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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 2, 1913)
The * + Sable HORACE LORCHA XlA^ELTINB C0PY/?/csyr, J9SJL, J* c Yf<rc£i/f?c u ea 1 CHAPTER I. / The Vanishing Portrait. Evelyn Grayson, meeting me on the bid Boston Post Road, between Green wich and Stamford, gave me a mes sage from her uncle. That is the logical beginning of this story; though to make everything quite clear from the start it mar be better to hark back a few months, to the day on which Evelyn Grayson and I first met. Then, as now, we were each driving our own car; she. a great sixty horse power machine, all glistening pale yel low, and 1, a compact six-cylinder racer, of dull dusty gray. But we were not on any such broad, roomy thor oughfare as the Boston Post Road. On the contrary we were short-cutting through a narrow, rough lane, beset by stone walls and interrupted at in tervals by a series of sharp and treacherous angles. I know I shall never forget the mo mentary impression I received. Out of the golden sunlight, it seemed to me, there had emerged suddenly a tableau of Queen Titania on a topaz throne—the fairest Queen Titania im agiation ever conjured—and I, in my tnad, panting speed was about to crash into the gauzy fabric of that dream creation and rend It with brutal, torturing onrush of relentless, hard-driven nickel steel. 1 take no credit to myself for what I did. Voli tion was absent. My hands acted on an impulse above and beyond all tardy mental guidance. For just a flashing instant the gray nose of my car rose before me, as in strenuous assault it mounted half way to the coping of the roarisule wall. I felt my seat dart away rvon. beneath me, was conscious of my body In swift, unsupported aerial flight, and then—but it is idle to attempt to set down the conglom erate sensations of that small fraction of a second. When I regained con sciousness, Queen Titania was kneel ing in the dust of the lane beside me a very distressed and anxious Queen Titania, with wide, startled eves and quiveringly sympathetic lips—and about us were a half dozen or more at the vicinal country folk. Between that meeting in mid-May snd this meeting on the old Boston Post Road in mid-September, there had been others, of course; for Queen Titania. whose every-day name, as I have said, was Evelyn Grayson, was the niece and ward of my nearest neighbor, Mr. Robert Cameron, a gen tleman recently come to reside on what for a century and more had been known as the old Towr.sbury Estate, extending for quite a mile along the tConnecticut shore of Long Island Sound In the neighborhood of Green wich. The intervening four months had witnessed the gradual growth of as near an approach to intimacy between Cameron and myself as was possible considering the manner of man that Cameron was. By which statement I mean to imply naught to my neigh bor’s discredit. He was in all respects admirable—a gentleman of education nnd culture, widely traveled, of exalt ed ideals and noble principles to which he gave rigid adherence. But—I was about to qualify this by describing him as reserved and taciturn. I fear, though, to give a wrong impression He was scarcely that. There were moments, however, when he was unre 1 sponsive, and he was never demonstra tive. He had more poise than any man I know. He allowed you to see Just so much of him, and no more. At times he was almost stubbornly reti cent. And yet, in spite of these qual ities, which appeared to be cultivated rather than inherent, he gave repeated evidence of a nature at once so sim ple and kindly and sympathetic as to command both confidence and affec tion. To the progress of my intimacy with Evelyn there had been no such temperamental impediment. She was fearlessly outspoken, with a frankness born of unspoiled innocence; barely six weeks having elapsed between her graduation from the tiny French con Vent, of Sainte Barbe near Paris and our perilous encounter in that con tracted. treacherous, yet blessed little Connecticut lane. And she possessed, moreover, a multiplicity or addition al charms, both of person and dispo sition—charms too numerous Indeed to enumerate, and far too sacred to discuss. From which it may rightly be inferred that we understood each other. Evelyn and I. and that we were already considerably beyond the state or condition of mere formal acquaint anceship. it was no Queen Titanla who now came gliding to a stand beside me on the broad, level, well-oiled highway, under a double row of arching elms. It was no gossamer fairy, but Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, with creamy skin and red lips and a lilting melody of voice : “What ho, Sir Philip! We aje well met!" And then she told me that her Uncle Robert had telephoned for me, leav ing a message with my man, bidding me come to him at my earliest leisure. “Why not come for dinner?" she add id; and her eyes gave accent to her ■words. “But you?” I queried; for her car •was headed in the opposite direction “I am going alone to Norton. I have a hamper in the tonneau for that poor O’Malley family. I shall be back In ■time. We dine at half-past seven, you know. You'll come?" "Of course I’ll come,” I answered her. I think she must have heard more in my voice than the simple words, for her lids drooped, for just a breath, and the color flamed sudden below her lowered lashes. But, after all, I saw very little of her that evening. It is true that she sat on my right at table, piquantly, youthfully beautiful In the softly tint ed light which filtered through the pink and silver filigree candle-shades, but the atmosphere of the dinner was tinged by a vague, unreasoning con straint as from some ominously brood ing yet undefinable influence which overhung the three of us. And when the coffee and liqueurs were served, employing some slender pretext for her going, she bade us good-night, and left us, not to return. In justice to Cameron, I must add that he appeared least affected by— and certainly in no wise responsible for—the pervading infestivity. He had been, Indeed, rather less demure than was often his wont, chatting with al most gayety concerning Evelyn's new role of Lady Bountiful and of her I Norton beneficiaries. As for the sub ject upon which he desired to consult me, it had not been so much as men tioned; so in looking back, it seems impossible that matters of which neither Evelyn nor I was at the time informed could have exerted an effect, save through Cameron's undetected, subconscious inducement. Even after his niece had with drawn, Cameron continued for a time to discuss with me topics of general and public, rather than personal, im port. He spoke, I remember, of a series of articles on "The Commercial Resources of the United States," the publication of which had just begun in The Week, of which I am owner and editor; and though I fancied at first that it might be in this connec tion he wished to consult me, I very soon discerned that he was merely using a statement contained therein as a text for certain views of his own on the conservation and development of the country’s timber supply. Meanwhile my curiosity grew keen er. It was natural, I suppose, that I should fancy Evelyn involved in some way. In fact I then attributed the de pression during dinner to her knowl edge of what her uncle and guardian purposed to say to me. Likewise I found in this conception the reason for her sudden and unusual desertion. Hitherto when I had dined here Eve lyn had remained with us while we smoked our cigarettes, leading us at length to the music room, where for a glad half-hour the rich melody of her youthful sweet contralto voice mingled in pleasing harmony with her own piano accompaniment. And while I vainly made effort to imagine wherein I might have laid my self open to the disapproval of this most punctilious of guardians—for I expected nothing less than a studious ly polite reference to some shortcom ing of which I had been unwittingly guilty—I momentarily lost track of my host’s discourse. Emerging from my abstraction it was with a measure of relief that I heard him saying: "I think you told me once, Clyde, that you rather prided yourself on your ability to get a line on one’s character from his handwriting. That’s why I telephoned for you this afternoon. I have received an anony mous letter." He was leaning forward, a little constrainedly, his left hand gripping the arm of his chair, the fingers of his right hand toying with the stem of his gold-rimmed Bohemian liqueur glass. "An anonymous letter!” I repeated, with a deprecatory smile. "Anonymous letters should be burned and forgot ten. Surely you’re not bothering about the writer?” I wish I could put before you an ex act reproduction of Cameron’s face as I then saw it; those rugged outlines, the heritage of Scottish ancestry, soft ened and refined by a brilliant intel lectuality; the sturdy chin and square jaw; the heavy underlip meeting the upper in scarcely perceptible curve; the broad, homely nose; the small, but alert, gray eyes, shining through the round lenses of his spectacles; the high, broad, sloping, white brow and the receding border of dark brown, slightly grizzled hair. That, super ficially, was the face. But 1 saw more than that. In the visage of one nat urally brave 1 saw a battle waged be hind a mask—a battle between cour age and fear, and I saw fear win. Then the mask became opaque once more, and Cameron, giving me smile for smile, was replying. There are anonymous letters and anonymous letters. Ordinarily your method is the one I should pursue. In deed I may say that when, about a month or so ago, I received a com munication of that character. I did almost precisely what you now ad vise. Certainly I followed one-half of your prescription—I forgot the letter; though, for lack of fire in the dog days, 1 did not burn it, but thrust it into a drawer with an accumulation of advertising circulars." My apprehension lest Evelyn and I were personally affected had been by now quite dissipated. It was perfectly apparent to me that Cameron alone was involved; yet my anxiety was none the less eager. Already my sym pathy and co-operation were enlisted. I could only hope that he had mental ly exaggerated the gravity of the situ ation, yet my judgment of him was that his inclination would be to err in the opposite direction. "And now something has happened to recall it to your memory?" "Something happened very shortly after its receipt,” he replied. “Some thing very puzzling. But in spite of that, I was inclined to treat the matter as a bit of clever chicanery, devised for the purpose, probably, of extortion. As such, I again put it from my thoughts; but today I received a sec ond letter, and I admit I am interest ed. The affair has features whifih make it. indeed, uncommonly perplex ing.” I fear my imagination was sluggish. Although, in spite of his dissemblance, I saw that he was strangely moved by these happenings. I could fancy no very terrifying concomitants of the rather commonplace facts he had nar rated. For anonymous letters I had ever held scant respect. An ambushed enemy, I argued, is admittedly a cow ard. And so I was in danger of grow ing impatient. “When the second letter came,” he continued, bringing his left hand for ward to join his right on the dazzling white ground of the table's damask, “I searched among the circulars for the first, and found it. I want you to see them both. The writing is very curi ous—I have never seen anything just like it—and the signature, if I may call it that, is still more singular. On the first letter, I took it for a blot. But on the second letter occurs the same black blur or smudge of identical out line.” Of course 1 thought of the Black Hand. It was the natural corollary, seeing that the newspapers had been giving us a surfeit of Black Hand threats and Black Hand outrages. But, somehow, I did not dare to voice it To have suggested anything so ordi nary to Cameron in his present mood would have been to offer him offense. And when, at the nejct moment, he drew from an innen pocket of his eve ning coat two thin, wax-like sheets of paper and passed them to me. I was glad that I had kept silence. For the letters were no rough, rude scrawls of an illiterate Mafia or Camorra. In phraseology as well as in penman ship they were impressively unique. “If you don't mind,” Cameron was saying, “you might read them aloud." He rose and switched on a group of electric wall 'lights at my back, and I marked for the hundredth time his physique—his towering height, his powerful shoulders, his leanness of hip and sturdy straightness of limb. He did not look the forty years to which he confessed. One of the long French windows which gave upon the terrace stood ajar, and before resuming his seat Cameron paused to close it, dropping over it the looped curtains of silver gray velvet that matched the walls. In the succeeding moment the room was ghostly silent; and then, breaking against the stillness, was the sound of my voice, reading: "That which you have wrought shall in turn be wrought upon you. Take warning therefore of what shall hap pen on the seventh day hence. As sun follows sun, so follow's all that is decreed. The ways of our God are many. On the righteous he showers blessings; on the evil he pours misery." That was the first letter. The sec ond began with the same sentence: “That which you have wrought shall in turn be wrought upon you." But there, though the similarity of tenor continued, the verbal identity ceased. It went on: “Once more, as earnest of what is decreed, there will be shown unto you a symbol of our power. Precaution cannot avail. Fine words and a smil ing countenance make not virtue.” And beneath each letter was the strange silhouette which Cameron had mentioned. It is difficult for me to convey the most meager idea of the emotional in fluence which these two brief com munications exerted. They seemed to breathe a grim spirit of implacable Nemesis far in excess of anything to be found in the euphemism of the written words. When I had finished the reading of them aloud, Cameron, leaning far back in his chair, sat silently thoughtful, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but fixed apparently upon the lights behind me. And so, reluctant to inter rupt his reverie, I started to read them through again slowly, this time to myself, fixing each sentence indel ibly in mind as I proceeded. But be fore I had quite come to the end, my companion was speaking. “Well?" he said. And the light cheeriness of his tone was not only in marked contrast with his grave ab sorption of a moment before, but in jarring discord with my own present mood. “Well? What do you make of them?” My annoyance found voice In my re sponse. "Cameron," I begged, “for God’s j sake be serious. This doesn’t seem to me exactly a matter to be merry over. I don’t want to alarm you, but somehow I feel that these—” and I shook the crackling, wax-like sheets, “that these cmnot be utterly ignored.” “But they are anonymous,” he re torted, not unjustly. “Anonymous letters should be burned and forgot ten.” “There are anonymous letters and anonymous letters,” I gave him back, in turn. “These are of an unusually convincing* character. Besides, they —” And then I paused. I wished to tell him of that elusive encompass ment of sinister portent which had so impressed me; of that malign forebod ing beyond anything warranted by the words; but I stumbled in the effort at expression. “Besides,” I started again, and ended lamely, “I don’t like the look and the feel of them.” And now he was as serious as I could wish. “Ah!” he cried, leaning forward again and reaching for the letters. “You have experienced it, too! And you can't explain it, any more than 1? It is something that grips yon when you read, like an icy hand, hard as steel, in a glove of velvet. It’s al ways between the lines, reaching out, and nothing you can do will stay it. I thought at first I imagined it, but the oftener I have read, the more I have felt its clutch. The letters of themselves are nothing. What do you suppose I care for veiled threats of that sort? I'm big enough to take care of myself, Clyde. I’ve met peril in about every possible guise, in every part of the world, a'nd I’ve never real ly -known fear. But this—this is dif ferent. And the worst of it is, I don’t know why. I can’t for the life of me make out what it is I’m afraid of.” He bad gone very pale, and his strong, capable hands, which toyed with the two letters, quivered and twitched in excess of nervous tension. Then, with a finger pointing to the ink-stain at the bottom of one of the sheets, he asked: "What does that look like to you?” I took the letter from him, and scrutinizing the rude figure with con centrated attention for a moment, ven tured the suggestion that it somewhat resembled a boat. “A one-masted vessel, square rigged.” he added, in elucidation. “Exactly.” “Now turn it upside down.” I did so. "Now what do you see?” “The head of a man wearing a hel met.” The resemblance was very marked. “A straw helmet, apparently,” he amplified, "such as is worn in the Orient. And yet the profile is not that of an Oriental. Now, look at your ves sel again.” And once more I reversed the sheet of paper. "Can it be a Chinese junk?” I asked. “It might be a sailing proa or ban ca,” he returned, “such as they use in the South Pacific. But whatever it is, I can’t understand what it has to do with me or I with it." I was still studying the black daub, when he said: “But you haven’t told me about the handwriting. What can you read of the character of the writer?” ‘‘Nothing," I answered, promptly. “It is curious penmanship, as you say —heavy and regular and upright, with some strangely formed letters; es pecially the f’s and the p’s; but it tells me nothing." ‘‘But I thought—” he began. "That I boasted? So I did. When one writes as one habitually writes it is very easy. These letters, however, are not in the writer's ordinary hand. The writing is as artificial as though you, for example, had printed a note in Roman characters. Were they ad dressed in the same hand?" /‘Precisely.” "What was the post-mark?" “They bore no post-mark. That is another strange circumstance. Yet they were with my mail. How they came there I have been unable to as certain. The people at the post oflice naturally deny that they delivered anything unstamped, as these were; and Barrie, the lad who fetches the letters, has no recollection of these Nor has Checkabeedy, who sorts the mail here at the house. But each of them lay beside my plate at break fast—the first on the fourteenth of August; the second, this morning, the fourteenth of September.” “And they were not delivered by messenger?" “So far as I can learn, no.” “It is very odd,” I commented, with feeble banality. I took the letters from his hands once more, and held them in turn be tween my vision and the candle-light, hoping, perchance, to discover a wa ter-mark in the paper. But I was not rewarded. “You examined the envelopes care __ _ Inspiration of the Colors _ it Sentiments That the Soldier Associ ates With the Flag Have Turned Many Battles. Instance after Instance could be quoted from military history in which the mere sight of the colors has in spired ' men and carried them to ulti mate victory when the tide of battle appeared to have turned against them and all seemed lost. Great generals have themselves taken the colors in their hands and rallied their forces to supreme effort in the hour of trial. Obviously it was not the mere piece of tattered silk that wrought these wonders; it was the sentiment insep arably associated with the colors that acted as the spell. We know, too, that the capture or the loss of colors has always been as signed a vital importance by the world’s greatest commanders, be cause they knew that these regimen tal emblems typified all that their possessors held most dear—prestige, honor, victory. Let any man visit Napoleon’s tomb at the Invalides, and, taking on the solemn spirit of the hour, gaze down into the circular shrine In which lies the huge porphyry sarcophagus containing the body of the great captain whose legions made all Europe tremble. Apart from the sarcophagus itself, what is It that most impresses nine out of every ten spectators? Surely the stands of col ors—the trophies of war—that stand grouped round the tomb. They are the mutely eloquent witnesses to the, fully, I presume?" was my query as I returned the sheets to the table. “More than carefully," he answered. "But you shall see them, If you like. I found no trace of any Identifying mark.” Thus far he had made no further mention of the “puzzling happening” which followed the receipt of the first letter, and in the interest provoked by the letters themselves I had foreborne to question him; but now as the words “seventh day hence” fell again under my eye, standing out, as it were, from the rest of the script which lay up turned on the table before me, I was conscious of a stimulated concern, and so made inquiry. “I wish you would tell me, first, whether anything really did occur on the seventh day.” “I was coming to that,” he replied; but it seemed to me that prompt though his response was, there was a shade of reluctance in his manner. Then he rose, abruptly, and saying: “Suppose we go into my study, Clyde,” led the way from the dining room, across the great, imposing, grained and fretted hall to that comparatively small mahogany and green symphony wherein he was wont to spend most of his indoor hours. It was always a rather gloomy room at night, with its high dark ceiling, its heavy and vol uminous olhV' tapestry hangings, wholly out of keepiug. it seemed to me. with the season—and its shaded lights confined to the vicinity of the massive polished, and gilt-ornamented writing table of the period of the First Empire. And it impressed me now, in conjunction with Cameron’s prom ised revelation, as more than ever grim and awesome. I remember helping myself to a cigar from the humidor which stood on the antique cabinet in the corner near the door. I was in the act of lighting it when Cameron spoke. “I want you to sit in this chair,” he said, indicating one of sumptuous up holstery which stood beside the writ i ing table, facing the low, long book cases lining the opposite wall. I did as he bade me, while he re mained standing. "Do you, by any chance,” he asked, “remember a portrait which hung above the book-shelves?” I remembered it very well. It was a painting of himself, done some years back. But now my gaze sought it in vain. “Certainly,” i answered. it nung there,” pointing. "Quite right. Now I want you to ob serve the shelf-top. You see how crowded it is." It was indeed crowded. Bronze busts and statuettes; yachting and golf trophies in silver; framed photo graphs; a score of odds and ends, sou venirs gathered the world over. There was scarcely an inch of space unoc cupied. I had frequently observed this plethora of ornament and resented it. It gave to that part of the room the semblance of a curiosity shop. When I had nodded my assent, he went on: “On the afternoon of Friday, August twenty-first, seven days after the re ceipt of that first letter, I was sitting where you are sitting now. I was reading, and deeply interested. I had put the letter, as I told you, entirely out of my mind. I had forgotten it, '< absolutely. That seventh-day business i I had regarded—if I regarded it at all j —as idle vaporing. That this was the ! afternoon of the seventh day did not j occur to me until afterwards. I recall j that I paused in reading to ponder a paragraph that was not quite clear to me, and that while in contemplation I fixed my eyes upon that portrait. I re member that, because it struck me, then, that the flesh tints of the face had grown muddy and that the thing would be better for a cleaning. I re call, too, that at that moment, .the lit tle clock, yonder, struck three. I re sumed my reading; but presently, an other statement demanding cogitation, 1 lowered my book, and once more my eyes rested on the portrait. But not on the muddy flesh tints, because—” he paused and leaned forward, towards me, speaking with impressive empha sis. “Because,” he repeated, “there were no flesh tints there. Because there was no head nor face there!” I sat up suddenly, open-mouthed, speechless. Only my wide eyes made question. “Cut from the canvas,” he went on, in lowered voice, “clean and sharp from crown to collar. And the hands of the clock pointed to twelve min utes past three.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) greatness of the man whose dust rests in their midst.—London Telegraph Reindeer in Alaska Increase. From 1892 to 1902 the United States bureau of education introduced 1,280 European reindeer into Alaska at a time when the natives were threaten ed with starvation. At the present time these herds have increased to a total of 33,629 head. Their meat is in great demand by both whites and natives, and their skins supply the best winter clothing. It is expected that the exportation of reindeer meat will soon become an important indus try. Above all, the reindeer has proved a most efficient civilizing agency. ’ The success of the Alaskan reindeer enterprise induced Dr. Wil fred Grenfell, in 1908, to import 300 reindeer from Lapland into Labrador, where they have now increased to about 1,200, and are a great boon to the natives. Last year the Canadian government bought 50 of Dr. Gren fell's herd for introduction into north ern Canada. / Handing It to Papa. "Pa, does Mr. Joiner belong to your lodge?" “No, son, why do you ask?” "Well, is he a great friend of yours?" "I'm afraid he isn’t.” “That's odd. I think he is going to give you some ' kind of an emblem.” "You must be mistaken." "No. only yesterday his little son told me that his father was going to give you the double cross the first time he had a good chance." — Youngstown Telegram. ^■—————^ Parisian Street Costume (Photo, by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.> The photograph shows the latest street costume with a skirt of blue satin, slashed at the side so as to show plaited underskirt and give free dom in walking. The buttons and loops running down the side of the skirt are of a darker shade of blue. The coat is of dark blue taffeta writh two smart little tails. The jabot and wrist frills are of mulle and the hat of white beaver. The effect is altogether odd. FLOWERS FOR THE CORSAGE Just Now the Somber Tones Are Most Favored by Those Who Lead the Season’s Fashions. If you'd be quite in the mode this winter you’ll have an assortment of the new big velvet flowers that, un like the real live ones, can be steam ad fresh when they seem to wilt. The vogue for somber tones makes a carefully chosen corsage bouquet a touch of particular importance. To be in good taste, the blossom must always be in season. Just now it's correct to wear a couple of tawny velvet chrysanthe mums, or a bouquet of mountain ash berries. Soon violets will form the corsage bouquet, scented so naturally that one who isn’t very sharp will take them for the really-truly kind. The idea of matching the flowers used to catch the stole with those in troduced on the hat is also used, but in this case the corsage bouquet frankly declaims itself artificial. A water lily in black velvet, with white satin lining and a gleam of gold in the heart of the blossom, is one of the favorite devices in this connec tion, while for evening wear the same flow'er is well to the fore, being used to catch up the soft glistening folds of the satin or velvet robe, while it usually masquerades in metal tissue trimmed with diamonds, as though a shower of dewdrops had been shaken lightly over the flowers. A clump of two or three full blown water lilies, with a shower of close shut pendant buds dropping from them, makes a lovely decoration for an evening toilet which relies more or less for its effects upon its lines. CHILD’S PIQUE SUIT This dear little suit is of white pique simply made. The jacket has a wide double box plait in front, with wide turnover collar and cuffs of the material and cravat of colored silk. __ T • Elaborate Accessories. Accessories for the sewing room are growing quite elaborate. Pin cushions come in the form of dolls, with bisque heads and legs, while the body is the fat cushion. Sometimes the same idea is used for a button box. The head and shoulders of the doll come off and the hollow, fat body is used to keep buttons in. In this case the dell i3 dressed after the order of the Yama g|fl. with the bloomer gathered tight to the knee and the tiny bare legs dangling. DESIGNS NOT YET SETTLED Lines of Costumes. That Are Regular in Paris. May Not Suit Women of America. t There are all kinds, of rumors as to the new silhouette which one or two of the leading houses on the , other side of the ocean are said to | be starting. Tim tight line round the I hips and knees of coats is yielding to straight fullness. Some coats gather at the waistline and so descend to the knees, where they often form a point at the back. The straight line of the Russian blouse is ousting the shaped revers. All this we owe to the Rus sian dancers, but it remains to be proved whether they will suit Amer ican women. These coats are carried out in satin, crepe satin and crepe de chine, not in heavy stuffs. The bloused have deep pink sashes from waist to bust. Into this crossing folds of tulle disappear back and front. The sleeves are long. There is no collar band, which is re placed by a Medici collar, the neck left bare, and very often a band of fur surrounds the collar (very nar row). the same on the wrist, with three little tails falling over the hand. New Bracelet. If you have an old-fashioned black onyx arm band with pearls wear it. It is again fashionable. A large band looks smaller below a black bracelet, and one woman with rather red hands wears an inch-wide band of velvet around each wrist, for which she has jeweled clasps, changed to match her gowns. ! Sometimes these velvet bracelets are set with large diamond or pearl buttons or pinned with a cameo or a seed pearl brooch. A fashionable series of bracelets that can be had in French Jewelry is made of thin hoops studded with col ored stones. An emerald hoop, a dia mond, a ruby and a pearl one are worn together. i Fur Used on Hats. Fur is being used on this season's hats in a great variety of ways, and all sorts of fur are being made use of. Broad bands, large enough to cover the side of the crown complete ly; the narrowest edgings which are made up. in connection with crepe and plush; facings and brims of fur on hats of satin, brocade and velvet, and tall .ornaments of fur taking the place of feathers .appear on the hats which will be used in the early part of the season by women who do not care to wear an all fur toque until midwinter is upon us. Children’s Dresses. The vogue for belted effects contin ues to be strong as it was this fall and Norfolk and Russian dresses are shown in a variety of styles, says the Dry Goods Economist. Middy dresses and Peter Thompsons are also promi nent in the new lines. Vest effects reveres and yokes are being used to a great extent. The vogue for simnle tailor-made effects continues to be as strong as ever, and elaborate trim mings are seldom used, particularly in the colored frocks. * Tatting on Doylies. A most effective luncheon set mav be made by using plain linen for cen ters of doylies and finished the edge of each with a row of double tatttne made of not too fine thread. Tatting of very fine thread is an exquisite fin ish for a dainty handkerchief.