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'Hi ft Rock me to Sleep, Mother. Backward, turn backward, oh, time your filgbt Alake me a child again, just lor to-niht Mothd, come back from the echoless shore, lake me aa, to jour neart n of ore Jiiss from mj forehead the fiurows of caie, Smooth, the lew silver threads from my hair Over my slumbeis your loving watch keep Kock me to sleep, inothei, rock me to sleep Backwxrd, How backwaid, oh, tide o? the ears* I am so weary of toil and of tears Toil without recompensetears all in vain Take me and give me my childhood a^am I have ^rown weai of dust and decay, Weaiy of flinging m\ soul's wealth away Weary of bowing tur others to leap, Rock me to sleep, mother, lock me to sleep Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, oh, mothei' mv heai calls foi you' Many abuminei theita-, has grown gieen Blossomed mil fadedom fate^ between Yet,with strong yearuin^nd passionate pam, Long I to-ni^ht lor jom piesence again, Come from the silence solongand so deep Rock me to sleep, mother, lock me to sleep Over my heart in the days thnt are flown JNo|love like a mother's lov ever has shown No other worshiD abides and endures, Faithful, unsclhsh md patient, like youn. JJone like a mother can charm away pain ijrsm the siok soul and world weary brain Slumter's-soft calm o'er my heavvlidsciee'p iiock me to sleep, mother, rock me toslee-. Come, let vour biown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again a& of old Lst it fill over my forehead to night, Shading my faint ejes away from the light For \Mth its sunny edged shadows once more, Hap'lj will throng the sweet visions of vore Lounglj, softly, its bright billows sweep Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep Mother, deai mother, the years have been long Since I last hushed to your lullaby song Siug then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years ha\e been but a dream Clasp to your arms in loving embrace, With jour light lashes just swteping nij face, Nc\ei hereattei to wake or to weep Rock me to slep mother, rocK me to sleep Poetical leonoclasm. Scottish poets of interior note constant ly speak of the nightingaleas some do ot the modern American ver&ihers, who le-echotbe blemishes as well as the beau ties of English song, though neither nightingale nor lark was ever heard on the American continent Even Mr. Long fellow, who is wiser in this respect than many of his countrymen, speaks of "swal lows singing dewn each wind that blows." Swallows may twuter or chirp, hut they cannot sing any more than a sparrow. Coleridge, who lived long enough in town 10 forget the country, says in his beautiful poem ot "Christabel 'Tis a month before the mouth of May, The night is chill, the forest bare There is not wind enough to twirl The one red le.if, the last of its clan, That dan ts ir often as dance it can, Hinging so light and hanging so high On the topmost twig that looks up to th skj," A month before the month of Mav" is, clear y, the month of April, at which ti'ne the forest is no longer "bare," as the poet describes, but hag pui torth either the tenner gieen leaflets of the spring or the early buds, which have pushed away all (he verdure of the prev ious yeai, aid lett no led leal of the long past Autumn to tremble in the breeze. Dr. B'acklock, of E hnburgh, one of the early inends of Burns, and who was con spicuousiy instrumental bringing the gemus ot tint great and unfortunate poet to the notice ot th 3 literary and aristo cratic society of tue Scottish capitala man who could judge of poetry much better Thau he could write it, a by no means uncommon casewas the author of a once much admired song, entitled "Absenc In this composition he says. 'Ye harve-ts that wave the breeze As far as the vewcan extend, Ye mountains umbrageous with trees, Whose tops oo mijestic ascend, Yon landscape, what jovto survey, Were Alarg'ret with me to admire, Then the tuivest would glitter, how gay' How rmjestic the mountains aspire'" This poor gentleman was blind, or pos sibly he would have thought twice befoie he celebrated the "umbrageous trees" of the aspiring mountains of Scotland. His blindness must be pleaded excuse for his incorrectness as a word painter but a very town-bred poet, the late Thomas Haynes Bailey, the author of many hun dreds of med ocre songspopular in their davhad, at all events, I119 eyesight, and could not, like Di. Biacklock, urge in extenuation of his ma curacies, that he could not spe. One of his songs, that took the unnpe fancy of our grandfath ers and grandmothers in the daya when they were young and foolish, expressed his desire to be a butterfly. "I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower Where roses and lilies and violets meet' But butteiflies are not born in bowers, whetbtr roses and lilies meet there or not, foi truth compels the admission that they are born in cabbages, and that in their youthful s.ate as catterpillarsbe fore they have attained to the dignity of wings-they commit very serious depre dations on tnose uselui vegetables, as every gardener knows to his sorrow. Nor is the poet,if a poet he be,which is doubt ful, more correct when he says that the butterfly, "Sportive and airy, Sleeps in arose when the nightingale sings Butterflies do not sleep in the roses, or in the petals of any other flower, or in other unsheltered places, but take refuge in nooks and cianmes, instinctively afraid of the nightingale, who would be very likely lo make a meal of them if they came within his sphere of vision. All the Tear Round. Abandoned Villages. While roaming through the oil country our interest was excited by having certain localities pointed out to us as the place where once stood a small city. Perhaps no part of the oil region shows this as much as that situated between Oil City and Titusville, and no place as much as Petroleum Centre We stand amazed and almost doubt the truth of our inform ant, when we are told that this is the Petroleum Centre we saw ten vears ago. At that time, as the name implies,, it was the centre of the idnd 01 grease. Sur rounded as it was the best oil-pioducing country, it could not be otherwise. Vast numbers of houses, stores, machine shops, etc, were erected in a short time, ana in 1868 it was a city of 3000 or 4000 inhabitants Everybody oil dom knew Petroleum Centre. The city had banks, immense hotels, laige business houses, and could boast ot three or four fine churches. The whole country around the place was a city At nij. ht it was almost impossible to get through the crowd ot people collected for a'l ^mdj of pleasure. What a change! No'hing can be com pared to it except the destruction of war. Instead of fine residences, the ground is now used for pota patches a road marks the place where the principal street was, the churches yet stand, but nobody remains to attend them Perhaps there are 100 inhabitants in the town now. North of Pttroleuni Centre we werejshown the place where in 66 and '67 was the famous Benniogoff Run. There remains not a sign ot anything having been there. As many will remember, this was one of the best oil territories in the country at that time. On the noithern part of this farm was a small town of the name of Dublin. It had 200 inhabitants, and was the terminus of the Benninghoff Run Railroad. Not a single house remains. In fact, one would think, not knowing any better, that it had never been cleared. Many towns like this have gone the same way. 3ut perhaps the next of import ance is Pithole Like Petroleum Centre, it is nearly gone.Exchange. WILD BECKY. ha eve snhnn very serious dep If there was one thing that the country folks ot Millvilie were proud ot, over and above the new organ in their meetin' house," it was the Millville boarding school, which capped the very topmost pinnacle of their village. A light upon a hill, which shed its liteiary radi ance over the whole place. Cynthia Adams was the only day scholar but she was the squire's daughter, and it was a matter of course that her schooling should be something beyond that of tne rest of the village gills. One day, as the scholars weie hanging over the school-yard fence, or fitting in groups on the steps waiting for the school bell to ring, they heard a man with a lusty pair of lungs shouting, "Gee, haw, git up thar!" in a voice so loud that it threatened to shake the hills. "That is one ot old Miller's whispers, I do believe," laughed Cynthia. "He's a farmer about here, with a roaring yoice. Such a queer fellow as he is to be sure. I wish you girls could see him." "I wish I might,*' answered fun-loving Millie King. "Does he live far from here?" "His house is 'way down by the edge of the town, oeyond the pine woods they call the place Biscuit City." "Why? Because they have so many biscuits there?" asked a dozen voices at once. Cynthia shook her head. 1 guess it is because they don't have them," she said "perhaps they wish thev did, ana so called it that. All I really know about it is that there does not seem to be any one there to cook much, any way for Parmer Miller lives alone with his granddaughter, a girl about our age" Couldn't she make buscuits?" per sisted Millie, unwilling to give up the idea that they abounded at Biscuit City "Becky! I'd like to see anything decent that Wild Becky could make. No one in the village will have anything to do with her, for she's such a wild, harum scarum thing, and so green, too, that you'd mistake her for grass, just as like ly as not." Cynthia stopped abruptly, for the "Geehaws" sounded neaier everv moment, and now a pair ot oxen came lumbering over the hill, followed by a rickety hay cart, at the end of which was poised, a bareheaded young person in a cloud of dust Her ample bonnet swung trom the top of one ot the poles which formed the sides of the eart, evidently for the pur pose of proving to the passers by that she possessed, such an article, though she did not choose to wear it. She looked up at it lather wistfully, however, as he*' com panion, Farmer Miller, with thundering exclamations, drove the cart up to the school-house gate. "Pile out, Becky!" he roared, "and we'll soon iix it with 'em here. Don be skeered, gal. Be you the school-marm?" The qut scion was addressed to Miss Peters, the piincipal, who at this junc ture came politely forward. "I haven't much larnin' myself,ma'am," he continued, "but I'm bound that my gal here shall have as good a chance as the rest of 'em. She's a good gal, Becky is, only a trifle wild-like, and needs se"- tling a bit I'm abetter hand at settling bills than lively young creatures like this one, so if you'll tend to one, I'll tend to t'other and Handing the poor girl over, tumbling her bonnet after her, he was halfway down the hill before Wild Becky bad made up her mind whether she would be settled or not. It was very disagreeable standing there with all the girls staring at her, she thought: and glancing shyly out from un-4 had never had before but they held on der her long lashes, her eyes rested glad ly on the familiar features of the squire's daughter. "How do, Cynthia?" she said, nodding in such a civil way that it surprised her self. Cynthia looked blankly into her face a moment without making the slightest sign of recognition, then wheeling around on her heels, she turned her back square ly upon her. A titter went around the yard every one seemed amused but poor Becky, who shut her mouth tightly, and her heart too for that matter, and fairly hated her kind As she joined the cro^d squeezing into the school-house, stie wondered why she consented to be brought to The old wild life perfectly con- schooll tented her. To roll about for hours un der the wide-spreading oaks with the fmndly squirrels, or to chase the brook as it dashed gayly down the hills, was much pleasanter than the society of oth er girls, she had always thought. But the fact was, her grandfather had taken it into his dear old head to make a lady of her, and rather than disappoint the kind soul who had done so much for her, Wild Becky had made a desperate effort to plume herself down that morn ing into a civilized girl, and mingle with her fellow-beings. It was harder even than she had im agined the close school-room almost stifled her, while the dull, monotonous hum of voices had such a stupefying ef fect that, before she had been seated long, her head droped on her desk and she fell asleep. She was awakened by something tickling her nose putting her hand up quickly a great bouncing butter fly fluttered through her fingers and shot up into the air. Now this was a play mate that Wild Becky never could resist without half realizing where she was, she burst into aloud laugh and was making a dive for it when, recollecting herself, she slid down again into her seat, with the painful consciousness that all eyes were upon her'. The pair that terrified her most were those upon the platform not Miss Peters' eyes, but those of another teacher who had come into the room dur ing Becky's nap. "Wheie did you come from?" asked the woman, sharply, for she was indignant at the interruption of her class. "Biscuit City, ma'am," v, as the prompt reply. "A land productive of biscuits and rude girls," returned the teacher, face tiously, at which the other scholars, par ticularly the older ones, laughed most obligingly. "Unless you can command yourself, you had best return there at once," she continued. Wild Becky did not need much urging on that score. As quickly as possible she sprang from her seat, and vaulting through the open window, swung herself down tJ the ground as neatly as a boy could have done it, for she was in wrath. So off she trotted, never looking behind her until she brought up at her kitchen door. Through the opening she could see her grandfather bending over the big brick oven. "Sakes alive, school ain't out yet, be it?" he asked, lifting himself up to get a good view of the clock. Becky flung herself down on the steps and poured forth her injuries, winding up with a declaration of independence. "I'll never go again never. You will not ask it of me, will you grandfather?" "Not if you're set ag'in it/' said the old man*with a sigh and he passed into the buttery and brought out a heaping dish of pancakes. "I thought as how you'd come home hungry, and so I made a lot ol 'em." Becky had a weakness tor pancakes, and was quite touched with the attention She moved a chair near them and tried to eat but somehow they seemed to stick in her throat. The idea that her grand father was sorely disappointed made them very hard to swallow. "What makes you care so much about my being a lady?" she said at length, laying down her knife and fork and look ing fixedly at him. The old farmer wiped his glasses care fully. "I dun know," he answered "p'r'aps it's 'cause your mother would have liked it she used to take to larnin', and to gentle ways, and grand folks, as nat'rally as horst*s take to hay. I wanted you to be like her but laws me! 'tain' ii natur, that you could be that kind any more than hen could be a gosling. It don't matter." "Yes it does,grandfather and Becky, jumping up, wound her arms around his neck and shed a tear or two on the back of his old waistcoat. "It isn't that I'm so against the learia- ing," she continued ,4it's the folks I can't stand." "Well, some of 'em's rather tryin'," answered the farmer "but there is one powerful queer thing in human natur'. If you teel ag'in a man, do a favor for him, an' you're sure to like him better. There's Squire Adams, I used to hate him like fury but since I"ve been in the habit of lending on him my yoke of oxen, I've got the better on it." "Well, grandpa, I'll go to school just one day longer to lend 'em to his daughter. Such fixed-up city girls havn't the slight est idea how to have a good time. I might bring them down here and show them how it is done." So, to the surprise of everybody, the following day Wild Becky appeared at school. The scholars all laughed as she came tearing in, and making a queer lit tle bob which did duty for a courtesy, begged to bB forgiven yesterday's mis doings. Perhaps Miss Peters knew by instinct what a penance this was to the child, or it may be tht.t, in spite of her prim lit tle way, she had a real sympathy tor Becky, and disapproved of the oftensive manner of her assistant. At all events the mattei }was'lightly treated, and the "wild girl" was soon established in her own seat. At recess the girls paired off two by two, but no one spoke to her. "Dear, dear," thought the child "no- body isn't nobody here unless they are a couple, and I ain't!" When the afternoon session broke up that day, hay-cart with two big work horses stood drawn up before the fashion able establishment. The floor of the cart was strewn thickly with fragrant hay, while old Farmer Miller in his shii-t sleves, held the reins. Cynthia Adams was one of the last to leave the school room. Who can describe her astonish ment when, upon gaining the yard, she beheld Wild Becky standing on a horse block, and actually inviting these city girls to "hitch on." Most of the scholars looked,as horrified as Cynthia had ex pected but Millie King and four or five other jolly souls tumbled in for the fun ofit. Farmer Miller shouted to Miss Peters hat he'd bring 'em home safe and sound afore bed-time, and cracking his whip, they were soon rattling down the hill, the girls gettin_ such a shakeup as they to tne poles like monkeys, filling the way with their merry shouts and laughter, and by the time they reached the long winding road through the pine woods, they were thoroughly enchanted with their novel mode of riding. Such a queer homely house as it was before which they stopped! Becky didn't try to hide any part of it, but made them welcome to the whole, and to the great 'barn, too,^ with its numberless hiding places, initiating them at once into the most approved wav ot sliding down hay mows, and riding on the great swing doors. She took them across the mead ows to the stream, with the little grove beside it, and there they fished for trout not thar they caught enough to boast of, for only the most venturesome of fishes would bite in that uproar of voices. When they got tired of that sport they chased the colts in the orchard, and hunted out the squirrels, with whom Becky carried on such a droll make-be lieve conversation, that the girls, as they said, "almost died of laughing." The sun was* getting low, and the grass was all purple with shadows, when she brought out a table and paid that they would have their supper under the shade of a great butternut-tree. "This is the time thev'll laugh," thought Becky "but let 'em I couldn't get up a genteel tea, to save my life, and I shan't try." And sure enough, the girls did laugh. To see such great platters or smoking-hot sweet corn, such huge pitchers of creamy milk, such stacks of freshly picked Der ries, was enough to make any hungry girl laugh, and in away very pleasant to hear. Then followed a shake down on the smooth floor of the barn, accomplished, by the aid of Farmer, Miller, who whistled the tune of "Over the hills and far away," from the corn bin. It wasn't until the young moon shone out clear and silvery that the girls found themselves in the hay cart riding briskly toward the school. "I believe I never had such a good time in my life before," cried Millie, as she saw, with regret,' the outline of the building through the trees. "Nor I, nor I, nor I," was heard in answer. Farmer Miller recognized one of the voices, and blessed it his heart. It was Wild Becky's. As the others left them she crawled over to her grandfather's side and laid her hand warm from the giate ful grasp of the school girls, on bis arm. This started a better state ot things with Becky. She began to truly like the girls then she loved one or two dear ly in true school-gill fashion, and to be worthy of their love, she tried to improve her manners. Next came ambition in her studies, and as under it all lay a deep affection for the g-e grandfather, she came out at the end of the year one of the brightest, happiest girls in the school. There were outbreaks of mischief now and then. As the old man roared to the teacher one day, "She couldn't be tamed all at once 'but his little girl had at last found the golden key. And so, in bright ening the lives of the unhappy, and in making sunshine for all, Becky became in time a lady in every sense of that much misused term.- St. Nicholas. A Farm-House Dirge. 1. **I thought you would come this morning ma'am. Yes, Edith at last has gone To-morrow's a week, aye, just asthe sun right into her window shone When with the night, the Vicar sayb, where endeth never the day Bnt she's left a darkness behind her here 1 wish she had taken away. She is no longer with us, but we seem to be always with her, In the lonely bed where we laid her last, and can't get her to speak or stir. II. "Yes, I'm at work, 'tis time I was. I 6hould have begun before But this is the room where she lay so still, ere they carried her past the door. I thought I could never let her go where it seems so lonely of nights But now I am scrubbing and dusting down, and setting the place to rights. All I have kept are the flowers there, the last that stood by her bed. I suppose I must throw them away- She looked much fairer when she wa* dead. III. "Thank you, for thinking of her so much. Kind thought is the truest friend. I wish you had seen how pleased she was with the peaches you used to send. She tired of them too ere the end, so she didmuslins with all we tried But she liked to look at them all the same, so we set them down by her side. Their bloom and the flush upon her cheek were alike, I used to say, Both were too smooth, and soft, and round, and both have faded away. IV. "I never could tell you how kind, too, were the ladies up at the hall, Every noon, fair or wet, one of them used to call. Worry and work seems ours, but yours pleas ant and easy dajs, And when all goes smooth, the rich and poor have different lives and ways. Sorrow and death bring men more close, 'tis joy that puts us apart 'Tis a comfort to think, though we're severed so, we're all of us one at heart. V. "She never wished to be smart and rich, as so many in these days do, Nor cared to go in on market-days to stare at the gay and new. She hked to remain at home and pluck the white violets down in the wood. She said to her sisters before she died, "Tis so easy to be good." She must have found it so, I think, and that was the reason why. God deemed it needles to leave her here, so took her up to the sky. N VI. "The Vicar says that he knows she is there and surely she ought to be But though I repeat the words, 'tis hard to believe what one does not see They did not want me to go to the grave but I could not have kept away, And what ever I do I can only see a coffin and church-yard clay, Yes, 1 know it's wrong to keep lingering there, and wicked and weak to fret, And that's why I'm hard to work again for it helps one to forget. VII. "The yonng ones don't seem to take to work as their mothers and fathers did. We never were asked if we liked or no, hut had to obey when tnd. There's Bessie won't swill the dairy now, nor Richard call home the cows, And all of them cry, 'flow can you, mother9' when I carry the wash to the sows. Edith would diudge, for always Death the hearth of the herpfelest robs. But she was so pretty I could not bear to set her on dirty jobs' VIII. "I don't know how it'll be with them when sorrow and loss are theirs, For it isn't likely that they'll escape their pack of worrits and cares. They say it's an age of progress this, and a sight of things improves, But sickness, and age, and bereavement seem to work in the same old grooves. Fine they may grow, and that, but Death as lief takes the moth as the grub When their dear ones die, I suspect they'll wish they'd a floor of their own toscrub. Austin Dobson, Contempoi ary Bemew. Diseases of Our Own Causing-. On an average one-naif of the number of out-patients treated by a hospital sur geon suffer from diseases due primarily to a want of knowledge of the laws of health and cleanliness. First, the igno rance of the hygienic lawswhich affects so disastrously the health of the rich as wed as the poor, exists chiefly in regard to dress, ablution and ventilation. This statement may, at first, appear startling but an enumeration of the diseases that can be traced to the above causes will show upon how sound a basis this state ment rests. The following are examples: Varicose ulcers from dres3 skin diseases from want of cleanliness, chest diseases and fevers from defective ventilation. The vast number of ulcerated legs treat ed in the out-patient department of hos pitals, in work-house infirmaries, and in private practice, arise from varicose veins. Now, a varicose ulcer is caused by a dis tended condition of the -veins of the legs, which have to sustain the pressure of the blood caused by gravitation. In varicose veins, the valves which help to support a column of blood are to a great extent de stroyed, through the veins having been distended by mechanical obstruction to the free return of the blood from the ex tremities, thereby distending the lower veins and separating the edges of the valves. Thus the weight of an uninter rupted column has to be borne by the veins. This, of course, causes further distension, giving rise to congestion o the capillaries of the skin and causing swelling, eczema, and ultimately ulceration. This is the varicose ulcer so common in the laboring classes. It is difficult to heal, and often impossible to heal, except by prolonged rest in bed. Hence it is the dread of suigeons, and the cause of misery to thousands. Varicose ulcers are seldom admitted into general hospitals, so that hundreds of poor families are driven to the workhouse, and such cases form a majority in the workhouse infirmary. The most frequent and flagrant causes of obstruction is the ordinary elastic garter. Children should never wear them at all, as the stockings can be perfectly well kept up by the attachement of elas tic straps to the waistband. If garters are worn, it is important to know how to ap ply them with the least risk of harm at the bend of the knee the superficial veins of the leg unite, and go deeply into the under part of the thigh beneath the ham string tendons. Thus a ligature below the knee obstructs the superficial veins: if the contraction is above, the hamstring tena ons keep the pressure off the veins which return the blood from the legs. Unfortu nately, most people, in ignorance of the above facts, apply the garter below the knee. Again, in nine out of ten labor ing men, we find apiece of cord or a buckled strap tightly applied below the knee, for what reason I could never learn. Elastic bands are the mest injurious, They follow the movement of the mus cles, and never relax their pressure on the veins. None lastic bands during muscu lar exertion become considerably relaxed at intervals, and allow a freer circulation of the blood.Popular Science Monthly. SPRING JFASHIONS. The new spring goods are unavoidably more varied in design than in texture. With a few exceptions the foundations are identical with those that have como to U9 for many springs in the past. The twilled woolens come to us chiefly in unique plaided and striped designs. The percales, ginghams, calicoes, etc., are principally in light grounds embellished with exquisite floral designs. Thus a very pale blue cambric has its surface sprinkled with lilies of the valley or very tiny white daisies. A pale pink cambric is broken with a delicate vine of very small pale green leaves with red berries. Fabrics with dark grounds have light embellishment and vice versa. A deep snuff-colored cambric is overrun with small, pale pink leaves. A deep blue has stars in pale blue. A very pale green has dark green leaves, and so on. Foliage predominates, especially in the more neutral tints. For instance, a pale drab loundation has a garniture of oliasre also in drab but of a darker shade. Dafk gray foundations have 'pale gray embellish ments. Verj pretty fabrics have the foun dation tint and that ot the design so inter woven that it is difficult to distinguish one from the other. The pin-striped goods will also find considerable favor. These are very delicate in color, being principally in the palest green, blue, pink. etc. In the dark tints they seem common. White are very showy with their floral designs. A beautiful white organdie is sprinkled with great luscious blossoms in a pale golden shade. Another has pale blue morning-glories trailing over its snowy 'surface. In one specimen there are morning glories worked in silver. A pretty fabric has a plain stripe of satin alternating with one in muslin ot the same width. These come in ail colors the color, however, only being varied in the satin stripe. They will make very stylish evening dresses for the summer. Concerning the way in which these fabrics are being MADE INTO TOriJSTS. there is little at present to be said. There are several new styles that must necessar ily last, but as to any great variety it will be a few weeks hence before they are actually upon us. Still, those that are here, as we say, are reliable, and any one is safe in patronizing them even at this early day. The prettiest cambric suit that we have seen was in the palest blue broken by tiny white specks. It was made very stylish, but in perfect harmony with the" laundry. The skirt was cut demi tram and trimmed around the bottom with three rows of double box-pliats. These pleats are all fastened so as not to interfere with the process of ironing. When ironed the plaits can be be separated and their original fluted ap pearance restored. Each row of plaiting was about five inches in depth. The overdress consisted of a plain apron front and two side gores that were intended to lace almost together at the back. Down the space between these gores was along square section of the cambric laid in broad folds. The monotony of these folds was broken by three scarfs of the cambrick which crosses them at regular intervals and was tied in a generous bow in the middle. This made an exceeding ly dressy backt and one that by untying the scarfs can esily be washed. The edges of the apron front and side gores were finished with the box plaiting. The waist was made with a*yoke and plaits extending half a yard bolow the Waist. A pretty belt was made from the material and ornimented with a bow of the same. The sleeve was the long, tight-fitting coat with a deep cuff ornament with flat, medium-sized pearl buttons, similar to those used on the waist. ANOTHER SUIT. This was made from a pale pink cam brie with an embellishment of small blos soms in deep red. Generous quantities of Valenciennes face were used in the make-up of this pretty dress. The skirt was demi-train. Around the bottom were placed perpendicular sections of the material cut on the bias. These sections were about three inches in width, twelve inches in depth, and pointed at the top.of The edges were finished with a delicate white cord and a- row of the Valenciennes lace. The sections were the width of themselves apart. The long apron front which seems destined to come back in all its ancient glory was trimmed from lower edge to waist with & narrow, scant ruffles edged with the cording and the lace. The side gores lapped over on to the front, and being edged with the cord and the lace, made a pretty and neat finish to the ruffles. The other sides of the gores were turned back on the gores in the form* of ^evera* A long cascade made of spiral ruffles and lace filled in the space at the back of the overdress. The basque wai&t was tight-fitting and deep. The bottom waatrimmed with sections similar to those on the skirt,, only narrower and shorter. A yoke was also formed from these sections, and likewise the sleeve cuff. The effect of the entire suit was very charming. The lace used was about an inch in width. In the making up of lawns and muslins we are told that shirring will be exten sively used, shirred yokes, plain yokes with rows of fine shirring just below them, and shiired apron fronts with four or five fine rows of gathers down the mid dle and down each side of the front breadth. Lawns and muslins will not be combined with any other material this season. Silks nor ribbons will not be ad mitted as a garniture to dresses made from them to any great extent. This of course, is because the majority of these goods are now so showy in themselves. Howerer, we must not allow things that cannot be utilized till some distant day detract our attention altogether from the apparel that we are now wearing, some of which is quite new and very beautiful despite the opposition of the time. A WALKING SUIT. This is one of the prittiest and most sensible suits that we have seen for some time. The material from which it is made is a rich dark brown silk with a garniture of embroidered leaves in all the tints from the darkest to the palest. The skirt is cut to clear the ground, and is finished around the bottom with a heavy milliner's fold which imparts the stiffness required to prevent the skirt from flap ping. Above this finish is an artistic trimming made from the silk and the embroidery. Large half wheels are formed from fluted sections of the silk and the outer edges of these wheels are encircled with a vine of the embroidery They are placed close together with the rims standing up. The polonaise is also finished around the bottom with a simi lar trimming, only narrower. The front of the polonaise is turned back in the form of revers and the revers are covered with the embroidery. Embroidery also trims toe waist and sleeves, and covers the collar, cuffs and revers, and pockets of the English jacket. The accompany ing hat is something in the turban shape, is made of dark brown velvet, and trim med with orowa tinted tips. placed as ornaments ufon bon^ New Fashion Items, of Interest. Spanish lace veils are again in fashion. Wide collarettes of fur are again fash ionable. Valenciennes is no longer used for col larettes. Tiny brooches are used to fasten bon net strings. J^fJL^?^^ fa^riteparTvfabn, ANOTHER HAT. construction of full-dress toilets. This This is made of rich black velvet and style of goods bears a.strong resemblance has a garniture ef short black ostrich tips to English crape. and handsome gold ornaments. Vt has a A New Haven woman recently applied low crown and a narrow curled brim. At for a dviorce the day aftei she was mar- one side is the cluster of tips that sweep ried. over the crown. Around the base of the r.nmmioin( a /.niioi. ble under tne brim is a fine white ruche. HINTS FROM ELSEWHERE. It work taking the lead, affording an excel- T+.n appear* Embroidery of all kinds will be the Jidedolfat gold hue for the ground, with, rage for some time to come, the hand- shad al and render them beautiful. damassses goods correspond in tint with Caps will be the distinctive head-dress dre tli worn with the short costumes, especially New handkerchiefs have centers of by young women. They are of three white linen, borders of colored silk, and kindsthe turban, the melon and the soft are ornamented in one corner by the em- ''Pouf," or Polish cap. broidered figure of a grenadier. A new thing In buttons, which follow The Princesse model shows a hange close upon the hand-painted ties, bows for the better. The skirt is not flat an and the like, are of wood or vegetable extra width is placed in the back, giving ivory, painted in sets, each one in a differ- quite a bouffant expression, ent design. The essential point is this, Jewelry for the hair and imitation jew- that the objections shall not be incongru- eled ornaments for this purpose |are ous, but have some relation to or corre- seen in great quantities and variety in spondence with each other, and also be the jewelry and fancy stores, proportionate in size. The hat of the passing moment is the The few buttons of this kind that have equestrienne, in rough gray felt, banded been seen have been painted either for with three narrow ribbons placed at in or by private hands, but it is stated that tervals around the crown, at least one or two of those houses that A Parisan fancy ia to use several yards deal choice fancy wares will shortly of white India cashmere in the place of a have them for sale. SOrit New designs in jewelry consist of herself from head to foot, golden shells, plates or salvers in minia- Birds of paradise, butterflies and in- ture, upon which is a little gem in the sects of all sorts in the form ot gold fila- rough, inerusted or imbedded in its nat- gree and Impegan feather ornaments are ural rock. wor Anotner most exquisite novelty consists The beltehda corsage, the cor- of small skeletonized insects, grasshop- A. short costume for a young girl is of 'revers, cufis, and pocket straps of fur plaid tartan with a dark blue ground. In seal front, the skirt is kilted Scotch fashion. Second skirt, forming a tablier with folds across, turned up at the side so as to show a waistcoat simulated by cross strips of blue velvet. At the back, the second skirt, edged with blue velvet, is turned up to^how the velvet lining. The bodice, also edged with- velvet, slit open at the bottom in the middle. Long tight sleeves. Large buttons to match at the waist behind and upon the sleeves. Evening and dinner dresses are made this year in two different stvles or faliie and brocaded silk of rich db-k'tints, and quite high in the neck, with jacket open ing with ineroyable facing turned back to the shoulder, and showing a waistcoat oi the richer and more effective material. A lignt ruffle of white lace completes this style of toilet, somewhat sober, but ex tremely elegant. Long facings of bro caded silk, similar to the waistcoat, com mencing from the hipsa little to the back, come down over the train,, and are edged with tiny flutings. The sleeves are long and very narrow. The other style toilet is of light colored silk fabrics, such as failie, satin, moire, or brocaded silk, or two or three f these combined. The dress is made with paniers, and a low necked,square or oval shaped bodice the sleeves are short to the elbow, and finished with white lace trillings and loops of narrow double faced satin ribbon. The tablier, which* also forms the front part of tae bodice, is covered with white lace, gauze flutings, and narrow ripbon. Black kid gloves, buttoned with small the leading dress-makers are without a train. At a faehienable wedding the other afternoon, the bridemaids wore white silk bonnets. White net bonnets, trimmed with Bre 1 5 fcOB1juM clasSe .n Pl ^1pe.8l oveti thast satmshowing the de- a ^f ?V/ D8 late th on lent opportunity for young ladies of in- Hose are vere richly finished on in- dustrious habits to enrich simple ftateri- ste Slipperygarnituren of sati brocadthe and th du bal in which the wearer envelops th iJosephine f()r ful afA pers, butterflies and the like, exKuted in 55?5fc^ the corsage with long the most exquisite gold filigree and P0"1*8 dresses and the like. The execution of it is so fine, as to be really marvelous. A toilet for the theatre consists of a fourreau dress of slate-gray faille and black satin and old-gold faillie striped Mummy cloth, rough-surfaced cotton pekm. The tablier and waistcoat are of fabrics, in all the fashionable shades for the striped pekin. The train, without any upholstery, are all the rage at the mo- trimming, and the middle of the back are of slate-gray faille the bodice, low and square, has revers of striped pekin, as ell as the sleeve, which is finished at the elbow with a fluting of crape lisse Tuere is a small white chemisette inside the bodice. Childrens costumes are principally made of vigogne, cashmere, velveteen, or light cloth. Elegant diesses for little girls are trimmed with velvet, of which are also made waistcoats almost as long as the fhort frock, deep collars and facings. Thick Irish guipure, so durable and so effective, is much employed for trimming juvenile costumes for both sexes. Children do not wear light colors as a rule, and the white guipure is put on over navy-blue, bronze-green dark garnet, or iron or beige gray fabrics. *& for 8 ^are necks, The favorite style of wearing che pend ant is suspended by an inch-wide satin ribbon around the neek, though the neck lace and neck-chain are still worn ment for portieres and window draperies. For street wear, underall circumstances, a very simple dressr although it be a little shabby, is preferable to one more elaborately draped and trimmed that has lost its freshness. All morning toilets for the street should be short and very dark or blacK. The materials may be vigogne, cashmere, camel's-hair, and all woolen goods, but the Trimmings may be of silk. The furnishing houses are selling panier bustles of dimity and brilliantine, with steel springs in "them to support short or demi trained dancing dresses, but the sale is as yet very limited. The fancy of the moment in short costumes is a skirt and jacket of seal brown cloth, the wrap also of the same in English coat shape, trimmed with a color, Musical lace pins are small bugles, cornets, flutes, clarionets, flageolets, guitars, horns of all kinds, and sometimes an open mudc book, with an enameled bird singing on the lines of the bars of music. All sorts of stones are cut in cameos chalcedony sardodenyx, topaz, amethyst, odyx, agateand all sorts of translucent, opaque and straited stones and shells of various kinds are used for these artistic gems. A pair of fox tails, of either the com mon red, the silver, blue, gray, black or white fox, mounted with a silver or gilt bell top and chains, is a pretty ornament to fasten near the horses' ears ia sleigh ing weather. Very wide bracelets are worn half way between the elbow and wrist with the elbow sleeves universally adopted for toileUde ceremonie this season another narrow gold or jeweled bracelet is some times worn at the wrist. Nacarat red and reseda are favorite combinations of color for full stately evening dress. That is, the under dress is of nacarat plush, satin, velvet or moire, and the over dress of resda brocaee, satin, or gros grain, or a striped silk fabric. The costliest pendants are made with one large jewela solitaire diamond, a sapphire, opal, emerald, amethyst, topaz or cat's eyefor the center, embelished with gold traceries or small diemonds all around, and fine gold or jeweled fringes or tassels. In cambrics, a striking novelty appears, in that of reversible patternsthe colors being so stamped in, that the stuff can be made up with either the right or the wrong side as the outside and in these cambrics the colors, though not in the figures of the patterns, differ on the right and the wrong side. The French prints are, indeed, unusal ly interesting as manufactures, and nn usa na pearls, are novelties. coloring.e English chintzes of excellent French heeled boots for dancing must quality and very desirable are in old match the dress. china-blue, in minute designs imitative Lace mittens are worn only at parties of ostrich feathersthese in set clusters, where there is no dancing. or confusingly entangled. The old "Normandy" shape is being Some of the polka-dotted and other worn tor evening bonnets. cambrics, of simple patterns, have striped Combinations of colors in fabrics for or lace edge in white and this edge is party wear are decidedly striking. intended for trimming or bordering. For Sulphur-colored velvet, with figures of children, these cambrics are scarlet and azure blue flowers, is a noveltv. ground, called toiU Irland, in the dotsk,c Many handsome ball dresses shown by ^S"^ 1fher1BnU W tasteful in design and ?ol.orsi? th? da an printed linen shirting. ton lace, are worn at receptions and after- ^^^"ed prints are also shown a noon teas. ground ot myrtle-green, and in rich dark mulberry-color.dnfashione & satin, form very elegant full dress toilets tne garniture should be lace. Very handsome balln ~j uouuijuius wa UIGCnCB BIO ar "ium jsaiTOb ouaur Ul JMCJCIUUV ranged in crape lisse, imported especially e*J-brue rose, lavendar.hlac, the most del icate/aune tints, and cream and ivory white with a marked contrast in an oc casional piece of ruby and Bordeaux-red, plum andblack tor costumes. There are" various colors. Satins showing clear cream hues and pomegranate tints form admirable combi nations by strong gaslight. A rich damasJk a clear straw colo h-s small palm leaves and pink flowers scattered over the pale-tinteJ ground. vivi a colors ._ Skirts rrA nntWoKi otf a clear straw color SJ^ leaves and pink flowers As before stated, there h3 been a re appearance of percales in navy-blue, brown, the dark neutral colors, and in black, in patterns of polka dots in white, Polka-dotted prints are also shown in a re tavonte party fabric. white and old-gold, the mingled colors Lac- nuts, lace long gloves, and pale- and confused figures of bourette and re- hued kids with numerous buttons are all minders of bits of chintz surviving in the now fashionable. patchwork quilts of our grandmothers, Throat bows are made of long loops of in cambrics of grounds of dark-brown, gay Persian ribbon. Some of them are invisible green and blue, in patterns of fastened by a tinsel lizard or bee. sprays with leaves of old-gold and white Striped velvets, combined with silk or bi There are ^y-blue, brow and blackpercales ver 3 *& "i a i t* 9 I? *8 which distinguishewhitfo ^S^?: bla *s ifn crossbar ol patterns ssoms dresses are ar The grenadines which have come in are mostly in very delicate colors, em bracing thepalest"shadeo of Mexiaue andttUU. mulberry colors navy-blue and u .5 T" vivid colors. In texture, the grenadines ahnZ in Skirts tre noticeably short front, cross-barre, cords of nd&ch IF lanc f^:thebovretU 4. Present the damask, or damas$e variety Gf There is a novelty ia sleeve-buttons of stripes the plain canvas mesh and a very light tortoise-shell representing novelty crepe texture, closely resembling horses' heads, with the bit, bridle and crepe de Chine. These goods are of silk- headgear of gold. an#2.50 "Crape cloths" are employed in the alternate soft, smooth silk-and-r linen and sell at from $1.75 petexture., yard M^?*. J^%-,~ff$!i