u
vTHE BED CLOUD CHIEF.
A. C. HDSMER, Publisher.
RED CLOUD,
NEBRASKA,
WHILE WE MAY.
Thehaml are such lear haml:
TifL-y arc so lull; they" turn at our demands
: often: tlioy reach out.
With trilies scarcely thought about,
-o :aany times: they do
s very many thimrs for me. for you
It their fond wills mistake.
We may well bend, not break.
rhey are such fond, frail lips
Ta.it -peak to in. Pray, if love strip3
Them of discretion many time?.
Or if theys-peak too slow or oiars, such
crimes
Ve may jmss by; forwo may see
lTays not far off when those small words may
v be
Held not ac slow, or quick, or out of place.
but dear.
Because the lips are no more here.
nicy are such dear, familiar feet that ;ro
Alotisr the path with ours feet fat or slow,'
And tryinjr to keep pace if thev mistake,
Or tread upon some flower that we would take
I pon our breast, or brui- wmo reed
Or crush poor Hope until it bleed,
Mu may be in 1 1 le,
4 Xot turning juicklv to impute
Crave fault: for they and we
H e Mich a little wav to ko can Iks
Jiopet her Mich a little while alonxthc way,
We will be patient while wc mav
Po many little faults we find
We t-ue them: for not blind
13 Love. We see- tlicm; but if you and T
Perhap- remembi-i tiiem some by and by
They will not be
Faults then xnii- laults to you and me.
ttiit ju-t odd ways mi-lakes, or e en less
Itemembrances to bless.
Pays change so many thini;- yes, hours,
VWee mi differently in suns and showers.
-Mistaken wtmls to-night
May le mi cherished by to-morrow's light.
We miy be patient: for we know
There's Mich a little way to go.
Ucorye Klinulc. in .V. V. Independent.
MADE OR MARKED.
IV JESSIE FOT1IKRGII.L,
J.l.Mwr o "One of Three," "iYoiation," "The
HWiW." KU.
CHAPTER XV.-Coxtixukd.
"Forgive me, Mabelle!'' she cried,
on u sudden impulse. "I love my
brother (loci and myself onlv know
how much- ami your 'sister is" a bad,
unprincipled woman, who will have
'Spnv near to break his heart h what
-we has done; but you are innocent. I
'-e. and it has shaken you terribly.
Here, .-it down, and do not think of go
ing back yet.'
"Xii, don't touch me!' said Mabelle,
with dillicultv getting her words out.
"1 knew I she "
You knew you knew!'1'' cried
Gaee, recoiling, ami flashing' a terrible
look upon her.
"No I mean 1 did not know this. I
knew she had seen Mr. Fordyce. I
thought ;he had seen him often, but I
did not know. I began to think she
would not marry Philip, and that I
ought to speak to you -I didn't
know. I am nearly mad. 1 think,1'
i included Mabelle. with a strange and
jMgirard look around as she put her
hand to her head.
"Please to tell me ' Grace had
begun, when the silence outside was
suddenly broken by the sound of wheels,
pid. strange though it might seem in
the intensity of their present feelings,
bo'h tlie girls looked eagerly out of the
window, for. deep in "the foreground
of both minds, lurked the unspoken
fear: "What if Philip, by any chance,
were to arrive to-day--now?" And
C J race, seeing a cab drive up. and the
driver thereof scanning the numbers on
the hou-e-doors, uttered the fear which
paralysed Mabelle's lips.
1) "Ifit should be Philip! Good heav
ens I believe it is Philip!'
Still no answer from Mabelle, while
Grace ru-hed to the window and found
that her fear was right the cab stopped
there; that was lie, bronzed and tanned,
and looking like a foreigner much
changed a man to attract" notice now
wherever he went; but Philip, her very
brother Philip, casting impatient glances
toward the house, throwing some coin
to :.':e cabman, and striding up the
steps. It. was then that the full force of
the situation bur.-t upon both girls.
" He has not been to London at all
he lias come by Liverpool. The letter
why. he can never have got the let
ter. He does not know."
f Grace hurried forth the words, and,
losing lier presence of mind, began to
walk hurriedly about, wringing her
hands and muttering:
What shall I do? Oh, heavens, what
shall I do? What a wck-oiuo home! My
poor Philip!"
Mabelle had sunk upon the chair, un
able any longer to stand up her limbs
would not .-import her. and then a
Hep. a stride, and the door was burst
pen. and Philip had Grace in his
arm-, ami was laughing with delight,
and ki-sing her. and saying: 0ow,
Yn child, don't die of surprise don't
ior 1113- sake!"
In the bitterness of her heart Grace
could almost have been angrv with him
for his blind, joyful haste, his oblivion.
:.s utter inattenfon to everything but
Me iov of returning and seeing his ue-
loed ones again.
"Philip." she said, releasing herself
and speaking solemnly, "you don't
-cem to sec that I have a visitor and
a vi-itor who has come on a bad cr
rajal." Why what! Mabelle! You look ill.
What ails you? There's nothing the
matter with Angela, is there? Speak di
rect lv!' he added, almost angrily. "Is
she ill?"'
"Philip it is very sad," began
Grace. "Angela has has oh, she
a- done what is very wrong. She has
treated you very badlv."
"What do you mean? How dare you
-:n anything against her? ' I had a Iet
er from herthu day I left Ilong Kong,
t'dding me welcome. I "
His conlident words came to an end
a he locked from one to the other of
t.-m:saw Grace's pale, stern face,
and the terrible overwrought expression
of anguish upon Mabelle" s.
"If I could have stopped it " be-
g this little maiden, in a tremulous
voice
"Mabelle. 3-011 ought to have told
me.' .-aid Grace, when Philip's strong
v oVe drowning their accents, broke in:
"Stopped what? I desire to know
rh:U has happened. Where is Angela,
-and what has .-he done?"'
"She has cioped with Mr. Ford'ce,
and got married to him.'' said Grace,
f:yng him. pale, with dilated eyes and
fingers ncnouslv entwined ready, m
ier fright, to make a rush lor her life,
S&t2
ZXr.
. , - j - s
if Philip's indignation should take a
violent shape.
"Wc only knew this morning just
now," said a voice at his elbow. "And
this is what told us."
It was Mabelle who put Angela's let
ter into his hand, which Philip took in
silence, not deigning to reply to what,
he told himself, was a foul and atro
cious lie.
But in the act of reading, his head,
which was clear enough, comprehend
ed quickly the whole state of the case.
lie neither swore, nor raved, nor
stamped; but both the girls trembled
as he stepped up to the lire, tearing the
paper across, and tossing it into the
blaze, while Ire said in a low voice:
" I thought I was loved by a pure
hearted woman, but it seems that I
have been fooled and jilted b3 a coarse
ha, ha!"
It was a dreadful, bitter little laugh.
It sent the blood rushing over Grace's
face; it elicited a faint moan only from
Mabelle, which sound caused Grace to
turn to her once more, saving:
"Oh. Mabelle, if you h:fd but told"
Philip looked at the girl indifferently,
as if she and hers were henceforth be
neath his notice, or even his contempt.
But when he saw nothing but a limp,
lifeless-looking white figure, crouched
in a sort of unconscious heap against
the table, he strode forward and raised
her up, and carried her in his arms to
the sofa.
"Ho reproaches here, Grace. Don't
3ou see she has fainted. Healths girls
are not in the habit of fainting, even for
things like this. She has gone through
something that has been too much for
her more than she could bear. Look
to her, that's a good girl. I'll cany her
upstairs, if you like, but don't let me
see her again or, stop," he added,
serenely, " I'll go down to the office. It
seems there is nothing better for me to
do now. Yes, I'll go "down to the office
and report myself. I shall be back some
time this evening, Grace."
And with that he was gone.
CHAPTEK XVI.
UEACTIOX. m
He was gone, and to Grace the room
seemed strangely silent and empty. It
did not appear as if he had only" been
there a few brief moments, and had
then di.-appeared again, but rather as
if he had been there a very long time,
and now that he had departed she could
not get accustomed to his absence.
While she bent over the unconscious
Mabelle. and tended her, and sum
moned her landlady to help her, and
listened to the loud and forcible excla
mations of the latter, Grace's thoughts
were wholly occupied with Philip. How
happy! how handsome and eager he
had looked as ho came in, so full of
health and prosperity, of hope and jo-!
What a white dismal change had settled
over his face as he read Angela's letter,
and in those words of his, as he burnt
that letter, what a curse there l:ry!
What trenchant, bitter, uncompromis
ing contempt! Grace took comfort in
the remembrance: for his looks, words
and gestures had not been those of a
man who would succumb under the
most treacherous blow.
No wonder this poor little girl had
lost consciousness altogether, thought
Grace she, the unhappy little partici
pator in the secret, worn and unstrung
l3" weeks of foreboding and anxiet3.
Had not Grace herself, innocent and
clear ot con-cience, felt her cheeks burn
and her heart beat with terror as she
heard him speak, and trembled more at
what he implied than at what he actu
a.113 said?
B3- slow degrees Mabelle regained
consciousness, and when she was fully
restored to her senses it filled Grace's
heart with compunction to see the
change which had taken place. Now
that the terror was over, that the storm
had broken, all her factitious strength
gave way: the enforced energy which
had sustained her collapsed, and the
languor which oppressed her limbs were
overpowering.
"Has he gone? Has Philip gone, or
is he here 3-ct?" she asked, with a re
turn of her terrified, hunted look.
"He has gone, child, tie will not
return till evening. Lie still and drink
this wine."
Mabelle shook her head, passed her
hand across her forehead, and said,
pressing her head wearily upon the
hard, little sofa pillow:
"No, thank 3-011. My head aches
oh, dreadfully! And I am so tired. I
don't feel very well, and I don't think
I can go to school this afternoon."
"Go to school! 1 should think not!
You will lie still here, and I shall sit be
side 3-ou, and no one will interrupt us.
Yes. Mrs. Livscy, 3-011 mav bring in din
ner, and set a place for Miss Fairfax,
because she will .-ta3' with me."
But she could not prevail upon Ma
belle to touch food: onh'to lie still upon
the sofa until Grace had made some
pretense of a meal, and then neither
threats nor persuasions would induce
the young girl to .-t:iya moment longer.
She would go into their own lodgings
"and rest.'she said.
Grace said firmly that she did not
think her fit to be left alone, and would
go with her. but this Mabelle also de
clined: and all Grace could extract
from her was a promise that she would
send for her if she should not feel better
in the evening. She waichcdherout of
the house a slight, drooping, broken-
looking 3'oung hgure anu.shesutmenly
remembered how she had drawn Philip
to the window that Monday morning
after her arrival, and had asked hini
who that bright, prett 3-oung girl was
who walked so uprightly The remem
brance of that happy morning, and of
all that had passed since, overpowered
Grace. Flinging herself upon the
couch on which Mabelle had been
tying, she covered her face with her
hands, and wept sore.
Toward six o'clock came a note from
Philip, dated from the office.
'Dkakkst C hack I tlnd I shall not be ablo
to come up to "Lawrence street: this evening.
They are so excited at liavm? got me back
down here tnat I can't pet nway. and Grey in
sists uion my -oinsr fora couple of days with
hiin. and iicinjr introduced to laid- Elizabeth.
Do you rememb.T all about Lady Elizabeth,
and the time of Grey's wedding Will you
send down by the messenger the smallest of
my portmanteaus? I will write you to-morrow
or the net day. Do not mention anything of
what has happened thN inorninir in jour
letters home. I -hall be there soon, and will
tell niv mother myself. It is due to her that I
should.
"Gool-bye for tho present, dear child.
"Phii.ip."
"P. S. Ry the bve, will you. for my sake,
pile m eye to por little .Maiiclle Fairfax? he
looked to inc. very HI. and. whatever the rest
of the world may be. she is sruiltless."
Scarcely had Grace dispatched the
required luggage, than the landlady
1 1 Piii, jii4,m
- - - "" '''- - - -"- r r -
J- 't JfM-i - - .
- -?.Ea.rf 1 waar a. --ts." ji
from the next house came in, request
ing to see her, and told her that Miss
Fairfax appeared to be very ill, and, as
her sister was away, would Miss Mas
se come in, and sa3' what she thought
ought to be done?
(trace complied, and found Mabelle
restlcssr, Hushed, feverish, and, as it
seemed to her, ver' ill, indeed. She
made her go to bed, sent for a doctor,
took her place lieside Mabelle's bed.
and, as it eventually proved, did not
leave her for a fortnight. Mabelle was
sick almost "unto death," and to desert
her Grace's heart must have been
hardJr than it was. She nursed the
girl tenderly, making light of tho ill
ness in the accounts which she was
compelled to send to Angela sorelj'
against her will.
During the first days of convales
cence she heard from Mabelle's lips the
whole story of her struggles and trials,
and before her task was over she hail
grown to love her patient as dearly as
a sister.
" Whatever the rest of the world
may be, she is guiltless."
She echoed Philip's words from the
bottom of her heart.-
CHAPTEK XVIL
AT Mil. OREV'S.
Philip left the house, toward the mo
ment ot entering which he had A'earned
so cagerbj, and lor such long anil weary
week's, and passed out into the street
again. During the ten minutes or
quarter of an hour which had elapsed
since he had driven up to the door, no
great convulsion of nature had taken
place. Was it likeh that aii3-thiug of
the kind should have occurred? And
3'et it seemed to Philip, and no doubt
would have so seemed to nine men out
of ten in his position, amazing that
everything should look just as it hail
done before the sun still shining with
April brightness the people quietly
passing up and down the familiar street;
even one or two faces that he knew; an
ugly omnibus conductor with one e3"e,
there he was, in his old place, as the
vehicle went down. All outside was as
before; it was only within himself.
PhUip Massey, that such awful stupen
dous changes seemed to have taken
place.
Of course, he did not in the least
realize what had happened yet; but he
knew there was some horrible calamity
in the distance which hung over him
and oppressed him iTkc a distant thunder-cloud
in a summer sky. The cloud
would roll up, and burst in a storm. So
would his calam'ty roll up soon, and
burst upon his mind in full lorce. False
hood, treachery, the most hideous,
frightful lies the basest, vilest in
triguessoon ne would have to grasp
it all, and understand that they hail all
been practiced--all these abomlnat ons
by the woman whom he had setup in his
heart as in a shrine, ami worsh neil with
his whole soul. He shuddered a little
in anticipation of the coming horror,
but managed to stave it off' for the pres
ent, and to arrive at the well-known
office, looking tranquil anil self-possessed.
He went into the room full of clerks,
who looked up as he entered, and one
of them began civillv:
"What can I why, Philip Massey!
So it is. Are 3'ou back, old fellow! and
how are -ou?"
Heart3 hand-shakes and warm greet
ings from all his old friends, and the
admiring glances of new hands fol
lowed, after which Philip suggested
that he would like to see Mr. Siarkie,
and was straightway ushered into that
gentleman's private room.
Here, too, the greetings were warm,
for Philip had done well the work which
had been intrusted to him, and b3' his
promptitude, decision and presence of
mind had saved his firm from considera
ble pecuniary loss as well as losses in
reputation which would have been more
serious to them; and they, being liberal
men, were rc:uly to acknowledge good
service of whatever kind.
While Phil-) was deep in explanations
to Mr. Starkie, and feeling an occasion
al slight shiver as there started across
his mind a sense of what was awaiting
him when tlie excitement should be
over, and he alone with himself and his
thoughts, in the midst of this Mr. Grej
entered. Mr. Gic was a handsome,
broad-shouldered, distinguished looking
young man of about thirty, said to be
somewhat reserved and distant, but
whom Philip had :wa-s liked in the
slight and rare intercourse he had ever
had with him. He greeted Philip with
cordiality, entered into conversation
with him, and interested in what Philip
told him, invited him to return with him
that afternoon to his house, spend a
couple of nights with him, and be in
troduced to his wife.
At an- other time the prospect would
have been distasteful to Philip, or
rather, his heart, which was warm and
simple, as true men's hearts are, would
have rebelled at the idea of going to
strange houses, and visiting strange
persons, while he hail scarce spoken
half a dozen words to his favorite sister,'
and his father and mother, at home at
Foulhaven, did not even know that he
was again in his native land. But these
circumstances were quite abnormal.
The idea of getting into completely now
scenes and places was a tempting one.
He accepted Mr. Gre3''s invitation, and
sent to Grace the note which has al
ready been spoken of.
Calliards, Mr. Grc3's place, was
some eight or nine miles out of Irkford,
a pleasant spot in the fresh, unpolluted
countn, with purple moors and green
woods around it. Mr. Grcj' drove there
when bu-iness was over, and the drive
through the April evening was pleasant
the air was cool, the sun was setting
with clear beams and casting long
shadows; they bowled swiftly along the
pleasant country roads, and" turned in
before it w:is dusk along a limestone
diive with a fir plantation on e'thcr
side, and up to a large, pleasant, irregu
lar gra- stone house. Thev- entered
through'a tiled hall into a bright-looking
sitting-room, in which a lady sat
embroidering, to whom Philip was in
troduced this was Lad Elizabeth
Gre3
Philip's troubles really seemed, for
the time to melt into the background as
he stood talking to this handsome, up
right, unaffected girl, of some one or
two-and-twenty years of age.
"My dear," "Mr. Grey had said, "let
me introduce Mr. Massey, a gentleman
who has been doing great things for us
out in China Masse Ladv Elizabeth
Grey."
"1 must reallv shake hands with you
ESSctf-
,. r.-i. .
. - . - B'rt w .-.., v- i
ifwcb.- - r : -
if vou have been doing great things,"
said Lad' Elizabeth, pleasantly. "Has
Mr. Masse' come to stay, Dick?"
"He can stay a couple of days, he
says, and I dare say he can tell -ou ad
ventures enough to satisfy even you,
for he has been in a wild part of the
world. Is that the t-ressing-beli? We
are later than I thought."
"It is the dressing-bell, and by the
way, there, are some people coming to
dinner. I wonder who I shall give you
to take in to dinner, Mr. Massey. what
sort of young ladies dp 'ou like?"
"I shall be sure to like an' 3-oung
lady you may choose for me,"" replied
Philip, with a sudden flush and a sud
den spasm of pain at his heart; but he
found that this pain was still quite with
in his control. He could bear it with
out any contortions of countenance, and
even while it was gnawing most fiercely
could smile and talk as it at peace anil
charity with all men.
Then he was taken up-sfairs and left
to dress, which operation he hurried
over as rapidly as possible, dreading
ever' five minutes alone with himself
and that specter which was ready to
spring out upon him in the first un
guarded moment.
Next came dinner, and the pleasant,
sociable evening, during which Philip,
to his great surprise, found himself
quite a lion in a small way, and had
enough to do in answering the in
numerable questions put to him by two
very engaging young ladies, who pro
fessed to take a great interest in China
and all pertaining'to it, but whose chief
anxiety appeared to bo to learn what
specimens of pottery or other curiosities
he had brought with him from the
Celestial Land.
"I like your Mr. Massey, Dick,"
said Lady Elizabeth, in a moment's
aside with her husband. "He has ono
of the best faces I ever saw, as well as
one of the handsomest."
"Yes; I'm glad you like him, but I
think his manner is rather odd some
times. Don't you observe how every
now and then he almost starts, and
looks suddenly around, as if it's diffi
cult to describe the expression. And ho
has been gazing intently at Miss Wood
side for the last two minutes, without
hearing a word she said."
"Oh, yes, I have noticed it. But
didn't you say he had only arrived at
home to-day? And you have dragged
him oft" here, when I dare say he would
much rather be somewhere else, orwith
some one else."
" Trne! I never thought of that. It
is likely euough."
"Aud-etit is not a year since 3'ou
would have said it was very hard to be
dragged off' somewhere else, when -ou
might have gone to Clevely Park," re
torted Lady Elizabeth, maliciously.
The evening came to an end very
soon, as it .-eemed to Philip, and when
the part" had dispersed, and the others
retired, lie was naturally obliged to do
1 ne same, uiougn lie imgereu as long as
he could, accepted his host's invitation
to come and have a 1 igar in the smoking-room,
and so on, so that it waspa-t
midnight when he at last found himself
alone in his room.
But once here, he felt that the an
guish which had so long been as it were
staved olf at arm's length could be so
averted no longer. It all came over
him with a rush, and overwhelm'
him.
rO BE CONTINUED.
The Use of Salt.
We hav; received ftom a correspond
ent a letter making some inquiries into
the u-e of salt, and we are given to un
derstand that among other foll'es of the
da' some indiscreet persons are object
ing to the use of salt and propose to dc
without it. Nothing could be more at
surd. Common salt is the most wide
distributed substance in the body; it ex
ists in every l'.u d and in every solid:
and not only is everywhere present, but
in almost every part it constitutes the
largest portion of the ash when any
tissue is burnt. In particular it is a
constant constituent of the blood, and
it maintains in it a proportion that is
almost wholly independent of the quan
tity that is consumed with the lood.
The blood will take up so much
and no more, however much we
mav take with our food; and, on the
other hand, if none be given, the blood
parts with its natural quantity slowly
and unwillingly. Under ordinary cir
cumstances a licalthy man loses "daily
about twelve grains by one channel or
the other, and, if he is to maintain his
health, that qtlantit is to be intro
duced. Common salt" is of immense im
portance in the processes ministering
to the nutrition of the body, for not
onh' is it the chief salt in the gastric
juice, and essential for the formation
of bile, and may hence be reasonably
regarded as of high value in digestion,
bill it is an important agent in promot
ing the processes of diffusion, and there
fore of absorption. Direct ex
periment has shown that it pro
motes the decomposition of the
albumen in the body, acting
probably bv increasing the activity ol
the transmission of liuids from cell to
cell. Nothing can demonstrate its val
ue better than the fact that if albumen
without salt is introduced into the in
testines of an animal, no portion of it
is absorbed, while it all quickh- disap
pears if salt be added. If any" further
evidence were required it could be
found in the powerful instinct which
impels animals to obtain salt. Buf
faloes will travel for miles to reach a
"salt lick"; and the value of salt in im
proving the nutrition and the aspect ol
horses and cattle is well known to
eveiy farmer.
Tlie conclusion, therefore, is obvious
that salt, being wholesome, and, in
deed, necessary, should bo taken in
moderate quantities, and that absten
tion from it is likely to bo injurious.
London Lancet.
Fresh water fish are reared in every
Japanese farm where there is a pool 01
brook with as much care as poultry in
the French cottage yards. Girls go in
the evening with long wands to drive
the fish into roofed tanks, where the
are locked in for the night, to keej:
them from birds of prey.
Yellow pine boards placed in a
Milford (Pa.) house one hundred anc
sixty years ago as flooring are still do
ing "duty in that capacity. It is prob-abl-
the oldest manufactured lumber ir
the United States that is in actual use.
Philadelphia l'rcss.
j.'uu'.A6;iO j1 .'.uJ.iLKOmji
"- - -
Fashion Notes.
Changeable silks are gaining favor.
The Medicis collar is very popular
this year.
Two toned brocades are specially
handsome.
Few bows are seen on modem shoes,
and those are quite flat, of the style
called cravat bows.
Bright colored silk embroidery is
largely used for garnishing white opera
cloaks.
Strings for bonnets are somewhat
broader, and mostly preferred in velvet
or ottoman ribbon.
Dresses of plain cloth are frequently
trimmed.
Loops of narrow ribbons, gilt braid,
or velvet, are laid against the frills of
niching for the neck!
Bright red and bottle green combined
are in good taste.
Some of the latest bridal dresses have
a broad band of white fur bordering the
train.
Caps are of plaited lace, puffs of tulle,
and gauze.
The most beautiful clasps, which fast
en like an ordinary hook and eye, are
now used to take the place of buttons,
both for dresses and cloaks.
Bands of black velvet are worn around
the throat and wrists at afternoon "at
homes." They are always ornamented
with diamond or pearl pins.
Ladies' white cloth dolmans are con
sidered stylish opera cloaks when bor
dered with white fox fur and lined with
plush.
Small headed diamond pins, pearl,
goUl and silver pins are thrust about in
the laces of jabots and frills on dressy
odjfsages.
fahell hair pins, with glittering Rhine
stones in me curved end, are worn as
ornaments, thrust through the coils of
the back hair.
Neck chains are altogether out of
fashion, and women who have hand
some ones are converting them into
bracelets.
A novel apron drapery for a costume
of silk and velvet is composed of velvet
and ribbons woven together, over and
under, in checker board pattern.
The straight, high dog collar is af
fected by women with long, slender
throats. It is generally made of dark
velvet, stiff, with gold, silver, steel or
pearl embroidery.
Cravats and bows for the neck aro
quite gono out of fashion. A tiny
brooch is used to fasten the small offi
cer collar with which all dress bodices
are now finished.
Plush is coming steadily back into
favor. Worth has just made a dress
for the Princess of Wales and another
for the Queen of Portugal, both
trimmed with plush.
Bonnets in the Princess shape, made
of shirred black velvet, with pompoms
of gray and black on the left side, and
strings of ribbon velvet of both shades,
are now worn by young ladies.
Walking boots of black or bronze kid
are made with from seventeen to twenty-four
very small buttons for dressy
toilets; of" patent leather, with cloth
gaiters buttoned half wav up the leg.
for more neglige dress
and for travel-
ing.
I he most
fashionable fur
canes
those made of monkey skin and black
fox. Some of the former have little I
chenille ball borders. These canes make!
an effective addition to toilets of black
silk, satin and velvet.
The sheer linen cambric handker
chiefs have taken the litst rank scal
loped edges, with a vine inside; a hem
with several rows of raised dots inside,
and elaborate needlework all round
trimming them. Others have an ap
plique of pompadour lace in each cor
ner. All walking dresses are stiH cut with
round skirts, as also dresses for small
evening or dinner parties; but the
train seems to obtain more success
than last 3ear for ball or grand recep
tion toilets. For such occasions the
short dress is only adopted by young
girls or young married ladies who dance
a great deal.
Pretty ball toilets are made of milky
white English crape draped over moire
or satin, with light clusters of flowers.
Others are of colored silk tulle plaited
over silk, with draperies of.figured tulle
to match, or tulle spangled with gold
or silver, which looks pretty and effect
ive. This tulle is drawd over moire
previously vailed over with plain tulle,
which produces a most lustrous and
beautifnl effect.
Large metal clasps, more or less rich,
artistic and beautiful, are worn-with all
elegant costumes at the neck of mantle
or jacket, at the waist, in the folds of
drapery or puffing. Metal brooches
are worn upon hats and bonnets, bows
and cravats: brooches have also coma
into favor again since large cravat bows
have been given up.
Tea gowns are now made principally
in Watteau style, and have very long
trains. One recently seen wa3 made of
the palest gray cashmere brightened
with a long Watteau back and train of
vivid scarlet satin. Down the front
were innumerable bows and ends of
narrow pale gray and red satin ribbon.
Dark Russian'furs are the most fash
ionable this winter. Long cloaks lined
vith quilted fur are edged all around
vith fur. S'berian fox and wild cat
are also considered stylish. Plain black
velvet paletots trimmed with bear skin
are one of themo3t stylish out-door gar
ments of the season. "Fur is universally
worn as trimming this winter, and is
both stylish and elegant.
Grest refinement in the details of the
toilet is a sure sign of good taste.
Stockings should always be uolored, un
less they are worn with, entirely white
evening toilets. For the daytime they
ire of cashmere, wool or silk bourette,
matched to the dress or its trimmings,
and either plain or striped, to wear
with tho semi low shoe or the high
boot, sixteen to twenty small buttons,
fatent leather-pointed tip and low heel,
or the evening the stocking is of col
ored silk, open worked or embroidered
on the instep, and worn with the low
latin or bronze kid shoe, plain or em
broidered with beads.
All plaid tissues, chess-board patterns
and checks of all dimensions are lighted
np-with fine streaks of brilliant color
ing, stripes wide or narrow, of two
colors, or two shades of one color, cloth
trimmed with velvet or plush. Auvcrg
nant velvet, or ribbed velveteen, aro
the materials principally employed for
children's winter dresses. Upon ribbed
relvcteenr aro applied bands of. un
bleached embroidery, or better still,
3T
w3iu:ji.ii,iAf titikxsawaa&i&txa
0 S&&.
"a0. S,"
. i--V.
Ideep lace borders, worked in crotchet,
with unbleached cotton pockets, sleeva
. revers, and deep collar matched to the
embrtdery or lace such are the only
trimmings becoming a rountj child's
dress.
Fashions are more varied than ever
this winter. Evening dresses arc made
of either light or dark shades, with a
train as often as not, but quite a plain
one, without any sort of trimming, es
pecially when the material is a rich one.
This train, as has been already hinted,
can be made top ut on and off at pleas
ure. Bodices are cut low in a round,
square, or oval shape, seldom in the
shape ot a heart, and generally peaked
in front. Sleeves to the elbow or oi
light lace, if lace forms
part
of the
toilet. Gloves
verv long,
of
ungtazea
kid, pale gray,
dresses; straw
ffrav. or golden
or blade with oiacx
colored, white, pearl
crust, with light even
ing or ball toilets; bracelets, as beauti
ful as possible, are worn over the
gloves. Brooklyn Eaqle.
Grand Opera.
"lather,"
his cynical
asked
parent,
a
voung man
ol
1 what
is
grand
opera
D'l
"I don't know."
"Why are some operas called grand,
while others are not so designated? It
seems to me that il a composer could
write CTand opera he would never write
any other kind."
"Well, 3'ou see it's only by experiment
that a composer can determine whether
or not an opera is grand. If, upon first
production, the music is beyond the
abilities of the singers and bores the au
dience, it is grand. Tlie weary yawn
of a man does more, my son, to deter
mine the value of an opera than the
highest recommendation from a profes
sional critic of music. If, though, the
singer can climb to the summit ol
emergencv-, and if the audience is
pleased, the opera is not grand and the
composer goes away dissatisfied, disap
pointed and disconsolate. Sometimes
the composer can correct the mirtake
brought to light on the proof-sheet oJ
first production. On one occasion 3
great composer produced an opera
which he hoped would be grand, but
there was so much music in it, the sing
ers did so well, and the audience went
into such fits of rapture and spasms of
enjoyment, that the composer saw hi
work doomed to a wayward life of in
ferior appreciation. After the perform
ance he took the opera and sat up all
night crossing out the music and mark
ing in rasp flats and guinea-hen sharps.
He went with high hope the next night
to get a revise. The audience became
restless. Men began to talk business.
A harness and buggy dealer from a
neighboring town sold three buggies,
two sets of harness, and figured exten
sively on an omnibus trade. Women
drew their cloaks around their shoul
ders and shivered. The voices on the
stage broke and fell in shattered frag
ments. The composer went away hap
py. His opera was grand.
"Did the people continue their pat
ronage after the music was markedout
and the opera pronounced grand?"
"Bless your ignorance, yes. Why
the increase in attendance was wonder-
ul- Previous to an opera's advent as
grand that is. before the music is
crossed out only people who really
loved the 'concord of sweet sounds
went to see it. but afterwards it was
alike to all. The man with the dullest
ear enjoyed it quite as much, or pre
tended to. which is all the same, as the
person whose spirit was stirred by the
gentle touch of soqj-born harmony."
"But, father, if there is really noth
ing sweet in the grand operas why dc
you take mother to see them?"
" Because I am a fool, son."
" Yes, but why does mother ."
Because she is a foo:, my boy."
"Are all people thus actuated?"
"Yes; that is, all who aro hon&j!
enough to confess it."
"Don't you believe there arc people
who enjoy grand operas?"
" O yes."
"They are highly cultivated, are they
not?" "
"Xo, not necessarily."
" What kind of people are they?"
"Deaf people, young man." Arkan
saw Traveller.
Our Little" World.
Some physical results of the Java dis
turbance lielp us to understand how
small the world is. Take a bowl ol
water, agitate the fluid in the center,
and the undulations you oxcite propa
gate themselves in smooth-swelling con
centric rings till they lap against the
side of the bowl. There they break,
and slop up in mimic tidal waves. This
is an exact illustration magna com
ponere parvisoi the oscillations of the
sea reported from both hemispheres
this week. The tidal irregularities,
as might be expected, were most vio
lent on the northwestern seaboard oi
Australia, which lies right opposite the
scene of the Java disturbances. On
that coast the sea retreated and ad
vanced a hundred yards. A day or two
later oscillations appeared on the At
lantic seaboard of America. The par
ticular undulation which, on the fifth
day out, slopped up on the east coast of
New Zealand must have come by way
of Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn,
and had nearly completed the circle of
the globe. Australia lies as a break
water between us and Java by the di
rect route. It gives one a new concep
tion of the littleness of what Henry
Ward Beecher calls "this fi'penny-ha'-penny
world," when a man can stand
on the ocean beach at Dunedin and
watch the ripples from a splash made in
the Straits of Sunda. Otago Times.
The death of a noted native of
Rockbridge County, Va., is thus related
in a Texas paper: "Big-Foot Wallace,
the celebrated pioneer, veteran and Indian-fighter,
is dead." The old man
has been leading a hermit life for years
past in the brushiest part of Atascosa
County, Tex., and was found in bed a
corpse. It is thought that he had been
dead two or three days when found.
There is no heir to tht few cattle he
owned, and the contents of the cabin,
his rifle, knife, saddle and various In
dian trophies and souvenirs will prob
ably go to the State."
The Cape Cod Ship Canal, when
completed, will do away with naviga
tion around Devil's Bridge, the spot on
which the City of Columbus was wrecketL.
Boston T4sL- "-. " '
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