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THE USTIEftrS.
BRUCE CHAMP, Publisher.
parts. KENTUCKY.
SOMEHOW OB OTHER WE GET
ALONG.
Tfao good wife bustled about the house,
Herf aco still "brlghtTwith a pleasant smile,
As broken snatches of happy song
Strengthened her heart and hand the while.
The good man sat in the chimney nook.
His little clay pipe within his lips,
And'all he'd made, and all he had lost,
Ready and clear on his finger tips.
"Good wife, I've just been thinking a bit,
Nothing has done very well this year;
Money is bound to be hard toget
Everything's sure to be very dear;
How the cattle are going to be fed,
Howe're to keep the boys at school.
Is kind of a debt and credit sum
I can't make balance by my rule."
She turned her around from the baking board,
And she faced him with a cheerful laugh;
"Why, husband, dear, one would think
That the good, rich wheat was only chaff.
And what if the wheat was only chaff,
As long as we both are well and strong;
I'm not a woman to worry a bit,
Somehow or other we've got along.
"Into' some lives some rain must fall,
Over all lands the storm must beat,
But when the rain and storm-are o'er
The after sunshine is twice as sweet.
Through every strait we have found a road,
In every grief we have found a song;
We. have had to bear, and had to wait,
But somehow or other we get along.
"For thirty years we have loved each other,
Stood by each other, whatever befell;
Six boys have called us father and mother,
And all of them living and doing well,
we owe no man a penny, my dear,
We're both of us loving, and well, and
i strong;
Good man, I wish you would smoke again,
And think how well we've got along."
He filled his pipe with a pleasant laugh;
He kissed his wife with a tender pride;
He said: "I'll do as you tell me, love,
I'll just count up on the other side."
She left him then with his better thought,
And lifted her work with a low, sweet song
A song that followed me many a year,
Somehow or other, we get along.
-4 -
MY LOYERS.
We were only shop-girls, you know,
and, for the matter of that, we are
still. But one day we had a little
money left us just a trifle and as we
were tired to death with pleasing other
people, we decided to please ourselves,
and take a vacation at the beach.
"For once," said Letty, "let us be
grandees. Let us go in good style, if it
takes every cent. Let us go as we
might have gone if you hadn't been
sentimental and had married Mr.
Dunn."
"Mr. Dunn was a bachelor, immensely
rich, bald and stout, and no longer
young; not the lover I had dreamed of,
not the realization of the "dim sweet
vision" which had haunted my thoughts
for even a has dreams "and
fancies. I had been greatly surprised
when he asked me to marry him, and
live on Beacon Street, and drive in my
coupe. Of course he didn't mention
these things, but Letty did; and I had
said: "No, thank you," at once. What
poetry could there be in marrying Mr.
Dunn? Living in luxury on Beacpn
Street would be pleasant enough, but it
would put love and romance and happiness
forever out of the question, I
thought. Letty disapproved, I know,
and so did Mr. Dunn.
"Why don't you love me?" he asked.
"Other women have;" and he smiled
and blushed at the confession.
"Oh, Hike you very much as a friend,
Mr. Dunn," I said, to soften the blow.
" 'Friendship is easy enough to win,
But one isn't loved every day,' "
he quoted.
It was pretty slow at the beach, after
the first excitement of arriving and unpacking
had worn off; after we 'had
gotten used to bathing, and sitting idly
on the piazza, with the sea rolling at
our feet, or reading novels in the hammock,
or watching the flirtations and
the scheming. We didn't know anybody,
you see, and there was noboby to
introduce us. We talked with some of
the ladies, but they seemed to have
known each other before; and while they
discussed this or that acquaintance, the
opera of the season past, the soirees
where they had met, we naturally
dropped out of the conversation. Then,
when there was dancing, we had no
partner!-, and it was not exactly pleasant
to play the wall-flower while others
were in the swing of everything. Letty
had srid: "I think we had better go
home, and use the balance of our cash
in joining the Harvard Annex, and. improving
our minds," when one evening,
as wo sat forlorn on the piazza, who
should come to meet us but Mr. Dunn!
I never was so glad to see anybody in
my life before. He didn't seem to bear
me a grudge for having refused him.
He introduced me to all the young
swells and nabobs and their sisters as
his particular friends; in fact, I believe
he told one of the dowagers that I had
declined to become Mrs. Dunn. He
didn't' stay a great while; he was due
somewhere else at somebody's country
place and I was rather glad when he
went; for although I had refused him, I
couldn't help feeling a sort of ownership
in him, and when he flirted with
other women I didn't like it. One
doesn't like one's discarded lover to recover
too soon, if at all. We were no
longer we danced and
sang and rowed and bowled with the
best. We were Mr. Dunn's friends. I
think perhaps some of the women were
even grateful to me because I had not
married him.
However, it seemed to me that presently
I forgot Mr. Dunn altogether.
Clarence Cuthbert began to nil the
measure of my thoughts completely. I
hardly knew if anybody else existed.
"All men beside were to me like
shadows." We sat together secluded
on the piazza, or walked on the sands
by moonlight, or stroilett in tne pine
woods ana read poetry, or sang together
on the rocks with the surf beating at
our feet. He seemed the embodiment
of all poetry and lofty sentiment and
romance. He had a voice like the wind
in the pines, or an JDolian harp, full of
tender meaning and deep unfathomable
feeling, I believed; he was like that
princess whose lips dropped pearls and
rubies of speech. He read BjTon 'so
beautifully that one felt he would have
written it all if Byron hadn't, and he
had composed airs to some of Shelley's
divine verses, which he taught me to
sing. Oh, it seemed to me just then as
If Iwere a real live heroine breathing
romance. . About this time I happened
lohave a severe neuralgic headache,
whioh confined me in my .room, several
.
days, and one evening when Letty came
up to bed she said,
"I don't know if I were going to marry
one or the other, but I should prefer
Mr. Dunn to Cuthbert. ' '
"How. disagreeable you are, Letty!"
I said. "You had better come to bed."
"Mr. Dunn is sincere at least, if he is
bald," she pursued; "and he isn't so
dreadfully bald either."
"Well, Clarence isn't bald at all."
"No, but he's been going on with Miss
Erskine as if you didn't exist strolling
in the woods, looking into her eyes, and
repeating poetry. She showed me some
lines he had written to her, and I believe
they were the very same he composed to
you, only brown eyes were changed to
blue."
"Letty, I don't believe a word of it.
It's only her vanity and your jealousy.
See these exquisite roses he sent me, and
this delicious note."
"I should think it was a recipe from
MissParloa. Miss Eskine wore a finer
bunch real Jacqueminots, a dollar
apiece in to dinner."
"I don't value mine according to the
price; they're Marshal Niels, roo. If he
had sent me bunch of buttercups thev'd
be as precious. Butj'ou don't deserve to
read the note, and you sha'n't."
"I don't want to. I dare say it's the
of Miss Erskine's."
"Letty," said I, severely, "don't
speak to me again to night."
Of course I thought it was all nonsense.
I didn't want Clarence to be
moped when 1 was out of sight, and not
able to speak to a soul. I wanted him
to make himself as fascinating as possible
to the other girls. To be sure, I
made believe I was jealous of Miss Erskine
playfully, when 1 went downstairs
again, and pouted about it; and
he said, just as I knew he would, that
Miss Erskine was a nice person, who
threw herself at a man's head, however,
and demanded attentions; and her ogre
of a mother was so afraid somebody
would marry her for her money that it
was to scare the old lady a
little; but as for falling in love with Miss
Erskine, especially when another person
was in the world, that was simply impossible.
After that they got up some
private theatricals for a charity, and
Clarence had to take the part of Miss
Erskine's lover, and although he acted
it to perfection, it wasn't pleasant.
Mrs. Erskine didn t like it either. "It
looks too real;" said she.
"They would be poor actors if it
didn't,'' I said.
"Why, he's kissing her!" she cried.
"It's only a stage kiss," I assured
her. It did seem to me that he rather
overdid the part.
"I made desperate love," said he,
afterward, "just because that old harridan
was looking on. I knew you would
understand. Kiss her? Yes, I kissed
her; she seemed to expect it such a
dose!"
"But you needn't have kissed her at
rehearsal."
"True! that didn't occur to me. Live
and learn."
I was sitting at the beach one morning
a little later with Mrs. Erskine,
watching Clarence and Miss Erskine
swimming among the breakers.
"I do wish Rose would come in," said
her mother, fretfully. "I'm afraid
she'll get fond of this Mr. Cuthbert,
they're thrown together so much." I
gave a little start. "All tne young
.ladies seem to be perfectly ild about
the fellow; but I do wish he wouldn't
make love to Hose, and make her believe
she's so irresistible. Perhaps if she
hadn't a fortune I should believe in him
more. You ought to thank your stars.
Miss Linda, that you're a portionless
girl, and your lovers are all disinterested."
"Mrs Erkine," said I, "I will tell you
something. You needn't give yourself
an- uneasiness about Mr. Cuthbert's intentions.
I am engaged to Mr. Cuthbert.
It hasn' t come out Tet ' '
"Let me congratulate you, my dear
Miss Linda, "said she, and she really
kissed my cheek. "My heart feels
light. You can't tell how I've been put
to my wits' end to keep Rose under my
eye and out of harm's way. Mr. Cuthbert
is so taking! But now I may take
my ease "with the other chaperons.
Thank you for the confidence, dear. I
really feel as if you had done me a favor;
and Mr. Cuthbert's a real hero of romance,
after all, with no mercenary feelings.
Now, if Mr. Dunn had fancied
Rose, I should have had no misgiv
ings
"I don't think Clarence is fond of
money, or he never would have thought
of me," I said.
"Well, I dare say; only I can't tell
you how much I'm obliged to you. I
shall always regard you as a friend."
This was a little different from the
way she turned upon me one day, a
month later, when, having returned
from a steamboat excursion with a large
party from the house, it was found that
Clarence and Miss Erskine were missing.
"I am going back with Miss Erskine
for her sun-umbrella," he had said to me
on the boat. "She left it on a bench in
the park, and I can't let her go alone,
you know. If we lose this boat, there's
another an hour later." But the next
boat did not bring them. Mrs. Erskine
spent most of the night down at the
wharf with some companions, and when
I went down-stairs next morning she
was still in her excursion dress, with
dishevelled hair, and holding an open
letter.
"See" what you've done," she said,
giving me the letter. "You engaged to
him! You! You connived at this, you
hypocrite!"
"Dear Mamma" (wrote Rose), "Don't be
anxious about us. Clarence and I went immediately
to the church at -Beverly Springs,
and were married before your boat reached
t.ho wlinrf. T Irnnw vnn'rt npVAr nnnsnt.. nrti
it is so much more romantic to elope.
"Ailectionatelj your tfaugmer,
"Rose Cuthbeux."
There was a note for me, too, very
brief: "I love you, Linda, but
'Would the flame that we're so rich in
Light a fire in the kitchen,
Or the little god of love turn the spit?'
That's my only excuse for being a
knave."
Letty and I returned to our work. It
would have been better for us if we had
never tried to make acquaintance with
the world of the idle and happy, never
tried to become a part of it. We had
spent our trifle of money foolishly
enough, and had gained a bitter experience.
But after a while I was surprised
to find that I didn't feel as
blighted as I expected didn't have
brain-fever or nervous prostration, like
my favorite heroines. I bean to think
that my love for Clarence Bad been only
skin-deep after all. I had been takeu
with his debonair graces; I had made
no acquaintance with his soul. I began
to compare him with Mr. Dunn, to
Clarence's discredit. It was rather late
in the day, to be sure, to appreciate Mr.
Dunn. But I fell to thinking of him
every day. I watched for him every
evening, and started whenever the door-
bell rang.
"After all," said Letty, one day,
throwing 'down the evening paper, it
was lucky you didn'ty marry Mr.
Duun."
"Why?" I asked.
"Oh, he has managed to lose all his
money all but an annuity."
He had said to me once that if ever I
changed my mind, if ever I thought I
could love him, perhaps I would let him
know, and I had promised I would.
"He will never ask me again to marry
him," I thought, and so I kept my
promise. Every day I thought as I left
my work, "I shall find him waiting for
me at home." Every morning when
the postman came up the street my
heart beat double; but at the end of a
fortnight nothing had happened. One
summer night, after the day's work was
over Letty and I were resting in our
little parlor that opened upon the old-fashioned
garden at Roxbury, with its
hollyhocks and love-lies-bleeding and
London-pride for I forgot to tell you
that this was a little place which had
been left to us with the trifle of money
we squandered so foolishly, and from
which we went in and out to auf work
in the city, being unable to let it. It
was a warm night, and we had lighted
no lamps, and the fire-flies were groping
among the rose bushes outside, where
trees made a soft shade, and the scent of
flowers blew in at the open window. As
the twilight dropped down and the stars
trembled through the leaves 1 saw Mr.
Dunn open the gate and come slowly up
the garden. I could not be mistaken.
I had watched for him too long to be
deceived. L flew to open the door, but
nobody rang. Then I threw it open,
and there was no one to be seen. 1 ran
down the garden path, but met nobody.
"Oh, Letty," I cried, returning to the
parlor "oh, Letty, he is dead he is
dead!"
"Who's dead, for pity's -sake?"
"Mr. Dunn, Letty."
"Mr. Dunn? And what is that to
you?"
"What is that to me, Letty! Why, it
is everything to me. I saw him coming
up the garden path, and the garden is
empty. I couldn't be mistaken don't
I know every turn of his head "
"I congratulate you on your discovery,"
said Letty. "It's rather late,
though, isn't it, to find out that Mr.
Dunn is everything to j'ou?"
"Better late than never," said a voice
at my elbow, and Mr. Dunn's arms were
about me. I had left the hall door open
behind me in my alarm.
"I was going away to seek my fortune
in Australia to-morrow," he explained,
still holding me fast; "but I could not
go without one last glimpse of you,
Linda. I didn't mean to come in. I
ought not to have come in."
"Oh, yes, yes," I cried.
"I only meant to see you, if possible,
movin'g about your p: isant home, I
standing alone in the dusky garden outside,
only to know that you were safe
and happy once more. I was disappointed
to find the house so dark, and
stepped back into the street. I could
hardly make up my mind to go away,
and while I hesitated Miss Letty lighted
a lamp, and I came back in time to hear
your confession."
"And you are going to Australia tomorrow?"
I said.
"We will defer the trip long enough
to buy tickets for two," he answered. I
said we were shop-girls still, and so we
are; that -is, I resign my situation tomorrow
in favor of Rose Cuthbert,
whose husband has required only a year
in which to lose her fortune. Yesterday
I received the letter I wrote Mr. Dunn
from the Dead-letter Office. I had just
directed it to "Mr. Dunn, Boston," as
if there was only one Mr. Dunn in the
world. When I look in his face I wonder
I could ever have thought him too
old: when I read his heart, I wonder I
could ever have believed that romance
and he had parted company. Mary N.
Prescott, in Harper's Bazar.
---
The Tussock Moth.
"I have discovered a new form of attack
bred by the caterpillars trom the
white tussock moth," said Prof. J. A.
Lintner, State Entomologist, as he held in
his hand a bunch of elm twigs with the
leaves curled and dried. ' "For two
weeks past people walking through the
streets have noticed the tops of elm trees
fall to the sidewalk in large quantities.
These,upon examination, are found to be
little twigs from one to two inches, containing
from four to eight leaves, and
constituting the growth of the season.
Close examination revealed the fact that
at the end of the twig the bark had been
eaten off. These twigs have fallen off in
great abundance from some trejs. I at
once referred it to these; insects, nd went
up on top of a house where I could inspect
the workings" of whatever was the
cause, and there saw these caterpillars
in active work. The explanation for
this new method of attack, never observed
before, was that the spring was
cold, a fact which delayed early vegetation.
Then by the sudden advent of
warm weather the vegetation burst forth
at once, making it very tender. This insect
found at this particular time food
more suitable to his taste than the leaves,
which he has hitherto mainly fed on.
In some streets for instance, Lancaster
street nearly all the new growth has
been cut off."
Prof. Lintner showed pieces of short
limbs which he had gathered, and which
showed the ravages of the insect. Just
above where the new sprout joined the
old limb the bark was entirely eaten off.
"The depredations," continued the professor,
"are not confined to the city, but
other sections are suffering equally as
much. I trust the evil will not be serious.
The bark should soon toughen
enough to resist the insects. It is an
interesting phenomenon as illustrating
the new habits that insects frequently
take upon themselves. It is a question
in my mind whether or not the eating
of this young bark will be hereditary.
Albany Evening Journal.
The high price of materials and
j labor interferes with building operations
in New York this season. Ar. Y. Sun
- i
Food and Drink for Children.
Dinner for children should be early,
and about this let me remark that if
beef or mutton be giyen, both of which,
whether boiled or roasted, are highly
nutritious, it should be cut up very
finely or even minced, and the child
should be taught to eat very slowly and
to masticate the foocK well. Children's
food, like that of grown-up people,
ought to be varied; change is always
agreeable and conducive to good digestion.
I like to see children sit down to
a dinner, and I delight to see them
enjoy it, but hurrying over meals and
they are generally prone to this should
always be discouraged, while on the
other hand, nothing indigestible should
be placed before them. Game of various
kinds, as well as fowl, pigeon and
rabbit, make a very fine change, and
so does white fish, with the -exception of
herring or mackerel, or any other
strong-tasted or oily fish. Although a
little salt should be sprinkled over a
child's food, he should not be permitted
to eat salted provisions of an kind, nor
any indigestible food as pork, goose or
even duck, and turkey should be given
but sparingly. The stuffing generally
used with the latter is very likely to
produce a fit of indigestion if given to
a child. There are vegetables that a
child may eat, and 'others that he ought
not to partake of; potatoes, for example,
turnips and roots generally are
very wholesome, but cabbage and
greens are provocative of internal disturbance.
Even potatoes, turnips and
parsnips, however, should be mashed.
And here let me give a word of warning;
they ought not to be mashed on the
plate with the back of a fork; they will
be lumpy if they are. The mashing
ought to be complete and thorough.
Puddings of sago, rice or semolina, or
even corn flour, should always form
part of a child's dinner, and suet dumpling,
if eaten with syrup, makes a very
nice change.
What should a child drink? Milk or
water with meals, or a very little tea or
coffee well diluted with milk. Cocoa is
most nourishing; I cannot, indeed,
speak too highly in its praise. As to
beer or wines I should say never under
any circumstances allow a child to partake
of them, except under the orders
or sanction of a medical man. The
supper should be early, say six o'clock,
and may be light pudding of any kind,
porridge and milk, or bread and butter
with milk-diluted tea. Children live
fast, and be it remembered that they require
more food in comparison to their
size than grown-up people do, for they
have not only to repair the waste of
:ssue, but to build and feed bone and
nerve and muscle. Even between meals,
therefore, if occasion demands it, do
not deny them a crust of bread.
There is little need ?f plrysic where
children are well cared for, well
clothed and well fed. If a laxative be
needed, either a teaspoonful of magnesia
may je mixed in the pap, or a little
fluid magnesia administered, but remember
that magnesia too often given
is apt to form concretions of a dangerous
character. Castor oil warmed, so
as to make it run easy, is sometimes
good, the only objection to its administration
being that force is required, and
I know br experience that a child will
struggle so against swallowing medicine
as to cause itself mischief. Syrup of
rhubarb is another harmless aperient,
and one which will not weaken the
child; but after all, the less medicine
you give the better, unless the child be
actually fevered, and then it is time to
send for the doctor. American Register .
Concerning Clover.
Clover of any variety seldom attracts
much attention in a portion of country
that has recently been settled. It is
generally introduced aftercrops of grain
begin to fail and a need is felt for more
fertilizing material than the manure
heap can supply. Red clover was not
introduced into England till the soil had
lost much of its fertility by continual
croppings. It immediately produced a
revolution in agriculture. Its lirst result
was to increase the amount of stock
food. It was soon found that its growth
prepared the soil for a crop of wheat.
It now forms a part of every system of
rotation practiced in the country. As a
forage crop it supplies much of the food
eaten b sheep, hogs, and cattle. Its
highest' use, however, is as a renovator
of the soil. Its abundant foliage casts
a dense shade which renders the soil
beneath it permanently moist. Its roots
penetrate the earth to a great distance,
pulvarize the hard soil, and bring near
the surface the mineral salts that lie
beneath the reach of the plow. Even if
all the stocks and foliage are removed
from the soil the roots afford a large
amount of fertalizing material. Clover
is more difficult to cut and cure for hay
than most kinds of grass are, owing to
its liability to lodge. To obviate this
trouble as far as possible it should be
cut as soon as it is in full blossom. It
is much easier to cut a field of clover
twice when the stalks stand upright
than once when they are lodged. Lodged
clover is not only difficult to cut and
cure, but poor for feeding purposes.
The leaves are likely to fall off and the
blossoms to become blackened or moldy.
Clover hav to be relished by stock should
be bright and fragrant. For sheep and
young cattle it has no superior.
Clover is an excellent pasture plant,
but care must be taken with its treatment.
Stock should not be turned into
a clover pasture early in the spring,
while the ground is soft and the plants
small. When animals are turned from
dry hay into a pasture of clover that is
immature they are likely to suffer from
the change. If stock is turned into a
clover pasture quite early in the spring
it should be only a few hours at a time.
Discretion should also be observed
about turning animals into a clover
pasture at any season of the year. Frequent
cases of bloat or hoven occur from
cattle eating too much clover after they
have been in a scant pasture, or been
kept for some time principally on dry
food. Animals are not likely to suffer
from eating too much clover when it is
distributed among timothy and other
grasses. If red clover is cut as soon as
it is in full blossom the second crop is
often as valuable as the first one. If
there is a scarcity of food for winter it
j may be cut and cured for hay. It is
! generally less difficult to secure the second
crop than the first, as the weather
is more likely to be favorable. It pays
to allow the second crop to ripen, and
. .
"to cut it for seed. Take the seasons as"
they go, few crops pay better than
clover. The second crop of red clover
furnishes excellent pasturage. Sheep
and cattle lay on 1U very" fast when
allowed the run ot a clover pasture " w oc" "lo 6. UUAC.
the earlv part of the fall. A Mrs Elizabeth J. Crook has been
Wisconsin farmer who was very sue-; reappointed Postmaster at Arkadelphia,
cessful with sheep declared that two i k. Notwithstanding her name, her
acres of clover, the first crop being ; accounts are as straight as a foot-cured
for hay, were as valuable for pro- . measure. Chicago Journal.
ducing fat as an acre of corn. His Ex-Governor Leland Stanford, of
practice was to sow land-plaster on the , California, does not look like a man
clover as soon as the first crop was cut,
and to turn the sheep on When the
plants had attained a good growth and
were nearly ready to blossom. At first
he allowed them the run of the field but
one hour in the day.
Clover of all kinds is likely to fail oi
to do indifferently well on soil deficient
in lime. Quicklime, lime that has air
or water slaked, pulverized lime-stone
and land-plaster, which is a sulphate of
lime, are all excellent fertilizers for
clover. Some varieties of clover will
do well on any kind of soil, providing
it contains a sufficient amount of lime
in some form. The common red clover
is best adapted to soils that are moderately
high and diy, or somewhat low
grounds that are well drained. The
Alsike, or Swedish clover, dees best on
tolerably moist land. It mukes a superior
hay and the stalks are not as
likely to lodge as are those -pf red
clover. It is a more hard' plant and
better adapted to a high latitude. White
clover requires a soil tolerabxy dry and
well drained. It flourishes eeedingly
well on broken ground and on hillsides.
It will cover the banks of ravines
and the sides of road embankments
and will preserve them from
washing. Once introduced, it will remain
in the soil often for a generation.
A few seeds dropped in favorable loca
tions, or small pieces or turf careiully
transplanted, will be the means of in-
troducing white clover with very little He met years ago when he was private
trouble or expense. A single plant will Jutoroftwo of his playmates:
a considerable extent of ber him well, a very pleasant gentleman.
ground. Sheep relish white clover bet-
ter than almost any forage plant that
grows. It affords a large amount of
the choicest honey, and is consequently
in high esteem among bee-keepers.
Hogs can be kept cheaper on common
red or mammoth red clover than on any
food the farmer can produce. One acre
in clover will keep five medium-sized
hogs during nearly five months of the
vear. A clover pasture that has been
occupied by hogs will rarely fail to pro- "but is noted for his stinginess, and
a snlendid eron of corn. The drop- ticularly distinguished himself two
pings of the hogs and the clover roots
will furnish all the fertilizers necessary.
Chicago Times.
Countiy Dressing.
There is rather a curious contrast between
the dressing of those who leave
the city to go to the country, and the
visitors from the countrr who wish to
show that they are not behind the times
in regard to fashion. The distinction is
chiefly one of color; country cousins are
given to color of a somewhat crude and
startling kind, and accept the statements
made by interested persons in regard to
fashionable shades and tints, and genuine
materials. They are also apt to
unite poverty of fabric with showiness
in the trimmings, while the class of city
people who can afford to go into the
country and stay there pursue quite the
opposite policy, choosing quite good
materials, without perhaps anv trimming
at all, and fail utterly to represent
strle as it is understood among their
rural neighbors.
The polonaise costume seems to be
the favorite one for the country belted
broadly down over a skirt of a contrasting
color. The polonaise may be of
gray, blue, or bronze wool, or it may
be of chintz or flowered satteen, but it is
always made with an apron front,
round or pointed, if the latter crossed to
one side, and never open in front, which
leaves the skirt exposed and is only admissible
in the case of a coat and much
trimmed skirt,
A great deal of embroidery is put upon
the dresses prepared for the country,
especially upon suits of pongee and
lawn or cambric. The embroidered
trimming is not confined to narrow
ruffling. There is usually one piece of
flouncing wrought for the front of the
dress, which is half a yard in depth,
and this does not form the short apron,
but occupies the intermediate space below
it and is often supplemented by an
equal depth of embroidery about the
hips, which is draped as pahiers. White
lawns are masses of what is by
courtesy called "needle-work," though
if the ornamentation was executed with
the needle one dress would cost a small
fortune. Not only are the flounces made
of embroidery, but the basque piece is
cut from it in the piece so that the dres
is entirely "covered" with it,
The most unbecoming toilets are the
large checkered and plaid suits, and
there are many of them. Once in a
long while a checker-board dress and a
woman who can wear it may be seen,
but it is so rarely that it would be a
blessing if the rigid designs were relegated
to the stove age, where they belong.
The "wafer," large spotted designs,
are favorites for polonaise dresses, the
skirts being made of the plain materia
in the dark color. A dark blue cotton
or wool watered with dull red has a '
dark blue skirt trimmed with two kilted
flounces. The apron polonaise is belted
down with dark red leather or dull satin
and the straw hat and its feathers- are
all of the same shade, which is not conspicuous.
Brown upon ecru makes a
good combination and is accompanied
by a brown straw hat, the two shades
combined in its feathers.
Red or blue wafers upon eream
grounds are used in cambric for tho
"holokee" dresses copied from the
Sandwich Islands. Thev are simply
low frocks gathered into a square yoke !
of white needlework and tucking, and
are made with close or full sleeves oi
lawn, the latter slightly gathered into a
frill of needle-work. They hang loose
from the yoke, are not belted in. and
make very cool and pretty in-door morning
dresses. Jennie June in CIricaq
Evening Journal.
--"0-
-There is terrific social excitement
at Newport because a family has taken
a cottage and does not "keep carriages
and horses. ' to nmnilnmnr
JUIULJ UU1IJ U HUUUCilUg
what on earth they came to Newport
lor. it is one of thamost remarkable
cases of the kind, on record. Ar. Y,
MaiL
PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL-
Mr. Chamberlain, the father of tha
American lady famous in Europe for
who enjoys his millions. He has a
strong, stern face of gloomy cast, and
never smiles or shows interest.
Isaac Hills, a Meriden (Conn.)
teamster with four children, has been
notified that his great uncle in Canada
has died, leaving $650,000, of which he
will get $150,000 Boston Transcript.
Queen Mary, the Chief of the Gypsies,
now 76 years old, has come over
from England, and is ruling over her
subjects, who have gathere2 in Pennsylvania.
Mary is said to be the Queen
of all the Gypsies in the world. Philadelphia
Press.
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett
must be credited with saying at least
one good thing outside of her books.
On being asked how to write a novel,
she replied: "You must have pen, ink
and paper. Use the first with brains,
the second with imagination, and the
third with generosity. " Chicago Herald.
"Lotta," says James H. Heverin,
"is the wealthiest actress in the world.
She can make more money with her
feet than the brainiest man living can
with his head. She made $125,000 last
season, and she is worth altogether, to
my knowledge, fully $1,000,000, notwithstanding
the fact that she has lost
$300,000 by bad speculations." JV. Y.
Post.
A gossipy -writer in the Troy. (N.Y.)
?s says of Bret Harte's father, whom
ne mameu a gin out oiuiemiu. ane
was one of the most beautiful girls ;I ever
saw, as handsome as a doll but had no
education. Her husband educated her,
and she became one of the finest ladies
in Hudson."
The Marquis of Lansdowne, the
new Governor-General of Canada, is
particularly distasteful to the Irish. He
lias an estate in Ireland of over 120,000
acres, and an annual rental of $173,000,
years ago by sending a shipload of seed
potatoes to his starving tenants and
charging them market rates for them.
Chicago News.
The descendants of the first of our
Presidents are not numerous now. In
Virginia are a few of the Washington
family of the Lawrence Washington
branch, and of the Madisons there are
none. Monroe has one or two niece?
and a nephew living, and Jackson has
not a living descendant. The Adams
family is the best represented of the six.
Jefferson lias a number of descendants,
and Mrs. Meikleham is the nearest
living relation. She is the youngest
daughter of his eldest daughter, Martha,
who married a Randolph, and is the
last of her seven daughters. N. Y.
Times.
"A LITTLE NONSENSE."
A long tramp : The one who stands
six feet in his stockings.
The last sad writes : A man's will.
A splendid water-meter : Meeting her
on the beach by moonlight.
A Pittsburgh lady, whose first born
is six feet in his stockings and only half
through his teens, thinks she will start
a tea store. She has such a young high
son.
" Hush ! Beware of the torpedo ! "
said a young lady to an ineligible admirer
who was becoming too attentive.
On his asking for an explanation she
answered: "Oh, it's only our new
name for mamma, because she blows us
up so ! " Chicago Tribune.
As the happy couple were leaving
the church the husband said to the
partner of his wedded life : "Marriage
must seem a dreadful thing to you.
Why, you were all of a tremble, and
one could hardly hear you say I
will ! ' " "I shall have more courage,
and say it louder next time." returned
the blushing bride.
A sporting paper says that a certain
base-ball player was "fined twenty-five
dollars for missing a fly. ' ' Persons who
have watched the antics of a bald-headed
man as he strikes aimlessly at a
fly will wonder how long the richest
bald-headed man's purse would hold
out if he were obliged to pay twenty-five
dollars for a miss. N. Y. Journal.
A man of dull wits, who took things
literally, had often heard that "Truth
is a jewel lying at the bottom of a
well ;" so he decided one day to go
'own the well for the purpose of taking
oossession of the jewel. He huit his
Knees and elbows, bumped his he&d.
ran an old fork into his foot, and shivered
around for six long hours before
his wife drew him up. "What in the
world were you doing down there?"
asked the wife. "I was looking for
Truth, but I guess this ain't Truth's
well."
An old Scotch story is good enough
to be lately revived in the Scotch papers:
One night Sandy told her that he "liket"
her "awf u' wee. "She simply responded
"ditto." Sandy was not very sure
what that meant; so the next day while at
work, he said, "Father can you tell me
what 'ditto' is?" "Ou. av. banayi"
replied his father. "Dae ye see that
cabbage?" "les. "Ana uae ye see
that ither ane, that is jist the same?"
"Yes." "Weel, that's ditto." "Gra-
cious rooaness: uuj,
"Did she ca' me a cabbage-head? I'll
na' wed her." N. Y. Post.
t'linl o "UiffU aironiiA
-"Old woman, OUJU Ur X11UU
man iast nirht, at twelve o'clock, when
i, 0., home, with about fourteen
brinks in him, and found his wife in her
"let's play the 'Siege of
T.nolcnnw ' " and he grabbed the broom
and rasped all the tinware off the wall.
"What do I play?" said she. "Yon
play Jesse," said he. "All right,"
said she, and she grabbed him by the
hmr. winea. xm tne iioor witu m.,.
3aned his legs against the stove, hit)
nimo0n the head with a dipper, and
. . .. . TTirUr
- 1
frunghimoutof the backdoor, wnen
he awakened this morning, under the
back-oven, he said: "The old woman
played her part well," Graphic.
P
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