v.9 a la
K 1. iffy
no 1-1 11
1‘ L 11'; '
GAZE I'
To] Q
AN l 117.3, ‘ll‘alAL PRAYER.
"Thu proper way for a. man to pray,"
Ssid'Dl-acon Lemuel Keys:
“And the only proper attitude,
I‘dnwn upon his knees.”
:V'o: [should say the way to pray,”
$111111: -v. Dr. Wise.
'ls‘ s: 1.11111 in s. raight, with outstretched arm:
111d 1.1pt .1111 upturned eyes "
Oh. no. no. 110!” said Elder Slow;
“Such posture is too proud. '
A 1111111 should pray with eyes fast closed
And lu-zrtl contritcly bowed."
"'lt see-11w to me his hands should be
A11VL».-1-el_v clasped in front.
With both thumbs pointed toward 1h.
ground,"
Sitln Rev. Dr.~Hunt.-
L515” y'~=:l' I fell in Hodgkin’s well
lived 1". 'st." said Cyrus Brown.
'11"':.h 1; 1th my. heels a-stickin’ up.
hi .l1s 21d :;1- 1i11tin‘ down:
An‘ :1’ 111 1110 a 111.1yer right then and anti-,e— I
l -~1'.11:‘1.\NI ever said— a,
In 11' 11in car, p1ayer I ever prayed
A .‘1111111 on my head. ”
—Lynn (Mass. ) Item.
DINNER DIALOGUE.
When I entered the d1awin Parson:
T'rs 'lieg.11L°r smiled on me quite
Lulably.
‘I want you to take down Molly,’
.;he said, graciously. ‘
I crossed to MOlly at once, but she
would. not look at me. I ventured to
remind ‘her of my presence.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she remarked
pensively-
“Yes, you’ve gbt to go down to din-
ner with me.”
She heaved a sigh.
“Is that quite polite?” I asked re
proachfully.
She flashed a glance at me.
“Life is a continual pairing,” she
observed, standing up and shaking her
craperies into becoming folds; “and
so seldom with the'righ't man.”
“That is the comedy of life,” I re
marked.
“And what is the tragedy?”
“Having no'partner at all.”
I indicated Miss Allemand, the gov-
erness, who was following alone. .
“Poor dear!” said Mollie. “I wil.
relinquish you to her.”
But I declined firmly.
“I am afraid of governesses," I
said explanitorily. “It was a govern.
ess who wrecked my young life."
“What did she do?” asked Molly
seriously.
1 “She declined ’to elcpe with me.”
Molly withdrew her arm.
“I fear you are a. dreadful person.’
"I was only fourteen,” I put in, has-
tily;
We had taken our places at the
the-table. I like a white shoulder, but
white shoulder for two courses is toc
much. . '
“Is it quite fair to devote yourseh
solely to Thomas!” I ventured it
ask. .
“He says such clever things.”
She flung the words beamingly 0vc1
her sleeve.
“You mean to insinuate--—” I be-
gan crossly.
“Nothing at all."
“I don’t think Miss-Allemand ha:
brought you up at all nicely.”
“What do you mean?” she said
turning to me suddenly with a Vel‘)
severe face.
“0h, nothing at all.”
“You are very stupid.”
“That isn’t the way to speak to youi
ma‘s guests.”
She scrutinized me.
“I don’t see what that girl could see,
in you,” she murmured.
“What girl?” I queried eagerly.
She shook her head.
“I oughtn’t to have said that.”
“But you did say it! And I insist
on hearing to whom you referred."
She pouted.
“Will you promise not to tell?" she
replied, after a little pause, he1 face
suddenly lighting up with a. rogui‘sb
smile.
“I promise.”
I watched the dimple growing or
her cheek. She gave a little burst o'
laughter. '
“Mary Vandyke was here his after
noon.”
££Oh!7!
“She is my dearest friend."
“How nice for her.”
“We have no secrets from one an.
other,” said Molly, becoming very
serious.
“Haven’t you?"
My mind rushed helter-skeltei
through the past. Molly kept he1
bright eyes on mine, and I saw. thc
dimple come and go. . '
“She tells me everything.
Her smile deepened. ,- .
“Really?” I said, fidgeting.
“About the regatta, for instance.’
I looked at her for a moment. Sh.
nodded! gravely.
“It isn’t true—upon my honor it "
isn’ t.”
I felt I was reddening.
“And what you said!”
“I assure you I didn’t.”
“And what you—did.”
“I deny it. "
“It’s all right,” laid Molly, consol
ingly. “She's very fond of you. ”
I gasped.
“I don't care two pins about her.’
“How can you say so?" asked Molly
reproachfully—“after all that has oc
curred between you.”
“Nothing has occurred," I cried, des
spaiiiugly.
“And the letters you have w1itten.‘
“I never wrote any letters”
“I have read t'hem.'
“She had no right to show you those
letteis." 1 -
“Oh but-+1 assure you it' was i:
stlict confidence."
“I don' t remember in the least wha
1 said."
“I do.” she struck in quickly. "ch
said yonigiteait was a boat mowed ii
the 'i :11; cf her eyes, and—"
“Illif ah!"
I looked around apprehensively.
'-"I thought it so pzetty,’ went
Molly-"iAnd'-t}1en there was
., ppgm beginning—4’
tha
_OI.
$2.2 laughed again. It was strange
l',h;.t a weak woman should rejoice in
a strong man’s agony.
“Of course I don’t care for her," i
said boldly, trying to make a stand.
Molly pursed her lips. 9
“Of cou1se I don’t believe that."
“But you must believe it ” I cried
despe1ately “I only flirted a. little
with her because—”
“Because?”
“Well, you weren’t there, you
know.” ’
“Oh, indeed!” She looked at me
:everely. You mean you would have
flirted with me instead if I had been
there?” .
“Not flirted, ” I said, weakly.
“What do you mean?"
“If you had been there, I wouldn’t
have looked at her.”
“Oh, indeed,” repeated Molly.
“It was only in fun. She knew it
was only in fun.”
The dimple began to dawn again.
“Oh, no, she doesn’t,” she respond-
ed, gaily. “She thinks you are in
earnest.”
“No-,nsense ” I cried.
“She told me so. She told me you
had practically proposed.”
“You are teasing me,“ I said crossly.
“Am I indeed? Wait and see.”
“It can’t be true. Say it isn’t true?"
She gave another little burst of
laughter.
.. “Of course you don’t mind,” Isaid,
bitterly; “though it was all your
fault.”
“My fault!” cried Molly. “Well, or
all 't-he—”
“Why weren’t you at the regatta,
then?” I asked.
have done.”
“I take no responsibility,” said Mol~
live hotly. “Good gracious; if I had to
be responsible for you!”
“I wish you would,” I said, earnest-
ly. '
“It’s no use talking,” said Molly.
"You must face the music.”
“Why didn’t you tell her I ~was en
gaged?”
‘ “What, another of' them!”
Molly, looking serious.
“You know what I mean. From the
way you speak, one might imagine l
was a flirt. ”
“Um—~yes, ” murmured Molly.
The truth is there wasn’t a decem
“You see what you
cried
looking girl there except—”
“Except Mary,” echoed Molly sar-
eastically.
“Well. she isn’t bad looking in the
moonlight.”
Molly turned her head away a trifle
iisdainfully. _
“You must save me from her," I
said after a pause.
“How can I do that?”
“You must tell her I am already en-
gaged.”
“To whom?" asked Molly, her color
rising slightly.
“To—the only girl I love.”
Molly’s eyes were fixed on her plate 1
“Her name?” she asked in a 10W!
voice.
“Surely you can guess,”
pered.
Her color deepened.
“Please don’t be absurd.”
“It is the only way.”
“Nonsense!”
“But I tell you it is.
her.’
“Perhaps she wouldn’t have you,’
she said with a mischievous look in
her eyes.
“But you said—"
“I was only teasing you.”
“Really?” I cried with a. sudden
sense of relief.
Molly toyed with a grape.
“She came to me to say that some-
body else had proposed to her-and to
ask my advice."
“Well. ”
“I advised her to———”
‘ers?!’
“Accept the other man.”
“Molly, you dear girl!"
“So it won't be necessary for you to
get engaged to any one else," she went
on, looking down.
“Molly, you know I love you.”
“Hush!” she whiSpered.
"Won’t you Molly—0h, Molly, you
must. ”
She turned and smiled.
“What a silly boy it is!”
“I consider we are engaged.”
By great luck I caught one of her
hands beneath the tablecloth.
“The1e's the signal. I must
said Melly, hastily.
“Say just one word," I urged.
“Do you know the little conserva-
tory?”~' she murmured, pushing back
her chair. .
I opened the door. As she went out
I caught her eye; she blushed di-
vinely. . .
I whis-
I won’t marry
30,
Horse That Ween Specs,
Among the wonders of-Surrey, which
is a suburb of Londontown, is a horse
that wears spectacles, says ”an ex
change. He wears them for a purpose
too, for his eyesight is so dim that he
can ’t see a ’yard in front of his nose
unless he has on his “specs.” Queer
sight, a horse with nose glasses. But
Toby—that' s what they christened him
~takes his aflliction and his specta
cles as a very matter of fact thing, and
goes about his daily duties calmly. He
has suffered from myopia for two
years. Veterinary surgeons recom
mended some kind of glasses. Toby
got them and wears them. He own:
:he unique distinction of being the on
ly four- footed animal in the work.
equipped with spectacles.
Appearance Against Him.
Gabby—Have a cab, sir? Take yOL
home, sir?
His Jags—Why, my dear—hic-
if I was to go home in a cat
m’ wife an’ all the—hlc—neighborl
would think I was ’toxicated. —-St.
Louis Globe Democrat.
_.E.___.___————.————
Mrs. Asking-tonvDoé's your husband
suffer much from his dyspepsia? -
Mrs Akinside—Yeh, but not half as
friend,
1 . much as the rod of III old—New Yuri
Journal 1
1 QUICK SURRENDER.
BY HAL FOSTER HARRINGTON.
slip, and read, “‘Go to South Carolina;
get a story of the storm of the 5th.
from inhabitants of rice plantations
on the C————— River.”
Promptly, but with the unruflied air
of the tired journalist, she left the
office.
At 6 p.,n1. she was comfortably set—
tled in a south bound car. In her
heart was unalloyed pleasure. First.
she was returning to her home and
people; second, it was a professional
honor to be chosen to go on this
mission. Perhaps her hard work Was
to bear fruit at last. Third, she was
pleased to be rid of a certain impor-
tunate wooer. She was sure he would
take the firm “No,” she had written
him only yesterday, as final, and it
would be a relief to both of them to
be out of each other’s way for a time.
It was a glorious winter day in the
South. Crisp, fresh, inspiring.
Down the old avenue of oaks came
a queer locking equipage. Four
boards on four immensely high wheels
surmounted by a.” shaky seat, com-
posed the “dog-cart” as its owner call-
ed .it. Why, she alone knew. It was
drawn by a gaunt white plough-
horse, who fell over himself at every
step.
Sitting-on the shaky elevation was
an old lady, wrapped in a green plaid
shawl. On her head was a bonnet
known in that part of the country as
a “chicken.” It resembled a shaker’s
headgear. She sat as firmly erect as
Miss Betsy Trotwood of stately mem-
ory.
By her side, looking like a blithe
young robin in suit of brown and red,
sat Miss Willis—special correspon—
dent for the Times. She held the
reins and appeared lost in contempla-
tion of the horse. To complete the
picture, a small darkey sat in back
of the vehicle. He presented a unique
appearance. Arrayed in a profusion
of rags many sizes too large for him,
he sat with his bare skinny legs
dangling from the “dog-cart.”
Suddenly there was a. dull thud.
Presto! the darky boy flat in the
road.
“What’s the matter?” asked the
stately lady. She was a trifle deaf.
“Oh, dear! you ought not to mind
him; he always goes to sleep, and
falls out.”
“What do you do then?”
“0h, nothing. He picks himself up
and runs after us. The sand is so
deep he can’t hurt himself. I’m sorry,
dear, I’m afraid you will find it hard
to start Martha.”
Martha was the horse.
“Why?"
“0h! she always takes a nap when:
she’s stopped.”
“What do you do then?”
“Oh! I generally bring my knitting,
and then it is pleasant to watch the
pines nod ‘to each other. It’s so peace-
ful.”
. “Well, you’re a peaceful lot, Sam
and Martha sleeping, and you blessed
thing, you watching the trees,” mut-
tered the reporter with a groan and a
laugh. _
She was due in an hour’s time for
an interview with the owner of a plan-
tation four miles away. At this rate
of progress she would arrive a week
hence.
‘Go on, Martha. Washington,” she
commanded. Martha was obdurate.
Interviews and irate editors were be-
neath her notice. The journalist
screamed herself hoarse.
“Don’t get so excited,” begged her
companion. .“Mar-tha will wake up
soon; she always wakes up, doesn't
she, Sam?”
“She wake up for tree, ma’am. da-t
horse got sense.”
Fired by this timely compliment",
Martha gave a. lurch which sent Sam
flying out on his head, and jogged
heavily on. Amy grew hopeful. She
had forgotten at the end of a mile,
her companion was to be left at a.
friend’s house. This necessitated
Martha’s stopping for so long that she
fell into a sleep which promised to be
eternal. Miss Willis groaned and
prayed alternately.
Just as hope became extinct, the
white animal rouSed again.
Another mile was traversed. Amy’s
hopes aroused once more. Perhaps
Martha would arrive at their destina-
tion without “falling asleep” again.
Vain hope. Just-then the quadruped
stopped and breathed heavily. “Go
on, you shall go on, you must!”
shrieked the newspaper maiden in
high staccato. Martha was oblivious
to threats. .
Amy was in despair.
“What will make this horse go,
Sam?
fourébladed knife with a saw.”
Sam was notabove bribery.
“Ef you won’t tole missus, I’ll tole
yer, miss. Stick a pin in dat‘hoss,
drat ,mek him go, sure.”
“Sam, you are a wicked boy. I’ll
try it. Everything must be sacrificed
to a story."
She took her hat pin, and kneeling
down, deftly began to probe the sleep-
3: g. animal. A shout of laughter
oused her. Glancing in the direction
1 the sound, she saw a young man
ne1ging both the woods She d‘r'op-
-~ ld the pin. “You?” she asked. .Her
mes were not conciliatmy. He did'
=~_ot notice that fact. He advanced to
':e sl‘tlé of the vehicle. '
“i beg your pardon, but if I mis-
~ 1119. not I read an article in the Times
few Weeks ago under the head of
‘r1j1elty_to Animals. It moved me to
ems. It was signed A. W. I am
danced to note that you practice as
you prgach Min Willis." .
M'
Amy Willis took up her asSignment
Tell me and I'll give you a .
9
Miss Willis did not smile. She
spoke plainly. “I was so happy this
morning. I might have known it
:ould not last. What in mercy’s name,
brings you to these parts?”
“I am hunting the deer,”
the audacious youth.
“Deer are apt to frequent the hi ,h-
\vfay’ This with great dignity.
“Exactly, so I notice, in these parts.
But may I ask what you, this fiery
steed, and your outrider, are doing
here? Are you on business or pleas-
ure?” '
“0h! business, if I ever get there.
answered
~ Mr. Hood was to meet me at three
o’clock vto-day to describe to me the
breaking of his rice banks.”
“The very man I'm after. Suppose
you take me along,” suggested this
wily creature.
“You may get in, I suppose, if you
really have business with him. Not
pthat it will do you any good. I ex-
pect to sit here until Gabriel awakens
Sam and Martha.”
“I’ll readily keep you company un-
til then.”
He climbed in and took the reins.
Martha no sooner felt a masculine
control than she roused up, and took
toher heels. To the astonishment of
Amy, and ecstasy of Sam, the old horse
fairly flew.
Another mile was quickly traversed.
“Why! the ' road is covered with
water, it’s a mill branch, surely,” sud-
denly wailed' Amy. “Oh! dear,
troubles never come singly, first you,
and now this.”
“Don’t be rude, Miss Willis. You
may yet live to bless my appearance
on the scene. Shall we proceed?”
“Yes, go on. I must get that story.”
Into the water went the horse and
vehicle. Sam remained on dry land.
His life might not appear more valua-
ble than others. It was more so to
him. He was soon asleep. In an in-
stant he was aroused by a woman’s
shriek, a man’s muttered imprecation,
and the noise of rending wood. He
stood up to see Martha walking from
the water with the shafts and dash-
board of the “dog-cart” behind her.
Miss Willis was left in the remainder
of the vehicle, in the centre of the
stream.
Not-hing could be seen of the young
man but his boots. He had taken a
header into the water.
He emerged in an instant, mad and
dirty. At sight of him, Amy’s grief
was turned to joy. _
“What a joke! wait a minute till I
sketch you. Oh! what a story for the
Times. Great head lines. The editor
of our esteemed contemporary, the
Evening Screamer, on an investigating
tour of the mud washed up by the re—
cent Southern storms.”
The young man waited patiently.
His hour had come and he knewit.
“When you are through with your
sketch and laugh, Miss Willis, will
you kindly tell me how you expect to-
get out of this place? Your perch to.
say the least is insecure.”
She glanced at the muddy water. It
would surely reach to. her waist. She;
blushed furiously.
“I am sure I don’t know. You, be-
ing a man, are supposed to come to
the rescue, are you not?" she answer-
ed with an attempt at her usual in-
nocence.
He smiled a little.
“You flatter me in mistaking me for
a. saint. For years. you have meta-
phorically kicked and buffeted me
about. My day has now arrived. Be-
fore I take you from your perilous po-
sition, tell me, was that ‘No,’ you
sent me a week ago, final?”
“Certainly,” this with all the dig-
nity compatible with the situation.
“Your reason?"
“I. prefer my liberty to anything
else in the world."
“Ah, I admire your independent
soul. Adieu, Miss Willis. May your
loved liberty avail you much.”
With a melodramatic flourish, he de-
parted.
“Come back, oh, take me out of
this,” she wailed.
“Certainly not. I have been well
brought up. Nothing would induce me
to take any woman but my afflanced
wife in my arms I assure you. You
surprise me.”
She was angry, amazed, but above
all, plucky.
“Go, your ungentlemanly conduct
will make another story for our paper.
I will walk through the water.” ’
She gathered her skirts together. He
felt the day slipping from him.
He played his last card.
“My! what quantities of water-
snakes,” he remarked with deepest
interest. His card was a. trump. With
a. shriek she sank back.
, “Snakes! Tom, please, please, dear
Tom come back."
He was there in a. flash. He held
out his arms.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes, oh, yes."
“Not if you dislike me.”
“I don’t dislike you and—and you
know it."
He promptly bore her to land.
As ;he placed her on the ground he
murmured dreamily,———
“You ought to read up on snakes.
It seems to me that as a youngster I
learned that they hibernated in win-
tern”.
Victoria Pudding.
‘ Victoria pudding is a dish very com-
mon at English tables, and is made
from boiled potatoes. Pass them, while
hot and in the mealy stage, through a
sieve, and mix with them a little but-
ter, sugar, two‘ eggs to six medium-
sized potatoes, three tablespoonfuls of
cream, and the grated rind of a, lemon.
A pudding-dish is buttered and pre-
served plums or peaches spread on the
bottom. «The potato pudding is poured
over and baked in a moderate oven.
Serve hot with powdered sugar sprink-
__._.._._...
‘llcdcvcrthctop. . 6
-a speedway for bicycles.
,llP Bmdflze- -
NEW YORK LETTER.
Sol 511 um Russcll is one of the actors
who had been looking fo1 many
years for :1 good play. He has had
many which partly suited him and in
which the unique charm of his person
ality aton ed fo1 lack of interest in the
drain... This year Martha Morton
wrote him “A Bachelor’s Romance,”
and .\I1-. Russell played it for many
vcclis at the Garden Theater, Manhat
tun. It“ was generally agreed to be
the best play, on the whole, which he
has had, and Mr. Russell has dropped
his list of dramas and is devoting his
entire season to “A Bachelor’s R0
mancc.” The play is thoroughly Ameri-
can, of course. Mr. Russell has tried-
several 1111-A.n1erican parts, among
them Bob Acres, but he has nevei
proved successful in making- then:
SOL surrn RUSSELL.
seem real, and he is likely to continm
in parts in which his own strongly
marked characteristics are appropri-
ate. David Holmes, the bachelor of
this story. is a middle aged editor of
a magazine, much in love with his
young ward, Sylvia. The girl loves
David. of course—no girl could help it
when David is Mr. Russell—but not at
all as she loves young Harold Rey
holds. David learns this and about
the same time learns that Harold is a
competitor for a $10,000 prize which
his magazine has ofiered. ,He is the
judge and Harold’s manuscript is
good. If he gets the prize he will be
able to marry Sylvia; if he doesn’t
there is :1 possible chance for the bach.
elor. The young man gets the prize
and the girl—and the bachelor gets the
audience. No one can doubt Mr. Rus
scll’s complete fitness to express every
thing which the author may have given
him in the plot.
Disinfecting Library Books.
When the New York Public Libiarj
moves into the building of the future
on the present site of the reservoh i1
Bryant Park it will be a circulating li '
brary. All citizens of New York wil.
have the privilege of taking books tt
their homes. Each book, upon its re
turn from the people to the library. is
to be put through a process of fnmi
gation sterilization, warranted to do
stray all microbes and bacilli, howevm
latent.
This system has been approved by
' Dr. John s. Billings, director of the 11
brary, who conducted a series of ex
periments in the Horton laboratory i1
Philadelphia.
A number of old Patent Office re
ports were inoculated with bacteria
and in a short time the books wen
full of germs of measles, scarlet fever
smallpox and other diseases. Trial:
were’then made of various germ-dc
straying subStances, and as a result 0.
the experiments Dr. Billings says tha-
he has a perfect disinfectant in thc
gas formaldehyde. The volume in
placed in.a glass or metal box, with a
solution of formalin in water, and let.
for an hour or two. At the end 0:
that time the vapor has penetrated intt
every particle of the book and not a
live germ can be found.
Bibliophile will be: glad to know the:
the formalin 'will destroy the Crotoi
bug, responsible for the ruin of 81
many fine bindings in this country
The traditional book worm is now I
rarity in America, but the Groton bus
has taken its place, and the collecto.
of rare volumes has in Dr. Billings
discovery a preventive of the ravage:
that the insect’s passion for morocm
and calfskin causes. r
It is difficult to get the eople i1
New York to use the name “Manhat
tan” when speaking of tha. part 0'
the city which is on" Manhattan Island
Brooklynites are now residents of Nev
York, but when they are " bout t1
cross the bridge they alway{speak o:
it as going, not to “Manhatta ,” but it
“New York." The Brook] 11 stree‘
cars that cross the bridge ca ry sign
“direct to New York.”
hattan still to be New York,
in all except ofliciaLlangu'age
for a speedway for fast
now it is prepared to spend
been drawn for such a speedway along
the road connecting the Br nx ant
Pelham Parks. Wheelme numbe
600, 000 in New York, or one-fi th of th.
entire population. The wheelmei
should have their speedway. ,1
New York'may well be proud of a
police force that has 400 men mere thal
six feet tall. The Broadway squad
ninety giants, picked from his regi
e honon
ment ‘of giants, will divide .t
..wlth 111e- “sky-scrapers” in the eye
of open-mouthed changers andcring
_ Cram Tnonr.
'all women seem to like the long silke
pure white lawn, .
frills on the ends. we added to .111 at
, LACE APPleUE TO HAVE 11's REIGN
Sashes of All Kinds, Both “for the Neel
and “'aist in Favor.
(lily special arrangement with the N. Y. Sun)
Danie Fashion always presents smne
disturbing elements, or suggestions
like the bustle, crinoline, or long trains
on street gowns, each season, just to
excite interest and the spirit of oppo-
sition in women, and this time it is
the sloping shoulder, which no one
(-1111 contemplate with any degree oi
satisfaction. The long shoulder seair
reaching down on to the arm hampers
our movements and is altogether 1111
comfortable, but it is safe to assume,
from previous revivals of old-time
modes. that when this condition does
come about modern ingenuity will
have devised some means of giving
the appearance of sloping shoulders
without the discomfort. 'Wc have
been threatened with the bustle, too;
but while the skirt is so close fitting
around the hips it cannot materialize
in any very extciisive proportions.
In all the details of dress we can in-
dulge our fancies to the utmost, as
trimmings of every sort are to be
worn, and the advance importations
show a variety in colors and kinds
never surpassed. Black braid, black
satin,_ and velvet ribbon are to be very
much used for trimming the new
spring gowns of wool and net; and
garnltures in the form of yokes, bole
1'08, and skirt panels are shown in a
great variety, made of silk and mohair
braid, silk and jetted net and chiffon,
and gorgeously jewelled lace. Bands
of Honiton lace applique, on chiffon
and net foundation,
there with tiny spangles, are among
the novelties. Lace appplique of any
sort is the vogue, and, if properly ap-
plied, it is sure to be an artistic trim-
ming. Applique sprays are sewn on
velvet, satin, and silk, as well as chif-
fon and net, of which yokes and vests
are made, and the one point (to be con-
sidered in the use of applique lace is
that the material to which it is applied
shall be fine and handsome. Wide
Cluny lace insertion is used to trim
fancy waists of white chifi'on,
there seems to be a preference for the
Honiton variety of lace this season.
Yak laces have also put in an appear-
ance again.
Sashes of all kinds and conditions
are well to the front in fashion, and
the new ribbons are more beautif ll
than ever. There are Roman stripe ,
checks and plaids, with satin border (1
edges, and flowered, corded, and w -
tered ribbons of all kinds. Net, chi -
fon, and lace sashes will continue 11
favor; but it is not alone sashes f r
the waist that swell the list. T
sashes for the neck are quite as co '
spicuous and more generally worn, f .
cravats around their throats. The
are made of liberty gauze, chiffon an.
thin silk, or of Swiss, with hemstitch
ed and lace-trimmed ends. The new
est of these neck sashes is a scarf of
net with an elaborate lace pattern at
the ends and an edge all around. They
range in price from $4 to $15. and 211-;
really very elegant. In smaller things“
for the neck there is unlimited variet.
Short bows and knotted cravats l
" with knife-planet
ray of lace knots and neck fr‘dl
which are beyond desci 1mm
studded here and ,
and "
(
I
I
'1
1
”v
Norwalk Chronicler