3 3 . ,3 . ,
v .- NEW3EVERY MORNING.
Every day is a fresh beginning;
Every morn is the world made new.
You who are weary of the world andgsin-
ning, - I
Here is a beautiful hope for you—-— ‘I
A hope for me and a hope for you.
All the past things are past and over;
The tasks are done,I and the tears are
shed.
Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover:
' Yesterday’s wounds, whrch smarted an
bled,
Are healed with the hearing which night
has shed.
Yesterday isqiow a part of forever, .
Bound up in “a sheaf, which God boils
tight,
With glad days and sad days and bad
" days, which never
Shall visit us more, with their bloom and
their blight,
Their fullness of sunsnirre or sorrowfuv
. night.
Let. them go, since we cannot re~live then
Cannot undo and cannot atone.
God in his mercy receive. forgive them! 3
Only the new days are our own;
To- day is Our, and to- day alone
I Here are the skies, all burnished brightly.
Here is the spent earth all reborn.
Here are thII‘e tired limbs springing lightly
To face the sun and to share the morn
In 'the chrism of dew and the cool or
' dawn.
Every day is a fresh beginning.
Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,
And, in spite of old sorrow and older sin-
hing,
And puzzles forcasted and possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin
again.
BLOOD WILL TELL.
It was rapidly growing dusk on the
wide prairie, and the stars were just
beginning to show like glittering dia-
mond pionts. Just the suggestion of
the autumn was in the cool night air.
The stillness as Jim and Miss War.
ing drove along over the silent plain
was broken now and then by a sharp,
startling rattle, a sound once heard
never to be forgotten, the danger sig«
11a] of the deadly rattlesnake, , coiled
up on the long, brown grass.
“Hit appears to me, " Jim was say-
ing, “that that air wind don’t bode
any good to the settlers round about
these here parts.”
“Why so, Jim?’ 33
'Gue'ss you hain’ t ever been on one
of our DakOty peraries afore, Miss
Waring, or you wouldn’t have asked
such a question. There’s two things
out hyar that's more feared than the
QldN 1ck himself—one on ’em’ 5 a pera-
rie fire, and another’s a perarie tire
with the wind a-blowin’ a forty- -mile-
a’nLlIionr gale. " '
They rode on again in silence. Alice
Waring had ceme from the far great
«my. to viSit her brother on his west-
ern ranch. Jim, the man- -o-f all- work
was driving her from. the station, '
fifteen miles from the ranch.
“By the long-horned spoons!" said
Jim, suddenly, rising in his seat and
shopping the. horses with a tremendous
innit, “look over there, will you?
That’s bizness for us, sure’s you’re a
foot high! Git up there!" he yelled to
the horses, ahd, giving one of them
lstinging“ blow with his whip, the)
sprung into a run. Across the leve
plain shone a light, the light at the
ranch headquarters, nearly a mile
aWayI. . To the left of it a dull, red-'
dish glow had come up, and now and
then, at the horizon line, where the
darker part of the sky was lost in
the prairie, sharp» flames were dart-
ing up. '
“Don't be skeered!" Jim ejaculated,
as he 'whipped the horses into a yet
more furious pace; “there ain't any
dangereleastwise for us!”
Alice was a self-possessed city girl
with a generous stock of old- fashioned
“common. sense, but she was startled
at Jim’s actions and her face, had
grown pale.
“Everything’s all right ” said Jim.
as reasuringly as he Could under the
ci'rcumstanCes. “Don't you be skeer-
eai'
He had seized the‘Ireins between his
firm, strong teeth. and now with one
hand, 110w with the other, now With
both, he was whipping the horses into
still greater speed. Hate ter lick a
team like this,” as the wagon bounced
and rattled along; “hate ter do it—but
hit can’t be helped—when there’s life
——depehds—on it!"
A few ' moments more and the
“horses dasehd up to the big ranch
headquarters 'house. Jim threw the
lines to the ground. and, seizing Alice
by the Wrist, jumped with her.
“Sorry ter be so unperlite. but there
ill] t any time ter wait—kin you ride
hossbnck. 9”
Barely waiting for an affirmative
answer from the girl, who was pas-
sionately fond of riding, and who
'modestly owned the gold medal for
super'ior horsewomanship in her city
riding club, Jim ran to the barn, flung
l man's
and {before Alice had time to recover-I
from her surprise at this novel intro-
duction to her br'other's establish-
ment, the horse was before her.
“You say you kin ride; wa’al here’s
the best chance to show hit you ever
and in your life. '.l‘har"s the best boss
in McLeod county-—racin’ blood for
five generations; there ain’t :9 nothin’
but a per arre fire kin ketch him. Jump
him, Miss Waring, ride straight 'to-
ward the fire yonder; thar ain’t no
danger now till you git ter MIule
:‘i'le. Jest over the crick, a quarter-
af :1 mile or so, thar‘s a Russian wo-
man. an’ her six weeks' old baby. She
is all alone, fer I saw her husband in
town. when we left They hain B,
bac'kI— fired "an inch, and you’ve got to
git the woman and her babyI over the
grit-k. see‘? I'd go my self. but the Wind
is shifted. and this hull ranch ll be in
danger afo're' long You'll pass your
brother and a parcel of men ba‘ckfirih’
along the line; don’ t stop rel any ex-
planations, but ride fer the crick, an’
ride as if the Old Harry was on yer I
track. You beeh’t afepred, be you?"
‘WFHKLY
“You say there’ s little danger of my
losing my life, Jim?”
“Not a bit—cf you only git the wo-
man across the crick -. in time; but
(1011’ t wait—Ljump quick, for the Lord’s
sake, or you’ll be too late!’
With a rude toss he threw her into
the saddle as if she had been a child.
and handed her the reins. As he did
so he thrust a short, cruel rawhide
into her hand.
“Don’t hit him with that unless you
have to—he's never been liCkeo in his
life, but he kin outrun a cyclone. Ef
you have ter hit him, give it ter .him
red hot." I
It is' long sometimes before a horse
and its rider become acquainted with
one another, but it seemed but a few
seconds to Alice before she and the
noble animal were old friends. Jim
was right. Prince Hal could run, and
after the first few tremendous jumps
and Alice had steadied herself in the
Isaddle, the thrilling excitement stirred
her blood like an lntoxicant, and she
realized that Jim had told the truth;
it promised to be the race" Of her life.
“Je-ho-sa-phat!" exclaimed a man
who was ploughing a fire furrow along
the edge of the ranch where the men
were at werk. “Mr.'Waring, look, will
you? Lock at PrinCe Hal!”
Mr. Waring had not more than time
to look up before he saw his choicest
mount pass by him like the wind, 9.
girl 'with hair flying behind her on
his back, the horse flying at a pace
that not his fastest Kentucky ances-
tors ever matched.
On the horse went, as if he, too,
knew of the-lifesaving mission of the
hour. The foam came back from his
teeth and his flanks were white. Alice
leaned forward in the saddle as she
urged him on, and stroked his neck.
A moment more and they were at
the creek, a shallOw stream. Beyond,
Alice could see a low house silhouet-
ted against a great red bank of flame.
The fire was coming. Already she
could feel the intense heat. A leap
and a bound and they were over the
stream and on again with still swifter
flight. It was a matter of seconds now
until the low sod house, was reached.
111 front of it was the Russian woman.
frantically trying to save some of .her
household goods by dragging them
with one hand further from the course
ofI't‘he fire, while in one arm she
clutched the baby,..around which she
had thrown a wet shawl to protect it
from the heat. .
“Why don’t you run?” cried Alice,
as she jumped from the horse; “don’ t
you see the fire is almost on you? You
can’t save your things; run for the
creek! Run, I__ say, or you’ll be burn-
ed to death!”
Alice grabbed the child from the.
woman 's arms and sprang up into the
saddle as best she could. The woman
stood as if stupefied the red glow
from the coming flames lighting up
her stolid face. The fire was coming
1 Alice pulled at the bit to turn him.
i be led out.
saddle on a beautiful herse ,'
on faster now; they could hear the
iroar and crac‘ 19 as it swept through
,rhe': long, man— high grass of the swale -
Ibeyon dthe fence. .
“Quick! Quick, I say! No. you
can't run fast enough now to get to
the creek; jump up behind me. Quick!
Quick, or we shall all be burned! I
can’t leave you here to.die!" _
The woman’s Istolid nature was
roused at last by the animal fear of
danger, and while the heat grew more
intense every instant she clambered
'up behind Alice.
Prince Hal’s face was toward the
fire. He had not moved since he
reached the spot. He seemed like
"some beautiful statue, his“ body mo-
itionless, his ears sharp ,erect; his nos-
trils diste’hded; the awful fascination
of the fire was upon him.
He .paid no attention. She spoke
sharply, but he only moved uneasily;
he would not stir from the spot.
Sviifter than an electric shock came
the‘ thought to her mind that horses
in burning buildings would stay and
die in-the flames before they would
It wOuld be impossible to
Ireach the creek on foot. In half a
umihute more the flames would be on~
:hem. Grabbing the wet shawl from
the baby with one hand and swinging
the child backward to its mother with
the other. she threw the shawl over
the horse's head. With fhe sight of
the fire shut out he quivered, turned
is the bit gave him a sharp twist, and
lust as the flames—were leaping over
the sheds hard by the house he sprung
Iway. I
It was a race for life nowe—for three
ives—afor the wind had increased to a
gale and there is nothing more terri-
ble in this world than such a relent-
.ess ocean of flame as was rolling over
the grass. grown plain.
Alice thought of Jim’s parting ad.
vice.
“He‘s never been licked In his life.
,hut if yer have ter, give it ter him
ed hot!”
With a sharp crv, urging the horse
in under his heavy burden. she struck
him with all her strength on the
i1uive1ing flank, not once, but many
.rrmes. ‘He jumped as if stung by a
'1attlesnake, and, seizing the bit in his
:eeth, sprung away as if shot from
some mighty catapult. - .
Alice had lost all control of him
now. She could neither guide, nor
:heck, nor urge him. The blood of a
noble ancestry, the bloodIIof a racer,
was on fire in his veins. Down the
' rhort Ihill. over the brook, up the farth-
er side, on over thexplain, like some
wild" spirit of the night he run A
cheer that you could have 7earu a
mile, and that mayhap was heard
:lear up to the stars of heaven. rang
out as Prince Hal white with foam,
lew by the crowd of men.
“Wa’ al, ef you ainlt the pluckiest
gal, " said Jim, as‘ he helped Alice from
:he saddle. “An’ you ain" t a- -go;.1 ter
Il,ainte*nnther, I kin tell it by yer eye.
Didn’ t I tell you he could outrun 9. cy-
:lone'.9 But .ltiere had ter be some
nody a- top of him who knew how tel
lride: '-_-_—The Independent.
.- .-.I_.~.L..-..'.. J
M
.:.,;.x—:
A TRUE WOMAN.
The woman who holds a man's heart 11
her hands
Need not be pretty nor possessed of rlcl
lands.
' She needn' t wear clothes just teeming witl
' style:
She needn' t possess the first worldly wile
Her eyes may be brow 11, her eyes may bi
blue,
To him shes a beauty away through ant"
through—-
If she’s true.
It's her soul that he cares for, her stead:
fast devotion,
Her love as unbounded,
ocean, ,
as fre.l as thi
What does it matter if others are fairer?
She possesses a virtue that makes her far
rarer
Than professional beauties, cold-hearted
and vain. .
She would give him her all and care not t1
gain,
Aught but a smile, a low “‘I love you."
Which thrills her whole being away
tbrough-.- -
For she’s true.
Days may be dark, days may be fair, 3
In sickness, in health, in joy, in despair,
She prov es in each crisis that her love it
real; ,
It shines on serenely, come woe or weal.
The world counts for nothing, what can it
do
If she belongs to him utterly all through
and through
And is true?
—Philadelphia Times.
FATE TAKES A HAND.
“Come, Bess, pluck up courage, we
are almost there.”
“But we’ve been ‘almost there' for
the last five miles, and if it were not
fer offending your august dignity id
declare that you don’t know the road
yourself”
“Oh,.I say, Bess, that’s too much!
Havenft I been up to Rnle’s forty times
‘and don’t I. know every pine needle
and fern frond on'the trail? Of course
light, and it gets dark so confounded
early in this redwood thicket; but 1‘
couldn’ t miss the—Whoa, Mollie!”
This to the mare, which had stum~
bled over a hidden log’, and. brought
up all standing at one of those airy
fairy barb wire fences that seem to
approach a traveller like a thief in
the night. '
It was en the trail to the Rule ranch.
away up on the Russian river, where
the old_D,uncan mill used to be, and
Bess and 1 had started out blithely
that afternoon, thinking nothing of
the sixteen miles “’cross country"
had to ride in order to reaCh the
ranch. "Twas net in the gladsome
summer time, by any means, being
well along “toward October, and it
wasn’t a very brilliant move on my
part to prepose such a’ trip, but the
thought of having Bess all to myself
for a few hIours’ ' romantic ' ride
through the redwoods, made me fool-
ish enough to venture it; and right
here I want to ask any self- respecting
the same?
Bess had a jolly, kind little way of
comradeship that made me uncertain
whether I could ever get her to think
seriously of something that was'fast
reducing me to a “state or mind’
the old ladies expre'ssively put it. To
save my life I couldn’t bring her to
the point of listening to Ia-few very
personal remarks. Before we left San
Francisco in the same camping party
((thanks to a deep laid plot of my
--Machiav'elian mentality), I had been
unable to get more than a tantalizing
glimpse of the fair damsel, owing to
her multitudinous engagements for
lavender weddings, afternOon recep-
tions, pink teas—verily, she was a lit-
tle pink tease herself.
But to return to our muttons, which
speedily resolved itself - into a pretty
kettle of fish-4a barb wire fence across
the trail and two people without the
vestige of an idea between them as to
where they were or in Which direc-
tion lay their destination. It looked
for the sun had already setabehind the
tall redwoods—at least what beams
could struggle-through the gathering
rain clouds. But it-would never do
to let Bess know of my deep, dark
forebodings, so I put on a sickly grin
and pretended that I had been looking
fer' the last half hour for that identi—
cal section of barb wire fencing.
lusion against us. and before we had
decided on the next move rain drops
came patter-lug down upon us in most
to take a hand in this little game of
hide and seek.
"Don't you remember the redwood
thar was burned through last year
when we were up here on'a picnic.
Bess? Well. wasn‘t that on Dick‘s
land? Of course it was, and-—” I
"Yes. but l have counted at least
ten tall redwood skeletons since we
turned off the main road. I’m firmly
convinced that \\"‘Il'e on the wrong
side of the 111cr~~ here. isn't that a
b01t on the other side?”
“ .\uf said, Bess.
ander net‘and cross the Hellespont;
only we’re reversing things a trifle,
Hero?"
“For heaven‘s sake don t get senti-
mental, or' I shall better it and be-
come hysterical! It’s getting as dark
as Egypt. and there‘s_oniy one thing
—-tl1at heat must be hypnotized over
here." I
“So be it.
and iighr up.
can of our (l~'s.ir1y."
Saying this} rode ginger-1y down the
rocky 1):: 11k uni urged Mollie into me
water. It was a case-oi” swimming
when midstream was reached. and
Get your gravy turreen
once across there was some diflicnlty'
' b
y
. 3‘_.
- bORWALK_"
The touch of'hcr hands, the glance of be:
eye, I
The swift rush of color that comes wher
he' s high; I
The thousand and one uttle things she car
do '
That show him so plainls right through am‘
through
- That she’s true. .
things look a' bit queer in this half;
young man if he wouldn’t have done.
like an all night camp then and there, ~
Of course the elements were in col-I
gladsome fashion, as if heaven wanted.
See me do the lie--
while I cross the Rubi-_
1
-~....-
in making a landing, but finally tin
boat was unmoored—a leaky affair
which some thoughtful person hat
provided with a tin lard pail for
bailing purposes.
The trip back safely accomplished
I Bess was handed in with arl pomp ant
ceremony, and Iwe towed her nay
along, getting a most unexpected-
”shower bath when 'the' beast made a
plunge to scramble up the bank.
What with the water from abovr
and below, and a moonless night closr
upOn us, the situation wasn’t ex
tremely mirthful. I tried to kindle a
fire, we having forlornly come to tho
conclusion that we must stay when
we were for the rest of the night, at
the underbrush was too thick on that
side to penetrate, and we had giver
up all hope of coming upon human
habitation.
matches were not a success, for they
had been soaked, and both they and
3my patience gave out at the same'
time.
But when Bess began to look seri
ous, and a little droop came to the
“corners of her ‘lips,"and anvalmost im'
perceptible quiver to that pretty.
rouhdchin, I cursed myself mentally
for a selfish brute, and tried to make
light of our dilemma—seeing I could
not accomplish it with the matches.
“I’ve a bright idea,” I began.
“Keep it, Fred,” she suggested, witu
a feeble attempt at gayety. “Use it
for a‘ torch to illumine our way.” 3
“Frivolous woman,” I responded,
intensely relieved at seeing the threat-
ened shadows flee, “you don’t deserve
to hear my plan, so instead—keep your
eyes open” I ended in a mysterious
whisper.
Finding somedry sticks and grass.
I took the last cartridge from my
gun and struck off the powder, get.
ting a blaze in short order. Involun-
tarily I also added a side show to my
circus.
“Oh, Fred, look at your moustache!
And oh, see your eyebrows!" ex-
claimed Bess. Truly a feminine to
mark, and so easily acted upon.
“I think feeling is quite sufficient.
thank you," came as icily as circum-
stances would permit from my denud-
ed lips, as I tenderly caressed the
'place where my pet blond moustache
had erstwhile been.
It is a dangerous thing to speak to
amen whenhe has been shorn of half
a moustache, the end of an eyebrow
and most of his eyelashes at one fell
svmop. But I had bu'ildé'd better’ than
I knew and our camp fir'e' was a great
success
I wrapped Bess in my big topcoat,
not without some demurring on her
part at what she called her highway
rohbery, and so it took some little
time to accomplish the feat, ,you may
surmise. Then, breaking boughs for
a cosy resting place for my ladye faire
I went OR in search of firewOOd, not
caring to venture beyond the flickering
iclrcle of light", which seemed 1.0 con.
stithte our little world.-
.. I don’t mind mentioning in strict
confidence that it required conSidera-
ble' self denial not to—well, make a
fool of myself and spoil my chanCes
by putting the momentous question
then and there; but no one could ever
call me a cad, and it would have been
caddish—not- to say undiplomatic, eh?
——to hazard all _my future; happiness
when the girl was so nervous and
frightened. She had kept up so brave-
ly, too, plucky little woman, and tried
her best to keep awake and help speed
the lagging hours until dawn; but na-
tare vetoed that, and soon ”she was
fast asleep on the bosom of Mother
Earth.
Just as I was beginning to be des-
perately sleepy myself, I heard the
sound of some animal and was wide
awake in an instant. A high- pitched,
shrill call, then a low grow}, and all
was still. It was a little shivery. The
last of the powder was gone; not an-
other eartridge. I glanced at Bess.
Her eyes were open and their startled
expression showed that she had heard.
the sounds. I started toward her and
tried to loOk careless and happy, bdt
’twas a most dismal travesty on
mirth. Bess said not a word, but, im-
peded by my coat, floundered toward
me and dropped in a heap in my
arms.
I solemnly aver that just then I did .
not care if all the denizens of the for-
est chose to'consider this my recep-
tion night. I even had the traitorous
hope that the mysterious beast Would
growl again, so that she would in-
voluntarily cling closer. Still, it wasn’t
at all an hilarious. situation, nor yet.
strictly speaking, a blissful one, with
the possibility of having a fainting
girl on my arm and a wildcat or bear
claiming my attention at the same
time. There are moments when we
wish to be alone.
However, there was no recurrence
of the nerve-deStroying serenade. and
we spent the next half hour chatting;
but alittle incident had occurred while
Bess was brooded under my wing that
had carried me into the seventh heav-
en of’ delight. I could swear that I
heard her murmur—well, if you think
I am going to tell you just what, you
are very much mistaken; ladies‘ se-
crets are inviolate, and besides, it was
only ’a little word, and not of the
slightest interest to outsiders, I as-
sure you; but it made me feel secure
of what her answer would be when
fate gave me a chance to ask.
Now the gray dawn broke, and-—
what was that? Again the shrill call
My efforts at striking
that, in the light of day, sounded very.
like the cry of a guinea hen, and swift
following it came a watch dog's bark
of welcome to some one who had come
out with a rollicking whistle. strik-
ing up "Ev’ry niggalr had a lady but
me. ” A rattle of tin pans, a mooing of
kine anticipating their morning mash,
and then we looked Iat each other and
burst into a laugh that made the wel—
kin ring and brought the whole fam-
ily to the door. We 'had camped all
night just forty yards from Rule’ s cor
ta" . 4|...4..J..__.- J—a——-—--:~-—— -~--
, 1nd Milk. Boiled E883.
.IG "A 2.5 E ’1' '1" it
E THE WEEKLY MENU.
WI”. 11 "'—— "
MONDAY: .
. Breakfast—Wheatiet. Ham and
Eggs. Brown Bread Toast. Coffee.
Luncheon. —Fried Mush- Maple
iyrup. Warm Gingerbread. Preserved
Quinces. Cocoa.
Dinner. —-—Cream of Potato Soup. Fri-
:assee Chicken. Potato Balls. Stew-
id Carrots- Cottage Pudding, with
Fruit Sauce. Coffee. 33.. 57 ;f- .,
TUESDAY.
Breakfast—Oatmeal,
Milk. Baked Beans.
Luncheon. ——Chicken
Lyonnaise Potatoes.
[‘e'a. Oranges.
Dinner. —White Soup. Roast Veal
dashed Potatoes. Green Peas. Potato
3alad. Wafers. Pickles. Prune Pud.
ling. Whipped Cream. Coffee.
“dicta.
Sugar and
Muffins. Coffee.
Groquettes.
Brown Bread.
WEDNESDAY.
Breakfast—Shredded Wheat, Milk
'.nd Sugar. Poached Eggs on Toast. ‘
lyonnaise Potatoes. Coffee.
Luncheon—Scalloped Veal.
rage Salad. Gingerbread.
lrape Fruit.
Dinner.—Veal Broth. Broiled Sir-
oin Steak. Baked Potatoes. Summer
)abbage. Wafers. Cheese... Straw-
rerries and Cream. Cake. Coffee.
Cocoa.
THURSDAY.
Breakfast—Oranges. Hominy, Sugar
Bread. Cof-
ee.
Luncheon.—Meat Balls. Pctato
lakes. Rhubarb. Plain Cake. Tea.
Dinner.-Onion Soup. Broiled Mut-
on Chops. .Potatoes. Asparagus.
lettuce Salad. Crackers. Cheese.
lream Pie. 3 Coffee.
FRIDAY,
Breakfast—Oatmeal. Bananas.
iugar and Cream. Omelet. Muffins.
toffee.
Luncheon—Fried Oysters. Tomato
(etchup. Brown Bread and Butter.
Prunes. Cocoa.
Dinner.—Clea.r Soup. Creamed Can-
1ed Salmon. Mashed Potatoes. Spin-
1ch. Watercress Salad. Wafers.
)heese. Brown Betty Pudding. Cof~
'ee.
SATURDAY.
Breakfast.—0ranges. Hominy, Milk
md Sugar. Ham and Eggs. Toast.
"Joifee.
Luncheon. —Cold Sliced Tongue.
-rench Fried Potatoes. Pickles. Gin-
gerbread. Fruit. Chocolate.
Dinner,—Vegetable Soup. Creamed
Dhicken with Rice. Mashed Potatoes.
Zircon Peas. Spinach. Lettuce Salad.
Wafers. Cheese. Strawberry Short«
:ak'e. Coflee.
But- of the Princess.
The Princess of Wales has a remark-
rble "collection of' hats and bonnets.
:‘onsisting of all those she has worn
luring the thirty years she has led
London fashion. Each hat or bonnet,
:aIrefully put away, bears the date or
:heI season of its use; and a history of
;he whims, vagaries and changes of
'eminine fashion, which are never so
:apricious as in matters of headgear,
might well be written upon this inter-
esting collection. I I
The Pope Economiesl. .
The strictest economy is practised by
Leo XIII. with regard to his own table.
l‘his, however, is a small matter, for
11s tastes are simple.T'he Pon-tiff’s milk
rupply is obtained from cows and goats
[apt in. the Vatican gardens, and his
wine is the product of a vineyard he
planted. The latter has, in the past
year, yielded so Iabundantly that there
is a. surplusage fer sale. Moreover, the
Pope receives frequent presents of the
rest French wines. His expenditures
in coifee, meat, pasta (of which, in.
map, he is very fond), bread (one pen-
ny per day), and vegetables that can-
not be grown in his own garden has
been reduced to about six shillings a.
fay. The daily accdunt is a very odd
locument, and it is very carefully scru~
:inized by the Pontifl'.
The Nan-class In Great Favor.
Next to the American Beauty or La
i’rance rose, and the pansy and violet,
:he very popular flower of the season
3 the poetic Narcisse—called most of-
zen the daffodil. On account of the
great vogue of pale and deep yellow
:ints, it will retain its popularity all
summer, first as a favorite genuine
blossom, afterwards as an imitation, in
tribute. to the marvellous 'Parisian
flower-workers. The lack of vitality,
as dn many of the artificial roses, can-
10t be discovered in the beautiful copy
Intil one has touched the flower, as the
:opy has all the fresh and fragile ap-
pearance of the true blossom.,
Household Hints.
A good manyithings which we think
we are just learning now have long
Jeen known heretofore. The effect,
for example, of diet upon the eyesight
was recognized by medical men early
in this century, if not before. Experi-
ments were tried upon the lower ani-
mals which showed that an exclusive
diet of starchy foods for two months
rctually produced blindness. A varied
diet has the best effect upon the eye-
sight, as it has, indeed, upon the gen.
aral health.
Robe Patterns. ,
Robe patterns of lace of the most
beautiful designs of point d’esprit, In-
dia mull, French muslin elaborately
embroidered, tucked, and frilled, are
among the most novel and beautiful
importations of the season. The skirts
in many instances are ready to put on,
even to the addition of the narrow
satin skirt—band. The waists are part-
ly shaped and wholly trimmed, and the
sleeves are ready to put together and
adjust to the arms.
' “cl hate men that quote poetry. ”
“Why. ' "
, “They just go on and on are never
propose."--Chicago Record.
Cab- '
LATEST IN BELTS.
of All Kinds More Fashionable
I Than Ever. ‘ I
(By special arrangement with the N. Y. 8111:.)
Even if we do not always litér‘alllW
follow the rules laid down for us by the
oracles of fashion. we keep up a. per—
petual watch for the possible novelties.
Simplicity of Outline is the one thing for
which we must strive now if we would
be quite up to date with the latest ad‘ .
vices from Paris. Small sleeves, scant
skirts and the almost close fitting bod.
ice are in high favor. Three yards in
the prescribed limit of fullness fer the
very latest skirt. One of the most pop—
ular models has a narrow front breadfll.
' hoes
and the remaining portion of 'the skirt
is Set on to a. yoke as if it were a
flounce. The yoke is narrow, falling
Just below the hips.
Many of the smartest gowns for both ~
morning and afternoon are made of I‘
foulard. One {special design, pretty for
morning wear, 111-as a plain five-gored
skirt, measuring three yards and a. half
at the bottom, made with the lining at,-
taohed, andno trimming. The foulard
is red and black, and the guimpe which.
which is supplied with sleeves, is of
soft white batiste, flnelyI tucked. The
silkI bodice over this opens narrowly
lown the front to show the white:
.paulettes of silk adorn the tops of the
' leeves, square revere Iturn dowu on
iither side from the round cut neck.
uff's of 's-ilk finish the batiIs'te sleeves,
nd all the edges are simply finished J
rith a narrow fold. _
Laces of all kinds are more fashion-
ble than ever, and especially insertions
which encircle the skirts of our new
hin gowns. Venetian, flout-ton. Gm.
pure, and thread laces are very popu-
lar, as well as Chantilly and blond
Ilaces. A white lace called “Luxcule,”
Imade of braid and fine stitches, is ver
"eflective for boleros, yokes and an
Inortion of the dress where flat trim-
mlng is desired. Tambour patterns 0
the new craquele mesh make 3. ve
:Idesirable novelty. There are many in-
lxpensive laces in narrow widths to
form the little ruches used so much ,-
'|i1d black Valenciennes is one. ,
The latest thing in belts to wear with -
shirt waists is a soft taffeta. ribbon
five inches wide, made tight enough
wrinkle into half that width, and fast.
' icned with a pretty silver gilt buckle.
Norwalk Chronicler