Norwalk gazette, Friday, January 7, 1898 · page 10

 

 

 

 

 

 

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GAZETTE

 

 

 

 

A NEW-YEAR THOUGHT.

Well. here‘s the New Your come again-—
old une‘s gone at last.

Poor Ninety-sewn we‘ll see no more; its van-
ished in the past.

But on the whole. I think it’s been a pretty
good mid year.

And ev er in my memory I ll hold it close and
de 11'

the

‘r

”.l'is lrueit didn't bring me much I had“ .

had before;

Anxiety from start. to end was sitting at m}
door.

But. as I think it chr.'a.ll the troubles that
wore mine,

Were not brought on by ninety seven, but of
111 y own design.

Men '11111111- the years in which they've woos.

:111dpussibly they re right.

1 t :4 :1.v 1‘11 if they are W1 on" or that they

spe' 1k f1 111D spite.

I 1111i}. klluw u but I do think, and tha‘.’s
1::1 ough for me. '

I l are 110 pr'optr right. to bl ame the folks who
disagree.

1601

1'01. [can hear my witness of the things that

I believe.
Anvl l will do it fully. with no wishing to dc-
ceive ~- '
'That whether ycurs'be good or ill no 1131111
should o’er condemn,
Because that which those years become is
. what, we make of them.

A 11d though old ninety- seven has brought mo
(1111‘ e a deal of woe

1 ti. 11.11k it, that [’11) kept alive and able still
to go.‘

And as I’ve no 1"ef01ms in view, I 111511 it 1111
dcr Stood

I onl 3' hope this new one willturn out oncfi

,half as good—Harper’s Bazaar.

A NEW YEAR EPISODE

BY HELEN A. MORTON.
South Walton, was as new and ch 9'17)
and uncle as the s 1bstc ntial old town
of \‘Valton, of which it was an offshoot,
was sober, dignified and respectable.
New streets, rough and unfinished, ran
at right angels with the railroad track,
and were lined on either side with pre-
tentious little dwelling-houses, which
had heavy looking round towers out of
all proportion with the buildings which
they were supposed to adorn, but
which they only vulgarlzed and cheap-
ened.

The few public buildings were bud-
dled about the railroad station, and
were as plain as the dwelling—houses
were ornate, but had the same air of
newness.

One of the plainest of these was di-
rectly opposite the station. It was a
big, box—like structure, two stories
high, just primed over with an ugly
reddish yellow paint, through which
the coarse nails and the penciliugs of
the lumber dealer were plainly visible.

There was a narrow hall through the
building, unlighted save by a glass
transom over the door, and a window
at the extreme end.

On one side of the door was the post-
Ofiice; on the other the South Walton
bianch cf the Vv’alton public libr my,
and the inevitable laundry onice and
small- wares store combined.

A modest tin sign on the left—12:1 1d
d001 post infmmed the public tl'.'..t
Nelson, M. D.” had an office on the
0nd floor, and the same name appeared
in larger letters over the rough piazza,
between two windows on the right.

he shades at these windows 'were a
soft corn, and the windows themselves
were bright and clean. In marked
contrast to those in the lawyer’s of-
fice across the hall.

The people at South Walton were
somewhat slow, at first, to accept Doc-
tor Nelson, on account of her sex; but
Walton was four miles away; ‘those
who consulted her because she was at
‘hand did so afterward because they be-
'l.ieved.in her; then they spoke of her
to their friends, and soit came to pass
that three months after her first ap-
pearance in the place, she had a very
respectable showing of names upon her
books.

Now all this promised well for the
future prosperity of Doctor Elaine Nel-
son, but such prospective success did
not materially alter the fact that New
Year’s Day found her in the unenviable
position of a person with her last (101-
lar in her pocket. She was an orphan;
her nearest relative was a half brother,
now in the 'West, and as he had not
approved of her choice of a profession
she was too proud to appeal to him for
aid. The thousand and one expenses,
little and great, of moving and settling
in this, her first practice; some bills
contracted d-uring‘her year of hospital
work, the rent and incidental expenses
of her life at South Walton, had re-
duced to this what had seemed at the
outset money enough to last at least
six months, in case she had no patients
for that length of time.

She tried to joke about her plight to
herself. She had bridged over many
a rough spot in 11er path by. persistent-
ly looking at
it was hard to see any chance for a
joke on this occasion.

Who could be jovial on the eve of the
New Year if in a strange town, with
no relatives within ‘a thousand miles;
with only bread and butter and an egg
in the larder, and only a dollar in one's
pocket? '

Certainly

see-

not DoctOr Nelson,

ing to herself.—— ~
“Well, one can't; starve on bread and

milk, and there’s coffee and that egg-
I only hope it won’t prove a bad one;

Even if no patient comes in between

now and to-morrow, I stilbjzhave my
dollar; I can't starve, though I shall”

of course be lonely. I am glad I have

that dollar.

my digestive organs, and my birthday
too! I had quite forgotten that. Well
' I can’t freeze, fortunately, in this
steam-heated house. I really must e111
that egg for supper. I‘m so tired 01
bread and butter, and I shall surely
have some office call before night."
But the evening were away, and 11:
one called except the postman with '3
c.1101 fzom her half— 111mm. 1'.
“what she read:

.1.) I:

the humorous side, but-

al-'
though she made a brave attempt, say-'

To think of beginning the'
year with gnawing hunger biting at ,

 

 

“Dear Elaine: -—I sent your birthday
present by express a day or two ago.
Hope you ll like it. Thought it safer
not to prepay the expressage. Hope
you are doing well. No news. All
rend love. Hoping to hear from you
10011, ‘

“Your affectionate brother,
' “JOHN P. NELSON.”

A cold perspiration broke out all
over her as she read. Suppose that ex—
press bill should be more than 21.11101—
1211'!

The night was long and wakeful,
but New Year’s morning dawned at
last, cold and gray ‘and dreary. The
expressman came bright and early,
with a big box and a charge of eighty-
five cents, which she paid, thankful

that it was no more. ' l '-
l

Doctor Nelson’s suite of rooms con-

sisted of her office, a sleeping~room,§
and a little back room, hardly larger 1

than a good—sized closet, which she

used for storage, and where she pre— ;

pared her simple meals. She ate her
breakfast in the office before office
hours; her
chamber for fear of callers. The rooms
were pi'ettlly and tastefully fitted up,
and a marked contrast to the outside
of the building. With a little more
money she might have been very
happy there.

Before getting breakfast she opened
the big box It contained a beautiful
for cape.
one,
tically.
flint. When one considers that coffee,
bread and butter
egg had been her bill of fare for a
week or so, it is not surprising. Any
one who has tried that way of living
will readily understand the situation
and sympathize With Elaine.

Finally she made her coffee, spread
a little table neatly, toasted her bread,
and sat down to her simple meal.

She tried to think of pleasant things;
to be thankful for shelter—for warmth;
but she could 433' think of the past
with sadness, and of the future with
incre s1ng doubt and mlsgiving. fier
meagie fare reminded her by force of
contrast of the breakfast they used to
have in her old home in her father’s
lifetime. She remembered that there
was often some homeless man or wo-
man invited to share the meal with
them. How far away it seemed—that
happy time. How incredible it would
have sounded then had some one said
that in the year of grace 1896, she, too,
would be fatherless, homeless and hun-
gry. .

 

l
1
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lunch and supper in her]
l
I
I
1
l
l

She had needed and wanted l
but she looked at it rather apathe- l
She felt strangely weak and l

and an occasional l

 

The tears came to her eyes as she
pictured her father’s anguish could be
know how lonely, how utterly fliend— a
less, she felt. Ah, how she hoped he
could not know! It would spoil even
heaven for him—the dear, loving
father, whose loss she could never 9
cease to mourn. She felt that she could
not eat, after all; so she drank lier cup
of coffee, lay down upon the couch, and ;
with her eyes fixed upon the new cape, 5
fell into a state of dreamy apathy. ‘

“It must have cost at least seventy
five dollars,” she found herself think“
ing.

She glanced at a diamond ring upon
her finger—another of John’s gifts. A l
new fur cape, diamonds, and only fif<i
teen cents to buy dinner! She laugh-l
ed in a weak, hysterical fashion as the l

 

' grim sarcasm of the situation occurred !

to her, and then relapsed into her list- 1
less musing. forgetting the untouchedl
breakfa'st and the lapse of time, al-
though the clock struck eight and then
the half- hour.

1'1esently however, the door opened
and an old farmei, whose wife was one
of 1101' patients. came bustling in.

"(mod-morning, doctor, good-morn-
ing," hp cried cheeriiy. j‘I had to come
:0 the village for some cranb’r’ys——-~
mother told me to get ’em yesterday
but I forgot, and we couldn't have
.1‘:1key without cranb’r’ys, you know!

 

-\ml mother says, ‘Pa I Wish you’d stop _. ”

pay the doctor’s bill. I hate to
wre- anybody New Year's Day.’ ‘All'
"glit. mother,’ said I, ‘and spos’n I ask
her to come home to dinner with me?
She ain't got any folks, and we ain’t
mt any, for ’tain’t likely Horace can
711119 home.’ Horace’s my son, who
live-z way out in Minneapolis. So put
in yo: 1' bonnet, doctor, and come right
111112.. 0' with me. IVe 1e plain sort of
folks but we will give you a warm
‘11 6‘ 1.01118.

He stopped suddenly,. for Elaine’s
nerve had deserted her at ‘last, and she
roveied her face with her hands and
burst into tears.

Over the bowed head the old man
111111-1211 at the little ,table with its
slices of toast, its empty coffee cup, and
unused plate and knife and fork, and
1 sudden comprehension made his keen
gray eyes misty.

“'l‘bere, there, my dear!” he said
huskily, as be gently stroked the pretty
brown hair. “Don't cry. I can’t bear
to have you do that. ' You’ie about

11111

- the age my giil would be if she had

lived, and——”

He could say no more, and coughed
to hide-his emotion.

“I hope (you will pardon me,” said
Elaine, recovering herself with an ef-
fort. “1

“There, don’t you say a word! I
unde1 stand. You’ re homesick, having '
no folks round here. It’s natural,"
said the farmer with ready tact. “Just
put on this pretty fur thing and we
will leave the office .to-take care of it-
self. Folks won't want you till to-
morrow," he said with a chuckle at
the'timeworn joke. “Oh, and here's
the money. I almost forgot that, after
all." ’

Although virtue is said to be its own
reward. a more tangible return 'for
benefits conferred seldom comes amiss,
and Mr. Hastings-felt in a 'vague' way
rewarded. for his forethought in re--

 

1 tions

1 miles on trolley roads.

 

membering the doctor's loneliness _,

 

' lien, on reaching home, his eyes
are gladdened by the sight of the big,
sped-shouldered son who was his
"ice and joy; who was “Professor
stings” in the city of his adoption,
"'t would never be anything but our
my “Horace” to the dear old people

.1tle farm.

2’1ofessor Hastings had arrived dur-
" ~. his father‘ s absence in the village.

.;e was in the least surprised to see
'1';— latter drive up with a. stylish-look-
' '; young ladyby his side he did not
..w it, but his quick eye did notice
' 't no package was forthcoming from
‘11:: ample sleigh. Remembering his

:lier‘s incurable absent-mindedness,
1‘1! having been told his errand, after
‘ e usual introductions had taken
_.;;l(e and he had escorted Doctor Nel—
-:1 in doors, he said with a twinkle in
’ '.-: eye,—

“P‘ather, where are the cranberries?”

A comical look of dismay spread over
1:9 latter’s face as he said,—

“I declare if I didn’t forget ’em
again! Jump in, Horace, and we’ll go
back. “It ain’t ten o’clock and I’ll have
’em yet—with your help!”

The old people were happy beyond
their expectation in having their son
at home. Elaine was enjoying her
first real homelike holiday for four
long years; and as for Professor Hast-
ings, when he was not tormenting him-
self wilh speculations as to whether
that dig mend ring of the doctor’s was
an engagement token, he was happy in
dreams of the future time when he
might and did persuade her to wear a
plain gold one, and the name of Hast-
ings—Waverly Ma

HOW SECRETARY 'GAGE PROPOSED.

110 Used the Telegraph and Beat His Den-
ver Rival B'y It.

It is not generally known, but the
Secretary of the Treasury proposed to
'3. rs. Gage by wire. It happened this

W73)

Mis Gage was one of the charming
widows of Denver, and her name at
that time was Mrs. Gage. She was ad-
mired par excellence. The black add-
ed to the attractiveness. She was a
reigning favorite, and many a man
with a large bank account entered the
contest for her best favor. A word of
this came to Mr. Gage, and he was
nervous. He found that his‘chances
of winning his modest suit seemed
falling by reason of distance. It was a
far cry from Chicago to Denver, and the
rivals on the spot had all the advant-
ages. Mr. Gage was too much engaged
with a big bank to make more than oc-
casional trips. He had known Mrs.
Gage for many years, but it did not
occur to him that he wanted her for
his wife until the news came from the
West that she was hesitating on the

; promise to give another man a final

answer. This brought the Secretary
to a crisis. He put. on his hat and
slipped around to the telegraph of-
fice. .

Mr. Gage tooki'his" pencil in hand
and dashed off about the briefest and
most businesslike proposal
riage. It read thus:

“Mrs. Gage, Denver, COL: Don't do
anything until you see me. .By first
train. GAGE.”

He counted the words—exactly ten—-
and paid the toll._ The bank gave him
leave, and he tore across the continent
“by first train.” ' There 'was a very
quiet wedding, a flash of the wire
that Mr. Gage” had been mar-
ried, and he and his. bride in
due time received the congratula-
of everybody. The Den-
ver man who was waiting is still wait-
ing, also wondering how the man so
far away beat him in the race just as
be supposed he was over the line. But,
like the tales in books, the romance
ended beautifully, and they have lived
happily ever afterward—Chicago Jour-
11111.

1....

TAPESTRY COPY OF A PAINTING.

‘_ It “’lll Take lllore Than Three Years to

1711111111 This Work of Art.

When the Empress Alexandria visit-
ed Pafis she became deeply enamored
of Mme. Vigee Lebrun's painting of
Marie Antoinette and her children,
which hangs at the Elysee. M. Faure

. made a note of this, and asked the

Fine Arts Minister to consult with the
director of the Gobelins as to the best
means to secure a. good copy. Three
of the best artist-weavers were set to
work last Februaryfand it is hoped the
tapestry copy will be finished by May,
1900.

The weavers work alternately, so as
to be busy only two days in the week,
and thus keep their eyes fresh. They
are now at the figures. The dyeing and
sorting of the wool: was a. tedious and
troublesome work. In the painting
Marie Antoinette has a. child on her
knee. The first Dauphin and Mme.
Royale pxess against her. An empty
cradle is on the floor near them. It is
that of Mme. Sophie, theinfant, who
died a short time before the revolu-
tion.
Salon in 1788, but Marie Antoinette
was so unpopular that. it had to be
withdrawn.—London Sketch.

 

124 Miles on Trolley Bonds.

The network of trolleys with which
New England is now covered makes it
possible for any one to ride for 124
This is proba-
bly the longest trolley line in the
world. Of course, the trip would have
to be made in a number of cars. From
the residence of Mr. Henry H. Rogers,
vice-president of the Standard Oil Com-
pany, at Fort Phoenix, in Fairhaven,
to Nashua, N. H., the route is as fol-
lows: New Bedford,'Fa.ll River, Taun-
.ton, Bridgevvater, Brockton, Braintree,
Quincy, Boston, Maiden, Melrose,
Wakefield, Reading, Wilmington, Bill-
erica, Lowell 'and'Dracus to Nashua.—
New York Journal

Bizz—Dld misfortune ever overtake

.111.
I :7:.—_'—It didn't have to.
.11 hard 1'.. ck.— New York Journal.

 

gazine. i

of mar-

This painting was hung at the‘

 

I was born
I
5 1 she tried.

IHSSIMJZABETH.

"1‘.: Mi'zs Pyser’s got to go to the poor
I':.:'1'_'.." sail Mrs. G1 can. “I’m surprise.)
that she’s kep’ out of it so long.”

"Yes,” said portly, pompous Mrs.
Barker, wife of the chairman of‘the
selectmen, “my husband told me thirI
noon that she had applied to the town
for help, and of course they can‘t sup-
port her in her own house.”

“I said ’twas flying in the face of fate
when she took those two children to
bring up; one died and t’other ran
alway, and now she’s all alone.”

Miss Berry, who sat beside her, look-
ed up from her seam. Her sallow face
was a trifle pale.

“You don’t mean to say that the Wil-
lowdale people are really going to let
Elizabeth Pyser go on the town, after
all the good she’s done?" she asked.

“Why not?" returned 'Mrs. Barker.
“It ain’t their fault that she's wasted
her money. She‘s shiftless—always
givin’ something to somebody; and
meek as Moses; you’d think she dasn’i
say her soul’s her own; but she’s
deep!”

“Where are you goln’, Miss Berry“:
Ain t you goin’ to stop to tea?”

“No, I guess I’d better be gettin’
home early to-night; Bessie’ll be wait-
in’ for me.”

“Now I’ll bet Clarindy Berry’s gone
straight over to the milliu'ry store to
spread the news; so afraid she won’t
be the first to tell it. Thank Heaven,
I know enough to 11-... things to my-
self!”

But Miss, Berry was not going to the
store nor to spread the news; she knew
it was unprecedented for her to leave
the sewing meeting before ica time;
but as she listened to the talk the days
of her girlhood rose before her when
she and Elizabeth Pyscr were “chums,”
and told each other all their secrets:

then came a foolish little quarrel, and .

they had not exchanged
twenty years.

She walked stiaigl'... down tl1c.st1'.cet
tu1 ned the corner, and without giving
herself time to change lici ruin-d, en-
tered Miss Pyser’ s garden and vent ur.
the walk bordered with bounc'ug-bets,
or “old maid’s pinks.’ W hen,
swer to her knock, Miss Pyser opened
the door, neither knew what to. say,
but straightway fell into each other’e
arms and began to cry.

The door closed on them. An hour
after when Miss Berry left the house
to go to her own home, there was a
springiness in her step, and a smile
playing about the corners of her thin
lips, that betckencd unusual excite-
ment.

Her pretty niece, Bessie, was about
to sit down to her lonely tea when Miss
Berry made her appearance.

“Why, auntie! What. brings you
home so early?” she asked pleasantly.

“Oh, I couldn’t stand the clutter of
those old women. Now you needn’t
laugh, Bessie Berry; I know I’m no
chicken myself; but if I’m as heartless
as them I left behind, I hope I’ll die be-
fore mornin’. ”

.“Well, what’s the matter? You seem
to be excited.”

“No, I ain’t! .I'm just as calm as
you are. But I’ve been makin’ calls
this afternoon. I went to see Betty
Pyser. I kep’ questionin’ her till she
told me all about how she lost her
money in the bank that failed over to
Coveton; the man that owned the
house, he let her 'stay in it out of pity;
first she earned 9. little by sewin’, but
lately folks didn’t seem to want any
wbrk done, and she just shut herself
up there to starve. But human natet
got the best of her, and she had to go

to the town. She’s always been hopin‘ ~

that that good-for-nothin' Johnnie
would come home, but she’s about giv‘
him up now. I asked her how much 01
the furniture was hers, and kep’ a. hint-
in’ and a hintin’ ’till I found out every-
thing she could tell me; and I enjoyed
every minute."

She. paused, out of breath with ex-
citement, and remained for some time
in deep thought. Bessie, too, was silent

She divined what was passing in he! .

aunt’s mind.

“Say, Bessie,” said Miss Berry at
last, “do you think we could contrive
to keep another? I can’t bear the
thought of having Elizabeth go to the
poor fai'm. There's that back cham‘
ber with nothing in it, and she’s got
her own furniture—”

She looked appealingly at the girl,
who did not immediately answer. To
undertake the care of another meant
additional sacrifices, more rigid econ-
omy. She sighed a little; life was hard

enough for her already. Should 81111
add to her burden? Would she be just
to herself in doing so? Then she

thought of the days when she and John
Pyser were boy and girl lovers, and
made wonderful plans of what they
would do when they grew up. She had
never lost faith in John; some day, ll
be lived, she knew he would come back
to- them. A light sprang into hex
pretty blue eyes, and she met her
aunt's look with a smile.
"‘Mlss Elizabeth mustn’t so on the
town, auntie. There’s plenty of room
for her here, and we’ll drive over this
very evening and bring her home.”
After her guest had departed, Miss
Elizabeth sank on the old lounge that
had withessed so many confidences, and
the tears flowed down her thin cheeks.
She thought she had hardened herself
for what the marrow would bring; but
now she was just a. forlorn old maid

crying because she must be'ome th

companion of Crazy Jane and Wi'less
Will.

This was her last night in her old
home, and she could not swallow [the
morsel :of bread that formed her even-
ing-repeat; something would rise 1:1
her throat and choke her every time

words for '

in an- 1

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and re-made her winter dress, and her
’nimble fingers and good taste soon

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any.
~Yonkerl Statesnéon. . >_

, cle meant more self~denial for herself.
l New frocks and hats were out of the

z an event happened which broke up the
; circle.

‘ presume. 9”

I

She gave it up at last, and 11133111 her
self about the room that was ,never 011‘

of order, setting things in “place 1'1':
strangers to look at. After this s1;
went all over the house, bidding; 30'.

by to every familiar object.

Hark! a wagon was rumbling up i l
the gate; could it be that this last nigi.:
at home was to be denied her? A 101' :2
knock brought her, trembling, to flu
door; A burly teamster stood there.
and by hisside Miss Berry and Bessiz;
what could it mean?

“Betty, you are coming home with
Bessie and me. Tell us what fur-
niture to take, and let this man get it,”
said Miss Berry; and she drew the
dumfounded woman aside, and in a few
words explained matters.

Almost dazed, Miss Elizabeth sank
on the old lounge, while Miss Berry
went from room to room, selecting the
articles needed. ThenBessie brought
,the bonnet and shawl that lay ready
for the morrow’s journey, and together
she and Miss Berry led her to her new

1.0me

Could it be possible that the D001-
house was a thing of the past? She
must be dreaming. By to-morrow,‘
surely, she would wake up to the aw-
ful reality.

But it was no dream, and the next
morning Miss Elizabeth awoke with
the feeling that an awful catastrOphe
had been averted and the sword which
had been hanging over her head for so
long a time had been prevented fiom
falling by the kind inteivention of her
old- time friend.

As Bessie had anticipated, the com-
ing of another into the little home cir-

question; but she ripped and sponged

brought out of the ruins of last season’s
wardrobe a brand new outfit in which
she lo'oked as pretty as a pink.

As for the two old friends, they fair-
ly worshipped the girl who was the
sunlight of their home. So this happy
family dwelttogether in peace and bar-
mony, independent of outsiders, until

One day a stranger strode into the
town father’s office and asked in a
voice that commanded instant atten-
tion,——- .

“Where is Miss Elizabeth Pyser?”

The clerk answered that she had be-
come somewhat 1educed in ciicum-
stances, and had applied to the town
for aid; and so—and so—

“And so you sent her to the poor-
house! Was there no one in this God-
forsaken hole to pay her back a little
of the kindness she had always shown
others?”

“Yes,” the startled young man said.
“Miss Berry took her in.” And he told
the stranger where to find her.

It was Miss Elizabeth’s turn to be
electrified when a prosperous looking
man presented himself at Miss Berry’s
house and inquired if his Aunt Bess
lived there.

“I am Elizabeth Pyser, sir,” she an-
swered in response to his inquiries.

“Why, auntie, don’t you remember
Johnnie?" he exclaimed,

Miss Elizabeth had ”grown very
white, and slipped into a. lifeless heap
on the floor; but joy never kills, and‘
when she discovered it was to realize
that her troubles were over, for John-
nie was well-to-do, and able and will-
ing to take care of her for the rest of
her days.

The old house was bought back and
refurnished, and Johnnie and his aunt
settled back into the old life.

“Aunt Bess,” said John, one day, in
rather a. shamefaced manner, “don’t
you think you ought to have some
yOung person in the house to do the
work?"

“0 Johnnie!” cried the little woman

in fear and trembling. "Don’t I
please you? I know I’m getting old,
but I thought you was used to my ways
and we could get along. .I don’ t w,ant
a. girl botherin’ round’
1 “But, auntie, the girl I have in mind
is a. very good one. Perhaps she won’t
come, but I intend to ask her if you
are willing."

“Of course I’ll do‘ anything to make
you happier, Johnnie, though I don’t
see how a. servant can make home any
pleasanter for you. As for me, I should
just rust out and die if I, didn’t have
something to do."

The dear old lady was almost
tears.

“Auntie, it isn’t exactly a seivant I

want; it’s—in fact—-
1 Johnnie, really couldn’t say the
words; he 111111 hardly dared think them
as yet; but he crossed the room to
Aunt Bess, and whispered in her» ear.

"Oh, John,” she cried delightedly.
“how stupid of.me! It is just the
thing! And I never thought of it be-
fore!” '

Miss Elizabeth was in a flutter of
pleasure. She urged her nephew to go
at once on his errand.

“I’ll sit up till you come home. Won't
it be like a story if Bessie becomes
your wife?”

“Perhaps she won’t have me, Aunt]
Bess.”

“Pshaw! Go along! What’s worth
having is worth asking for. Have you?
Of course she will! She’ s sensible, Bes
sie is.”

Aunt Bess was right. And now the
two families are one, and the “old
maids” vie with each- other in petting
and spoiling their grown up children,‘
who, in return for the kindness shown
them in their youth, make their lives
one long happy dream.

in

 

Yeast—A man’s judged by the coin«
pany he keeps, I believe?

Crimsonbeak—Certainly.

“And also by the cigars he keeps. 1

"011,110; by the cigars he gives.

1!

.;ent beads.

 

GUlMPES WORN THIS'YEAR.
l'l'ini‘nH-d skirts Gaining In Favor—Plain
(Paws Still Popular.

'ang1 mout with the\ ..Y Sun )

Plain gold braid in different- widths
is the pretty finish on many a cloth
bodice. The half inch width is used to
band the collar, three rows being suffi-
cient, with a wider one for the belt
finished with two loops ,at, one.,~side.'

Guimpes with sleeves of'lace, light
corded silks embroidered with gold and
silver thread, and miroir velvet 111
light tints are the most striking differ-
ences in detail between the last sea.-

(lly spcr'iu! ar:

 

son’s gown and this year’s, and they,
111111 much to the dressy effect of av

 

sloth gown. One pretty guimpe, worn
with a gray cloth gown, is of cream
white corded silk, spotted with a little
cross figure done in narrow,
braid, with a. bead to mark the center.
An embroidered design in silver fin-
ishes the neck of the cloth bodice,
which also has a cord of turquoise blue
velvet on the edge. A heavy lace, with
the large leaf pattern outlined with
white chenille, forms another stylish
guimpe, with slightly wrinkled sleeves.
Gray velvet, studded all over with tiny
steel nail heads, is charming as an un-
derbodice and sleeves for a gray cloth
gown with a plain skirt, and a bib-
shaped overbodice with a blouse effect
in front and edged around the! neck

 

with narrow steel trimming. Plain
Eurquoise blue and soft brown yellow
miroir velvet make lovely guimpes
with gray or tan cloth gowns.

Trimmed skirts seem to be gaining
favor very rapidly. I

The plain skirts are still popular,
however, especially for velvet gowns,
indomany of them are quite innocent.
of any trimming.

 

Petticoats of silk moreen with -taffo-.
:a silk ruffles are recommended for

wearing qualities, which the all faffo: -

31-1.1“ does not possess. The materi-.
11 comes in a variety of pretty colon.
One of the novelties of the season il

be shaped flounce of black net embroi- ,

iered with jet silver, steel, or irides-
It is all ready 101 use and
fiesbens up a black satin skirt iwonder-

.1111)?

 

fiat silver "

,a

r.

J