the
centre of a farming community sup-
plying current for every plantation
within a radius of this length. Under
such a system a whole state could be
supplied with current from a Half
dozen plants.
In fact it has been stated that
the time is not far distant when farm-
ers’ of a neighborhood will club to-
gether and harness the nearest avail-
able waterfall and use it at a mini-
mum cost to suppy them with electric
light for their houses and power for
their farms. The beauty of the sys-
tem consists in that the first cost is
almost the whole cost, for with the
modern flume system of installation
the plant can be operated as easily in
winter as in summer.
An artesian well may be made to
produce enough electric power to oper-
ate every piece of machinery on a.
farm.
There are 1,000,000 windmills in
operation in this country at the pre-
sent time. Every one of these mills
can be adapted to the generation of ,
electric power for farm purposes.
The practice is to operate a dynamo,
the armature of which is turned by the
mill. Storage batteries collect the cur-
rent, and hold it in reserve during the
days when there is little or no wind,
It takes but little wind to generate
a practicable electric current. A six-
mile-an-hour will easily drive a mill,
and when a velocity of sixteen miles
an hour is projected against a 16-foot
mill it will produce 1.5 horsepower
constantly exerted.
It has often been suggested that the
currents of rivers might be utilized for
power purposes. This isoalready being
done near'Chicago. This is another
case wherein the farmer may be bene-
fited by the adaptable quality of the
modern system.
But having scoured his electric cur-
rent by one method or another, the
farmer will want to know what to
do with it. In the West electricity is
operating a fifteen-blade gang plough,
which will cut a furrow six feet wide.
The blades revolve and the plough is
pulled across the field by means of a
cable which passes around the drum
of an electric motor on the plough.
In New York state there is a trolley
plough in operation. \Vires 'are
stretched along the edge of the field
and carry:- current to a cross Wire,
which, in the case of the plough men-
tioned above, passes over the drum of
a motor. But in this case the motor
is attached to the axle of the plough
wheels, and turns the latter with its
own power. Current in this case is
transmitted overland for some dis-
tance from the power house.
It can also be used in place of trac-
tion engines for hauling machinery
around the farm, and with a driving
pulley attached to the axle it will drive
a threshing machine.
The same principle .has also been ap-
plied to' harrows, to seeders and to
harvesting machines. There is an elec-
tric reaper in operation on our West-
ern wheat fields: Corn shellers also
have been operated and propelled by
the electric current.
So we may run down the list.
There are electric hay lifts, electric
tree fellers, electric fence-makers, elec-
tric churns, electric spading machines,
electric- irrigators, electric stock-food
boilers and electric shearers.
Property Guarded by Bees.
Mr. .Reiber, a farmer living near
Butler, Pa.., has had his land guarded
from the Carnegie railroad by his
bees. The farmer made a strong fight
to prevent the road going through his
property, but failed through some
chicanery of the law. “then, how-
ever the lot was reached in which the
bees had been hived, there was a
more efiective resistance than had as
yet been brought to hear. The bees
didn’t propose that man should have
everything his ‘own way, and conse-
1uently rejected all
friendship from the working men.
They carried the day, and the road
stopped at Reibert’s farm.
What Mr. Carnegie will do no one '
knows. He found it comparatively
easy to stamp out labor troubles, but
bees, are different. If the iron pur-
veyor’s new freight line to the great
lakes isn’t completed this, fall it will
be conclusive proof that the bee is
mightier than the magnate.
The Bad Policeman.
"I wonder,” said the policeman who
knows more about the local regula— -
:lons than about Biblical history,
:“why it was that Joshua made the
'Sun stop. ”
And the member of the bicycle
squad expanded hischest and looked
learned and answered:
“That’s easy; he probably arrested
it for scorching.”—Washixigton Star. ,
overtures of '
AN AERONAUT’S FALE.
r .
LEO STEVENS VTELL‘S OF HIS EA-
PERIENCE. BELLEFCN TE.
The Parachute Failed to “'oi-k Until Ha
Had Fallen Nearly 4,000 Feet. 111: Fcit
as if Decapitatod and in the Gr. 15p of an
Awful Power.
Three thousand people in the little
village of Bellefonte, Pa., witnessed
the terrific fall from the clouds to the
earth. They saw the man, a mere
speck in the sky, with his balloon col-
lapse and the speck dart downward.
It was the unexpected that happened,
and Leo Stevens tells of it in a state-
ment to the New York Journal:
Coming down that three or four
thousand feet from the edge of a cloud
was like stepping from life into
eternity. I had time to think, and I
thought of death. Those who saw the
fall say that it. was made in much less
than a minute. 'That must be right,
too, and yet it seemed to me that I
was the greater part of a century in
coming down. I firmly believe that
I thought more in those few seconds
than I did in my entire life before.
The ascent with the balloon was
made in the usual way. I had a para-
chute attached to my body, by which
in case there was any accident to the
balloon, or that I saw that I was go-
ing too high, I would be able to drop.
as I had often done before Although
I had made a great many ascensions
before, I do not remember any of
them with the distinctness of this.
Even now I believe I could draw a
picture of every speck, every white
house, every group of trees, every
slender line of water, that lay below
me at that time. I was far up and
was just about to pass a low cloud
when suddenly I heard a peculiar
sound.
I turned in the narrow basket, but
before I could even take a glance up-
ward the end came, and I felt myself
pitched forward. Then that wild rush
of thought came to me. I understood
that by some accident the balloon had 4
collapsed, but I also knew well enough
that my parachute was firmly fixed
to my waist and that I believed that
I had nothing to fear.
But the horror of my situation must
have come to me in a fraction of a
second, even while the first thought
came to me quicker than the flash of
an electric spark.
The parachute would not open.
Down I went. My hands outstretched
and grasping at the air. In my ears
there was a heavy, thundering crash,
like no sound I had ever heard before.
It was the rumbling ofa heavy train,
mingled with the sound of waters that
beat wildly against rocks. My eyes
were wide open and staring, still they
saw nothing but a strange, unearthly
light, such as one sees in the midst
of a streak of lightning. But to me
this light was continuous.
I forgot that I was in the air, and I
remember thinking, “And so this is
death.” I believe I even tried to say
the words. I felt as though some ter-
rible weight was on me;,it compressed
my chest, bound my limbs, clutched
my throat. It seemed to me then as
though I were held in some giant
hand, that had broad fingers of living
steel which encompassed me like no
animate or inanimate thing that can
be imagined. They shook me till my
bones felt as though they were being
c1ushed to powder, and did it as
easily as a man would crush the light-
est feather.
Then there came another sensation.
It was just such a one as I felt must
come to a man who is .being hanged.
It appeared to me as though my‘head
had left my body; as though my
body had fallen away from me and
left my head in the air. It felt that
way to me. And I thought that still
in my head my brains, 01' my intellect.
or something was left, so that I could
still have those terrible thoughts.
Just an instant I felt I had regained
a. sort of consciousness.
Then I realized that the parachute
had opened and had suddenly checked
"he speed at which I was falling.
Another world of thoughts came to me.
Hut now they were all joyful, for
'11 that instant I realized that I was
saved, for the open parachute would
break my fall. '
I remember getting just one look
around. It must have been the look
of a lightning flash, but in that I saw
the open parachute and above it the
falling balloon, and still further be-
yond the sky with the lazy-going
cloud from which I had fallen. More
than that, I saw the earth beneath me,
the houses and people. I must have
become unconscious just'as I realized
my position, for the glimpse of earth
was the last thing I remember. \Vhen
I next opened my eyes the, people
were bending over me.
An Accounting.
“It’s bad enough for men to go out
almost every night in the week,” said
Mrs... Meekton indignantly.
“There’s a good deal going on down
town, now,” her husband replied.
“Everybody is discussing public ques-
tions now, and I hate to miss any of
it.”
‘But' what makes men stay out till
one or two o’clock in the morning?”
“Henrietta, do you want me to tell
you the cold, solid truth?”
“Yes H
“Well, a. good many of us don’t do
anything between half- -past ten p. m.
and half-past one p. m. but sit up and
worry about what we’re going to say
to our wives when we get home.”—
Washington Star.
~ Rest and Change. '
“Rest and change are good for peo-
ple,” said the wife, as she rose in the
night'to rifle her husband’s : ickets.
I’ve had a rest, and now 1 .lmk ’11
have a little change.”
.— - -..._- .. . -
gnome well and handsomely,
A MODEL HOUSEWIFE.
Her Husband is Not. Rich, but She is the
Envy of Her Wealthy Neighbors.
In the first place she is the mos:
thoroughly cheerful and, happy-looking
woman you will meet in a day’s travel,
and although she is thirty-five years
old, shtggoesn’ t look thirty. This is be-
cause she never allows the petty cares
of housekeeping to worry her and plow
lines across her face. She does one
thing at a- time, never making the error
of undertaking a dozen duties at once
This model housewife keeps a scru-
pulously neat home, but in no room is
comfort sacrificed for the sake of ap-
pearance. She has neither too much
furniture nor too much bric-a-brac. She
dresses her children neatly but plainly.
This very sensible woman is a loving
wife and agreeable companion to hex
husband. She knows how to have time
and thus finds opportunity to read, and
.is able to discuss topics of interest with
her husband in the evening by the fire-
side. She is a gentle mother to her lit-
tle ones, but when she says "no” she
keeps her word. She is never impa-
tient with the baby when he is sleepy
and clings {‘0 er skirts. Instead oi
spanking him, she takes the tired little
form in her arms and rocks it to
sleep.
Her husband is not wealthy and she
does not strain the last nerve to dress
as well as her more wealthy neighbors,
but her taste is so correct that these
same neighbors envy her stylish ap.
pearance. She is also a good neighbor
and does not gossip. If there is sick-
ness she is willing to aid the suffering,
and she does not forget the old and
poor in the neighborhood.
Attractive Homes.
In making a round of calls one is sur-
prised at the difference in appearance
of household interiors. Some houses of
wealthy people tell you only that the
owners are possessed of an abundance
of money. There is no individuality ex-
pressed iu the furnishing—the uphol-
sterer has done it all. The carpets, of
superb quality, are hideous; the chair-s
and other furniture are expensive and
ungainly, and the house lacks the
home-like quality which a woman’s
deft bands can give to the dreariest
abode, even a log cabin, with but a
small expenditure of money.
The art of ornamentation, however,
can be carried too far. I have en-
tered,~houses where, my first thought
was of a fancy-goods shop. The mis-
tress of the mansion would look about
to offer me the chair which had the
least embroidery and the stoutest legs.
If I sat upon the sofa and leaned back
against the delicate plush cushions I
fancied she turned pale with anxiety.
When I passed under the chandeliers
I had to dodge the unnamable articles
thereto appended. Any woman would
groan to think of the dusting, as she
looked at the brackets, the shelves,
the little tables, the scarfs and bric-a-
brac of every sort scattered about upon
the walls and in the corners. A rea-
sonable amount of handmade decora-
tion adds to the beauty of a room.
Too much of it is out of taste and re-
pels the eyes. A woman must have
the true artistic spirit to furnish her
and if
she has it not naturally, then let her
acquire it.
On the Decoration of the Table.
Many people seem to think that to
make a table look attractive on ordi-
nary every day occasions, simply for
the benefit of the members of the fami.
ly would be an unnecessary and su~
perfluous piece of extravagance, a lux-
ury in fact only to be indulged in when
“company” is expected; and yet if the
effect that a prettily decorated table
has upon a man who comes home tired
and often imitated and out of humor
from the worries of business, were
fully understood the decorator would
feel amply compensated fo1 the very
small amount of extra trouble, and the
exp'ense,if things are properly man-
aged, is a very trifling item.
No Shoes for the Baby.
Modern mothers of the
school keep their babies out of shoes as
long as possible. Bare-footed babies
are a positive .ad. The longer the day
of shoes is deferred the more perfect
the shape of babies’ feet and the bet-
ter their health. They are hardier and
more vigomus the mo1e they are ex-
poised. Even when it becomes absolute-
ly necessary to put shoes on the little
feet it is better to put on Chamois
skin or worsted ones than legular kid
ones made with hard soles.
There is nothing about the whole per-
son that will betray a lack of per-
sonal attention so readily as the hair,
and nothing that will respond so quick-
ly by an improved appearance to the
care bestowed upon it. Hair that is
carefully brushed nightly betrays the
fact by a sheeny lustre, a silken gloss
and softness of texture that neglected
tresses gever have. So it is with the
hands and complexion. The skin that
is cleaned nightly by a warm bath,
though no cosmetic is used. responds
by a soft, satin-like textix e and a well- ‘
groomed look, and keeps its young ap-
pearance long after the passing of the
woman’s 111st youth.
Table linen, the napkins particularly, -
should be caryefull “loot-red over before
they are put into water to see if it is
stained with fruit. By rubbing peach
stains in air-ohoi be 01 0 ‘he linen is put
Into water the slain 111a,; be readily re
moved. '
' a fine paste button in the centre.
advanced ,1.
FOR EVENING WEAR.
Some of the Gowns that Will Clothe Seclety
the Coming Season.
"(By Special Arrangement with the N. Y. Sun.)
The changes in the cut of skirts
and sleeves will not be so rapid as peo—
ple had reason to believe, but will come
slowly, and so will not plunge women
into despair immediately. The newest
skirts seem to be modified as to flare.
Shirred chantilly tulle, both black and -
white, is very much used for evening
and home wear, and is made without
any lining. The eifec-t of the arms
seen through innumerable folds of the
transparent material is very, charming.
The dainty gown often seen ls
of the new figured silk. ‘About
the hem of the skirt the mater-
i-al is cut into vandykes, each
one edged with a narrow itrim-.
ming of sequins. Showing through
the points are two tiny frills of diifer-
ent colors, each taking a tone from the
silk. The corselet bodice of lace is
lined with plain silk of one of the
colors and turned back with revers.
About the waist is folded a belt of vel-
vet. The tight-fitting sleeves are of
the figured silk, and at the shoulders
they are trimmed down with small
frills, which take the place of puifs.
Another model is of rosy pink satin.
The crossed bodice and the band about
the foot of the skirt are of brocaded
moire, and are headed by a tiny niche
of the chifion that composes the low
c'hemisette and the frills of the sleeVes.
Still a third evening gown is of bro-
caded silk in apricot and white, with
a. plain colored swa'bhed bodice sewn
with paste jewels, and fitted at the
waist with a wrinkled belt of «the slik.
The bodice is fastened by two large
choux of white chiffon, each having
The
short sleeves are of wrinkled chiffon,
with deep flounces falling to the el-
bows, and are surmounted by pleated
shoulder frills of brocade and chiffon.
Across the bodice front is a band of
jewels.
Old fashioned flounces are coming
back to us—even flounces half way up
the skirt; and they supply a very grace-
ful way to renovate a black silk by
flouncing it with silk muslin, covering
over the close 'black sleeves, using deep
flounces of the muslin for berth‘a and
epaulets.
The princess gown bids fair to be
exceedingly fashionable this winter for
outdoor, house, and evening wear.
Some of these gowns button doWn each
side of the front breadth or are fastened
under a belt across the front; but as
a. rule they are fastened under the left
arm and on the shoulder.
Sister’s Little Brother.
Little Charley—Herr, Schulze, sister
Laura said at the dinner table yester-
day that you had the fine. -: 11111 :tache
she had ever seen. '
Herr Schulze—Now, Charley, you
ought not to repeat everything zou
hear.
Charley—But, she gave me an extra
copper on purpose to tell you what
she said. —Heidenheimer Tagblatt.
Norwalk Chronicler