arm's COMPASSICN.
Shall souls redeemed is ‘ me refuse
i‘o share my sorrog ill their turn!
0r, simforgiven. my gift abuse
Of peace with selfish unconcernl
F as s aintly ease no pitying care
Has faith no work. and love no prayer?
While sin remains. and souls in darkness
dwell,
Can Heaven itself beHeaven, andlook un‘ -
' l ly she would sorrow, and grieve, and
moved on hell?
is it a dream? Is Heaven so high
That pity cannot breathe its air;
Its happy eyes forever dry.
Its holy lips without a prayer?
My God! my God! if thither led
By Thy free grace unmerite ‘,
No crown nor palm‘be mine, but let me. keep
A heart that still can feel. and eyes that still
can weep.
A nouns Lovr.
Of one lover in particular had I been
jealous, for to my excited and fear-la—
den imagination he seemed to possess
everything that a young lady could de-
sire. He was tall, broad-shouldered.
handsome, with a pleasing manner and
faultless dress, and in addition to all
this, he was endowed with more than
an average _ share of. this world‘s
goods.
He was madly in love with Ada, but
conducted his wooing in a way with
-which not even his closest rival could
iind fault. Kind, considerate, and gen-
tlemanly, never obtruding his presence
unnecessarily, he yet managed to pay
her considerable attention, and many
an anxious time did I spend, fearing
that his superior attractions would
put me in the shade.
Fate, however, decided otherwise.
for when I summoned up courage to
put my fortunes to the test, Ada shyly
accepted me, informing me in a most
engaging manner that she had never
loved any one else. You may be sure
that I was in ecstacies, and scarcely
knew for the next few months
whether I walked upon air or upon
solid ground.
‘ Ourcngagement was to last a year,
at the end of which time our marriage
was to take place.
The time had almost elapsed, and
nothing had occurred to mar the har-
mony of the scene, when, quite unex-
pectedly, something happened which
filled me with the deepest horror, and
which causes me to shudder even now
as I recall it.
It has partly to do with my rival,
Horace Iiishton, whose existence for
the time I had almost forgotten.
He had received the news of our en-
gagement in an apparently calm and
quiet manner, and his subsequent be-
havior had not led us to regard him as
being more than ordinarily affected by
it, but in the eVLllt I am about to de-
scribe, I was enabled to see how deep
and tragic the efiect upon him really
was.
The revelation came in this wise.
It wanted but two days to our wed-
ding, and I had occasion to go on a
little business connected with it to a
neighboring town, a place some four
miles distant from my home. Having
accomplished my errand, and finding
taat I had some considerable time to
wait for a train, I resolved to walk
back, so striking out, I soon left the
town behind me.
It was a fine moonlight night, and
as it promised to continue so, I deter-
mined to take a short cut across the
country, which I‘ reckoned would save
a quarter of an hour at the least. The
road would be very lonely, for it was
a path that was seldom used, but that
troubled me little, for my thoughts
were company enough that night.
I had gone somewhere about two
n-iles when the moon suddenly cloud—
ed over, and I was left in comparative
darkness.
As I knew the way, however, I
thought nothing of it, but trudged
cheerfully along, thinking only of Ada
and our approaching union. Suddenly
and without a moment’s warning, the
ground gave way from under my feet,
and I felt myself falling headlong
down, down into the depths of the
earth. How far I fell I knew not at
the time—I learned afterward that it
was about thirty feet—but I expected
instant death when I reached the bot-
tom, and without doubt that would
have been my fate had not the bottom
of the hole been filled with water to a
considerable depth. ‘This broke my
fall, and also by its coldness restored
me to my senses.
I struck out on coming to the sur-
face, and swam around to find some-
thing to which I could hold on. After
a considerable time spent in searching
during which the full horror of the
situation began to dawn upon me, I
at last discovered a piece of wood:
work fixed in the side of the pit.
This I eagerly grasped, and, resting
mrtialiy on it with half of my body
in the water, I began to consider my
position.
i knew at once the place into which
T ll‘ltl fallen, and as the knowledge
flashed across my mind I cursed my-
self for having been so careless as to
stumble into it. It was an old, disused
shaft which had been there for genera-
tions. Not many people were aware
of its existence, for it, was in a wild
and solitazy spot scarcely ever visited
by any on . l. however, had seen it
several times. in my moorland wan-
derings, and had always regarded it
as a dangerous place. It was partial-
ly fenced round, but I must have wan-
dered in through one of the gaps.
There was no footpath anywhere
near it, so I must, in the darkness,
have lost my way. However, here I.
Wars, and the question confronted me,
how was Ito get out?
i struck out frantically around the
pit to see: again for some means of
escapeyilmt my search was as fruitless
'llS before.
Despair took hold of me. I thought
of Ada, of our approaching marriage,
of the preparations which hadqbeen
the word to draw up.
' my own little darling wi
-' with regret of, a
w
made. and the plans which had, been -
formed. - _ ,
Death instead of marriage! What a
(«villi'lifitl Just when I ought to be;
loading my bride to the altar and step-
ping across the portals of married
life, to let go my hold here and fall
into - the cold, relenthzss arms of.
Death! And what of Ada thian? Sure-
be disconsolate.
But Horace Rishton! What of him?
Might they not become man and——
But, no, the thought was torturing,
and drove me in a fit of frenzy to
shout again with all my might. But
it was all in vain, for no one heard.
How the night passed I cannot tell,
neither do I know how the morning
hours dragged on, for I was numb
with cold, and faint with hunger and
fatigue. I only know that after what
seemed to me to be ages, footsteps
drew near and a voice called out from
above:
“Are you there, Fred?”
My heart leaped into my mouth, and
for a moment I was unable to utter a
sound. At last I murmured, in a faint
Voice:
“In heaven’s name, get me out!
dying.”
“Can you hold on another minute?”
the voice asked. “I’ve got a‘ rope here.
Keep up till I fasten it to this stake.
Can you slip a loop around your body,
or shall I come down to you?”
“Send the rope down. I’ll manage
under my arms! after which I gave
to pass it round,” I shouted eagerly.
In another minute it was dangling
before myeyes, and was soon passed
Slowly I as-
cended, and at last emerged into-'the
light and freedom of the upper air.
As I lay upon the ground—for my
legs were useless to me—I looked at
my deliverer, and wept for very joy at
my release. ’
It was Horace Rishton who had
saved me, and if ever my heart went
out to my rival, it was then.
“I cannot sufficiently thank you,” I
began.
“Give me no thanks,” he interrupted
harshly. “Thank heaven instead.
Heaven and hell have been fighting
over you, and heaven has won. But
you little know how near you have
been to death.” -
I looked up in wonderment at him,
for his words were unintelligible to
me. He took no notice of my look, but
continued:
“I guessed where you were, call it
instinct or whatever you like. No one
else did. They will seek everywhere
but here. But I seemed to know, and
—well, the devil tempted me, nay, he
fought with me. Don’t you know
why? You love Ada Miller, do you
not? Then, so do I. Yes, with a love
that is all-consumiug—a love which
gives me no rest night or day, a love
which makes it impossible for me to
live without her. You have won her
hand, but don’t you think I envy you?
Don’t you think I even hate you at
times? And when I guessed you were
here, don’t you see that the devil
tempted me to leave you here and to
say nothing whatever about it? But
Ada has chosen you, she loves you.
Your wedding day draws near. Go-
take her and be happy. But for me
happiness in this life is over.”
He turned away to unloosen the
rope which he had made fast to one
of the stakes of the fence. V
I watched him wonderingly with a
dazed mind,when all in a moment, be-
fore I could think or speak, he reeled,
fell over, and toppled headlong into
the pit from whence he had drawn
me, carrying the rope with him.
“Good heaven, he’s gone!” I shrieked
and springing to my feet—for the
numbness left me for a moment—I
rushed to the mouth of the shaft cry-
ing frantically, “Horace! Horace!"
But no answer came to my cries. A
loud splash succeeded his fall, then all
was still and silent as the grave. I
looked around for help, but no help
was near, and overcome with weak-
ness, fatigue and horror, I fell sense-
less to the ground.
\Vhen I came to I found myself in
the same position, and knowing that
it was extremely improbable that any
one would pass that way, I put forth
all my strength and dragged myself
with great difficulty in the direction
of home.-
When I had gone a mile or so I on-
tered upon a more frequented road,
and soon fell in with those who ren-
dered me all the assistance I required.
My story caused a great sensation,
as . on may: be sure, and for a time I
was the one object of interest in the
place.
Ada looked upon me as one given
back from the dead, and rejoiced over,
me accordingly. Her joy would have
been complete had it not been for the
unfortunate death of Horace Rishton.
for that naturally cast a gloom over
us all.
Of course, his death was put down
to accident, and _ much regret ex-
pressed at’ the painful occurrence. but
I, who had seen the whole thing,
knew that it was no accident, though.
rightly or wrongly, I kept the know -
edge to myself.
W'hy should I blazon abroad the
fact that Horace Rishton, after gal—
lantly saving, my life, had deliberate-
ly destroyed his own?
It would have been a poor return for
the service he had rendered me; it
would have done no good to those who
knew him and who revered his mem-
ory; and above all, it would have been
a source of constant pain and grief to
I’m
By accident therefore let it be, and
may his soul rest in peace!
. Every year we pay a visit to his
grave, and as we gaze’upon the silent
tomb, we think with gratitude and ye:
rival's love-~House.
hold Words. ‘ .
l
an a 1.. r
, marriage:
l
WORKING WITHOUT ARMS. '
Paintero Who Have Achieved Great Fame
with Their Feet.
A reporter was strolling along a
prominent thoroughfare on Walnut
Hills the other day. says the Cincin-
nati Enquirer, when he came upon a
business room that was being remodel-
led and improved preparatory to occu-
pancy. The carpenter who was doing
the work was a one-armed man, and
not only managed his hatchet and saw
skillfully, but was quite intelligent in
conversation. He did not appear to be-
moan the fate that deprived him
of a good strong arm, but regarded it
with the air of a philosopher. He. said
that he was not the only one-armed
carpenter in Cincinnati—that he knew
of four or five others.
Another one—armed man familiar to
residents of the hill whose misfortune
would seem to interfere with his avo-
cation, but'does not, is the driver of
one of the. big oiltank wagons. He
does everything required of a man with
two arms in such a position, from
driving the. team to measuring out the
oil and delivering it to his customers.
Judging from the following instances
published in an English journal it
would seen that the absence of one, or
even both arms, need not interfere with
one earning one’s bread and butter:
“One of the leading Belgian artists
of the present day is a gentleman who,
in default of arms, paints with his
foot. His name is Fehu. He lives at
Antwerp, where he has a spacious ate~
her in the market place.
“He uses his supple feet, without any
apparent effort, to open his color box,
clean his brushes, set his palette and
arrange his writing materials. He
paints with surprising swiftness and
delicacy of touch. It may be said of
him,_t00, that he writes an excellent
foot. One of his friends says his writ-
ing is as bold, free and flowing as any
handwriting with which he is ac-
quainted. He is, moreover, a man of
highly cultivated intelligence and no
less engi gin: in speech than in appear-
ance. '
“Earlier in the present century there
flourished 5 other armless artist, a
lady named Hawlin, who, beside
painting very tolerable pictures, learn-
ed to do with her toes a variety of in-
teresting and ingenious things—cut out
watch papers and the like. She
grasped and worked her scissors in
some way that has never been ex-
plained.
Miss Biflin was only a trifle less un-
fortunate. She was born without toes
or hands, and without any more arm
than was represented by a stump cut
short above the elbow. Yet she man-
aged to make herself a comfortable
living in the artistic way.
“She painted miniatures with ex-
quisite neatness and accuracy, and
added to this by cutting out paper pro-
files with the aid of her mouth, a pair
of scissors and her two little stumps.
The Earl of Morton employed her to
paint some portraits for him, and in-
troduced her to the notice of royalty,
who also patronized her and put her
in the way of obtaining advanced les-
sons in painting from one of the fore-
most men of the day. He also gave
her a small pension, with the aid of
which she set up as a regular profes-
sional. She fell in love and married, but
carried on her work and was always
known under her maiden name.
:1. _..
'
Tyrolese Marriage Proposals.
There is an old cpstom prevailing
among, the Tyrolese regarding pro-
posals for marriage. The first time a
young man pays a .visit as an avowed
lover he brings with him a bottle of
wine, of which he pours out a glass
and presents it to the object of his de-
sire.
If she accepts it tl‘ whole affair is
settled. Very often the girl has not
yet made up her mind; and then she
will take refuge in excuses, so as not
to drink the wine, and yet not refuse
it point blank, for that is considered
a gross insult, proving that she has
been merely trifling with the affections
of her .lover.
She will, for instance. maintain that
the wine “looks sour,” or that wine
disagrees with her, or that she is
afraid of getting tipsy, or that the
priest has forbidden her to take any;
in fact, she makes use of any subter-
fuge that presents itself at that mo-
ment.
This purport of these excuses is that
she 'has not come to a decision, and
that the wine offering is premature.
This strange custom, dating very
far back (according to one account, it
was known as early as the ninth cen-
tury), is called “bringing the wine,”
and is synonomous with the act of
proposing: ’
Shy lovers”, loath to make sure of
their case beforehand, find at a very
happyinstitution. Not a word need
be spoken, and the girl is spared the
painful “No” of civilization.
If any of the wine is spilled or the
glass of bottle broken, it is considered
a most unhappy omen; in fact, there
is a peasant’s saying for an unhappy
“They have spilled the
wine between them.” .
Solomon—Then ' why do you take
the 16 to 1 train?
Frederic Bond, in “My Friend from
India,” gives Perkins a pair of trou-
sers, remarking that they are a good
fit. '
“Good fit for a man of my years,"
replies Perkins, “but for any other
man they would be a. convulsion.”
Most of Francis \Vilson’s jokes in
“Half a King” pertain to the play. A
few of his witty epigrams, however,
deserve, to be quoted:
“A man can say things in four min-
utes that he would spend forty years
in regretting.” g
“If, people, would stopto think be-
fore they get married, children would
become omsolete.”
. ... .. ..-....,
ECONOMY THAT PROVED COSTLY.
{low Mr. Brown Saved Half a Dollar and
’ Ruined Hi5 Trousers.
Ina moment of economy Mr. Brown
went out in the kitchen to press his
trousers, and Mrs. Brown followed to
witness the performance and to laugh
at the figure he cut prancing around
in his pajamas.
“It makes me think, to watch you,"
chirruped Mrs. Brown. sitting on the
table and swinging her heels, j‘of
something that happened one day
last summer when I was typewrit-
ing.”
.- “Before you met me
“Just so. Well, Arthur Jones came
down to the office, in a cool suit of
duck, but someway be looked awful-
ly funny.- One of the men said, ‘Hul—
lo Jones; what have you been doing
to your trousers?” and Arthur re«
plied that'he didn’t vi ant any chaffing,
that he had had tenable enough all
day, running sidewa's because some
Chinese galoot had wheels. Arthur
was awfully slangy.”
“He had the creases running up the
sides, did he?” said Mr. Brown. “That
makes me think of once when we felv
lows on the old Post had a flat. There
was a coon used to take care of the
joint for us. Joint? That's a name
for any old place you like pretty well.
Well, the coon hadn’t much to do but
smoke“ our tobacco and drink our beer
when we weren’t about, so I thought
I’d utilize him for a valet and gave
him two pairs of pants to press.”
“Why, Charlie,” interpolated Mrs.
Brown, “did you wear pants in those
days?”
“Excuse me, my dear, trousers, but
they were pants when he got through
with them,” said Mr. Brown solemnly,
wetting his finger and' sizzling the iron.
“He’d thought he’d be very careful,
you know, and when a coon does such
a rash thing as to think, it’s all up
with you. Billy didn’t want to spoil
9n
.
«the cloth by putting the iron on it,
so he turned the garments inside out.
You may imagine the result. I put
them on without noticing them, being
in a hurry, and I had to go about all
day with, a Watteau pleat down the
front of each leg and likewise down
the back.”
“For goodness, gracious sake,” gur-
gled Mrs. Brown, “did folks think you
wore a tea gown?”
“I didn’t go around taking an in-
ventory of opinion.”
Mr. Brown set the iron down and
burst into‘ a roar, while he leaned up
against the sink and mopped the per-
spiration from his brow. Mrs. Brown
laughed, and swung her heels. Just
then a smell of burning cloth pervaded
the kitchen, and Mr. Brown snatched
up the iron and the cloth and gazed
ruefully at a big round spot on the
leg of his trousers.
“Say Madge, what do you think of
that? I’ve saved a half dollar and
ruined my best business suit listening
to your gabble.”
BACKwooos SURGERY.
Setting a Dislocated Shoulder by Means
of a Steam Engine.
“Probably as queer a piece of back
woods surgery as has been described,"
says a frequenter of the region, “was.
that performed by a Moosehead Lake
guide known as ‘Old Sabattus’ about
twenty years ago. The man was not
an Indian, as his nickname implies,
but a Yankee, one of those rough fel-
lows formerly characteristic of that
locality. This guide was left on a
lake steamboat at one of the far up
landings while the engineer went
ashore with the company. A man
named Meservey came aboard, and in
fooling around the boat "managed to
tumble down into the fire pit and put
his shoulder out of joint. .
“Here was a dilemma. The other
members of the party would not be‘
back for half an hour, and the in-
jured man was in great pain. The
guide was a man of expedients. He
got a rope and tied his patient se-
curely to a post. Then he tied an-
other one around the man's wrist,
and hitched the loose end of it to a
pulley on the engine. He managed
somehow to turn on steam, and the
pulley began to wind up the rope. It
drew the arm out tight in beautiful
shape, and presently the joint
snapped back into its socket. Then
‘Sabattus’ jumped around to shut off
the steam, while the pulley kept on
winding. ‘Holy Moses,’ gasped the
guide excitedly, ‘how does it go? I
I don’t know where ’tis. I can’t stop
the blanked thing,’ and the pulley
meanwhile was slowly but surely
pulling Mservey to pieces. His eyes
were stick ng out of their sockets,
and he screamed and gasped for
breath. ' '
“Sabattus danced around like a wild
man, not knowing what to do, when
he happened to spy a hatchet lying
near, and jumping for that, he cut the
rope and Saved a dreadful catas-
trophe. This was done just as the
party of city folks who had gone
ashore came hastily hack on the boat.
alarmed by Meservey’s screams. It
was some years afterward.” says the
narrator. “that I was present when
a. lot of summer company arrived at
Greenvillc. Sabattus was there too.
and presently a distinguished looking .
man, one of the new-comers, went up
to him and said with a meaning smile
‘Are you not the man that practices
surgery by steam? and Sabattus had
to admit that he was ‘that same fel—
_ler.’ ”——Lewi_ston (Ma) Journal,
—--
A Little Blixeu.
Little Solomon—"Pa, der shenlh-
mans says he vents a case mit our
eye-glaSses he has joost bought.” Mr.
Levy (answering from the back room,
——“All right, Solomon; give dot shen;
tlemans a case, undt tell him do)
next 'time he calls we‘ll have noses
ready to put der eye-glasses un."—-
Puck;
Minn Ark - .G A-ZETTE-
.«Armmomea. BROKERS b‘uc.
Shay Brought Fond‘nearto Together and
Wanted RIonoy for it.
Gertie Roth was one of the belles of
Annaudale, Dutchess county, N. Y.
Scores of swains were her admirers.‘
and no end of proffers of marriage
were laid at her feel. ‘
But Gertie seamed them all. Her
heart yearned for some city beau, ani
she told her parents flatly that she
would die a spinster“ unless her woo. :-
was a metropolitan swell—no matter
what his aspect or means.
Now, J. Bartfeld, of 1109 Broadway,
Brooklyn, an aflluent mattress—maker,
had set his heart upon choosing his
wife from among the maidens of some
rural district. He could have had his
choice of any number of city girls, but
somehow he believed he could never
be happy unless his life's partner was
some Maud Muller, some bonny,
plump, rosy-checked damsel, that
knew all about the spindle and the
distafi, and was at home at milking a
cow.
Euster Si, Wechsler, of New York,
are professional shatchens. They
know everybody who is matrimonially
inclined. Let a man confess to him-
self in the privacy of his own boudoir
that he would like to marry, and Ens.
ter &, Wechsler are “on to him,” and
are prepared to furnish him with any
kind of wife he may want, provided
he is willing to pay a fee for their
servicw. .
It was thus they divined the wish of
Bartfeld, and informed him that they
could secure him the very sort of wife
he wanted, and would charge him only
$35.
“Go ahead, Barkis is willing,” was
the young man’s reply. And the
shatchens forthwith placed themselves
in communication with Miss Gertie
Roth, whose matrimonial aspirations
had also become known to them. Next
day they received a reply, from which
the following extracts are made here:
Mamma wishes me to ask you to send
the young man’s picture. I hope you
will send his picture soon. Father is
all right. He will give me what he
promised. Mamma would like you to
get me a young man that has a shoe
store. Not a shoemaker, but a man
who keeps a full shoe store. Mamma
does not want a Russian. She would
rather have you get me a high Hun.
garian or a German, if he is in busi-
ness, and is worth as much as I get,
and can show proof of it.
Of course the part of the letter re-
lating to mamma’s wishes must not
necessarily be regarded as voicing
Miss Gertie’s sentiment. With the lat-
ter it was wholly a question of the
heart. The purse was of secondary
consideration. But as mamma was,
after all, the one who was to pay Eus-
ter & W’echsler the commission, these
gentlemen consulted her desires as
well as those of Gertie, and furnished
forth a wooer who was satisfactory to
ooth.
The meeting
Bartfeld was a conquest for both. It
was a case of love at first sight, and
when Bartfeld returned to New York
shat evening he paid down his $35 and
thanked the shatchens in the bargain.
Matters progress nicely.
But Euster & Wechsler say that Ger
:ie’s mamma did not pay them their
zommission, and, what is more, that
she resolutely refuses to do so. Find
.ng argument and entreaty of no avai‘
in collecting their bill, the shatchens
:etained lawyers to bring suit.
Telephoning Through a. Man.
A curious telephone incident oc
curred at Rock Dell last week. It
some way the telephone wire had
been cut, and previous to repairing
it two young men of this vicinity un-
dertook a novel experiment. One 01
:hem, Torger Anderson, went to the
Rock Dell store, and the other, John
Lindale, took an end of the .broker
wire in each hand. The two men sei
:heir watches alike, so there could be
30 mistake. Torger took down the re.
:eiver and rang up Oslo. Althougl
Lindale received a severe shock, he
kept'hold of the wires and the mes
sage was clearly conveyed through his
body. In like manner Torger Ander'
son telephoned to Dodge Centre and
{0 Austin, and the message and replies
were heard as clearly as though the
Wire wasn’t mended with a human be
ing. Lindale was four miles away
from the store, and stayed there for
fifteen minutes, in accordance witl:
the agreement.~1{ochester Bulletin.
No Time to “hate.
He—You don’t mean to say you be
:ame engaged to him after but five
aours’ acquaintance?
She—Certainly! 110w muéh time
would you have me devote to one on
gagement? "
AN APT PU PIL.
Miss Thirdsesson—I hate to see you
going into society,‘darling. You are so
young and sweet and good.
'1
between Gertie and
,Miss Budd—Never mind. I can ii arr. [pound of that 'pure ground Java.
.- I
FOR BIG GIRL-s.
,_ ‘ V .
Sumo Ideas that W-ll Surely Please fill. . ’
Very Critical Class.
(By Special Arrangement with the N'. Y. Sun.)
Among the pretty evening dressel
for young girls is one of striped and
flowered pink silk. The skirt is made
in the new way, with the fullness laid
in tiny plaits over the hips, and the
Waist is a blouse shirred in with a. lit-
tle heading and tiny cords around the
cream lace yoke, ; and opens in front
over a lace vest. The elbow sleeves
are in double puffs, tied in with pink
satin ribbon, and the belt and collar. .
are of the same ribbon. Another
model for a girl of 15 is carried out
in flowered silk, with tight-fitting bod-
ice, and a vest of chiffon, with a. jabot
of lace on either side. A walking dress
of gray canvas shows a white mous-
seline de soie .vest, a. canvas bolero,
trimmed with three rows of plaited
narrow pale blue ribbon, and a blue
silk belt. The material in the skirt is
folded over to form a panel in front.
Plain wool goods make pretty school
dresses for young girls, and a few
bands of bias velvet and some small
buttons trim them sufiiciently. A‘
.blouse waist of flowered silk, with
yoke, bands, and skirt of plain serge,
is another good school gown.
Wool canvas dresses are very desir-
able for winter wear, for, unlike cloth,
they are thin enough to be comforta—
ble in the house and warm enough to
answer every purpose for street
gowns. Brown, black and green are
good colors, and black chantilly inser-
tions and edge are used for trimming
the bolero and the skirt, while the
blouse front may be of white or some
bright color.
Braiding is one of the specialties of
dress trimmings this season, and there
are all sorts and kinds of braid in va-
rious colors and widths, with plain
and waved edges, mixed with gold
thread. Military braids are also used.
and silk cord forms the all-over pat-
tern on thin, gauzy materials used for
trimming.
Narrow velvet ribbon is very much
used this season, and endless loops of
black or white are combined with lace
or chiffon in pretty boas for the neck.
.Vests of white silk or mousseline de
soie are trimmed crosswise with some
of the baby ribbon, either in black or
colors.
The new muffs of 1‘..- and velvet are
extremely large, and those of the lat-
ter material are generously trimmed
with cream lace and fur tails, the vel~
vet usually matching the costume in
color. Large muffs are made in vari-
ous kinds of fur, very plain in style.
but'very extravagant as to quantity of
fur and jeweled gold chains, by which
they are suspended from the neck.
The new millinery displays the usual
collection of extreme styles, shapes
and exaggerated fancies, but we can
hope for something less picturesque
and more generally becoming-later on,
when good taste has modified them to
our use. There are some striking re-
vivals of old-time hats which look as _
if they might have come out of some
of Gainsborough’s pictures, and photo--
graphs of the last century portraits by
English painters have really furniShed
the milliners with many of their mod-
els. ‘
Just the Thing.
“Have you any good substitutes for
coffee? My doctor says I must ~Quit
using the genuine.
' "‘0, yes, we have several excellent
and wholesome substitutes for the
genuine article.”
“Well, give me a pound of what you
consider your very best.”
(In a whisper) “John, bring me a
’i’
/
Norwalk Chronicler