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NEW YEAR BELL. rife Yillela, Which Sounds When Misfortune Threatens, Has Given a Doleful Note. URKEY DOES NOT ‘ RING IN” THE NEW YEAR. . ».a Polishing Up the “ Coronation Bell" Which Tells Events in the Emperor,s Family. \PAN’S “LITTLE GIANT" WITH THE TINY TINKLING VOICE. .‘.■rest” Bells Are the Liberty, Millet's Angeius Bell, and Notre Dame. BELLS, RUNG ONE AFTER ANOTHER. WOULD SOUND ROUND THE WORLD. "'h re is a chime of bells which, if ■ c one after another in longitudinal d.\ would reach around the world. . bells hang in different countries i have each a separate history, is told chronologically, would give re ord of the world, for the bells n h back to the early Egyptians and ■ i)ayS of Bondage. Taken separate thev mark history epochs. Our own Liberty Bell Is one uf the . . It cracked ringing for mde tb s: marking, but its sound is still 1 'r music. Before the moment it u K Hi for joy that bell could l-e heard rum wide, and its r**al easily i the outskirts of the young re . of which it was the proud, cheer li spokesman. i!i has a ! pll that is its prophet, 'r jtf. soothsayer. ora le and guide, bell, the famous Villela. has hung • i enturh - in the historic castle, ing watch over the nation. 1 i- th<- most celebrated bell in '. .rope, though not proud nor hand ing Its fame rests not so much up i ; or • s, though these are high .tchod. soft and clear; nor upon its .. i ,r r! ■ are other bells in Spain r-* r. but upon its personality. HEI.IiJ THAT SPEAK. The bells of ihe tower” have been . : fur cent'tries its having a power im a. "Rinc out, wild bells, tl the bet s have it ithin !I *• rror. And “Chime, ye i. ,ns they ran speak tor joy. in-^r •* the best he can but -t is true the bells add t their own. is a Spanish bell that for •void any impending trou • n When the father of > <11* d the Vtllela Iv-gan night and tolled until In the ten years’ Cu ll strn< 'k awful tones <m •he deft ats. And when > ve touched th® castle and r in i wet ion threatened the roll' the Mile’a has lifted up its voice Ij t * ■ k 'he V.'lela tolled again. \< n t, quit k stroke. Only few heart if. tut they ran to tell ■ ? n 'ul r Jiutr Did it mean more r in Cuba? Was the war to • the royal vaults beyond penury • > •. Dr.? The Villela would not tell, ■\t ii sent out its warning note. Russia has a coronation belt. It is ari; t ir the world, and weighs .tlf a million pounds. Its sound has ■ -ver l ■ > n bounded and is said, like Emperor’s voice, to reach to heav !' hangs in the Kremlin. It is the '.rtperor’s bell, ami is rung only in <>no; of him. At the coronation it •>a’ed forth as the Emperor entered ; eh: and its voice announced ! * conrlush n of the ceremony to the i: le cf Russia The coronation bell • rung by a bell-ringer blessed by the '.‘mperor. the head of the church. The • 11-ringer d< • s no other work, and is ways on duty to tell of important • nts in the family of the Emperor. !T>> is pensioned. Of late he has been ’ sy polishing up the hell for special i ppenlngs. He rings when His ; ijesty goes to church, and in case of • :•> death of a Russian monarch the Kremlin hell tolls constantly between • death and the tlm of the funeral. Since Russia is the home of bells, it « riot wonderful that it should hold the largest unrung bell in the world, i bell now makes a buildlt ; in the \P tnlln. It was east two centuries ■ ». but was found too heavy to re sove from the pit. The Russian tuon hs. one after another, trie 1 t.> > ,• p tr lilted, and hundred* of liv* * •»> re -riflred lit the shifting pit of sand, allv fate intervened. A raging r»* t u.anv of them will not rin»c and i- oMHerat«<t from th* list of The best bells are a mixture of or and tin. with a hammer on* ntieth the weight of the bell. The n* S bells, even if cast correctly, two mall hammers. Or they are ’ ro sound like Un. and the hammer not strike roufcllv. One of these. Little Giant. . has never been -h> It is said ho weigh eompara «Ty little, being of some light Japa metal; but It is thirty feet across, usel to announce births and »tl-s in 'he royal family. Its clapper small, elongated affair that strikes :a ouble sound, and the Little i ; ' t is eiisilr recognised when heard. CHURCH BELLS, bell of Xotre Dame in Montreal d.” largest bell in America, but not1 * sweetest. This attribute is claim-i by the biggest bell ’of Trinity’s] chime in New York, which is so sur passing in its delicacy and so pene trating In its pureness that rich and poor alike stand all night, in all weath er, to hear it ring in the new year. The most inclement weather never keeps them aw: ; , and so demonstra tive do they sometimes become at its sound that Trinity's rector has once or twice forbidden the chime to ring at midnight. It is cast in E flat. The countries of Greece, Turkey It aly and Egypt have not many famous bells. Hells are not in good repute there from the fact that criminals wear them around the neck and lepers are strung with them. In the temples the High Priests decorate their robes with small, jangling bells, and this is an other reason why beils cannot become common. In Turkey they are con spicuously unpopular, and that coun try is the only one that positively for bids the ringing in of the new year with bell3. The first New Year’s chimes were rung in England in 1500. and so quick ly did the news of them travel that soon every capital of Europe had chimes. America has the most chimes of any country in the world, and few cities of the United States but have their chiming bells. The voice of the bells has. since the introduction of the church hell first blessed in 500. been the means of an nouncing the new year. They hang Vtw-'en the spheres, as high towards heaven as towers can be built, and are supposed to be capable of telling to the miwrse w hat can be told by no other medium, namely, the dawning of a new year. CLARENCE S. RUSSELL. WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING. From London Society. Dan Bellairs and Lia Bellairs bad d"ne a very foolish thing—they had fa.len in love; they had done an awful thing they had married. And mar ried on the strength of unlimited credit oa the Bank of Love, aud almost total blank on that of Tkreadneedle street. The cheeks of the former are not nego tiable in a matter-of-fact world. Then Dan and Lia. scouting the maxim that two is company and three is none, smiled welcome on a baby. All this took place in due chronological order when Dan was at the responsible age of one and twenty. When he took the train (just after his marriage) down to Lessinger hall to inform his father of the event, his stern parent told him to go to the devil, whereupon Dan replied, with oversan guine and rash cheerfulness, that he had come to his father, following his adfcice in advance. Mr. Bellairs did not see the joke (it was never his way (which was a pity) and used naughty words (which was worse), and each generously gave rather more than he took, aud Dun proved himself a chip of the otd block—much to the old block's indignation, the upshot of it being that Mr. Bellairs infromed his son by letter that he had cut him off with a shilling, and that if he- chose to apply for the sum the family solicitors were author ized to honor his check to that amount. Luckily Dan had £120 a year inde pendent of his father, so. by aid of hitherto undreamed-of economies, the first two yt&rs passed, though it took Lia some six months to learn that sal mon and grouse are not the cheapest fare to live on. Dan had passed out of Sandhms aud had been gazetted to a Bengal cav alry regiment stationed somewhere In Ouiib. but the troop-ship iu which he w as u> sail del net start for six weeks. Oue day he burst into Lia s little sit ting-room (“three pair back") saying: • Who do you think I've stumbled against, Lia’ Y u remember Jervois. dm I you’ Jervois of my company — 1 hap with a bald . bead Well. 1 )«i-; turn 1 into Vigo street when a HU»w . ame knocking up against me. I *led out something about the r *; 1 !e Jove! tt was Jenrots!" « -tran«e/* echoes Lia. as if it *, a *rvak * f nature to meet one * Lcndon. i I 5 no end of tin, lucky fel t.ia *i*h*>1 <1 v W* R< t talking of horse* and be » l •» h< i»'i vv would let him drive «. «J. »n on it* r-wb f«»r the 14th. What do you > Lia' It would be a .ir fling fo -ii.e in a way. He t . • ■ ■ ’ »tip about \*!* cntar• h*- m t »ln at a ranter, and he all I had on him. 1*. t i? hard. E<>v , thut 1 can't?" i a mmh?" begins Lia, with hesi tation. He answers by routing out a 2-shill }ng piece from his trousers pocket and <; lining it in the air. “Heads or tails? Heads’ Heat’s it is. You've won. V \t remittance doesn't turn up until the day after to-morrow.” says this husband and father soberly, after a pause. He goes to a window and looks out with straight brows and firm, closed lips, and succeeds in looking grown-up. The 14th smiled on an anxious world which had feared a frowning, tearful sky. Arriving at the course Dan and Jer vois went off by themselves. The latter was a good deal excited. He had only lately come into his money, and the slipping of the leash was just a bit intoxicating. Dan followed, no less off his head. There was a chance of doing something, of achieving a host of things, inclusive of the recon ciliation with the old block. With BA t^Ny (iis- xEs these five bells have rung as spokesmen of their respective nations. the money he should win on Adkemar he would first buy no end of lovely things for Ida. She was bewitching enough as she was, but Ida in beautiful garments would melt the north pole. Yes. he would do all that, and a whole heap of other things, including some awful, swamping bills, hanging like so many sledge hammers over their youth ful. inconsequent heads. So Dan, having about as much weight on his boy’s shoulders as would have sunk a grown man, followed his friend’s lead, and knowing very little even of the technicalties of what he was doing, struck out blindly in his new course; shut his eyes like most young swim mers and consequently saw nothing of the breakers ahead. In fact the rush swept him clean off his feet. It is true he felt a bit sobered when he climbed up by unconscious Ida's side at lunch eon time. One or two men looked rather cur iously at the young couple; they did not look as if the loss of money were of no consequence to them, and yet they had witnessed poor Don’s erratic career which would mean something very serious if the horse he had backed did not win. The race did not come off for an hour after, and. by that time, Dan had cooled rather, and lie turned very white as he glanced at his notebook. “And have you managed a bet or two, dear .’" asked insouciante Lia. "Yes, one or-’’ Just then came the shout: “They’re off!” Lia looked the more excited of the two, but then no one saw Dan’s hands as they tore nervously at the liu- ; ing of his pockets. Yes, and the game was played out, j Adkemar and Scotia led those two. | when Scotia shot ahead and won in half I a length. , I Lia turned around in sympathy for i Dan’s disappointment, but Dan had slipped down off the coach, and was no where to be seen. "I say, old chap, you’re looking deuced glum—Adkemar’s downfall, eh?" and Jervois clapped him on the back. Dan turned around with a queer sort of rattle in his throat. “Adkemar's downfall? ’ ho said: my own dawnfall. you mean." “Oh! Come. now. not so bad as all that." answered Jervois cheerfully, not knowing for the moment half what, his own or Be 11 airs' debts were; "not so bad as that, old fellow. I’m pretty well broke myself,” he went on with that pleasant equanimity born of a knowl edge that you’re nothing of the kind, or that if you arc. there is always a landing net in the shape of a soft and forgiving father to fish you out of all difficulties next day; "I'm pretty dead broke myself." . . , “Yes. you're—pretty—dead—broke, yourself." echoed Dan, stupidly. “You’re- pretty—dead He broke off with a start and caught himself tip. “Yes indeed." continued Jervois. amiably, "and I feel rather inclined to go and drown myself—there’s a place i nice and handy, built ns a last resource j for stonehroke turfites.’’ Dan stirred and a curious awaking i sensation crept through him—It seemed as if he hud been asleep all this time, i and bad only awoke to hear Jevols' j last words. He looked far and away -far across and over the moving, mixed crowd t imid which some special excitement seemed to be roused) over the green sweep of meadows till they blurred haidlv into the blue—and he saw be yond all that far more than Jervois would have seen had he. too. li>oked. Yt s: all hope of reconciliation with his j father was done with and over—his commission was worse than useless to him Such an overwhelming drown ing wav ' was surging up to where he a wave that would as surely ia and the child as well, ive’ Bellairs is a whole sight than I am. for all that he’s got a wife and baby—he can t take bad lu<k a bit.” thought Jervois. as he watched the beardless face, in perfect ign. ince of the state of Dan’s finances. orad, but he bad to moisten them before any sound came from them: they were awfully white, md he shivered as if it hadn't been a •nguif I.l By Jo ronnger blazing hot day. ••It’s a pity Adkermar didn t come | in first. Jcrvois.'' “Pity? Pity's not the word—it s damnable. Pan. old man. with s\ mpa thetic gloom: ‘and then, oh. Lord, the paying up of it all! An added pallor swept over Pan’s <-aoe j$nd such a look of sudden anguish shot into the boy’s dark eyes that Jer vois in pity turned his away. “How do you stand, old chap—lost your all? Can I help—" **No,” answered Pan slowly, and with the far-away mist still In his eyes, • no. not all; I have Lia and the boy gtiH—Lia—” A horrid sensation crept up his throat; in a woman it might have changed to sobs, but it only changed to a sharp pain that stabbed each breath as he drew it. His face gave a sudden twitch, and he passed his hand impatiently across it. It seemed hard that he might not possess even the manly right of restraining his feelings in public. He wheeled sharp around. “Hallo!” shouted Jervois. “What’s the row at the paddock? I'm off.” Dan went to the refreshment tent and called for some champagne. Half way through he put it down with the thought of “what an utter waste." Then he walked away. A few minutes later Jervois rushed up to where Lla still sat. “Mrs. Bellairs. do you know where your husband is? I’ve been looking everywhere for him. There’s awfully good news for us—there’s been some thing false in Scotia’s weight. Ills amount has been ‘weighed and found wanting’ by several pounds; can't think how he managed it. There’s no end of a row over it. Anyhow, Scotia is dis qualified and Adkemar, of course, comes ill best. “I am so glad,” said Lia sweetly. “Dan will be so pleased, as, 1 think, he bet money on Adkeinar,’’ she added, with a pretty absence of the usual pro fessional slang. “Do go and find him and bring him to mo and let me tell him the good news, will you? Do ’ Jervois went off like a shot. “I say, have any of you seen Bel lairs?” he asked, addressing a knot of four or five men standing around the bar. “Haven't the pleasure of his acquaint ance. What is he like? Who is he? If he’s a dark fellow* in a light over coat and lias a lit of the blue devils on. I'm at liberty to state that your friend Bellew? Bellairs?—has gone in the di rection of the lake- Go seek his corpse.” Jervois turned sharp around without a word and set off at a run. A run? he dashed along at the quickest rate he’d ever gone in his life. lie clinch ed his teeth and drew his breath spar ingly. He knew pretty well the next few minutes meant life or death, and had ho asked himself why he went the pace he did he knew* the answer would be an ugly one. The memory of Dan’s hopeless young face as he had last seen it, and the thought of Mrs. Dan s unconscious happy one sent the blood all gathering around his heart. He wondered whether he would come too late. What a fool he had been to joke Bellairs about the lake. Ami Dan’s hat and stick lay beside his coat on the grass. And the boy himself? Well, it’s the same with most things in the world— Jervois had come too late and Dan was dead! His quiet face was very white and still and stern. Lying turned up there, it seemed like some dumb ac cusation liung up to its Creator, and the solemn light cast over it gave a look of age and dignity to the young, hand some features. But not .all Lia's kisses laid on his half-closed lids could make them open as in life, nor part the cold lips again. The dark eyes had an odd hopeful look in them, and the boy’s mouth had ever so faint a smile, as if a kiss had just rested upon it. Was it as well that Jervois was too late? WHAT A SMALL BOV FATS An Indulgent Father lias Kept Tally for j Onr W hole Oay. I weigh in the neighborhood of ?*» pounds, an<l 1 itni Uf happy Litlx r of a small boy who weighs about forty pounds. As near as I can Ague it I ought to require about three or four turns as much to eat a* that boy. This calculation takes Into consideration the fact that the hoy is growing. Now 1 cat three fairly good sized nu Is a day This Is what my boy eat:*: A l sftof milk on getting up; two crack ers while g-tt'ng dressed; ono cook y tpurloined while breakfast is being put on the tablet. Breakfast—About twice as much as I i eat. A large piece of bread cover, d with jam to Induce him to I* ave the table; two st'ek * of candy to induce hltn to in- a good boy; a pocketful of cookies to keep him from starving while at his morning play; more or l<ss sand while at s id play; ono one green apple; one marble fswallowed accidentally); ono gumdrop bamboozled out of another boy; moro or less baby food hooked from his baby sister; a piece of pie (wheedled out of the cook. It being her baking day). Dinner—About three times as much as I cat. Another stock of candy to Induce him to be a pood boy: more or loss sand and gravel: a large wad of chewing cum (also swallowed accidentally): one pin; three glasses of milk to make him sleepy; an other stick of candy to induce him to take his afternoon nap; a piece of bread and jam on waking from said nap; more crackers: moro cookies. Supper—About four times as much as I eat. After supper, cookies, cake, candy, pie. apples, nuts, raisins and crack< rs ad lib.; three glasses of milk to make him sleepy again: a large piece of bread and jam to induce him to go to bed. Now, will omebody please tell me the why and whereforft of all this, and w hat he does with It all?— Harper's Razur. “Don't you think there is a exeat <b-al o*" Intellectual exercise in euchre?'* askc<l Mrs. Snaggs, as her husband shuffled the cards. “I can't say that I do," replied Mr. Snaggs. “Do you find it so?" “.You know that onehas to remember what is trumps."—Pittsburg Chronicle Telegraph. Ex-Secretary’s Wife Will Be the Most Elegant Woman in New York New Year’s Day. Secrets of Fine Makeup—Formula for the Touch of Burnt Cork Which Makos Bernhardt’s Eye brows Grow—Patti's Special Cold Cream—“Grooming' an Index of Refinement as Necessary as Hair pins," Sa'd Mary Anderson. Mrs. W. C. Whitney, formerly Ran dolph, is one of the most beautiful women in New York. Her enemies say she has too much bloom. Her friends suy she paints. But those who know her well attribute her wonderful com plexion to the beauty secrets that have been the proud possession of the women of her family for ages. Her brilliant reappearance in society has stimulated the women of all smart sets to put their best foot forward, and the news that she will revive the old Dutch New Year call makes all feminine society scramble toward the masseuses, the coiffures and beauty specialists. If there is any secret in Mrs. Ran dolph-Whitney’s loveliness she keeps it deep in her heart. To the charge of vulgarity In making up Mary Anderson Navarro once said that she regarded the make-tip as much an index of refinement in a woman as hairpins—savages use them not. But for the woman who goes into fine toi leting for the first time there is much to learn. The price of beauty upon New Year day is—martyrdom. That is, if you dislike the smell of grease. And del icate noses do. It is a singular thing that grease can not be banished from the world of med icine, from the field of bruises and burns, from the s-.% ne of hurts and rcfi nt sees. Wherever there is distress up-! on the skin you must look for grease I to ease it. This is true a thousand-fold for complexions. ‘The secret of my com plexion is—lard." said Adelina Patti to a friend who asked her how she kept her roses. “I call it cold cream." said grease simmers in my little white gran ite dish until there is a warm, swim ming cupful of fat. This I run through a little silver hair sieve which 1 carry I with me. “Once fried out. I take the fat, which is now the purest mutton tallow, and stir into it as much glycerine as there is fat. Into this 1 put a few drops of perfume. 1 keep all stirring gently un til it begins to harden. When it is done I can it in little stone jars. It is now the finest cold cream. “Every night l massage with this cream. And if there are wrinkles my maid rubs them with it. Mornings I rub it off. Cold cream has driven every j line from the face of Adelina Patti.'* Our grandmothers used to use the mutton tallow without the glycerine and perfume. They stirred a few drops of camphor in it and called it camphor ice. With this they annointed their lips at night to prevent “cold sores ' and they rubbed their cheeks with it when retiring to soften the wind chap. After rubbing a cold cream into the faco at night, there should be a long morning scrub. For this hot water and good soap are needed. The lace should be lathered find scrubbed well. A small Hat camel’s hair brush with thin bristles Is not too hard to rid the pores of their foreign matter. '1 nis once done, the face should be splashed with cold water and left to rest. This operation repeated every night for a week will positively insure a good skin. The New Year’s hostess who wishes to “make up” a little—and if there is ever a day in the year when a woman is excusable for wanting to look her very best it is New Year’s day—can do so successfully with the aid ot any soft grease. Take so simple a thing as vas eline if there is no good cold cream handy. FINE ART IN 1>UWUts.lt. Take a nip of vaseline no bigger than a pea and rub it diligently up and down the cheeks, all over the face. Around the chin and nose, and into the fore head between the eyes let the massage be particularly thorough. Now, while the face is still soft with the grease, put on a slight touch of the finest powder. Powder evenly all over the face, but so lightly that you cannot tell where you have touched. The ef fect will bo a general clearing rather than a whitening. Lastly, add the most delicate daub to the tip of the noso and the tip of the chin, and the •‘make up” will be very pretty. It Is safe to say that the eyebrows are the source of more heartburnings to a woman who aspires to be hand some than any other feature. She "EVERY NIGHT I MASSAGE WIT II THIS CREAM * * * MORNINGS I VIGOROUSLY RUU IT OFF\"_ „ slip, “but it lard just the same.’’ •IIow do I make It?” said Patti, rum maging over her notebook. “Ah. here is the recipe. I never go far without it for fear I should forget and my maid not remember exactly. PATTI'S COLD CREAM. “Listen: I get one pound of fat mut ton. It is hard like suet. Upon a little alcohol stove in my room I ‘fry it out,’ as though I were a farmer’s wife mak ing lard from hog's fat. Slowly the wants dark, picturesque brows. But she finds her own are a little lighter than her hair and expr^s.-donless, un less she happens to l>e one of the great Iy-gifted-by-nature ones. There are pencils sold for the eye brows that are verj good if used care fully. and there are advices given about the" delicate use of alcohol upon the brows with a camel’s hair brush. Oth ers say to vaseline them, while other beauty authorities insist that the eye brows arc always in harmony with the face. , . There is an eyebrow preparation used by the ladies of France that is v< y good. Its foundation is burnt cork, but so greatly disguised is it t’ at fi lias none of ?h* bunt ct titles. Bernhardt lias long used it. For this eyebrow preparation begin by placing upon th>* open grate tiro four large corks. That Will la- CDOUJa for a starter. They are highly tutlani mahie and will be gin to blaze alnu .t as a nut thrown into the tlantes. On<o lighted and you cannot put tin .a out. Let the corks simmer until they die out of themselves. Draw carefully from the fire.. They will surprise you by their lightness. A bit of-blackness will lie in your hand. Powder tin* with the tij ‘>f jour fingers, throwing out all lumps. BERNHARDT’S BURNT CORK. Now place your soft black powder in a saucer and drop into it one dr p each of glycerine and rose water. Mix with a match. Add another drop if necessary. When right, jou should Lave a thick paste. A tiny portion of this rubbl'd it t> the brows gives a pleasing dark effect much admired. Ore should, howevi iv be taken to use only the smallest par ticle. A piece as big as the head of a common white pin is the size selected by Bernhardt for the stage make-up. The custom of New Year’s calling is to be so generally revived that women ure going to all extremes to select toilettes that shall be becoming. The decollete gown is correct for alt New Year's calls after l o’clock. And with the low-necked gown comes the neces sity for a nice neck and arms. Now. it is not to be supposed that a woman wants a nice neck and arms only at New Year's. But it must bo admitted that the bicycle lias hardened and brought out the mus !< s of both, and that velvet collars ecu linly do taka the freshness from a pink cheek. There fore something must be done. For the prominent muscles there is no remedy. Bather make them at tractive Sandow is noted for the love ly appearance of his arms with their white rounded outlines swelling with muscles in the right place. To give that white look so much desired, mas-age the arms with cold cream and remove carefully with hot water In the morning for four days. On the day they ire to be on drees parade rub into the skin a little flesh colored powder and wipe off again. Take off every particle. A little w!'l yet remain. Just enough to give the creaminess so mucii admired. “SAl.T-CKI.l.AH" NECKS. Th0 treatment of ‘’salt-cellar necks is massage. The l*ony places are rub bed seventy-five strokes night and morning. After a little they ; re stim ulated and bee in to till. By whitening the depths thoroughly the dark shad ow* are not to clearly defined and tho n<*ck becomes interesting rather than bony. Hands are peculiar things to treat. They differ from the whole realm of one's anatomy, except the hair. Hands und hair are to L“ treated about alike— let alone. If the hands could be in cased In gloves and left untouched for two weeks the loveliest growth of nail ever seen would I * upon each finger.. The nails would grow pink to the fin ger tips, and b* »nd them would ha clear and shell pearl, with none of tha horrid whlteisun* ss now so visible un der the nails. Let the fingers alone; do not cut or worry tjem, and you will have handsome finger tips. File theta the shape of the end of the finger. Somebody once risked Jenny Lind what she dreaded most about going to court and she said: "The careful inakr up.” She meant that Hhe must dress far superior to stage needs. There Is a story told that the father of his country became very fashionable during his latter years, and much ad mired the surety beauties of the new Republic. The simple sallowness of Martha was not so much to his liking as formerly. "Oct the secret frota them, my dear, ’ he advised dartha; and she, dear woman, sat down and wrote Mrs. Adams to find out for her. New Year's rails are the merriest of the year, but the hostess must be the crowning beauty of the hour, and must fee! that she is so, or the New Year call lacks that echo of admiration which, every hostess feels is a personal tributa to herself. HELEN WAHL). Helen—Oh. yes; he always thought tha world of m<\ Ur-fore we wi re m irrlc-1 l a used to say that h* was willing to die for Nellie—Rut h.- didn’t. Helen—«Jf course not. He was so thoughtful, you know. He said that liJ did not dare to do It, lest I should l • unable, to replace tho loss— London Household Words. Dobson—There goes a man who has mad** his fortune by tru- grit. Hobson How did ho manage it? Dobson—Started a snnd*pai>er f u-tory.— New York Advertiser. Papa—Don't you think he Is very larg* for his rge? Only 14 months! F rlend—Ye-es. Don’t you know. I’ve ob^ served that most babies arc very large lorj t their age.—Puck.