Evening Star Newspaper, December 22, 1888, Page 10

Pe tite |} THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, Written for Tur Evexme Stan. THE RIDING HABIT. What it Should Consist of and How it Shovld be Made. YSACTICAL ADVICE TO WOMEN WHO RIDE—FEW LOTMES, BUT MUCH COMFORT—MYSTERIES OF EQUESTRIAN COSTUME—WHAT 18 ESSEN- TRE COST OF A COMPLETE ovT#IT. As the interest in outdoor sports increases and the real love for them goes deeper and deeper women are becoming more and more emancipated from their clothe’. They value a ne, healthy color, they learn the real beauty of strength, and they see how incompatible the gaining of either and the true enjoyment of athletics are with the wearing of heavily draped gowns and of bustles, I think this has more to do with the banishment of the latter article than the example or voice of any woman or coterie of women. Women are developing well-rounded bodies of sound flesh, and warm, pare blood, and they don’t need adjuncts of wire and hair. In the riding costume particularly a great revolution bas been secomplished. here ‘was a time when poets sang bf and novelists described in glowing terms the graceful sweep and voluminous folds of my lady's riding skirt, and the beauty © nodding plumes in her hat. But they didn’t say a word about the dancer to life and limb lurking in that length and fullness that ws supposed to be £0 too, and that not ntona number ing skirt #0 as to hide the outlines of her figure. and she had to wear a long veil tied around her hat with itsends streaming out on the wind to be blown im her face when she most needed the use of | her eyes, and to be torn to shreds by th branches of trees that she passed. Every ad- ditional layer of cloth she swathed round her body her more insecure in the saddle hindered her in her ood rider. If hes had been” sug- rs ago there ds and atrons, while d to made and become wearing trousers or b gested in this country would have been blushes fro howls of indignat the men would have ¢ n, frowned it down, and ‘poked fun” st it until the trouser legs would have grown together from sheer mortification. But despite all discour- | agingwbstacles womet vered in riding. H heir clothes until vas absolutely t a com irpose as it is possible to con- trive so long as we occupy the position we de in the saddle. Every lady who has ever ridden horseback even a Little has experienced diff culty some time or other in selecting correct and comfortable attire, and if she has ridden a t deal she has been vexed by badly made, hed habits turned out by over-confident but incompetent tuilors. THE CORRECT RIDING COSTUME does not admit of many variations, and these only in such minor details as will not attract attention. A very large namber of Indies ride in New York, Brooklyn and Washington. yet | not 10 per centof them are properly and com- fortably dressed. Judging from the reports that floated in from the summer resorts the bits worn were more suitable for circus per- ers and wild west girls than for actual ‘ice on the road and in the hunting field. e young lady at Cape May took her daily canter in a blue velvet habit. Think of it! Velvet to ride in over rough roads, through muddy reeks, to get caught in a shower with, er ina cloud of dust—not to mention the hun- | dred and one accidents that might happen that would ruinit forever. ‘Then there was another | who had her habit gaudy with brass buttons, and wore @ long white feather in her hat. | When you are going to get a habit made don't | ™ dow trust to the tailor’s reputation until you have | ¢ seen some of his work in that line, and un it is perfect don't go near him. And when you are having it made don't hesitate about finding fault with his work. if there is good reason for i have been bre yy men-dr ry for what you want— We a right to get it. Very often a bad fit or an uncomfortable one is the result of your own hesitation in calling attention to the fault. and trousers. The bodice should extend about an ineh below the waist line in front and have small flat tail in the back well boned and weighted so that it will not flap with every motion of the horse. The fit should be as close as possible, vet not bind in any place, and be perfectly comfortable. Parti¢ular attention should be paid to having the arm-holes large enough, the sleeves loose enough and not too Jong, and the collar loose. The latter is often 90 tight that when fastened over a linen | collar it will cause a red mark round the neck | where the seam is, and cause a great deal of | pain and annoyance. too. The bodice must be perfectly plain, without any or cloth afterthoughts to mar the perfection of fit. ‘The only variation allowable is in having either a high standing collar or a turn-over collar with tiny lapels. It should be lined with silk or satin. The skirt is jast lon; cover the feet when seate: ° horse, and the bottom of itshould be horizontal without the slightest suspicion of a sag toward the frout. From the waist to the hem in the back it should not vary from the perpendicular. Along the right leg from the knee to the hip and to the waist it should fit like a glove. A fullness is forthe right knee, a sort of a pocket is made under it for the uppommel, and another full- s riding. A prop- erly made skirt should. when the wearer is in the saddle, have its top and under sides even . fit over the knee and P per side of the skirt, ‘inside, of course.) and drawn over the right t, and the other strap sewed to the under the skirt (the side next the saddle) and | a the left foot before putting it in the Straps put on in this way preclude | all oa the skirt hitching up or get- ce. med with buttons on the left side, & pocket is put in this opening. the piece of serge or silk it | continued to the front to prevent the skirt is first fastened there hook and eye. When standing the | Rot be any longer thon an or skirt, and the extra fullness for mele should be fastened up by toa button on the back of the | ‘waist. NOW COME THE TROUSERS, and my first advice about them is don't wear them; they are uncomfortable generally; they get out of order easily andare not convenient te wear with boots. If you will insist on wear- ing them don’t have them made tight; have ‘them made like men’s trousers: the seat lined | with uae skin, and ap — bear red instep with a pice of leather fastened to Duttons on either side, “tet fastene T area thousand times more com- yare neater. They are cooler im summer and warmer in winter. They should made of some elastic material the color as the habit; reach 3 or 4, or even 6 inches below the knee; fit very close, and be fastened with buttons ‘from the bend in the knee down, the right leg having the buttons on the inside. Stockinette. jersey cloth or deer- akin are very good materials for this garment. Monolutely necessary’ “Bewere of high neal Recessary. ware of high-I abe ) e igh-heeled knee and ofa meer the i tent leather or morocco comfort are the first and its of a rider's the beek—and. have eFe i z en i Hf £ ti it tea fie Beerel i H f FL i , Ld | narrow veivet or of ribbon four or five inches gloves should be soft, pliable, and at least « gparter o= lait size larger than street gloves. jeavy kid, dogskin, pigskin, or buckskin makes durable gloves, be about a three or four-batton Dark tan with heavy stitching on the back are the most popular. Jewelry should not be worn. A light crop—bamboo is the toughest—with a buckhorn, wood. or fancy metal crook, will complete this outfit, which hoes beauty, neat- ness, utility, and durability to recommend it. ‘MATERIAL FOR THE HABIT. Thave omitted speaking of the material for the habit until now, because I want to make a special point of it. Nothing that will brush woolly or that is not closely woven, with a smooth surface, should ever be employed in making a habit. The colors should never be pronounced—no decided Sreens, or blues, or browns—eversthing a nearly black as possible, or else decided black. Broadcloth does not make a serviceable habit It is too tender. Melton is by long odds best. It is as tongh as steel, and comes in three weights for summer, fall and winter wear. Corkscrew makes up well, but does not look as fine as melton; endI have seen some hand- some habits made of heavy stockinette. Thi latter is a most desirable material for this pur- pose, its elasticity permitting greater liom of motion. A habit should never be mado of mate that will not stand rain and snow, dust and mad, and look as good as new after a vig- orous brushing. For summer wear good dust- taking shades of grey are very nic should be no decided checks or stri ‘ colors, or a sort of pepper-and-salt effect being in better taste. Horseback riding requires special underwear, too. First, a close-fitting vest of lisle, silk or soft wool. Over this a soft, perfect-fitting c set, not too tight. Instead of stockings and drawers wear tights of silk or wool. It does ay with binding garters and twisting stock- and the single garment feels ever so much neater and lighter. They are fastened round the waist, over the corset, with a draw string. Some ladies have tights and vest made together, and wear the corset over them. They are de- Lghtfal but rather expensive, while the tights and vest separate answer the purpose as well, THE cost. The first cost of an outfit is considerable where everything is of the best quality, but with good care the things will last a long time, gloves being the only item that requires fre- quent renewing. The habit if made bya good tailor will cost from #50 to $125; a silk hat, 35 to $10; a derby hat. $2 to $5; boots, 212 to $25; gloves, $1.50 to #3 a pair; crop, $2 up, accord- ing to your taste and the size of your bank account; corset, $1.50 to $10 or up; two silk undershirts, at $2.50 each; two pair silk tights, $3 or $12 each: or woolen tights, £3.50. If you get the best of everything your expense account will run over $200. Medium quality will cost you between $125 and $150 for the outfit. should vurse there are some of these things you pense with or economize on. Have users made and don't wear boots. Get but one hat, and that a derby, &c. FOR A BEGINNER who is going to learn to ride in a school these things are unnecessary. In some of the most fashionable schools in New York and in the school at Washington many Indies take their first lessons in an old je: waist, a long gath- | ered skirt, and sometimes—sball T really tell you?—a pair of their husband’s or brother’ old trousers, ali topped off with a derby o1 eap. When you are learning to ride you have no time to think of your clothes if you do everything that your riding maste: you to. Then, too, during the hours set apart for ladies no gentlemen are admitted. and the other ladies in the ring are apt to have as hap-hazard | s yourself; so there is nothing to Jress of the city rider is along way beyond that of her less opulent country cousin, but ten to one the country consin, wao an throw a black calico or black paper muslin skirt about two yards long and four yards wide over her stteet dress, jump into an old two- ned, plush-covered saddle, and gallop away, outride and have more fun than the cor- reetly-dressed city girl. There are few mothers in the country who cannot tell of riding 10 or 15 miles with a calico riding skirt and a bi coat over their party clothes to a dance, an there are lots and lots of girls who can relate similar experiences with a brightening of the eyes that shows what rare fan it was. Yet, after all, it doesn’t matter a great deal what you wear while you're in the saddle so long as you get the fall benefit of that glorious sport in rosy cheeks, bright eyes, supple limbs, and a good appetite, only don’t ‘dab on gew- gaws and dress for ¢ff Lat HOLIDAY FASHION FANCIES. Lospos Laptes line their shoes with seal far. A Jacker lined throughont with squirrel-fur is among late inventions of the London tailor, New Srocxines le of silk outside and Balbriggan inside will stand any amount of wear. or tue Latest Noventtes from Pai a silk for tailor- said to be as sof L Capotes or Vetver or felt are larger than last winter; they have high borders and low crown nd are much trimmed with feathers. ‘Tue Cuareav is generally m costame, the same material as the dress being employed for the capote or for the small toque, which is also mach the fashion. Oven Brack Skiers, =: jackets of green cloth are worn, edged with a narrow binding of Astrakhan, with large revers of thesame. Very large buttons fasten them, Tue Prarx Coat Siezee is rar@ly s9en now- adays. one’s taste it can be made outside of the leg to simulate buttons and but- tonholes, so recall a bishop's gaiters as to have a decided ecclesiastical tang. Quire THz Newest axp Oppesr Fax is one just brought out in London in shape of sott gray. silky wings, with the tiny beady-eyed body perked up between them. Ose or Tae Best Pants Moves of an opera cloak is a dead leaf brocade, trimmed with ¥ ace made of the new ptizn angola cloths with printed borders, nd grey, coral and white, beige and white and other mixtures, Tuz Newest Bowsers have very flat crowns, though the trimming gives theeffect of height, They are very fully trimmod, with usually a bow under the brim, and strings either of v wide. RECEPTION Gowxs are now cut tremendously low in front. Though the chemisctte worn under them comes almost to the ears, its soft whiteness and the pearl ribbon so liberally be- stowed on it do but heighten instead of soften- the startling effect. Tue Hamm 1» Now Dnessep a good deal lower than last season. In most arrangements quite covers the nape of the neck, but it should end there unless curls are worn, in which case they should either reach the wai or be a mass of soft ripples, falling half way. Loxo Scanrs of colored lace are even newer than the boa for wear about the throat. They harmonize much more completely with the empire gown, but lack the warmih and rich- ness of fur, and have acertain fly-away and frost-bitten effect. Tus Loxo Dimgcrorme Coats, with the large square hip-pockets, cuffs and wide revers, are beginning to appear. They reach the edge the skirteall the fullness Ye clustered af the back, the front is open, and does not meet by at least a quarter of a yard, if not considerably more. This style fashionable for indoor wear. In fact, directoire and empire are the twostyles of the season. THERE sxexts to be a reasonable doubt as to who we are to thank for the walking stick of the period. London says she ht it in be- cause her majenty Queen Victorin, the Empress EB incess of Wales all now it. Paris remem! UNDER KRIS KRINGLE’S BANNER. The Good Work of the Christmas Clubs in Washington. HOW THE FIRST CLUB ORIGINATED—HUXDREDS OF CHILDREN GUESTS MADE MAPPY—THE IN- TEREST MANIFESTED BY CHILDREN.WHO NEVER WANT—PREPARATIONS THIS YEAR. Everybody knows that some boys and girls, even in Washington, have no Christmas of their own. They know nothing of the pleasant an- ticipations of hanging up their stockings and the delights of finding them full of the good gifts of Santa Claus. The generous dinner, the candies, the toys, the smiles of kind friends do not enter into their lives even at this happy sea- sonof the year. The children who enjoy all these good things, however, know about those who are lessfortunate. Each year they try to share the Joys and pleasuros of Christmas, This is what the Children’s Christmas club of Washington means. -For five years the club has entertained thousands of children. The members of the club have shared their toys with those who had none of their own. They have sent them gifts of clothing and then they have invited them to & great dinner, where there were all kinds of good things to'eat. ‘Then after dinner, where the hosts saw that the guests were bountifully served, they all witnessed some kind of an en- tertainment, where the fun and jollity was shared alik ‘THIS FEATURE OF CHRISTAAS in Washington is likely to remain permanent. The children are interested. They have imbibed the true spirit of Christmas, and they are will- ing to contribute to the enjoyment of those whose Joys are fow, So this year, as in the past five years, great preparations are in pro- grows for, the annual feasts. ‘The children in Vest Washington, in East Washington and in District No. 11 have formed clubs. ‘They have paid their 10 cents as a membership feo, and with the help of fathers and mothers they hat selected from their stock of toys and from their clothes, and made up, Christmas packages tor those whom they wih to make happy. Now they are locking forward to, the principal event, which is the dinner and the fun which follows: There is no limit placed upon the membership of the clubs, All are invited to in who have the heart to wish to help, and such is the genuine pleasure which these occa- sions afford that the older people, who, of course, stand in the background ready with » rd of advice and strong willing hands to as- sist, frequently regret that they are not children again to enjoy the opportunities and privileges of the day. It has wover been estimated how is not hosts, as well as to those who are the guests, the day brin, si ent, and leavesa recol- lection which wi og @ source of pleasure in after years, HOW IT ORIGINATED. Perhaps many of those who attended the meeting of the first Christmas club five years ago are no longer members. They have grown since then, and have become too old and dig- nified to belong to a children’s club. No doubt they, as well assome of the older ones, have forgotten how the Christmas club originated. But they have not forgotten entirely the beau- tifully written letter which appeared in the Christmas number of St. Nic for 1983. It was reprinted in Tag Star in full, and there was a word from the editor commending the subject to the attention of the readers, both oid and young. This letter was addressed to all the boys and girls in the world, and the writer told how, the year before, as the Christ- mas season approached, a lady in Portland, Me., thought of the poor homesand the hun- unhappy children who knew nothing about Christmas, She thought. also, of the pleasant homes and the merry children who filled them, and she resolved to inake an appeal in behalf of the por little ones’ And so she invited a number of boys and girls to meet at her house. ‘They came and the result was the Christmas club. That Christmas 600 little guests were entertained at dinner in the city of Portland, and after the feast Santa Claus appeared and showered his gifts upon them. All this was related in the open letter.and then at the close it was asked if there should not be other Christ- mas clubs in other towns and cities. Here in Washington that question was not asked in yain. Two days after the letter was printed in Tue Stan there was a call for a mecting. It was a meeting of gentlemen, They organized and cooperated with the ladies, and with their assistance ‘THE FIRST CHILDREN'S CLUB of Washington was organized. The beginning was made in the last days of November, and when Christmas week came around the little ones were aglow with anticipation. These were not selfish anticipations. The children were eager to do something to give others pleasure. The mottocs of the club were ap- propriately from Dickens’ Christmas caroland are: ‘We choose this time because | it is a time of all others when want is most | keenly felt and abundance rejoices.” “And now, as Tiny Tim observed, ‘God bless us every one. THE DISTRICTS. As the city was too large to enable all the children to be entertained in one place, four clubs were organized in the four sections of the city, In district No. II, embracing the cen- tral and northern portions of the city, Miss Nellie Arthur, the daughter of the President of the United States, was chosen president of club, All the clubs had a grand time that day and thousands of children were made happy. The children will perhaps remember that not only the President of the United | States attended the dinner of one of the clubs, but there was also present Mr. Corcoran, the white-haired philanthropist of Washington, as he was affectionately termed. However, the guests were probably too busy and happy in eating and looking at the Christmas tree and feeb the fun. and their hosts were too busy in elping them, to care much for the presence of distinguished visitors. How they all shouted when Santa Claus appeared, and | what a great uj of childish Iaughter and applause the little entertaiment elicited! Then, after they had all laughed until they were tired, their hands were filled with bundles of toys and packages of candi and that night over G00 poor homes were cheered and glad- dened with the joy and pleasure of the happy Christmas time. THE SECOND YEAR. When the next year rolled around none of the children thought of giving up the Christ- mas clab, It was neg! seme in all the dis- tricts except one, and that was only through a misfortune. The numbers entertained in- creased. and it was estimated that there were some 2,000 children who became the guests of the three clubs. The Presidentof the United States and his daughter did not fail in their hearty Even the dignified Chief Justice d States became interested, and was a spectator at one of these entertainments, The gro hildrey lent @ helping hand to those of a smaller growth, and the zeal of these kind friends of the Children’s club in the good cause caused them to give freely of their time ‘and money. The columns of the newspapers were always when a good word was to be said in behalf of the clubs, and the public ly co-operated. REPEATING SUCCESSES, So when Christmas, 1885, came around the the | middle, La Tosca” and the era of the Fectoire, swears thet she brought it in. 6 A Christmas Carol. ee eno punt cite th poner fo cha Natoned ta the tne: we Hd BE f Fy F | It was a stuff; AT THE STATION. From Scribner's Magazine. ‘Nothing could well be more or ignoble thun the corner of the world in which Mise Dilly now spent her life. ‘A wayside inn, near a station on the railway which runs from Salisbury, in North Carolina, up to the great range of moun- tains; two or three um boxes of houses scattered along the track by the inn; not a tree or blade of grass in the ‘‘clarin'?” « few gaunt, long-legged pigs and chickens grunting and cackling in the muddy clay yards; beyond, swampy tobacco fields stretching to the en- circling pine woods. For Sevier Station lay on the lowland; the mountain rose far to the west, like a blue haze on the horizon. The railway ran like a black line across the plain, and stopped at their foot at a hamlet called Henry's; thence an occasional enterprising traveler took “the team” up the precipitous mountain road to Asheville, then @ sleepy vil- lage unknown to tourists, Nothing, too, could have been more com- monplace or ignoble than Miss Dilly herself; a pudgy old woman of sixty, her shapeless body “covered with a scant, blue homespun gown, with a big white apron’ tied about where the waist should have been; a face like that of an e: rated baby, and round, innocent blue eyes, which, when the: Yours, you were sure were the friendli the world. Miss Dilly always wore a coarse white handkerchief (snowy white and freshly ironed) pinned about her neck, and another tied over her ears, for abe had ‘occasionally a mysterious pain, commonly kno’ neuralgia, but which the Carolinian eye. “They tell me it must be so,” Miss Dilly would say; “but of course, my dear, it was done by accident. Nobody would hurt a person thataway, meanin’ it, An’ it's a mighty tarrible thing to have that kind of an eye!” Thope the food Lord don't let any poor soul know thathe Miss Dilly had had this pain only since she had lived in the lowland. It had almost disabled her. She was born in the mountains— up the Old Black—and she fancied if she could go back to them she would be cured. But her Younger brother, James, owned the farm and , and when their mother died, twenty years ago, he had agreed with Preston at he should have both, rent free, if he would give Dilly a home and the yield of one field of tobacco yearly. James then set off to the west to make his fortune. Letters at first came regularly; but it was ten years now since she had heard from him. Nobody ever heard a groan from Miss Dilly when the attacks of paincame on. ‘When the good Lord gives you a load tocarry, I reckon "t arn't the clean = to lay it on other folks’ shoulders,” she would say, laughing. She shut herself up, therefore, in her own chamber, and would let nobody in. though everybody at’ the n, from ‘Squire Barr himself to Sam, the black cook, hostler and chambermaid, besieged the door. A gloom like that of a funeral overhung the whole clarin’ when Miss Dilly had one of her spells, After the passing of the two trains a y it was the one topic of interest. “T've knowed wimmin as was younger,” old Colonel Royall would say, solemnly wagging his head and winking his bleared eyes, “but Aunt Dilly is the jokingest and most agreeable of her sex inthis part of Cahliny,to my thinkin’.” “Yes,” ‘Squire Barr would answer, nodding gravel nd how any human fiend can lay ‘the devil's look on her, passes me!” When the attack was over she would come down, pale and pinched about the jaws, but smiling, kissing and shaking hands all around as if she had come back from a long journey. | The ‘Squire invariably sAdeosel’ ber | pondrous gravity, after this fashion | “Ef it be c0,Aunt Dilly,’syou think goin’ back | to yer home on th’ Old Biack’d give you ea: say the wohd. I canh’t pay you rent in money, foh T've got none. But in tradic, tobacco, cohn, an’ millet—it'll be all sent up reg’lar, Though what we'd do without you ail passes me!” At which Mrs, Missouri Barr would look at ‘Miss Dilly with tears on her gaunt cheeks, and the girls would hang about her, patting her, and the colonel would declare with an oath that “the whole clarin’ had been powerful inter- rupted while you all was gon these were the happiest moments of Miss Dilly’s happy life. She would explain care- fully to them for the thousandth time her feeling on the matter. ‘T seems to me ef I was in the old place, facin’ Old Craggy. 'n the Swanannoa a runnin’ past the door, ‘n could go by father 'n mother every mornin’, whar they're lyin’ among the rowan trees, get But then, w back hy ready to cahry me to his home in Colorado or them furrin ‘countries? Me gone, after my romise to wait? ‘N it would go hard. too, to leave you. Preston, 'n Missoury, 'n the girls, 'n Sam, ‘n all— The girls always surprised Miss Dilly with « good supper on these recoveries, and the colo- nel and Squire Preston felt it their luty to go to bed drunker than usual, in sign of joy. At other times life at Sevier station was stag- nant enough. Miss Dilly sewed or knit in her own room sitting at the window where she could see the six mon of the village sitting in a row in the gallery of the inn, smoking, She cail- ed them her boys, and when one chanced tohave the rheumatism or tooth-ache, or a snake-bite, ¢lucked about him like en old hen over an ail ing chick. Ail the children in the hamlet were free of her room; there was always one at least With her, listening to her old Bible stori Neither they nor Miss Dilly were at all sure how far exactly Palestine was from Carolina; indeed, Dilly had a dim conviction that the mountains on which her Lord walked and suf- fered and died as man were part of the moun- tains yonder, which were all the world that she kine The was no church near the station; there were not even the monthly “pra’ars” which keep up the religious and social life of the mountains. Miss Dilly, with her Bible and her incessant innocent talk of “the good Lori wasallthe pope or preacher knowa to these prople, the on!y messenger sent to show them ow to live or to die. In the morning the train passed the station, going up toHenry’s; in the afternoon it came lown; it halted ‘for five or ten minutes each time.” These brief pauses were the end of life for the population of Sevier station; the whole Pi ‘opped the work ‘they had in \d Waited, breathless. It came up out of the great ‘busy world and swept down into i eiual mirecle—leaving them | ce and solitude. Miss Dilly was alwa: at her post by the window to see it goby. ‘The conductor and engineer had learned to watch | for the wondering old baby face, and often threw her a little package of candy or a news- paper. Her heart thumped with terror and delight as the wonderful thing rushed past her. Ifshe could only ride on the cars once: only fora mile! This was the one secret ambition of her life. Sometimes, but very rarely, the train was belated and stopped long enough for the pas- | sengers to take supper. ‘Then excitement rose | to fever height. Mrs, Barr, the girls, Preston, even the colonel were busy in the kitchen, cooking and scolding Sam. Miss Dilly, who could do nothing, hurried to the’ par- Jor, in fresh apron and handkerchlets, fe room with plaited rags on the floor, a chromo of the death-bed of Wasb- | ington on the wall and a red-hot stove in the | But the passengers who were waiting for supper, to Mise Dilly’s mind, were all dear ood folk who had come up to her awhile. She took hand i i i F f i | supper 'n somethin’ warm: sald: strokin’ bab; cant det it can't let it let you try ‘Isn't this the old Sevier “Yes, Consid’able altere was laid.” Atter a few-minutes Judson again broke the silence. was a house just beyond the wed 40 bebug too teeny jlantation?” Ecince the nigh thah now. Holmes’ an inn. "Squire Barr's the pro- Prietor, sab, “any of the Holmeses livin’ thah?” asked Jud- son ina tone which made Captain Foulke turn and look at him curiously. Dilly. She resides with She ‘ognire, Colonel James Holmes, he’s gone out west that- away. I hear as he's made a fortin out thah. So I've heered. I never knowed Colonel James myself, I belong down in the piny woods ken- try. I've heered, though, as he was & power- fal agreeable gentleman. Nery free an’ friend- i folks hereabouts think » heap of the e colonel yet, though he's bin gone a good ny Year. jo they?” said Judson, with @ queer in- tonation. ‘Friend of yours, may be?” asked the cap- tain, curiously. Judson’s back was turned to- ward him; he ‘was staring into the darkening fields. He did not answer for a moment. (0. He was no friend of mine,” he said at last, in a tone which made Captain Foulke keep silent. He was the last man in the world to annoy or suggest unpleasant subjects to Mr. Judson, or any other gentleman who was in difficulty. The engine gaveashriek. The conductor, who had been dozing near the stove, got up, yawni ‘Sevier Station, gentlemen,” he suggested, mildly. ‘rain stops hyah for supper.” The train ran bumping along the track and stopped. The passengers rose and made their way out leisurely. In the noise, they did not hear an altercation that was going on at the back of the car. Judson had stiffened himself back in his seat. “I cahn't get ont hyah! Thah—thah are folks in thet house thet know me. He panted for breath with sheer terror; his eye —- dangerously. Foulke and the con- uctor stood over him anxiously. For the first time the conductor saw that hand- cuffed, “Yes,” explained Foulke ra in a whis- r. “Bringing him to Raleigh from Tennesse on requisition from governor to stand his for manslaughter. Mr. Judson!” raising his voice; “let me make you acquainted with Capt. Arny. Mr. Judson,” he proceeded in a hurried, deprecating tone, has come with me clar from the Nantahela range, whah I—whah I— met him, and has given me no trouble _whatso- ever. He has conducted himself like the high- toned gentlemen which Sheriff Roylston——’ I will make no trouble now,” panted Jud- son. “Only let me stay in the car, captain!” ‘The deputy sheriff and conductor exchanged perplexed glances, “Come. come. Mr. Judson,” said Arny, au- thoritatively, “Captain Foulke must have his in’, S80 must you. See hyah now!” wrapping the gray shawl, which was common in use among men at that time, about the prisoner so as to conceal his arms, and pulling his hat well over his brows. “Yoh own wife wouldn't know yoh, aah. Come now. Youcan sit in the parlor if yoh doan keer to take supper. On yoh parole, sah.” Judson hesitated, looking through the lighted windows of ‘the inn with a terrified yet longing eye. Figures moved dimly in. Tl go,” he said, starting forward. “I'll sit thah. “T'll not try to escape, #0 help me.” * * What with the sick baby and the tired mother, Miss Dilly had much to do that eve- ning. She soon, however, had both of them ‘omfortably disposed in her own room for the night, and then hurried down to see if any one else needed her. “Why, squire,” she said, bustling into the kitchen, ‘-thah’s a gentleman alone in the par- Joh, eatin’ nothin’,” “He's ailin’, Mins Dilly. He doan want nothi But Miss Dilly was not used to leaving ailing people alone. She made ready a steaming cup of tea, ‘I'm so sorry yoh feelin’ porely, sah, said. ‘Won't yoh take this. jest to warm 9 “Not” said the mun, grufly; Mise Dilly, un- used to rebuff, stood hesitating. The lamp- light shone full on her gray hair and kind blue eyes, ‘Don't go,” said Judson. It will only be wee you again,” Something in the voice startled the old wo- She looked at him, raised her head, list- and then, recollecting herself, sat down, ing. That's jest what I allus say to mysel said. “The folks come up hyah,’n stay jest long enough foh me to find they're dear friends, 'n go, ’n I never sce them again.” “And yoh're satisfied with sech friends as the cars bring yoh every day agely. Mise Dilly drew herself up with a certain dig- nity. “They're all my friends, as T said. But I have my own people, sah.’ Blood of my blood and bone of my Done. The dear Lord sent them and me into the world together.” “Who are they?” he said in a lower tone. “Our family! There's my brother, sab, Col- onel James Holmes. I'm waitin’ hyah for him now. I'm expectin’ him every day. An’ my father ‘n mother. they're up on the Old Black. Aur thah’s a child in our family,” she added, with a proud rising of the voice, “He's my brother's son, He's sccl: a boy ‘s yoh never hear of now, sah, He was jest seven when he— went away.” Sho turned her head, the tears creeping down her withered cheeks, ‘The prisoner half rose, with a muttered ex- clamation. “What's that? Who—” cried Miss Dilly. “I beg yoh pardon, sab, I thought I heard » naine— ‘What do you mean?” “Nothing--nothing. I thought yoh said a name that I used to be called at home—moth an’ Jeman’ all of them, I ars. I reckon it was tellin’ of them made me fancy it. “I'm afeerd my mind’s gettin’ foolish stad'in about Jem, an’ expectin’ him.” “An’ you think he'll came?” “I know it,” said Miss Dilly, quietly. “Squire Barr, sometimes he says: * the Colonel's merried a rich wife in some of those bi Never mind him. she jh?” “Stay with me. forafow minutes. I'll never man. ening. fnughi ,” she ” he sneered sav- our house on live thah together a few years Ths man'siheell dropped’ ee xyes foul that she jumped fo er | died closely ered, Hl i I ? i iL $ t Ls ir i i £ i i i “I reckon,” said Colonel Royall, shaking his head, “‘she's a ripenin’ for the end. The doors fs openin’ an’ the glory's « shinin’ down on r. An uneasy dread seized the station when this opinion was made known. Everybody w woman as tomind, at iast told her "ilies Dias lnughea healthy laug! ins a sound, healthy laugh. “It's not ‘death at all that’s comi soury,” she said. “It's Je deat." Nor hard of heart. Neither has he gone ‘on a journey, as the prophet says.. He'll «end my brother back tome. I'm thinking of continooally now. If one of you's sick [ think. what if that was Jem? Au’I try to help you. And if another one’s downhearted, I think what if that was Jem? An’ I try to cheer him up. _ That's the truth, Missoury. It ian’t death, it's Jem.” = it her after ith bated breath the ‘squire muttered when he heard this report from his wife. Summer came, and winter, ond sum me again, until two years had gone by. r Judson had stood his trial and been convicted and served out his brief term of imprisonment. ‘The day he received his discharge, the warden of the prison, as usual, spoke a few kind words of warning and counsel to him at parting. He was startled when Judson, who was noted asa reticent, gruff man, answered him formally.” “Sah, yoh're quite right. I'd been runnin’ ady for ten year. Down. Sudden, like a flash of lightin’ across my path, de to know of a woman—who shall be nameless hyah—who hed loved me am’ believed in me all my life. Thet has made a different man of me. Sah, she’s kep’ holt on me! She's tied me to God with her pra’ars! I cahn't get ” he cried with » nervous gulp in his , I thank yoh foh yoh words. to her to try to be the man yoh say. to trust to her an’ God to pall me through! Before he left the warden gave him more adi Take your own mame, Judson,” he id. “Isuspect you are now under an alias, Say nothing to this woman of your past life. Begin afresh whero it is not known, aud may bless you, sah.” This was in October. Christmas, that year, brought, as usual, a stir of delightful excitement to the im Sevier station knew nothing of the high sig- nificance which modern thought atta the great festival of the Christian year. we day, however, on which " Colonel Royall sent, before breakfast, a bumper of foaming egg-nog to every white man and woman in the clarin’, Every negro who asked for it had a “warmin’” of whisky at the colonel’s expense. It was the on which It nic of the vil sat down together. Mrs, Missoury also, made a practi ing dishes of Foast pork and hominy, or ‘possum stewed i rice and m: every negro cabin. There was a gen: change of gifts; brierwood pipes. or Scarf” pins. or cakos of ‘soap in ‘th pe of eads, allof which elegant trifles had age all ‘Barr, was quite ready aver was full of bright red, as bein’ more cherin.’” Nobody was forgotten in that drawer, from the squire to the least pickaninny in the quarters, There was a vague idea throughout the clarin’ that the doy was one in which to be friendly and to give old grudges the ; the Lord (with whom Miss Dilly was better ac- quainted than the rest) was supposed. for some reason, to be nearer at hand on that’ day than usual, though not so near as to make anybody uncomfortable. Father Ruggles, the jolly old Methodist itin- erant, was up in the mountains, and had sent word that he was coming down for his Christ- mas dinner. fc’ll_ask a blessin’ on the meel, thank heavens!” said Mra. Missoury with a devout sigh, ‘The ‘squire hurried with the news to find the colonel. “It'll be a big occasion.” he said triumph- a1 “Father Ruggles ll be equal toa turke; himself, I depend on you foh makin’ de cof- fee, colonel, eggrited néw he doan know what he’s ubont.” “Suhtenly, suhtenly! But really, Mra, Mi soury 'd betfer double de supply of mince pie he fuggested, anxiously. “Father Rugg! tabrible fond of mince, Preparations went on with ineres and yigor. They reached full cémpletion the day before Christmas. Then the station paused to take breath before the great event. Father Ruggles arrived at noon, and in five minutes had shaken hands with everybody. | black and white, and put them all in good humor with him, themselves, and h other, “A doan ce Miss Dilly’s looks,” he said, lowering his voice, when he and the Colonel and ‘Squire were clave on the g: ut the jaws. Old age, jit of it.” repli ‘ he’s a young woman, comparatively. If Colonel James. She's done tired out waiting on that man. ‘These last two year she's took to expectin’ him every day, She watches the train night 'n mornin’. Té'ud make yoh sick to see her old face when it jgtuhlly,” the colonel struck in, pompousl; “we want to make Miss Dilly happy to-morro' “long 0’ the rest. She doan forget none of us in her knittiu’s en’ buyin’s, Ili warrant’ to the ‘Squire hyah is force but brother. Kin we give her her brother? So ah's how it ia!” alling his pipe with « gloomy no: ‘The men glanced furtively at Mias Dilly, if i “She's up thah, colonel,” said the = Sean eects aie cut away Up, sah. She's been waitin’ soe HOME MATTERS. PRACTICAL HINTS TO INDUSTRIOUS HOUSEKEEP- ERS—SUGGESTIONS POR SAVING TIME AXD with lime instead of » i more ie of water, and it will be Never Ler Tur Feer Become Corp and as these things tend to aggravate xisting hardness of bearing. ran A Furxrste Cement is made by melting to- gether equal parts gutta percha and white pi pitch, which ces en water ath, and te not deteriorated by remelting. Breaxrast Omrier.—Soak one cup of Se crumbs over night in a cup of sweet milk, In the morning beat up with three eggs, a little salt, and bake Bftcen minutes, To Raise tue Pie or Puvsu on VaLvet dampen on the wrong side with clean cold water, then hold tight across the face of a hot iron and rub up the crush i iron and rub up ed vpot with a clean, Waex Watenixe Porrep Piaxts in winter do not pour the water in the crown of the pots. “Too much’ than benefit, For 4 Covon boil one ounce of flaxseed in a pint of water, strain and add a little honey, one ounce of rock caudy, and the three lemons; mix and boil well. hot as possible. Ir Your Camxp Has rue Earacue, tarna drop of water as hot as it can be borne into the ear and cover it quickly with « bit of cotton bat- moisture will do more injury obstinate cases of earache. For a Srraty Kerr the injured limb per- fectly quiet and raised. Let the patient lie down rather than stand or sit. The cold-water treatment is excellent to keep down inflamma- tion. Afterward use tincture of arnica or # poultice of arnica flowers. Ir Makes 4 Gneat Deat or Dirrenexce whether coffee is ground fine or coarse. Fine pulverized coffee is best for making it by leaching” or percolation, and coarse for boil- ing. It is always better to have a coffee-mill and grind it yourself as wanted, Marrs p'Horen Brrrer.—Put two ounces of fresh butter in a bowl with the juice of a lemon; pepper and salt to taste; small quantity of parsley froed from moisture and finely minced. | Mix well together and keep it in aeool place. Serve with stewed potatoes thinly sliced. To Keer Lawr Cucxeys rnow Breaxixa put a cloth in the bottom of alarge pan, fill the latter with cold water, and place the new chim- and jet its contents a in the water until it is cold, Cook declares that women who indulge their children with rich and indigest- ible food of every kind and with strong coffee and tea under the plea that they ought to have what they like to eat and drink, do literally kecp a dram shop in their own homes and make drunkards of their owa children, A Loriox Mape or Avca and sulphate of zine is excellent for chilblains. If the chil- biains break the ulcers are often difficult to heal, Subdue the inflammation by and water poultices applied cold. Follow with cooling ointments. as cerate of acetate of lead, spermaceti ointment or Carron oil. Mvstamp 1s Tue NeaREst APPRoacn to a universal cure-all. Few pains will not give way before @ mustard plaster, and « wide range of internal inflammations from colds and other causes may be stopped by its timely appli- cation, | Its the first and best Fesort in threat- ened pneumonia or congestion hard Colds on the chests gars ee To Remove Oup Ixk Statxs from polished mahogany and cherry, add a very few drops of niter to a teaspoonful of water, dip a feather into this mixtare and touch the ink spots with once, with a rag, wet with clear water, then ary and polish. "This is to prevent a’ white mark coming in place of the stain, Fuirp Appies axp Bacox.—Core and slice round, without paring, some tart, well-flavored apples. Cut into thin slices some middlings of excellent bacon or pork, and fry in their own fat almost to crispness. Take out the meat and keep hot whil he fat left in the pan: drein and lay upon the slices of meat, Tue Gaeat Sucuet or Goop Tea.—The secret of muking good tea is that the water should be poured on the instant it boils, and that every thing should be well heated, If ittie water boiled ina kettle, and pour this upon the tea in a cold the water is chilled, the strengih of the tea not properly extracted, = after To the en poured than lukegarm. SaLtep Atsoxps.—Salted almonds farnish a delicious addition to a luncheon or dinner. Pour boiling water over shelled almonds and Jet them stand « short time, when the dry brown husk can be easily rubbed off and the almonds are “blanched,” then stir into melted butter, let them stend, add salt and brown in the oven. When taken from the oven place them on soft porous paper to prevent their being “buttery.” If this is not sufficient, dry them ona towel. Cuamrsoxe Caam.—Take the yelks of half a dozen eggs and whip them up until very stiff. In order to make the froth more firm add dur- ing the whipping some pulverized sugar. When thoroughly etift pour = aay ‘a bottle of necessary it little more Plants, but simply moisten the earth in the | esas For 2. at ty $5, ih E 40, 8:10 10: For Pope's Creek Live, 7:20am. and 4:40 pam. daily, except ~ ks and 12.05, 440 oI ro 2oand 900 am. 12-05, ant 4:40 bs 3 MARY AND aftanDin ARDS SAITRO AD. xandria, 4:30, For | press, alse varons, tat’ 10, sand For Pittsburg and Clev ting. This simple remedy has relieved many | | 645, 12 Ka: PET Nae mati BT SO pe ovis and! srterusediate nium, 17-00 pam an. Cuurch train leaves Washington on Sunday xt 1.15 | gm, stopping at all” stations “ou Metopulisan For ayn t | Pos bi | Tratnearn | pm stromc at ai F orders left at ticket W Mt CLEMENTS, was" Geu. Manuaer. | CHAS. 0. SCULL. Gen, Pass MONT AIR Lt Schedule in efect November Isth, 18S. Ma fast, Len. Mail Deily for” Warton, y ine, ad j | it, When the stain disappears rub the spot, at | ie At onnrwech od area geee (, arriving Wi EW TRON STEAMER “WA b whart on pays, TAC DATs ‘in. Return ESD, and SUNDAYS. pa muy touch dines as far as Nowint Creek, Va St Clemmente Bay ped Tecnaratown. Nd Coumect: with Band 0 ies See schedule. JON B. PADGETT, om ‘Maaacer. ae ___OCEAN STE NA8840, ccBA, atEXtO0. The Winter Gems of the Tropica, ‘The Magnificent Steamers of the WARD LINE, California cham e, surring while pouring, and contivai ani the wine andthe beaten win who, in her blue gown and white apron, stood in the yard below feeding a noisy flock tne ite te through a frosty sk; san going down a Y threw red pon the vast ‘white plains and the cluster of oe houses hud- together. hoods of feath- ‘them almost pic- crusted snow made ie turesque. Across the road came a black, paunchy ure, It was Nutt, the carpenter, who kept post-oftice in a “Whet ails Jabez?” Mi * thought” “Qui ite rm ‘Father i PLE et ity i i a bird el rt bi ely i Hi it q fi fey i i | EE a i i f tablespoonful of the cream in the estimation should A rl | : i F 3 H Hi t i i ven i oot learycr cern ore oreo SS ares EDN! YS and SATURDAYS, For wa de Cube ond Pen; et, ‘Wall st. X. x. 3800 a a