Story of me Wedding Ring.
By BERTHA M. CLAY.
Continued.
His lordship sent for Mr. Ford, and
Mr. Ford received instructions to write
to Paul Waldron to inform him of
Lord Oarlswood’s offer and of his
wife’s acceptance of it. He wrote,
picturing to himself the handsome,
haggard face as he had seen it last.
“May Heaven pardon those who de
liberately break a human heart!” he
said, as he finished the letter.
He had written very plainly, telling
Paul what Lord Carlswood had decided
to do, and that,' although willing to
adopt Ismay and her son. he steadfast
ly refused in any way to recognize his
grandchild's husband.
“Your wife has had plenty of time to
decide,” he wrote, “and she declines to
leave Bralyn.”
By Lord Carlswood’s wish Ismay en
closed a note.
“It will be a confirmation of Mr.
Ford’s letter,” he said.
She wrote —
“I cannot expect you ever to forgive
me, Paul, or to think as I think. I
know how much you have loved me —
and I have loved and do love you; still,
for my own sake and Leo’s I think I
ought to accept Lord Carlswood’s offer.
I wish that it had been different; I
wish that you could share all our ad
vantages. You may think that I ought
to have refused and have returned to
you; but I should never have been
happy at Ashburnham again. The lit
tle home that contents you would not
have contented me. It is better that
I should tell you this frankly. I could
not be happy with you again. You
must not think me unkind. I always
felt that I was not in my right place.
For all the love and care you have
lavished upon me I thank you now in
bidding you farewell.”
So coldly, so heartlessly written, yet
blurred and blotted with burning tears,
without one word she placed the let
ter in Lord Carlswood’s hand: but no
one saw Ismay Waldron again that
day.
CHAPTER XIII.
There came a bright, warm, sweet
morning in August, when Paul Wald
ron rose early and went out amongst
the dew-laden flowers; he had been
thinking so intently about Ismay that
he could not sleep. It was a month
since she had left him, and he was
longing to look at her bright, beauti
ful face again.
“She could not be annoyed now.” he
said to himself, “if I wrote and asked
her to come home; she has been gone
so long."
He had almost forgotten his doubts.
Ismay had written to him very often,
telling him of her great enjoyment;
bit she had never given him even the
slightest hint of the struggle in her
mind, never told him one word of Lord
Carlswood’s offer.
“I will write and ask her to come
back:” and as he said the words the
sun seemed to shine more brightly,
the flowers to look more fair.
He sat enjoying the sunshine, the
dew. and the flowers, the little maid
took his cup of coffee out to him, and
the postman, seeing him in the garden,
brought the letters to him. There, was
one bearing the postmark of Lynn.
An hour afterwards, when the lit
tle maid went in search of him, she
found him lying on his face on the
ground, cold and senseless as one
dead. She tried to rouse him, and
after a time he looked around him with
a dazed, bewildered air.
“Have you been ill?” asked the
girl: and then she looked at him in
surprise, for as he walked to the house
he stumbled at every step.
He went to his room, and she heard
him lock the door. He was a strong
man. brave to suffer and endure, but
that letter had struck him down as a
sudden and terrible blow would have
done.
The news bewildered him: at first
he could not realize it. Slowly, clearly,
the terrible truth came home to him.
Ismay had forsaken him for mere
vanity, for wealth and luxury. She
had given him up and had left him
forever. When his mind had quite
grasped that truth a terrible cry
came from his lips—a to Heaven
for vengeance. Then, unable to bear
up, he fell with his face on the ground.
When he recovered he sat for long
hours in that room that was never
again to be brightened by his wife's
fair face, bearing the first pain of his
agony in silence that was heroic. Then
hot anger, fierce indignation rose with
in him —anger so wild, so frantic, that
he was for the time like a madman.
Who had taken his darling from him?
Who had tempted her and lured her
away? He stood with white lips
and cursed the destroyer of his domes
tic happiness with terrible curses. He
cursed the proud lord who had rob
bed him of his treasure.
“My darling!” he sobbed, and his
great heart seemed breaking with its
burden. “My darling—o beautiful, so
tender, so loving—my wife!”
Then he remembered that it was of
her own free will she had done it.
She had left him that she might enjoy
wealth, luxury, and splendor. She
had left him. had blighted his life,
had broken his heart, had slighted his
love, for—money.
He had loved with a passion that
was almost terrible in its Intensity:
but, as he thought of what she had
done, that love seemed to him to
change into hate. He did not curse
her; but his lips curved with a curious
smile.
“She was light and vain.” he said.
•'She had my heart in her hands; she
has broken it and thrown it away. She
was not worth my love. For her sake
I would have borne starvation; she
with a very few cool words gives me
up for money. I will not curse her,
bat I cry to Heaven for vengeance.”
He raised his right hand.
“I swear.” he said, “by my love and
my sorrow, that I will avenge my
wrong—that I will take full vengeance
on her for what she has made me suf
fer.”
Paul Waldron’s trouble changed and
warped his whole nature; it hardened
him as nothing else could have done.
Yet to no man living did he make any
complaint.
He said nothing of what had hap
pened; he went about his work for
some days as usual, but with a grim,
determined look on his face, and his
voice seemed to have taken quite an
other tone.
He knew that there was legal redress
for him; he could have claimed his
child. But he was too proud. If she
had voluntarily left him, let her go.
The law of the country might force his
heartless wife to return —might compel
her to come back to him.; but he dis
dained any such assistance —he held
the law in contempt.
“If she has left me of her own free
will,” he said to himself, I will not
take her back because the law is in
my favor. Let her do as she will.”
Nor would he write to appeal to her.
“She shall not know what I have
suffered—she shall not laugh over my
pain,” he said to himself. “I will never
write to her. She has left me, and
she shall not know what becomes of
me.”
What he suffered—his desolation,
anguish, despair—none but Heaven
knew. It changed the whole nature of
the man—it hardened and embittered
him —it made him unlike himself. He
brooded in sullen gloom over his
wrongs, and then his gloom would give
way to passionate anguish and despair.
Only a few days after this death
blow he received a letter giving him
excellent news.
One of his inventions had been
adopted by a wealthy firm, and they
had written to ask him to give up his
present occupation and accept an en
gagement with them.
“It is the first step towards fortune.”
he said; and then he looked round on
his desolate home.
“If she ' had but been here!” he
thought; and the news which two
months since would have seemed glori
ous to him did not even give him one
moment of pleasure. The only bright
side he saw to it was that he would
soon be away from Ashburnham.
He resolved that he would tell no
one, that he would send the little maid
home, and then in a few days leave
himself, without revealing whither he
had gone.
“So all trace of me will be lost,” he
said; “and, if she should so far re
member my existence as to make any
inquiries about me, no one will be able
to answer her.”
To Squire Schofield he said merely
that he was leaving Ashburnham. Who
could know the depth of pain, the
anguish, the bitterness, the torture of
slighted love that came to him as he
looked round upon the little home he
had once thought an earthly heaven?
Farewell to all his hopes and dreams!
Farewell, bright, beautiful face that
had lured him to his doom! Farewell to
the little child, who had been stolen
from him. whose tender arms were to
clasp him no more.
If the silent stars could reveal se
crets. they would tell of the man who
spent the whole of the long night in
the woods—who wept out there the
passion of grief that was consuming
him—who cried aloud against the wife
who had forsaken him, and the proud
man who had tempted her away. They
would tell of one long night spent in
such sorrow as few men endure; and
then of a cold morning dawn, when
that same man went his way, changed,
embittered, reckless with his own de
spair.
Fortune often showers her richest
gifts on those who court her least.
When Paul Waldron left Ashburnham,
he was utterly indifferent as to his
future. He cared no longer to win
wealth. What could wealth do for
him? It could not heal his wounds or
give back to him what he had lost. It
was perhaps for that very reason that
wealth was showered upon him. He
accepted the engagement offered to
him, and the firm were quick to see
that they had closed with no common
man. After a short time he was of
fered a junior partnership which he ac
cepted indifferently enough. Later on
one of the firm died, and he received
one half of the business.
Everything he touched seemed to
turn to gold. When he had money of
his own. he speculated, utterly careless
as to whether he lost or gained. Every
speculation was a grand success. When
his partner wished to retire he was
able to purchase the whole of the
business. He did so. not caring whether
he prospered or failed. His genius for
invention seemed inexhaustible; he
made enormous sums of money by tak
ing out patents, and in eight years
from the time he left Ashburnham he
was spoken of as one of the most pros
perous men of the day.
Rich now almost beyond “the dreams
of avarice,” he devoted himself to the
interests of the working classes. He
lectured, he made speeches; he soon be
came known as a popular leader of
Radical opinion. If by the use of keen,
passionate language he eould have
roused all England, he would have
done so, and have led on fiery, excited
masses to the destruction of all aris
tocrats. He hated them with a vehe
ment, burning hatred —he would have
devoted his life to their extinction.
There wore times when he wished that
a revolution like that of France might
sweep every titled man from the face
of the land.
People who listened to him wondered
at his vehement utterances —at his pas
sionate class hatred. They wondered
at the fierce, fiery eloquence with
which he lashed the vices of the rich,
their pride, their indifference to the
feelings of those beneath them. All
this was because one amongst them
had tempted his beautiful young wife
from him.
He became famous as the leader of a
certain class—as the earnest, sincere,
thoughtful advocate of the working
man as the warm supporterof hit- rights
and privileges.
All this time he had heard no word
of Ismay. He would never read the
chronicles of fashionable life, lest he
should see her name and it should
bring back his pain. Year after year,
as his riches accumulated, his bitter
desire for vengeance grew with them.
He was never known to laugh, never
seen to smile.
The estate and mansion of Ravens
dale were for sale, and he purchased
them. Then he smiled, and said to
himself —
“I am Squire of Ravensdale. I will
take legal steps to change my name. I
will try for the next election, and then
I can advocate the Radical measures
which I have at heart.”
CHAPTER XIV.
If the enjoyment of wealth, luxury,
every earthly delight and comfort,
could give happiness. Ismay Waldron
ought to have been perfectly happy.
After the sending of her letter she
waited for some time for a reply. Paul
would be sure to write; there would be.
perhaps, a passionate appeal to her to
return —a passionate cry for love and
pity. She must answer that as well as
she could; the die was cast now- —no
prayer, no appeal would be of any use.
She could not alter her decision.
But for the expected letter she
watched and waited in vain. She
would have liked to hear from her
husband. She had left him deliberate
ly—she had preferred money and
grandeur to his love and the pretty
humble home he had given her; still
she longed to know what he thought
of her conduct —what he suffered—lf
he was very unhappy. Unknown to
herself, she was longing still for his
love—for some of the kind words that
had been as needful to her ar the air
she breathed. Here all was magnifi
cence and stately splendor. If her
head ached, every remedy and every
luxury were offered her; but there was
no Paul to lay her head on his breast,
to soothe her with gentle words, and
comfort until the pain had ceased.
She missed him more than words can
tell; and for the first few days she
looked so pale and changed that Lord
Carlswood began to fear he had made a
mistake. He did all he could to rouse
her; he gave a grand dinner-party to
which the elite of the country were in
vited; he ordered a magnificent cos
tume from Paris for her, and she was
delighted. In the novelty and excite
ment she forgot her sorrow, and from
that hour the world took possession of
ner.
Lord Carlswood kept most faithfully
every promise he had made her. He
busied himself first in getting together
every proof of her identity, and he
succeeded. Then he formally declared
Lionel to be his heir; he made his will
bequeathing to Ismay, his beloved
grandchild, a fortune which was to
have been divided between three of his
children, and which would have made
each of them rich. Then he looked
round for some lady who would reside
at Bralyn for a time, and teach Ismay
the lessons he most wished her to
learn. He found the very lady he de
sired —Lady Merton, a distant relative
of his own. She gladly consented to
educate the beautiful girl so as to fit
her for her position.
“She will never be accomplished,”
said Lord Carlswood: “it would be
useless to attempt to teach her French,
German, and music; but, with her
great beauty, we may dispense with
accomplishments. Teach her to take
her place gracefully as the mistress of
my house—teach her all the little de
tails of etiquette that every lady ought
to know, and I shall be quite satisfied.”
The result was perfect success. The
little deficiencies of manner were soon
toned down, the musical voice took
a more delicate and silvery tone; the
actions and movements, always grace
ful, became more graceful still in their
high bred elegance. She was so quick
in learning to adapt herself to her new
sphere that Lord Carlswood wondered
at her marvelous progress. When she
had been with Lady Merton for three
months, one might have thought her
whole life had been spent at Bralyn.
To be continued.
TWO MEALS A DAY ENOUGH.
The theory of two meals a day is all
right, and so is the practice, as ex
perience has proven. Omit the break
fast. One cannot do hard work, men
tally or physically, with a full stomach.
I—Ladies’ Home Oournal.
WOMAN’S WEAR.
There are various changes noticeable
in women’s styles at the present mo
ment. differences which mark the tran
sition from the styles of two or three
years ago to those of the present hour,
and, singular to relate, many of these
indicate a return to the modes of long
ago.
The close fitting gown has returned
after over a decade of full skirts; the
tight sleeve is again seen in the land
after a period of puffed tops and bal
loon like dimensions; and now even
more radical departures are to be no
ticed. After a long reign black hosiery
for children is called upon to abdicate,
and the swellest children are wearing
white cotton stockings on their plump
little legs—and very unfamiliar they
seem after the long interval which has
elapsed since last they were in vogue.
Very quaint figures do the little people
make in their short gowns—of wash
materials or of wool: coats of broad
cloth or of velvet made after the fash
ion of those worn by their elders,
either falling from the neck in straight
lines, like the vox coat, or consisting of
close-fitting waist with plain or
plaited skirt stitched on. The upper
portion shows a short cape or a wide
collar, as the taste of the mamma dic
tates. This is either composed of the
same material as the coat, with an
applique of lace and fur-trimmed edge
or is formed of velvet in the Persian
effects. With these coats are worn
hats of velvet, soft crowns, box plaited
brims, trimmed with swagger rows of
lace and ribbon.
Avery cunning little damsel of 5 or
6 appears attired somewhat after the
following fashion: Black shoes and
white stockings, a gown of white nain
sook made with a broad hem, but with
no ornamentation on the skirt. The
waist is laid in fine plaits, which show
narrow edgings of Valenciennes lace;
this is gathered into a ribbon belt,
which fastens at one side with a smart
rosette. The coat is of white broad
cloth, showing stitched waist and skirt
effect; the upper portion exhibits a
wide collar with revers in front cov
ered with a network of cream lace
applique. The hat is of white velvet,
the crown very large, soft and full, the
brim wide and laid in loose box plaits.
The ornamentation consists of a cluster
of short white ostrich tips placed at
one side. The children are now wear
ing very effective bows of ribbon di
rectly on top of the head. The hair
is parted on each side, the lower por
tion, being slightly waved, is allowed
to hang loosely about the face and
neck, while the upper lock is fastened
by a bow made of inch or inch-and-a
half ribbon tied in a double bow with
abruptly pointed ends. The effect is
remarkably good, and where a number
of children are gathered together
wearing these butterfly bows in vari
ous shades of delicately tinted ribbon
the sight is an attractive one.
For older girls top coats and reef
ers are shown in the biscuit tints,
though black is often employed with
great effect. One such coat is of black
broadcloth, cut to follow the outline of
the figure at the back, but left loose
in front, the narrow, black, rolling col
lar widens in front in a full rever
which crosses the bust and fastens a
little to one side. Under this is a
standing collar and front of panne vel
vet in the orange shades designed in
Persian effects. The hat is of black
velvet, soft crown and slightly rolling
brim. A swagger bow of the Persian
velvet is the only ornamentation.
Older Girls.
Gowns for young girls from 10 to 15
are fashioned of soft woolen stuffs,
either plain or in some of the novelty
combinations or plaids. The skirts
are plain, all trimming being confined
to the bodice, which is made more or
less elaborate, according to the occa
sion for which the costume is designed.
For school wear a guimpe of taffeta
silk either of the same color or of a
contrasting hue is utilized in order to
give a lighter effect. This guimpe is
tucked or shirred. Often the sailor
blouse is used and then the silk or
brodaeloth collar and shield are put
on perfectly plain and smooth, filling
the throat lightly, and exhibiting no
ornamentation save the handsomely
embroidered naval design in the center
of the shield. Avery attractive gown
of this description is of dark blue serge,
the wide collar and the shield being of
pale blue silk embroidered in black.
The same effects are shown in the sail
or blouses intended for the boyg, the
serge collar being supplemented by a
shield and with collar of blue, red,
brown, black or white silk, as the
buyer may fancy. The vestee suits
for small boys continue to be popular,
the little cutaway jacket and the knick
erbocker of blue, brown or black,
while the vest is of some fancy color
mixture or two-tone novelty cloth.
Norfolk blouse suits and Russian de
signs are shown. Coats are either of
broadcloth for the younger children,
made with triple capes and wide belts,
or of the heavier cloths for the older
boys and youths, a chinchilla efTed in
black and gray cheviot or frieze being
the proper thing.
As for the women's clothes, they con
tinue to be very gorgeous in coloring
and extremely pronounced in cut. In
order to have the proper fit they must
be worn over silk tights, petticoats
being entirely eliminated.
At a recent dinner ten of the twelve
women present wore no skirts under
their exquisitely fitting evening gowns,
and it Is easy to realize, in contemplat-
ing these costumes, that there is abso
lutely no room for superfluous under
wear. So completely arc these gowns
modeled to the figure that every line
and every curve is thrown into relief.
Not a wrinkle is visible and the marvel
is to locate the point where the neces
sary fastenings are concealed.
One gown particularly not. cable is
of pastel pink broadcloth, the skirt
fitted with a box plait in the center of
the back, the lower portion being ar
ranged in a solid mass of fine tucks
and preserving what is now the only
correct figure, the straight front, show
ing no curve whatever. With slender
figures this appearance is more readily
obtained than with stouter ones, still
between the effects produced by the
corset-maker and the skillful manipu
lations of the dressmakers, wonderful
results are obtained.
A gown of turquoise blue silk has a
closely fitted skirt, the seams outlined
with cream-white lace passementerie,
which starts at the belt and runs to
the hem. The bodice shows the same
effect in handsome lace, while the front
is one mass of soft lace caught with
jeweled pins. A toque of turquoise
blue velvet with white chiffon rim is
worn with this toilet. Another gown
is in combination of blue silk and
French brocaded gauze, heavily em
broidered in the tiniest of rhinestones
and steel paillettes. The skirt is long
and very narrow, the train being
noticeably scant. The bottom shows
numerous narrow but full ruchings of
I blue chiffon over which are laid folds
of the brocaded and embroidered gauze.
Black is, conspicuously, the swagger
thing—and surely no colored gown can
fear the distinction derived from a
well placed costume of black. Entire
spangled gowns are shown, but they
| are beginning to pall a little upon the
popular taste owing to the fact that the
continuous glitter becomes monoto
nous after a while and one sighs for
something more subdued. The liberty
silks continue popular for waists and
fancy bodices, while summer silks are
utilized for extra waists for wear with
dark skirts.
A prettier fabric than the crepe
meteor, or satin crepe, it would be
difficult to find; it comes In exquisite
tintings—is soft and clinging, and in
the subdued satiny luster makes it
most becoming and effective. A black
gown of this kind has a full knife
| plaiting of black silk set on the under
'lining: over this is a fine plaiting of
crepe finished about the edge with a
full but narrow ruehing. The drapery
falls to within a few inches of the hem
and is finished by a deep silk and che
nille fringe. The bodice is low-cut
; and bordered about the shoulders by a
jetted lace flounce over chiffon; there
are no sleeves, the jetted lace being
caught into a close knot as It crosses
the arm. The rest of the bodice is sort
plaits, which are drawn tightly into a
narrow girdle of jet. A guimpe of
black net with tiny jet beads Is ar
ranged for wear with this bodice when
low neck and short sleevp effects are
not desired.
A clever gown for afternoon wear is
of cream nun's veiling with cream lace
figures inserted and hemmed with nar
row ribbons of the same hue. Many
summer gowns may thus be utilized
with good effect for house and after
noon wear during the winter.
MBRARIES FOR THE POOR.
A Successful Plan Now in Operation in
Chicago.
Chicago is practicing a very worthy
and successful method of educating
and Improving the lot of the poor.
This consists of the tiny itinerant li
brary, a small box containing twenty
volumes, that is placed by the bureau
of associated charities in a house in
the tenement district that from that
moment becomes a library at which
the neighbors may call for a supply of
reading matter.
District visitors go to the homes and
easily enlist the attention of the peo
ple there when they announce that
they intend to leave a little bookcase
and appoint a small member of the
family librarian for the little district.
The books are chosen especially to in
terest children, and it has been found
that numbers of them who had no
means of obtaining proper literature
flock to the libraries and eagerly bor
row the books.
The West End Woman's Club !s
equipping twenty of the libraries, and
other organizations are helping. One,
the I>ewls Institute, provides from Its
advanced pupils “friendly visitors,"
wh' "all each week at the homes where
the libraries are lodged and hold meet
ings of its patrons. At these gather
ings the visitors obtain a good hold up
on the children, who are eager for
more books or perhaps anxious to
have some of those they have read
further explained to them or to hear
something about the writers.
Charles Frederick Weller of the As
sociated Charities and leader of the
home library movement, says that the
Incidental benefits of the work are
equal to those resulting directly from
the dissemination of good literature
among poor children. The little book
case is an open sesame to homes that
otherwise would bo c’ sed with dis
trustful haste again the friendly vis
itor and her mission of helpfulness.
Once lodged in a home, the bookcase
stands as a reason for a weekly call
there on the part of the visitor, who Is
insured a welcome. When the visitor
makes the weekly call at the house of
the little librarian—a post of honor.
given to a trustworthy boy or girl all
the children who are enrolled as pa
trons of the library gather and learn.
These meetings are like little parties,
at which the children for the most
part get their first glimpse of social re
laxations. The idea is to keep them
free from anything like conventional
ity or stiitedness and to give the child
ren a good time. Often all the children
are asked to make pictures illustrat
ing the books read during the week.
Of course most of the attempts at art
are crude and funny, but here and
there the "friendly visitors" have been
lucky enough to find children with real
talent.
When the little library patrons are
not making pictures they are discuss
ing "Robinson Crusoe.” and making
the thousands of inquiries that such a
work provokes from the juvenile mind.
Another feature of the home libra
ries is that besides books they contain
the games that are so sadly missing
from tenements. The "friendly visi
tors" say much about the wholesome
effect of the games. In one library was
the equipment for parchesi. The father
of a young librarian, who had fallen
into the habit of spending his nights
in a saloon saw the children playing
and joined them. He became so in
terested that he broke off the saloon
connection and stayed at home with
his children, after that playing the
game and never resumed his unfortu
nate ways.
Another recent adjunct to the home
library is the penny savings bank
conducted on the stamp system. It
allows any child to become a bank de
positor, even if it can deposit only one
penny, and by that method habits of
frugality are taught. At the weekly
meetings the patrons of the library
produce their carefully saved pennie?
and are proud of the fact that they aie
financial operators on a dimlnutiv i
scale.
Sets of photographs for fine paint
ings are passed around among the li
braries, and the friendly visitor Is able
to give little art lectures to the child
ren and tell them something about the
originals of the pictures he shows
them.
“To spread among the children of
the poor a better appreciation of good
manners, cleanliness, self-respect and
higher ideals is the real object of tne
friendly visitors,” says one report,
"whose nominal mission is that of
looking after the books and the little
librarians.”
The visitors are nearly all from the
ranks of school teachers, the cadets
at the normal school and advanced
pupils of other institutions.
The Associated Charities in Chicago
has only twenty cases of books so far.
There is a loud demand for more. The
management has arranged to give each
donated library a name, after the
donor, or some person or object se
lected by him. Religious bodies have
been asked to hold bazars and enter
tainments with a view to raising funds
to equip more libraries.
MR. DOOLEY AND MOREY DONA
HUE.
The Sage of Archey Road Philosophizes
on Etiquette and the Piano.
“Mr. Dooley" happened in on the
Donahues on Archey Road anil imme
diately joined the family discussion as
to whether Mr. Donahue should buy a
piano for his daughter. “H’m," said
Mr. Dooley, "I’m no musician, an’ th’
’eight iv me enjyment is f’r to hear a
German band, consistin’ iv a plckle-oo
an’ a bass drum, playin' 'Listen to tli'
Mockin’-Bur-rd.’ But, as Mary here
says, whin it comes to decidin’ quis
tions iv etiket, Itn the boy to do it
again’ th’ wurruld. F’r forty year I've
ladeled it out be th’ pint an’ th’ quart
to th’ fash'nable society iv this ward,
an’ Dooley’s etiket f'r man an’ baist
is known fr'm wan end iv th’ counthry
to th' other. An’ I say this to ye, Mal
achi, that it's not on'y th’ proper an'
rale thing to have a planny, but seein'
that Tim Clancy, th assistant foreman
on th’ North Hide, an' Mortimer Casey,
the assistant foreman at South Chi
cago, both has wan, it ain’t anny sure
thing that whin th' news gits out that
yVre scravln’ 'long without wan ye
won't lose yer job. Get a pianny, Mal
achl, an’ thank Heaven they didn’t ask
f’r a steam calliope."—Ladies’ Home
Journal.
PARTY FINERY FOR LITTLE
GIRLS.
Party frock a are almost as necessary
an adjunct to the little Kiri's wardrobe
In this progressive age as they are to
her grown-up sister. For the real
short-frocked tots white, pearl, pink or
blue slippers and stockings are usually
favored, depending upon the color of
the dress worn. Silks In plain or open
weave look better than lisle or cotton,
as they fit closer and are as a rule In
better coloring; and then they look
well as long as they last, whereas the
others fade. Girls who have come into
their teens may also wear white and
light-colored shoes and stockings,
though growing girls with largo feet
wear plain black French kid or patent
leather, Sashes are much worn, and
may be of ribbon or chlfTron, as best
suits the gown. Some tie in a severe
bow at the back and have long ends,
while others knot at the side and have
ends finished with knotted fringe. If
hair-ribbons are worn they match the
sash or the stockings. A pretty fancy
for the hair is the wearing of flowers
Instead of the old-time ribbon.—Mary
Katharine Howard in Woman’s Home
Companion.
Kagllsh papers say that Queen Vic
toria unconsciously started a boom in
the London chocolate trade by her
Christmas present to her soldiers.