Evening Star Newspaper, May 11, 1889, Page 10

10 > yf d THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C, SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1889-TWELVE PAGES. Written for Tar LVENING STAR. ETIQUETTE AND MANNERS. What to Do and What Not to Do in So- ciety. THE PROPER THING To DO IN MANY PUZZLING CASES—HOW A LADY SROULD WALK WITH AN ESCORT—SHAKING HANDS WHEN INTRODUCED— WHEN TO WEAR A PRINCE ALBERT COAT. The following questions and answers have been selected for this week: 1. When accompanied in the evening by two gentle- ‘en, neither of whom you can regard as de trop, is it Proper to take the arms of both, or should you walk independentiy? 2. Also what should you do if when promensding in ® ball-room another gentleman should Join you, espe- cially #€ you are thoroughly tired of the gentleman you are with and wish to encourage the new-comer? Should you take both their arms in this case? 3. Isit proper tocall on a prospective bride after her cards are out? I know her quite well, and she will Jeave immediately after the wedding to reside in a dis- tant state. 1. Either take the arms of one gentleman only, or take the arm of neither. On no ac- count take the arms of both. 2. A woman who takes the armsof two men at the same time exposes herself to ridicule. In the dilemma described you ean walk by the side of the second gentleman without taking is arm, or you can disengage your arm from the first gentleman, and either stand convers- ing with both gentlemen or promenade with both, without taking the arm of either. Very likely the first gentleman will find an exeuse to leave you with the new-comer. If not there is opportunity for the exercise of a woman's in- emit Send him fora giass of water or to k for your fan, or to find an acquaintance, or something of the kind. 3. Only intimate friends can properly call on @ bride after her cards are out, IX REGARD TO INVITATIONS, Will you kindly answer a question in regard to in- vitations” lady friends and myself are contemplating civ. ing a card party. together. at my houxe, and we woald like very much to have you give us a form for the Invitations. This wasiny idea: ‘‘Mrs. A. and Mrs. B. at home JU Urs, C. Wednesday, April 24, 8 p.m. Cards. T merely the words, which of course would be proverly distributed npon & card or sheet of Paper. ‘The other ladies say this would not be racht as they re y . but are ente ne with me. } “at home” should come from dy of the house, but the other ladies’ eards might be sent with the invitation. An entertainment given at any house must be as sumed to be given by the mistress of thet hoz & partnership in these matters is scarcely ad- mussable, but a lady may associate other ladies with her. WEDDING AND ENGAGEMENT. 1. Ina newspaper notice of marriage, is it in goo] taste to have printed the former title of bride's father —he having been “honorable” for a number of years— as thix: “Jane, dauhter of Hon. John Smith.” 2. Is net the envagement ring worn on the third fiuiger of the left hand? I believe a late answer to sim- flar questions assizned the engagement ring to the rat hand. which I thought must be a misprint. J. What is the averave size of the fee given a clergy- maa for performing the marriage ceremony? 1. It is often done, but it is of questionable taste. --Honorable” isa courtesy title solely and hence cannot be claimed or employed by a Person himself or by his family. 2. The engagement ring and the wedding ring are worn on the same finger, the third of the left hand. 3. Wedding fees vary according to place and wealth of the groom; anywhere from five to twenty-five dollars is the customary fee. A GENTLEMAN'S DRES What color gloves, if any, a gentleman should wear St his wedding, the ceremony to take piace at 12 o’clock in the day, the bride wearing white silk and he Grey trousers and Prince Albert coat. If the groom wears gloves they shonld be of 8 light color, but not white. sn Y #9 it improper to wear a dress coat in the morn- The unknown powers that make social laws have decreed that the dress-coat should be worn only at night, because it is thought more suita- ble for evening occasions than for day occa- sions. But the rule is wholly arbitrary. In France the dress-coat is worn for all ceremoni- ous gatherings, morning or evening. Ata re- cent formal breakfast in New York, the French consul appeared in a dress suit to the surprise of many persons who should have known that | this is the custom in France. The English rule is that adress suit must be worn only in the evening, and American society has adopted this suthority as binding instead of the French. P ce of meetinu, the di get better acquainted. 2. Is it an absointe necessity for a gentleman to re- ‘3. Isit necessary for. to follow strict rules of ¢ 1. & gentleman can always ask for the privi- lege of calling upon a lady, but not appoint a place of meeting. 2. A gentleman should always remove his hat when eccosting a lady. 3. Kules of etiquette are made for all classes. Of course certain social rules are inapplicable to persons not in society, but no man is too low in rank to take off his hat toa lady. to bow to ® gentleman. to give way to an elder, to re- gard the rights of others, to feel self-respect and show respect, to conduct himself with pro- priety and decency. 1. If a lady dressing in deep mourning receives a ine IuVitation, should she seud her card together. With her busband’s to the mother of the youns lady woing to be married? 2. Isit necessary to have a mourning cari? 1. She sends her card with regrets. 2 Itis customary to have mourning cards, but no one is under obligation to do so. THE PROPRIETY OF DIAMONDS. adult teoter £058 young unmarried lady living in . Are not Khiue stones, crystals, and like stones cut im imitation of diamonds out of wood taste: 3. Isituot permissible fora clerk to wear a small diamond in a ring while behind the counter? 1. No, it is not proper for young unmarried ladies living in small towns or in big towns to wear diamonds, according to the theory of fas- tidious circles, 2. They are in bad taste. 3. To the mind of the writer it is not in good taste for any person of the male sex to wear a diamond ring behind or before a counter; but it must be admitted that a great many Ameri- can gentlemen adorn themselves in this way, Just as they wear showy watchchains and con. spicuous scarfs; but all displays of this kind are suggestive of the saloon and the ward poli- tician. The only proper thing for a gentleman to wear on his finger is a seal ring. We do not see that a man’s position as a clerk changes his social right to wear aring. In fact, men be- hind the counter commonly outdo in smartness all their masculine rivals. SHAKING HANDS. Please settle a trifling dispute between a frien myself, aud tell us whether it is very generally th tom for men to shake hands on being introduced Reception or other social watering? Men usually shake hands on being introduced, Often when it would be m better taste not to do eo. Americans are said to be greatly addicted to hand-shaking, but according to the writer's observation they are not behind Englishmen in this particular. In many off-hand mtroduc- tions, occurring in the street or in public places, shaking hands is uncalled for, but then im these cases the introduction has been un- necessary or rather forced. We introduce too much, we shake hands too much. Is it necessary to send up a card on calling at houses where one is well acquainted and calls frequently? It seems to me that it is or ought to be sufficient to give the name to the servant who answers the bell. Where « person is a frequent visitor at a house all that is necessary is for him to send up his name by the servant. At private dances when quadrilles are on the pro- is st usual to Rave the figures called o1 sapposed tok aa or lower class people te? mow the forms and ehaages’ i pPereminory peel grog _— the forms and changes. and hence the t usually called. EDIE In making «call must I in: fe i ladies: ‘he fauully,‘oF obly for the’ lady’ T particularly wish to In making a formal call it is custo fora mtleman to ask to see all the ladies of the nth, sending in oc leaving his card for each. THE PRINCE ALBERT coar, 1. On what particular occasion is it absolutel; Gerad by strict etiquette that a Prince ‘Albert coat yald be worn? 2. 3 Islet proper to make an evening call in acuta- 1. A Prince Albert coat or frock coat should be worn upon all social occasions, such as after- moon receptions, morning or afternoon wed- dings, the promenade—in short upon all ocea- sious that are at all ceremonious in their char- acter. 2. It is not in the best taste to wear cutaway coat for an evening call. In the bestcircies many gentlemen put ona dress suit for dinner every day, and wear it wherever they war ‘Will you Kindly auswer the foi end a chaperone to at commencement exer. Gises of a colleze. ‘The “last 3 fs °F. Is there any book I can obtain giving theetig 2. Is re als, can ol in juette for’ lady in the Fetreshunent, poous sts be gn? How are the cloves kevt frou being 7 5 When stranger cails on, ap invalid who is too seen or return the call, should «card the invalid by post? ia 1. If we extend an invitation to foot the bills, gegen patie a a Almost any book of etiquette probab! give our correspondent the laformation she ae, sires, but wecan assure her that the etiquette the refreshment room does not differ from that of other rooms; she may remove her gloves pking refvecimnents, ond thus le to ac- 3, Usually taken by the upper end of the stalk By the fingers and thus carried to the mouth. When asparagus tips are served they are eaten like other vegetables, with the fork. 4. A recognition of this kind would be proper. Tue Avruor or “Don’t.” ——_- -eee - Loneliness. Oh, friend, how oft I want some word of comfort, So many days seem drear and dark as night; Sometimes my heart grows weary with life's burden; 'Tis then my soul cries out to you for light. To you, dear friend, who blessed me with such kindness, Through the deep gloom of well-remembered years, I fain would come and gain an added sweetness, And know the quiet happiness of tears. "Neath frozen seas my treasured hopes lie buried, strands of seaweed twist and twine above, And now, unhelped, I try to learn the meaning Of human life, of unseen tender love. Day after day, in the gray wintry twilight, I try to make my longing heart forget; But, ob, the sails of thought are wildly drifting Over the wide seas, where the bright sun has set! Vainly I call across the deep, sweet channels, Vainly I call and question, listening lo Now near, now distant, piercing through the darkness, ‘The wailing night-wind answereth my woe. And yet, methinks,—some day,—perhaps to- morrow, On, beating heart, so wrung with yearning pain, Some message sweet, across the lonely waters, Out ot the depths shall bring you joy again! H. GP. > A recently published work on “The Artof Advertising” says: “A point which will afford reliable information as to the value of a publi- cation as an advertising medium is the close- ness with which the publisher adheres to his advertising rates.” Tue Star invariably holds to its rates; and, what is of greater importance to the advertiser, it charges everybody the same price for the same service. This few papers do! FASHIONS FOR THE FAIR. A Great Dest of ingenuity is exercised in the matter of sleeves. Gray AnD Smoke CoLonep Net is very fash- iouable for ball dresses, .zst Bonnerts are more like dressy caps tl thing else, Hars wrra Low Crowxs and broad brims, like scoops, are fashionable. WHEN THE Sxason advances a little more we will see the revival of the Leghorn flat. Tue Fistsa of this year’s light wools and homespuns is softer and finer than ever. Cmeviar Cioaks are made for evening wear in old rose, Suede or turquoise camel's hair. Tuere 1s Not Mvca variety in skirts of dresses, but in bodices it is seemingly endless, Dresses made of fish net have for trimming rows of moire or satin ribbon run through the meshes, The Henri II cap of velvet is fashionable for afternoon drives, matinees, and mformal re- ceptions. Swiss Betts of Jer Beaps are worn with black net and lace dresses, They are pointed back and front. Tae Empree Srrves are outdoing all others for young girls, und the waists are growing very short indeed. Buocapes with empire designs of floral scrolls and laurel leaves are made up over skirts of white satin or silk. Bisnop Sueeves or Cuanrinty Lace are a yard and half wide and show a closer one of bright color underneath. Tue Moxx’s Gown or Brown anp Camet’s Hara, which envelops the wearer from head to foot, is used for traveling. Suovutper Capes are sometimes made in a V shape of two pieces of ribbon with bias sides, mecting in the front and back. Tue Iranian Bovice or corselet, pointed in the front and back and curved low under the arms, is being rescued from oblivion. Warreau Gowns have the fuliness in the back. held under a yoke made like an inverted V. instead of laid in a double box plait. Barpesmarps wear hats at afternoon wed- dings, but this kind of head covering is entirely inappropriate for a full dress evening wedding. Tae Crossep on the bosom fichu, styled the Martha Washington and the Sir Joshua Rey- nolds, is the favorite light decorative wrap of the incoming season. A Fett Frit or Laor which turns over at the neck and falls into a jabot down the front of the corsage ix one of the finishing touches given toa dinner dress, Tue Suapes or Fawy, drab gray, brown, green, and blue in half tones that are seen in light-weight woolens, challies, delaines, veil- ings, and diagonals are delicious. Worrs anv Pixcor are using the palest tan- colored cloth for spring jackets, merely stitch- ing the edges and revers in double rows, but using gorgeous embroidered fabrics for vest and cuffs. Some or THE Loveriest demi-toilet gowns of the season are of milk-white crepaline, with border trimmings of beautiful Persian ribbons that have rich colored figures brocaded on golden grounds, Ax Opp Comprxation of fabrics is that of ladies’ cloth with India silk, the cloth form- ing a little square-cornered zouave jacket with revers opening over a shirt front of the silk, with slightly draped skirts also of ‘silk. Ir was Txovcut Earty in the season that moires were going out, but however true this may be of colored moires or watered silks, it does not affect black moires. They are still worn, and come in very handsome patterns. Tue Latest Noverry in decorations for the coiffure consists of fine braids of real hair in all shades, set with jewels at intervals. These are wound in fillets around the head after the hair is dressed. The arrangement can be varied ad infinitum. CuaTeLarxe Bags in various kinds of leather, with nickel and sterling silver mountings, are stylish, and can be had in all shapes and sizes. Belt chatelaines are also much worn, with chains for a dozen articles, or two, as the taste of the wearer may suggest. Ay Ipgat Danctxa Gows that is going to Saratoga, to be worn by a picturesque, grace- ful, and poetic blonde, is of willow green moire, draped with gold and silver net, garni- tured with trailing sprays of cape jessamine with foliage, blush roses, and rose buds, Tue most Beavrircn of the trimming laces for fine sateens, China silks and surahs are the point de gene. They come in pure white and in cream color and are rather expensive, are in charming patterns and find favor with ladies of refined taste. Some of the handsomest im- ported dresses of the past season were trimmed with this lace. Quier Dresses or Camen’s Harr have a street jacket, and also a house waist of white wool veiling or albatross cloth, made with pleated back and blouse front, fastened by a ribbon belt. The jacket of the same material as the skirt has fitted back and loose front with revers or rolling shawl collar. Amoxe Ornen Licur fine wool fabrics are the Venetian crepalines for afternoon and evening demi-toilet gowns. The colors of these tissues are delicate shades of strawberry, old rose, jonquil, pond lily, magnolia, and pure white shades, and the gowns are made with full pleated, shirred or smocked skirt, half lon; smocked pleated or gauged sleeves in fanciful forms, and fancy waists to match, sashes of the material and an abundance of rib! used for flots, bows, and borders, a a itis: A Fond Baltimore Farewell. From Puck. * They had come out into the hall late Sunday evening, after he had made # more than usually protracted call. The light was dim and romantic in the richly furnished entry-way, the maiden waom he loved as he loved his life, looked doubly fasci- nating, and young Loverly found it exceed- ingly difficult to himself away, “ceumy omen ted though she had A re) remarked the same ing but seven times be- fore. fore. sie{Goodby,” he said again, with great hesits- Gi ” she whispered softly. “May Dbave one fing kiss?” He migit and did; but still he lingered. * ee jueried, with sudden inspiration, “in our final Kise like's “duodecimo?™ “I give it up,” the maiden said, after a mo- it of deep and ho; ment — peless on means 12mo.” And on that basis it was interpreted, | blue repp curtains ¢ A HONEYMOON STORY. We spent our honeymoon at St. Bridgets- super-Mare, and as a natural consequence we quarreled. My marriage with Celia Dobson was not looked upon with much favor by the greater part of my relations. We Blundells are, most of us, proud of our family and ancestors. We claim to be the direct descendants of the Blondel who serenaded Cwur de Lion ontside his pri on window, With the exception of this inci- dent, I never could find out that my ancestors had ever distinguished themselves in any way: but my Aunt Matilda, who had acted as guar- dian to me since my,father’s death, never lost an opportunity of impressing upon me that we Blundells were second to none in point of blood and descent. Ican see now the air of conscious pride and self-satisfaction with which she always spoke of “the Family” (always with a capital F), or settled any vy uestion of een from ed etiquette by quoting whatever had tume immemorial the custom of the Blundells with regard to the subject under discussion. It was, therefore, a shock of no ordinary kind when announced my intention of marrying Celia Dobson. The Dobsons were in trade. That vas enough—more than enongh for Aunt Matilda. She wept, she entroated, she implored me not | to sully the glory of the Blundell escutcheon | by allying myself with one who probably could | yot enumerate her ancestors for further back | than a paltry centary. : But her expostulations were all in vain. I was aster. I was head over ears in love and T considered that I was, on the whole, the best judge of what would be like happiness, and haviug infor: that I intended to please myself | ‘ion, und further added that it was | the Blundel’s to have such an | angel as my Celia introduced emong them, I | left her to mourn over my degeneracy and wil- | fulness and to prophesy that no good would come of it, Our wedding took verbially unlucky month—but we both | scorned such superstition. Our original inten- tion had been to spend a fortnight of our | honeymoon in Paris and the remaining fort-| nightin London; but some short time before our wedding-day Matthew Dobson, Ce! great-uncle and godfather, must needs take into his head to oifer us the loan of his villa at I wi t first for ks. but : whether from the fact that she tions from Unele Matthew and was afraid of | offending him, or from an idea that it was the | fashionable thing to do, pressed Celia to a cept; and I—Iw far too happy to cure ve much where I went, so long as Celia went with me. So to St. Bridgets we went. weather was most unkind to u days of our stay at Montenott called his villa) were days of continual ain, utterly precluding any id house; and when the third day was still no sign of a cl that I had given up our Paris 80 The house was comfortable enough, b me, who have always been to a mild ex follower of the aesthetic school, the st: furniture was depressingly ug’ the drawing-room, the corner brackets covered with emerald green velvet, and trimmed with macrame set my teeth on edge. The walls were 5} tered lace in May I must say the ‘The two first | nt a le of ter Cupid and in the middle of a ogany | n undoubted (!) Carlo Dolei Holy | h hung over the fireplace, carc- | fully shrouded from view by a’red moreen tain, As I look back to thatroom in my mind's eye, I consider that I had some excuse for feel- ing out of tempec! f ao not think I should have been so much aggravated by my surrounding: 80 to speak, “le ‘es horror of them to Celia, te satisfied, even delighte I ask any married thing more trying to moral fiber than tosee the wife of your bosom calinly, placidly yood-tem- pered, when you yourself are seething with | suppressed ill-humor, 1 made one attempt to improve matters by suggesting that it might be a good plan if we were to put away insome box the white crochet ssars with which the drawing-room tifully adorned, until we were going y. But Celia looked puzzled, “What a funny idea, Dic she said. you want to do that? will so dirty, you know,” I pre- varicated feebl, “But, you stapid boy, they will wash bean- fail, Uncle Matt would never have left them here if he did not wish us to use them.” I saw she was hopelessly contented, and y to the window with my irrita- inwards, and therefore, like a rash under the same circumstances, mach more dan- | gerous. Whatever poets may say, May is nota pleas- ant month, especially by the sea-side. As I) looked out now, I saw before me a dull gray world. Heavy gray clouds overhead, a heavin; gray expanse of sea below. out. and to right and left stretched away far as I could see a long reach of sandy shore: leasant enough, doubtless, in summer-tim But now looking drearily uninteresting, as waves broke on it with a monotonous, me! choly swish, Acold northwesterly wind was driving the rain against the windows, and the trees bowed and swayed and flung up their arms as though mourning for the early fate of their beautiful young leaves, which the wind was reckiessly tearing from the parent stem and strewing on the ground, “No going out for us again to-day as far as I can see,” I said gloomily. “why The tide was as cally. ?” she said. “And I had set my heart on a ride with you, Dick! Wasn't it kind of Uncle Matt to send down his ‘o horses for us? I do love riging; don't you, Dick?” She walked over to the window and passed her hand carcssingly through my arm; but I was longing for a plausible grievance, and the fact of not being able to find one made me twice as irritable as before, As she seemed to expect an answer, I said, with that particular “dampy” sound in my voice which 1s 49 discouragi HK to an interlocutor: “Oh, 1 like riding well enough when I have good horses,” “Well, I am sure Uncle Matt's——” began, but I cut her short. “Your Uncle Matt's horses are a couple of old screws. Iweutto look at them in the stable yesterday.” She looked vaguely bewildered at the tone of my voice, “Why, what is the matter with you, Dick? Has anything annoyed you?” Here was my opportunity. “Anything annoyed me!" I burst out. “Isn't it enough to annoy any fellow, to be cooped up in @ confounded hole like this, with nothing but that beastly sea and sand to look at outside, and a room like this to live in?” Celia looked hurt and indignant, and I saw the glimmer of coming tears in her eyes, “What is the matter with the room?” she asked. ‘Lam sure I see nothing to grumble at. I do not think I ever was in a nicer room than it is!” “Very likely! But, my dear Celia.” I con- tinued with a patronizing tone, which must have been infinitely harder to bear than even my simple bad temper— “My dear Celia, I am afraid you have still a great deal to learn in the matter of artistic taste.” And I looked round the room with an expression of lofty con- tempt. “Oh, as far as artistic taste goes, Dick, I am sure you are wrong, for Uncle Matt is ever so artistic. Why, he draws and paints himself!” “I have no doubt he is a second Raphael,” I sneered, “‘but he does not know how to choose his carpets and curtains! Look at that!” and I shook ee folds of blue repp savagely; ‘‘and that!” and I kicked viciously at one of the blue roses which, with a yellow flower as yet unknown to botanists, meandered over the carpet in profusion. “Do you mean to say you do not see the awful vulgarity of it? But,” re- turning once more to the en gly patroniz- ing tone, ‘‘you are a Blundell now, my dear Celia, and you must just try to forget every- thing you ever learnt as a Dobson as fast as every you can.” Celia fired up with an unexpectedness which welree —e jing to thin; it “If you are go’ say nasty gs about my family, Dick, I shall certainly not stay to listen to you. If you think so little of the sons I wonder you married one of them! And as to forgetting all lever learned asa Dobson ——” , By this time the tears were run- ning down her cheeks. “ is one thing Iwas taught, which I should be sorry to forget, a it seems to have been left out of your educa‘ and that is gratitude.” M, my conscience both smote me Tsaid and she turned she heart at these words. | tiousiy under the | main road 1 | edd a | appearan cose expression. But I got no answering smile from Celia, E “It would be much better to saddle the t horse, Dic! e said, sternly, “and say that your temper got the better of you. We Dobsons may be a very inferior, vulgar race, but thank goodness we have not got the Blundell temper! “Oh, very well!” I said, shortly; “I see you wish to quarrel—so I shall leave you to your- self to recover your temper, Dobson or Blun- dell. whichever it may be!” And I walked out of the room, slamming the door after me, and feeling half sorry and half glad that Celia had scorned the olive branch of reconciliation I had held out to ber. Inow had a fairly plausible grievance—at least I thought I had—and I thrust my arms into my macintosh and took my umbreila out of the stand, witha grim satisfaction in the thought that by going out in weather like this —driven out into it by my wife's obstinate re- fasal to make friends—I should probably catch abad cold, All the dramatic possibilities of y cold flittered before my mind's eye in pleasing suceession—chills to the liver— pleurisy—rheumatie fever. rhaps she will e sorry then!" { muttered to myself as I shut the hall-door behind me, and walked ostenta- drawing-room windows, whistling as I went, and striving to impart to my featur: perfectiy unconcerned, amai- ble expr i heard a tap at the window, and my alled, but I would not look up, and strode on with as much dig- nity as I could commanc out of view of the windows, T paused to consider in which direc I should go to look fer the plearisy and rheumatism which were to bring my erring wife to a sense of her misdoin I might either go down to the sands, which as far as [could see outiined the coast under the dark overhanging cliffs, or I might follow tae hich passed through the straggling -y beyond. We had come by sht of our arrival at St. Bridgets, and I had a vague remembrance of t monotonous undulating downs. But this moment the relative merits of in- coast scenery interested me compara- ttle, “Dll I said to myself. “Heads the road-—ta sands.” Heads it was, so off I ong the road. I passed through the v nd waiked on for some distance, anathematizing Mat- yed me into such a dead-alive kind of plac othing could be more depressingly commonplace than: this well- kept road, with itselose-cropped downs on cach side, and its te h poles recurring at regu- lar inte ny great wealth of scenery would bave been thrown away upon me just then, for all my faculties were employed in a hand-to-hand encounter with the elements, The wind seemed to take a malicious pleas- ure in trying to tangle me up in my macintosh by driving the flapping tails in between my legs and by getting under the cape and whirl- ing it over my head and about my ears ina most bewildering fashion. Then, no sooner had I reduced the cape to comparative submis- sion than a stronger gust than before lifted my hat off my head and sent it spinning along the road in front of me. I know no time when a man looks more thorougily ridiewlous than when he is in pur- suit of a runaway hat. With’ that fiendish de- light it waits until you have actually stooped to pick it up, and then how aggravatingly it bounds and skims on fora few more paces, only to repeat the same process, until some kindly carries it into a corner which it cannot ape! No less than three times did the wind play me this nasty trick, and at last in desperation Idrew out my silk handkerchief and tied it securely over the refractory head-gear and under my chin, painfully conscious of what my must be, and devoutly thank t by no possibility could Celia see me fr illa windows, With such a get-up dignity was incompi and I had come to the con- Insion that a re of dignity and injured iimocence w most fitting attitude for me adopt toward her, I was now able to look about me with toler- able comfort. Iwas going up a slight i in the road. On each side of me were tl arying, undujating downs, but certainly the road was considerably narrower than that upon which I had set out to walk on leaving the village, and the telegraph poles, which I had th were now conspicuous by their al puzzled to account for this at first, but then remembering the chases after my hat, Icame tothe conclusion that in the excitement of one of them I must have strayed off the n road on to a side one. Iwas all the betier pleased. I was sure to meet some one, or to pass some cottage where Icould ask my way home, and, in the mean- time, the uncertainty as to my whereabouts just that clement of interest to my walk at had been wanting befo Altogether, I felt in better spirits, I had walked off my bad temper to a great extent, and begun to think that perhaps, after all, I had been a trifle unreasonable and rude to Celia, A feeling of remorse at having left her ali alone in the stupid little villa took possession of me, and I would have turned straight back by the way I had come to seek for reconcilia- tion, if a sudden bend of the road had not brought me unexpectedly in view of the sea. I must have been walking in something of a i ebeen gradually as- illage, for now [found myself on the top of one of the cliffs overlook- ing the sands. ‘The road here took = sudden dip, and apparently led down to the shore by a series of rather steep zig-zags. It would now, it seemed to me, be much shorter tomake my way home by the shore. At any rate there was a cottage a little way down the hill, and I could find out there which was my best way to get back to St. Bridgets, 1 was pleased to see, as I looked round, that on all sides there were the signs of a clear-up on the part of the weather. The wind seemed to have gone round to some more favorable point, for though still blowing hard, it did not now bring with it the driving showers of rain, ‘The clouds out to windward were lifting, and there was even every now and then a watery gleam of sunshine. ‘The fresh salt smell of the seaweed. which was wafted up to me where I was standing, was invigorating, and the occa- nal scream of a seagull asit dipped up and down on an incoming wave, had a peculiar charm of its own, which I could not help being conscious of, Ihurried down to the little cottage. The door was ajar. knocked, but got no answer. So I pushed it open, and saw, seated before the village on e 2 fire, an old woman, who apparently did not hear my entrance, for she went on with her knitting without even turning her head. ood evening, ma'am,” I said, Still no sign that she heard me. I walked over to her and gently touched her arm, She started round then, and her ball of worsted jumped off her lap and rolled on the floor, 1 picked it up for her, “Can you tell me which is the nearest way to St. Bridgets?” I asked. *Y she answered, putting her hand to her ear. “Which is the shortest way to St. Bridgets?” I reiterated louder, “Aye! thee must speak louder if thee wants me to hear. I’m an old ‘ooman—ninety-one come Michaelmas—and I'm deaf these twenty years and more, Nay! nay!” as I made another equally fruitless attempt to make myself heard; “af there's uught thee wants to know, thee’d best go down to the shore. Bill, he’s there, and a tine lad he is, though I says it as shouldn't, being his mother. I’m an old’ooman. I am— ninety-one come Michaelmas, and—” I did not wait for further reminiscences. I saw it was hopeless to elicit further information from her, and ect off down to the shore, trust- ing to find **Bill” and to get more lucid direc- tions from him as to my best way home, Thad not walked far along the sand when I came upon ‘‘the fine lad,” a gray-haired man of «bout fifty, who was at work repairing a boat that was hauled up on the shore, “Whereabouts is St. Bridgets, and can you kindly tell me the best way to get to it?” 1 asked him, He sor ped. in his work, and looked up at me from under the aie of his 'Gou'woster.” “Aye, aye, can tell you right enough. St. Bridgets just around that point of land as yousees before you there.” “Thank you,” I said. ‘Then, of course, it will be much quicker for me to walk along the sands than to go back by the road by which I came—down past your co! “Not a bit of it, sir! You will just have to go back the way you came.” “But, my good man, that point of land can’t be much more than five hundred yards off, and if St..Bridgets is only a little the other side of it, it must take me a shorter time to this Mes pps aie all that long way ‘by the “For all that, sir, it is by the road you must I see you're a stranger het Te, sir, or one mark you can steer by—Heaven’ danger signals. I calls them. Do you see, sir, a white mark there down the face of the rock, about 100 yards this side of the point, and another mark the same about 150 yards along from where yon are standing now? Well, you're safe enough so long as you don't get inside either of them. They're some sort of white moss as grows down the cliff, and only for them there’s many a one would have lost his life. | There’s some of them foolhardy chaps as don't seem happy uniess they're putting their precious lives in danger, wi'out givin’ a thought to the mother or wife that's may be dependin’ upon them, as has climbed the whole way along the face of the cliff, round to St. Bridgets. But you see, sir, the cliff hangs ove: bit, and ‘tis nasty shaley stuff, as gives no grip for hands and feet, and if it gives way under you— down you go, straight on to the quicksands, and then nothing but a miracle could save you, “Well,” I said, “it is most fortunate I'met you here, for I should most certainly have tried to find my way home across the sands. It isa great shame the authorities do not put up a notice-board to warn people of their danger.” “Aye, sir! there was a warning-board up all through the summer, but the first storm in the winter carried it away, and you see, sir, it’s only once in a way as visitors comes here afore June or July; so I suppose as how they thought it waen’t worth while to put it up so soon like. And so— He stopped short and shaded his eyes from he dazzle of the setting sun, “Good heavens!” he ejaculated. “What is Can you see, sir?” My sight is not so it was, Is that anybody riding round 2” that? point? A sudden, sickening presentiment came over me. My heart gave a bound, and then seemed to stand still, I shaded my eyes, too, and gazed out to the point. One look was enough. I sprang forward with a scream. “Stop! Stop!” I shouted, For in thaj one glance I had recognized be- yond doubt the outline of Uncle Matt's ewe- necked mare, silhouetted with painful distinctive- Less against the pale yellow of the sky. and riding her—slowly in our direction—a lady who could be no other than Celia, ‘The concentrated agow ars seemed to be all crowded into ti moment of time, “Man!” I cried. clutching Bill by the shoulder, “that is my wife! My wife, [tell you!” Then, my wife! letting him go, I waved my arms wildly. back; go back!” I called. The wind blew the words down my throat. And still I could see Celia slowly but surely pproaching the white mark—“Heaven’s danger signal,” With no distinct idea of what I meant to do, Iwas beginning to run toward the advancin, rider, still waving my arms as though to pus! her beck from her awful fate. Bill caught me by the sleeve, “What are you doin’, sir? You won't save her that way. “If she sees you at all she'll more likely think you are beckoning her on than telling her to go back. ‘There's only one thing you can do, sir. Run for your life till you get within a couple of yards of the white mark nearest us—then take to the rocks, the way I was telling you just now, and mayhap—mayhap you'll get across in time.” Lheard no more. I had torn off my coat and hat and was flying along toward the white mark at racing speed. It did not take me long to reach the spot where I must leave the sands for the rocks, Before beginning my perilous climb, I cast on hasty glance elia’s direction, Was I alrea too late? No! thank God! A hysterical sob of joy arose in my throat as I saw that some whim of the moment had induced her to stop in her vard in order to try to oblige her horse to walk into the sea, [had gost time to see that the horse was restive and kept backing away from the advancing waves into which she was evidently bent on urging it, and then my whole cnergies of mind and body had to be concentrated on the difficulty of making my way along the shaley face of the cliff. Rising straight up from the sand for about 20 feet was a sheer, smooth slab of rock, which af- forded absolutely no foothold, but above this came the strata of shale along which I was serambling as best could. The overhanging ff above me looked as though it were long- ing to fall over and push me down—down on to the horrible, hungry sands below. The shale cut my, hands and broke away from under my feet at each step, and all the time there was the ‘haunting fear that I should be too late; that before I should have got up to the second white mark the sands would have swallowed up my darling forever. [remembered our quar- rel with a sort of dull, distant pain. Oh, if only I could be in time! How could I endure to go through life never knowing whether she had forgiven my hasty words or whether she had gone to her awful death still smarting under their injustice. Icould only have been about ten minutes, but it seemed to me to be hours before I at last reached the mossy white mark, which showed me I had come to the edge of the quicksand, It was only as I crossed it and scrambled down to the shore below that I dared to look to see if my worst fears had been realized. How can I describe the revulsion of feeling when, as my feet touched the sand, I heard Celia’s laugh, and looking up saw her on the ewe-necked mare within a yard of me. “Why, you silly boy!” she exclaimed, “what ever made you come that way? I have been waiting here for the last three minutes, ex- pecting every second to see you come tumbling “Go HOME MATTERS. PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS TO INDUSTRIOUS BOUSE- KEEPERS—SOME USEFUL RECIPES—HINTS FOR THE DINING-ROOM, PANTRY AND KITCHEN— LITTLE THINGS WORTH REMEMBERING. Use a Pexxr to remove paint spots from glass. Wues Caram Caxnot se Procuerp for cof- fee, the yelk of a soft-boiled egg is a very good substitute. Hort Water, as hot as can be borne, is very warmly recommended for relief from the poi- son of ivy. Correr-Braxs Pracep Urox a Hort Piate or over hot coals throw off an aroma which is healthful and agreeable. Ir You Waxz Morxisos wirm Heapacue and lassitude, try whether ventilating your bed- rooms will not remedy the trouble. For a Bow, Take THe Sxrx of a boiled eRE. moisten it and apply. It will draw off the mat- ter and relieve the soreness in a few hours, Waes the Reaper Routers of a wringer become sticky, as they very often do after wringing flannel, rab with kerosene and wipe dry, and they will be nice and smooth. Goop Comox Cooxies.—Two cupfuls of sugar, two cupfals of good sour milk, one eup- ful of lard. one teaspoonful of soda and two eggs. Mix fast and bake in a quick oven. Kisses anp Crram.—Beat in all the powdered sugar the white of one egg beaten stiff will take. Bake in patty pans in a slow oven. When cold, invert, scoop out the inside and fill with whipped ercam, Javerte Ware, used to remove tea, coffee, grass and fruit stains from linen, is made thus: Mix well in an earthen vessel one pound of sal soda, 5 cents’ worth of chioride of lime, and two quarts of soft water. Tuck Brown Paper should be laid under | carpets if the patent thing is not to be had. It saves wear and prevents the inroads of moths, which, however, will seldom give trouble if tarred paper is placed beneath the edge. Tar Warre or ax Eoa, an equai quantity of cold water and confectioner’s sugar—triple X— sufficient to make it the required consistency, makes a frosting which is very nice, and as it requires no beating is very easily made. Wuen 4 Patieyt is Surrertne from fever, and the skin is hot and dry, a saleratus bath often found to give at least temporary relief. This bath can be given to the patient in the bed, without removing the bedclothes, or his own clothing. Tur Comriexion Is Inprovep by giving the face @ hot bath each night, Wash it thoroughly and dry with a soft towel. A rough towel is never commended for the face, which really requires soft, fine napery, if one wishes the skin to be smooth. Ixx Starys ane Entimery Removep by the immediate application of dry salt before the ink has dried. When the salt becomes dis- colored by absorbing the ink, brush it off and apply more; wet slightly. Continue this till the ink is all removed. A Goop Wasu to prevent the hair from fall- ing out is made of one ounce of powdered borax, half an ounce of powdered camphor, one quart of boiling water, anda gill of alco- hol. When cool. pour into a bottle for use, and clean the head with it, applying with a flannel or sponge once a week, A Deicious Satap can be made by using bleached dandelion leaves, either with or with- out lettuce. The method of bleaching is very simple. Either invert a flower-pot over the plant or cover it partly with sand. The leaves should be well chilled and dressed at the table with mayonnaise dressing. Kepcerer.—Remove all the bones from some cold boiled fish and flake into small pieces. Mix with it about half the quantity of cold boiled rice, a couple of hard-boiled eggs cut up, and a few pieces of cold potato, Put the mixture ina small saucepan with a lump of butter, a little pepper pe oy and a well-beaten egg. Stir it over the fire till quite hot. Ir is Starep THat a Raprp Growrn of thrifty rose-shoots may be promoted by the use of soot-water. The application has, at any rate, the advantage of costing nothing. Some soot is to be collected from a chimney or stove, put into an old pitcher. and then hot water is to be poured upon th® contents. Whon cold the mix- ture is to be used for watering the plants every few days. PrxearreLe Amprosta.—Remove the skin care- fully from the pineapple and grate the pulp fine; mix with white sugar and let it stand awhile. Make a custard of the yelks of four eggs. the whites of two and a quart of milk. When cold pour it over the pineapple. Beat the two remaining whites with sugar. spread the frosting over the whole, set it on ice and serve cold. Scattorep Tomators.—Put a layer of toma- toes, either stewed or raw, in the bottom of a Ky baking dish, cover them with a layer of stale down. You ought to take better care of your-| bread crumbs, then sprinkle with salt and self now you are a steady married man.” I could say nothing. I staggered like a drunken man. For three minutes she had been ing there within a few yards of certain destruction! It made me dizzy and faint to think of the narrowness of her escape. At last I managed to say hoarsely, as I. took her horse's head and turned it homeward: “How did youcome here?” “Why, can’t you see?” she said, puzzled at my manner and my white, scared face, “When you left me in that very ungallant way this morning I had to find some amusement for myself, #0 Thad the mare saddled and came out for a little ride on the sands,” “Oh! my darling! my darling! can you ever forgive me?” I cried. brokenly. And” then, by degrees. I told her of the horrible danger that had threatened her, of my agony, and of my al- most despairing climb along the cliff. Her face paled. ‘My poor Dick as she laid her hand on my shoulder. think how cross I was to you!” “Cross!” [exclaimed. ‘No wonder, when I But she stopped me gently, “Don't let us talk of it any more, Dick. And Yet, after all,” she said, as she wiped away afew tears, “it was really a providential quarrel, for if we hadn't quarreled, we should have gone out riding together, and we should both of us have got into the quicksands,” “Well,” L returned, “the next quarrel might not be so providential, A quarrel is always a dangerous experiment. We won't repeat it; will we, dear?” And, in spite of the “Blundell temper,” we never have. ~ soe. Written for Tux Evestne Star, Two Roundels on Tulips. = : How richly red ye, tulips, star With your bright bloom my garden-bed! But tulips know I, fairer far— How richly redt Ye with cool dews, warm airs are fed, And Phosbus from his flery car His genial rays has on you shed. she said, “And to My Belle’s more tender tulips are With fare more dainty nourished, Sweet kisses, and your beauty mar— How richly red! 2 My Belle’s two lips are bright as those ‘Tulips whose fires ev's red eciipse, And sweeter than Cythera’s rose My Belle’s two lips. Their pure, persuasive flame outstrips ‘The crimson the geranium shows, Or that which tints the daisy’s tips. ‘The warmth of love within them glows, And all his nectar from them drips; ’Tis heaven when with my own they ‘My Belle's two lips, Triolet., LILIES-'0-THE-V ALLEY, the lilies~o-the valley are sweet, Yet Belle’s, whom I brought them to, May 7, 1889. pepper, then another layer of tomatoes and so continue until the dish is full, having the last layer crumbs. Cut two ounces of butter into bits, and place them over the top. Bake in a quick oven twenty-five or thirty minutes, To Cueax Lace fill a bottle with cold water; draw a stocking tightly over it, securing both ends firmly, Place the lace smoothly over the stocking and tack closely. Put the bottle ina kettle of cold water containing a few shavings of soup, and place over the fire to boil. Rinse in several waters and then drain and dry. When dry remove and place smoothly in a large book and press with weights, Very nice lace can be made to look like new by this process, Macaront Croguets.—Break six ounces of macaroni in pieces about two inches long, put them into a kettle nearly fell of boiling water and boil rapidly for twenty-five minutes. When done drain and throw into cold water for fifteen minutes, drain and cut again into half-inch eee Put a half pint of milk on to boil, Rub one large tablespoonful of butter and two rather heaping tablespoonfuls of flour together and stir into the boiling milk; stir continuelly until it thickens, then add the yelks of two eggs, stir again until very thick: about a half minute, take from the fire, add the macaroni, two tablespoonfuls of grated cheese, salt and cayenne to taste, mix and turn out on a plate to cool. When cold form into cone-shaped croquettes, roll first in beaten egg and then in bread crumbs, and fry in smoking-hot fat. Serve with cream sauce made as follows: Put one tablespoonful of butter in a saucepan with a level tablespoonful of flour, mix until smooth. and adda half pint of milk or cream, stir continually until it boils, add a half tea- spoonful of saltand pepper and it is ready to use. Brack Bass.—Scale, draw, pare, and wash two large black bass and cut them crosswise in eight pieces, Set over a fire in a saucepan, three ounces of butter, with one and a half ounces of flour, and stir with a wooden spoon till the flour is browned. Then put in two dozen small raw white onions and a little a Now, dilute the contents of the pan with one pint of claret and one quart of light broth, sprinkle in a little salt, pepper, and nut- meg, put in a bunch of 'Y, two bruised cloves of garlic, and let all boil for ten minutes. Into this sauce put the fish, cover the dish, and let boil for fifteen minutes we om After re- dish up the and onions consistency, with a and after cho) parsley over the bass they will be ready for the’ table, ‘Cut some cold boiled potatoes in quarters length- wise, fry them slightly in butter, cover and keep warm. When potnend tse =e small portion of parsley over send to the table in a cf but as a compan- ion dish to the fish, F. & Ween # Co UNDER MASONIC TEMPLE, Comer th and F sts aw. Are at Actual W Are Retailing al Wholesale uuine, Powers & W tan (let Tetble Extrecus ts vue mine, Bovining, lange size.” Bull's Couxh Syrup Casimere Bon Carter's Little met Soap... ver Pill Carunck’s nolubie Food, large. Calttoruin Fig, Corn Salve, #e., ters. ver Botti... re Bottle. Tron Bit Mellin’ Piso's Cough Sprup.. Prossian Cougit Syrup aS B.S. Solange size Sauford’s Catearh Soot Terrant’s Vase 03 Vaseii os Vaselu i> Vasclt 1% x o 60 us eo com- te the Ladin, an 2 t renders the skin white. smooth and soft happing. Every Indy should use it. ‘alicia, an infallible external remedy for New- ache and Toothache. It never tails to «ive: ef im the most obstinate Cases. Give i% an Per PRESCRIPTIONS. Our prices for preseriptions have been reduced in oportion to other goods, We use only the purest hemicals from the most reliable manufac Ly am a careful inspection of ans. IME TEMPLE DRUG ie, corner ¥th and F ste, mb28-eo __ F. S. WILLIAMS & CO. Proprietors, Manstasp Cus PURE OLD RYE WHISKY. The wide popularity of this superb brand has tempted other dealers to place upon the market inferior Whisky, under a similar name. intended to deceive the public. The New York Court of Appeuls bas declared our brand, the MARYLAND CLUB, to be a trade-mavk en- titled to the protection of the lew isee decision im Cann, Belt & Co. vs. Jacob Gottschalk, February 12, 18S¥), and we now wive notive that we shall instantly Prosecute any persou or firm iu any part ol the United States who shall be guilty of any iufringement of this trade-mark, CAHN, BELT & CO, SOLE PROPRIETORS OF THE “MARYLAND CLUB” OLD RYE WHISKY, -skww BALTIMORE, MD. HIRES’ ROOT BEER. ‘The Purest aud Best Drink in the World. Appetzing, Delicious, Sparkliug. A Packsge (iquid) 25c. makes five gallons, EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTELD. NOTROUBLE. EASILY MADE. No boiling or straining. Directions simple, and if made accordingly there can be no mistake. Ask your Druggist or Grocer for it, and take no other, ‘See that you get HIRES’, ‘Try it und you Will Not be Without it, THE ONLY GENUINE. Made by C. E. HIRES, Philadelphia, Pa. api 7-w&s26t Heavovanrens FOR CHAS. G. KKIEL'S PURE CREAM LEAF LARD, KETTLE RENDERED IN 1, 3, 5, 10, 25 AND 50 POUND TINS, 40, 50 AND GO POUND FIRKINS. WE KECOMMEND THIS LARD FOR THE FINEST KIND OF PASTRY, 48 IT IS A STRICTLY HOG PRODUCT. ALSO HAVE HIS FINE-FLAVORED SUGAR- CUBED HAMS, BKEAKFAST BACUN AND ap20-lm* J. C. ERGOOD & CO, 915 La. ave. nw GRATEFUL—COMFORTING EPPS'S COCOA BREAKFAST. “By knowledge of the natural laws verb. operatic ot iretion and uteion, and careful application of the hne pro} ° 7 tdlected Cocos tir Foes Exe provided our bread fast tables with a delicately Ravored beverage wi . We ves cE Hh at Ger Tux Best. 497 Penn. eve., adjoining National Hotel,