Evening Star Newspaper, August 3, 1889, Page 10

10 ‘Written for Taz EvExre Stan. THE PERFECT SUMMER COSTUME The Cel Man Should be Dressed in Wool, Serge, Seal Skin and Straw. BESULT OF THE FLANNEL SHIRT HERO'S REFORM— THE PROPER STYLE OF UNDERWEAR, SHIRT, HOSIERY, COATS, TROUSERS, BOOTS AND HAT— GREATEST COMFORT FOR THE LOWEST PRICE. (Copyright, 1889.) Since last April this country has passed un- harmed through one centennial celebration and « Fourth of July. We have listed untired to countless patriotic speeches lauding to the skies the growth, prosperity and freedom of the people and the American eagle has screamed with pride until its voice is hoarse. Yet no- where in the world is man the trammeled and fettered creature that he is in this glorious land of freedom. If the American eagl e @ traveled instead of a domestic bird doubtless its exultant screams would have been tempered by @ note or two of advice. Why? There are many reasons. During the sum- mer months the large cities of. eastern states have a nearly tropical climate. Take New York, for instance. According to the official reports of the signal service the average mean temperature of July is 73 degrees. How much warmer do you think it is im Bombay, India? Only 4 7 eal and the average of Caloutta is only 67 degrees. Now, how do you suppose the natives of Bom- and Calcutta dress during their heated Do they wear stiff-bosomed linen shirts with a double thickness of starch and material over the breast, high collars, cuffs, waistcoats, four-in-hand ties of double thickness of silk, and patent-leather shoes? They do not. The native Hindoo may be miles behind the American citizen in political and social freedom, but, like the wise man that he is, he has emancipated his personal self be- fore he has undertaken the graver problems of political advancement. THE FLANNEL SHIRT. Last year the American citizen made his first effort toward shaking off the coils woven by society for his enslavement. It took the form of the flannel shirt. Monuments are yearly being raised to mark the heroism of famous men. Let the next be erected to the memory of the man who first wore a flan- nel shirt down town to his business. He deserves this much at least at the hands of the perspiring sex he has liberated. ‘That his effort was timely is shown by the number of men who have followed his exam- ple. The flannel shirt is to-day the most pop- ular garment of American summer wear and next year will see more worn than all other styles of shirts combined. But not the only ‘way that man should show his newborn inde- pendence and keep cool is by wearing a flan- pel shirt, ‘WOOLEN UNDERWEAR. Equally important with the flannel shirt is the underwear. The coolest and most sensible underwear is made of wool. The lighter the material the better. Angora or Australian wool are the finest and most expensive. The shirt should be reasonably tight-fitting and its sleeves should reach to the wrists, soas to ab- sorb allof the perspiration fromthe upper clothed portion of the body. _A suit of woolen Underwear costs from $3 to $6 and will last two Seasons with ordinary wear. It is a mistake to think that thin clothes or silk is as cool as wool. ‘The former materials do not absorb moisture and on a hot day they stick to the body almost as uncomfortably as a linen laundered shirt. The coolest socks are of lisle thread or silk and cost from fifty cents to $2 a pair. BEST GOODS FOR SHIRTS. When it comes to the flannel shirt there isa large list of styles that next year promises to be almost endless to choose from. There are flannel shirts and flannelshirts. Some are cool and some are hot. Some coarse and some fine. Some are costly and some are cheap. Some are models of tastefulness and works of art and some are ugly to the point of hideousness— mere daubs turned out by the dozen by pot- Doilers pure and simple. The coolest flannel shirt is made of Angora, Glasgow or French twilled wool. It is one inch longer around the neck than the linen shirt. Its bosom is of single thickness. It is opened in front and is fastened with plain pearl buttons. Gold and jeweled studs should Bever be worn with a flannel shirt. The popu- ler Someep this year is either in narrow stripes or checks upon a plain white or pink bac ground. The stripes which have the lead thus far are of pink, blue, black, brown. and their beauty is greatly enhanced by the use of silk strands of thread. Sometimes the stripes in the bosom are made to run crosswise over the breast, but this style has not attained marked popularity. Shirts of this sort cost from $1.50 to #5 each and should last two seasons if they are properly washed. There is only one way to twash a flannel shirt to prevent undue shrinking, and this is the way: Luke warm water and no soap should be used. An ignorant but industrious laun- dress can by the use of boiling water and soap ‘transform a flannel shirt that is two sizes too large for its owner into a creased and wrinkled necktie in a half a dozen washings. With care - 1 shirt should shrink very tittle and Bone at all after the second or third washing. PRETTY BUT NOT COOL. Some men who allow their vanity to warp their judgments buy silk shirta These are made in manny patterns and are undeniably pretty. One ofthe neatest styles has black stripes upon a white background. It is heavy and twilled and shines with aluster that no starch could give. Itcosts from $7 to $10, but it is not cool. Pongee silk shirts are lighter end less attractive in _——— while they have the same defect. They are hot and do not absorb the moisture. Now thata man has chosen his underwear and flannel shirt he must select his neckwear. The coolest and most appropriate tie is made of light silk, blue or white in color, and with white or blue figures. It should be tied in a bow or sailor knot and the loose ends should droop gracefully over the wearer's breast, SHALL WE WEAR SUSPENDERS, Here comes another point that the freeman must consider. Shall he wear suspenders or not? That depends. Upon what? Upon three things. First. Upon his size and shape. If the Man is stout, with a generous girth of waist, he should unbesitatingly stick to his suspenders, If he is slender, with a fair width of hips, he @an go braceless with impunity. Second. Does he intend to wear a waistcoat, If so suspenders may or may not be worn, de- Bending upon the freeman’s preference. It he his waistcoat he must let his suspend- Thi jo too—if he can, ird. Will he buy his trousers ready-mad Then let him buy a pair of suspenders also. Suspenderiess trousers must be made to order. ‘They must fit the hips snug and close. _If suspenders are discarded a belt of narrow silk should take their place. This may be cou. cealed by a broad belt of folded silk, but this is no cooler than a waistcoat, and.while it lends to the wearer the picturesque aj if stage pirate between the arts, aueunible toe man will discard it without a moment's hesita tion. In the choice of COAT, WAISTCOAT AND TROUSERS the freeman must decide whether he is to order @ seaside or a business suit. If the former he das many varieties to select from. The coat should be a loose-fitting sack. He should wear Ro waistcoat if possible and his trousers should be loose-legged aud flop at the aukles on winds daze. The m Material may be of white or blue or flannel iter is preferable, as i fo thinner and does not shrink. WER ey It he wants a business suit he has still Greater latitude for his choice. The comfort must be given to the serge. Fhe color though the wearer desires, @ ack, the = ereshould be cut a trifle closer than aa worn in the country. If he wears a it should be cut low and not fit too sround his body. Such a suit , ing upon the of the tailor who makes it. Madras oats, made in India and woven out of some Sort of sea grass. are much worn, as well as pon- silk coats, They are light and comfortable, not as “dressy” as the serge. For middie. freemen who lack the strength of mind to off all their chains at once suite of loosely coe of that material and or gray u oy mohair or alpaca are sun. Such shoes cost from $3 to $15 as ne and bank account oe 7 ‘THE BAT. ® Last but not least is the selection of the hat.| “Shall I wear it, or not?” said Doris Carew. | Andnow, here was bi Tike the Never before have straw hate been so popular| | She was standing in her dressing room dnd | Zonta! Was it wonderful thas he felt he should as they are this season, and never before have | in her hand was a plain gold bracelet, on which | "jy not hear it again at Undercliff, but they been so becomingly made. The straight-| was engraved the motto, “Noblesse Oblige.” | some months later he was dining at Parkhurst — Widepend a yon this year om It was Doris’ twenty-first birthday and the = an roe a hisear at “yo ‘There jell om any man of ordinary peseeble | tesssist had come that morning, among the | 48 the cl many tongues, and Sir Phi f " = 5 Philip pom ag — fos hat are a ene om numerous gifts that were making her dressing | *** * little deaf, but he caught Mr. Lyle’s name, and it seemed to him that it was a wed- an were talking of. understand yon that Mr. Lyle is mar- a?” he asked his neighbor, a very ee tenant, who eeemed to have almost his normal shyness in of the event — might mean so much to Philip Chis- im, “Yes, last week,” answered the boy Cero “He married a cousin of miné, an awfally jolly girl. and I've just come back from the wedding. ‘hey met on the steamer coming hor “Was his name Wilfrid?” asked Sir Philip pat tae “Yes, I think so. But Kate was shy and called him Mr. Lyle.” “You're not sure about the Wilfrid, then: I should very much like to know. I—I fanc may turn out an old friend of mine,” said the colonel, mendaciously, He looked so anxious and disturbed that the bh 4 man said he believed he had one of yle’s cards in his room and would look for it after dinner, and Sir Philip took care that the promise was kept. Before he rode home that night he had seen the card and the name upon it was “Wilfrid C. le. Sir Philip Chisholm felt that the oblong little bit of pasteboard was a trump card for him and played it the next time he went to Under- cliff; but he knew very little of Doris if he ex- sah her to show an outward wound, Just ‘or @ moment her lips were white, or he,fancied 80; the color was in them again’ so quitkly he could not be sure, Perhaps he did not wish to be. To pain Doris was not his desire; only to let her know that the man at whose name she had blushed a year ago could be nothing to her now. And as he looked at her he began to think that it was alla mistake; that the blush at which he had so disquieted himself had meant nothing. If it had meant all he fancied could she have looked as she did now? “I wonder Wilfrid did not tell us?” said Lord Carew. ‘But I have not heard from him for a jong time now. He has left off writimg, I think.” “Yes,” said his wife, glancing a little anx- iously at Doris and looking as quickly away. that would look at least as neat as the ugliest felt hat they could turn out. Shapes of all sorts have been put upon the mar- ket and men of all ages and degrees of beauty have jgroaned under the infliction until the chorus of their lamentations has reached the designers’ ears. ‘ new and appropriate fashion comesin the very nick of time, for, of all materials for head wear, straw is by all odds the lighest and coolest. ‘THE COOLEST HAT is made of Mackinaw straw and has a flexible brim. Its dome is loose woven and the breeze plays through it freely. The stiff-brimmed hat is tight woven and far less comfortable, Of all straw hats the hottest is the Panama. These range in price from $10 to #100 and are better suited for the arctic regions than the streets of New York. The best qualities are woven so tightly that they will hold water like acup, Derby hats of felt are made lighter and cooler than ever before, but they are never as cool as straw. For fishing or country wear the Indian pith helmet hats may be found extremely service- able. They protect the head from sun. They answer at once for hat and umbrella, but for men who spend most of their time in the shade they must yield the palm to the soft Mackinaw. A stylish hat of this material costs from $3 to $6 and is worth that amount of any man’s money. This ends the list. If the patriotic sculptor of the future de- sires to secure a model for his statue of the flannel shirt emancipator let him select a stal- wart, broad-chested young man and let him clothe him as follows: With a soft-brimmed Mackinaw straw hat the color of ripe corn silk, a French twilled flannel shirt with narrow stripes of blue silk, a blue silk Windsor bow gathered under the chin in a graceful sailor knot, undergar- ments of Australian wool, long sleeved and neatly fitting, socks of Lisle thread, shoes of russet seal skin, a wide coat of blue serge hanging loosely over a pair of suspenderless trousers caught at the waist with a narrow belt of cohite silk. ‘The cost of the costume, neatly table look rather Jike a stall at a fancy fair. “Shall I wear it?” she repeated, a little doubtfully, and then her lips relaxed into a smile. “How extravagant it was of him to buy it! but Isuppose the motto tempted him. I wonder if he remembered the night when we were all choosing mottoes and he and I both fixed on that? I wonder—” “Doris,” said Lady Carew, now coming into her daughter's room, “are you not ready? There are carriages coming up the drive and Sir Philip Chisholm has been here nearly half an hour.” , “But that is his own fault if he chose to come before the time,” said Doris, with unanswer- able logic, She clasped the bracelet on her arm and fol- lowed her mother down stairs and out into the garden, where the freshly marked tennis courts shone in the afternoon sun, and Sir Philip Chis- holm, a tall, soldierly man, with iron-gray hair anda keen, bronzed face, was walking rather disconsolately by Lord Carew’s side. Anothér man was there also, a young lieuten- ant, whose face brightened at the sight of Doris and then relapsed into a gravity born of the fact that his regiment was under orders for India and that this would be his last day at Un- dercliff, or, indeed, in England. It is permitted toa man to look sad when he is looking his last on “England, home and beauty,” and, though Wilfrid Lyle wore @ brave-enough front all day, when at last he found himself standing by Doris on the verge of the cliff and gazing down on the sea that was to bear him away from her to-morrow the face the girl saw in the luminous June twilight was véry grave and sad. Doris herself’ was conscious of fighting against similar feclings, but the conscious- | ness only made her anxious not to betray them. “Every one is going in now,” she said sug- gestively, looking toward the house. designed by an outfitter of moderate charges, | OCT, that ” “Are you sure, Sir Philip, that it is the same would be $00. “The effect would’ be harmoni-| Mr. Lyle quickly My ast bracing arsed br Lyle? aererichezy ous and the monument would be a credit alike | and if we wait a few nioments the moon will | ‘“Itis Wilffid C. Lyle; that is all I know,” fo the sculptor and the worthy revolution his| be up, I would like to sce it rise once more, | 8aid Sir Philip, and Doris said in a voice that work commemorates, with you.” was — @ little clearer and sharper than ace Son Gace The sea lay’full in front of them, the water | usual ORIGIN OF CITIES. looking dark and still in the evening light and | | “Yes; Wilfrid Carew. That is his name, I They All, it Appears, Came From a| ‘He "aves breaking in soft little ripples on the | know. “You know more than I do,” laughed her fa- ther. “He never uses the ‘Carew,’ and I had forgotten all about it.” And then the talk fell on other matters and Doris joined gaily in it. Whatever she might think “of the news Sir Philp had brought she heard it and made no sign. Other wo- men might have betrayed themselves in so sharp and sudden a shock, but “Noblesse oblige,” and Doris Carew only amiled in her pain, Sir Philip went home walking on air, and before Wiltrid Lyle’s honeymoon had well run out he had asked Doris to be his wife and Doris had consented. “I know I am not worthy of you,” the chiv- alrous soldier said, ‘‘but if you could tr} to like me, Doris! Could you learn to like me—in time —do you think?” “How can you tell,” said Doris, with a sad little smile; “how can I tell?” It seemed to Doris that she had done with love forever. Once she had thought, whisper- ing it shyly to herself among the summer flowers, that she loved Wilfrid Lyle; but if she was sure of anything now it was that this was no longer true, She, Doris Carew, love a man who had tritled with her ana wedded another woman! he wild pain that tore her heart at the thought was indignation, contempt, hatred —anything but love. “Icannot tell if I shall ever love you,” she said to Sir Philip, “now. Ionly know that Ido not love any other man and that I never shall.” “Then I am not afraid,” said Sir Philip, and imagined; but Wilfrid Lyle was humble i he bent and kissed the fair, proud face that love, as all men are who love worthily and well. | turned so pale at his touch. But humble as he was. and sternly ‘as he had} When he looked at her again there was a told himself that it wouid be a base requital of | strange somber scorn in the sweet, dark eyes; Lord Carew’s hospitality to make love to the | but it was for herself, not for him. For in the young beauty who was destined for so much | second in which Philip Chisholm held her in more brilliant a match, Wilfrid Lyle felt his | his arms and pressed his lips to hers she knew resolution almost overthrown as Doris moved | —and hated herself for the knowledge—that her arm and the moonlight glittered on the | she would gladly have given all the years of bracelet he had sent her that morning. Would | her life if it could have been, not Philip Chis- she have chosen that of all others to wear to-| holm, but Wilfrid Lyle. And so she stood day if she had uot liked hifn a little? leaning against the heavily mullioned window, But that did not alter the fact that he had no | curiously agitated and disturbed, and Sir Philip Tight to woo her, and was not the legend on | thrilled with a pleasant sense of power. the bracelet he had chosen for her ‘Noblesse | She would not have trembled in his arms oblige?” Would she never guess all that it | and been so agitated by his kiss, he toid hi ya¢ant to him and all that he was to surrender | self, if she had not been much nearer loving for it?” him than she knew. 5 He stood so long silent that Doris glanced | Suddenly Doris lifted her head and spoke: shyly at him, and then looked away as silent as| _‘’There is something I ought to tell you,” himself, Something in his face made it im- | she said, in tongs that were low and faint’ with possible for her to speak. effort; “and perhaps you will not care for ‘me She stood by him with half-averted face, | when you kno : looking at the smooth summer waters and| ‘Perhaps no he said, smiling. But his listening to their plash upon the beach. Sud- | smiles died out under Doris’ strange looks, denly he moved a little forward with a quick, | “‘I did not tell you quite all the trath just impatient gesture. now,” she whispered, and her eyes were so “Do you know what I should say to-night if | full of pain that he caught her hand and held Iwere a rich man, or—or a end?” lie asked | it as one holds the hand of a friend under the abruptly, coming so close to her that their shadows blended on the narrow pathway be- hind them. Doris did not answer; what answer could she make? She stood quite still, the color mount- ing in her face and her heart beating till she thought he must hear it as plainly as she did herself. Her fingers plucked restiessly at the flowers that lay against the slim white throat, and he lay his hands on hers. “Don't,” he said. “Give me one instead, It is all I ask, Doris; all I dare ask before I go.” Doris hesitated, for the flowers were, as Mr. Lyle knew well enough, forget-me-nots, and Doris Carew was not a girl who gave flowers for the asking, least of ail Sowers like these, But at least she took and held it shyly toward him and the long fingers closed on hers, There was a silence that seemed vocal to both, and then Wilfrid loosed her hand with a long-drawn sigh. “There is a motto,” he said, touching lightly the golden circleton which’ the moonbeams glittered cold and bright, “that every gentle- man, however poor, may take for his own. It|and pain, It might be true, it was true, she is mine, Doris, though it means the surrender | told herself vehemently, that she did not love of all that could make life worth having. I| Wilfrid Lyle now—her marriage would prove cannot tell you what I would to-night, for both | that to every one, even to him, even to her- of us have duties, and the motto we both have | self; but not the less was earth desolate and chosen is ‘Noblesse oblige.’ ” heaven far. CHAPTER Il, It is three years later and Doris Carew is unweded still. Lovers have come to her in plenty—men who wooed her for her money and men who wooed her for herself, but she has had the same answer for them all, She does not ish to marry, she says, or at least not yet. ‘The words might seem to leave a loophole for hope, but no one who hears the shy thrill in Miss Carew’s voice, or sees her eyes when she utters them, ever hopes again, They go away, one after another, and Doris docs not regret them. She is content, well content, she tells herself, on one of the sweet summer even- ings that always bring Wilfrid to her mind, as she sits on the branch of a great tree that grows conveniently low and looks straight be- fore with her eyes that are wistful rather than sad. And then she smiles ever solittle and whis- pers again, “Well content—to wait !” She has come out to gather flowers, and the size of her basket bears witness to the magni- tude of her intentions, but the basket is empty and the flowers bloom ungathered at her feet. She is lost in thought, in musings that are not without sweetness, but that give a pensivences to her face that was not there three years ago and which end at last in a long drawn sigh, It is just three years since Wilfrid Lyle went to his man’s life of circumstance and chang with its rare touches of memory and feeling, and Doris was left toa girl's life of memory and feeling, with its infrequent touch or cir- cumstance or change, and she has scarcel; heard of him since. Somestimes she saw hi name in the Papers, and once or twice her father has beard from him, and that is all. jetter yesterday, stiff and fornial, beach below. Overhead the sky was palely blue, with stars faintly flickering here and there, but almost as he spoke it seemed to widen and brighten and a streak of gold gleamed on the water's edge, ‘here it is,” said Doris, under her breath; “oh, Wilfrid, how lovely itis! When one sees anything so beautiful as that docsn't it seem as if all one’s life must be nobler and better for having seen it?” “Yes,” assented Mr. Lyle, in a tone of deep conviction, But he was looking at Doris, not at the moon and sea, If he had only been rich—as rich as Sir Philip Chisholm, for instance, who had come back from India with a lac of rupeesand aK. ©. B.—what might he not have ventured to say to her now? But what right had he to speak of love to this proud young beauty, who could as little mate with a poor ’squire’s son as if she had been a princess of the realm? There was some distant cousinship between them that gave him the entree of the houserand the right to call her “Doris,” but he told himself bitterly that Lord Carew would as soun think of giving Doris to his footman as to him. And Doris? This was the question which had been shaping itself on his lips all day, but which, it seemed to the penniless lieutenant, honor forbade him to ask of Doris to-night— Doris, who had smiled on him. he knew. but whose smiles were like the sunshine, and fell equally on the evil and the good, or, at least, upon Sir Philip Chisholm and himself. There was, perhaps, not quite the equality he y Very Simple Beginning. From the San Francisco Chronicle. Cities, the centers of the moral and intellec- tual activity of modern civilization, came from very simple and humble beginnings. When the primeval man began first to feel the need of association with his fellows for the purpose of self-defense, commerce, or carrying on various branches of primitive manufacture, he formed with them a village for the more con- venient execution of his projects, If the trade were carried on by sea this village became a seaport. If it was the headquarters of a chief it became the capital of a tribe or nation, and other villages paid tribute to it. If it was placed under the protection of a deity it was called a holy city. The word Babylon means the “City of God.” The name Heliopolis literally translated is “Holy City.” Troy was a sacred city in the truest sense, having, according to the legend, been built by Neptune. Mecca has been a sacred city.since the time of the patri- archs. If a city was the central seat of authority. like Ninevah, Babylon, the capital of the Pharaohs, Athens or Rome, population flowed | to it and it became the home of learning, the arts, of civilization in all its forms. If it was on the seashore like Carthage, Alexandrta, Ostia or Marseilles, it became in time great by its commerce, while it might also sometimes be the residences of the sovereign. If there were mineral waters they became the resort of those | in pursuit of health, and villages were formed | about them, as by the Romans at Aix la Chapelle and at various points in Italy, Ger- many and France. The habit of visiting medi- cinal springs is by no means of modern origin. If astation or stopping place on one of the lines of trade and travel between Asia and | Europe in ancient times was of considerable importance it became a powerful center of commerce and civilization, iike the Arab city of Palmyra, whose queen, Zenobia, is a con- spicuous personage of history. MODERN CITIES. The origin and growth of modern cities is more interesting. After the fallof Rome and the chaos that succeeded the world had, so to ak, to be re-created. During the dark ages there was hardly a place in Europe worth the name of city except Rome, Byzantium, Mar- seilles, Paris, London and a few others. This was the state of things after the Franks and other German tribes had overrun France, or at the moment when the feudal system was about to be evolved. Whatare now called France, Germany and Austria had returned to their condition of virgin forest, with clearings here and there which represented small cities, cas- tles with villages attached, or monasteries with a farm enclosed by a wall. When the Conqueror divided he subjugated country ogg J his subordinates the building of castles began on a scale hitherto unknown. The castle was located on a hillside, as near the top of a hill as possible, if water could be obtained for the most yat itor for the cattle. Wells were generally sunk within the walls to supply the lord and his gurrison. A large number of retainers were needed to perform the work, to care for the dogs and horses, to cultivate the fields, to make armor and clothing. These could not always be accommodated within the walls, and were obliged to build their huts out- side, but as near as posaible, that they might escape within in time of danger. Others who exercised trades or who tilled the soil, without being more intimately connected with the castle's occupauts than by the obligation to render military service from time to time, helped to increase the population of this vassal village. which, if the situation was of sufficient commercial importance, became in time a city, Pherawaeandteae way in which villages were formed at the same epoch. It was often desirable that in some wild forest region the trees should be cut down and a plantation mad in the clearing. Then a number of vassals or serfs were sent to the locality designated and a temporary shelter prepared for them on the edge of the forest. A tract of land considera- bly longer than wide was assigned to each, which was cleared. Un one end of each of these tracts a house was built for each of these vas- sals, in front of which ran the village street. The houses were sufliciently near together for the protection of the inhabitants from brigands or wild animals, or for the carrying on con- veniently of individual trades. On the seashore the villages, in most cases similar appendages of castles, were aggrandized by fishing or com- merce with other countries, As the mouasteries of the middle ages were in reality feudal fortresses, they mighé in the same manner be the germ of VILLAGES THAT AFTERWARD BECAME CITIES. From these different beginnings came most of the towns and cities of modern Europe. In time the castles disappeared or became, per- haps, a mass of ruins, but the city remained. ‘Alors Wratenaet Italy are still or smail cities perched on hill side: which, having nospecial reason for being, have fallen into decay, while others may have lived and flourished by force of some special indus- try. The French carried the manner of clear- ing forest and founding a village to America, It is notable in Detroit, which was laid out in long, narrow strips of land one end of which was on the river and the other end a mile or more back in the coun’ The houses were built along the river and formed a compact village, whose population was always near to- ther at night, while the men cultivating the elds were never far apart in the day time. This method of arranging the farms was conve- nient as a means of defense from the Indians, ‘The world no longer moves on in medieval fashion. Cities are not now slowly evolved from a — of a Cpe by a t on for hundreds of years, as ar'that gloomy. epoch. They spring up ina day, as ing the prevalence of fever in California, or in a new crusade of emigrant as in Oklahoma, and are —- with surgeon's knife. “I—Ididcare for some one else—once.”” Sir Philip drew a long breath of relief. “Ts that all?” he said, kindly, with the serene acquiescence of age in the inevitable follies of youth. ‘My dear Doris, men of my age do not expect to be a girl's first love.” Doris felt as if she had subjected herself to an unnecessary humiliation, Her face crim- soned as she answered rather coldly— “Perhaps I need not have told you. ButI was advised a good while ago to take ‘Noblesse oblige’ for my motto, and I have.” “You have done all that is noble and right,” suid Sir Philip, “and, believe me, I appreciate your confidence. But if you can assure me that you care for no one else now it is all I ask, You do not love this other man—whoever he is—still?” “Still?” she flashed out, indignantly, “Still? Am I not Doris Carew?” But when Sir Philip had gone Doris crept away to the grassy verge of the cliff and threw herself on the soft turf ina passion of shame CHAPTER It. “Doris!” called Lord Carew, “Doris, where are you?” There were disturbance and a sort of excitement in his tone, and as Doris opened the library door and came into the wide sunlit hall he looked at her with almost comical con- sternation. It was the day before her wedding, and Doris had been writing farewell letters al the morning and looked tired and pale, but Lord Carew was too perturbed to notice his daughter's looks, “The strangest thing has happened!” he said, “You remember Wilfrid—Wiltrid Lyle?” “Yes,” said Doris, Steodsig “hacoslt inst a marble table, and feelin it she could not have uttered another word to save her life. “‘He has come into a fortune, it seems. His father died lately and an uncle and cousin i i has come in for the Deerhurst “Yes?” said Doris, in tones that tried to be indifferent. Why should her father tell her of Wilfrid’s good fortune, or assume that it could be of interest to her? She drew herself up, and her brows contracted, but Lord Care more embarrassed than herself. “Well, he isa rich man now, and—and long and the short of it is, Doris, that it have been all moonshine about his He can’t be married, for he doesn’t seem to rock, Sete your e it, and he writes me for your does, upon m; honor! Poor fellow, Td no idea hed over thought of you, but he says he has ft and didn't ike to speak ‘tl’ he’ had something fer you.”” Doris aia = a was there she feaned was hardly colder thas the heal (ree ine “ did : Ah Ly you are Ber now good arable land were lying in waste “Does he know about to-morrow?” “Of course, of course. I told him every. thing, and he only wants just to sa; You can’t refuse it, poor fe consolation.” . jo; Doris felt that shi She went into the drawing was waiting, telli should, at to Philip Chisholm’s bride—she, Doris Carew! But the proudest women sometimes over- rate their strength. She had not realized what it would be to stand face to face with him once more, to feel her hands in his, to meet thi eyes and hear the voice for which she had hungered so long in vain. She stood mute and pale, unable to utter a word. ‘There was a cloud of pain and wonder in Wilfrid's eyes, and his face was almost as white he said, “Doris!” There could be no pretense of oro greeting between them, but tillshe heard his voice she did not realize how much better it would have been that there should have been no greeting at all. She looked up, too shaken and agitated to speak, but perhaps her silence seemed to both more natural than speech, In that reo w, if it’s moment of meeting neither thought of con- ventional civilities, neither thought of ing but the other. Neither of them even saw that @ gentleman in evening dress had come in un- announced, and was standing just within the door, as if turned into stone. “Doris,” said Wilfrid, “I will not take your father’s tale without a word from you. it true? And is this thing of your own free will?” She bent her head silently, and he let her hands fall. “And I thought such different things,” he muttered, ‘id you not know how I loved Doris, did you not know?” low could I?” she whispered in a toneless voice. ‘They said—they said———.” Her voice faltered, and trailed off into a silence, but Mr. Lyle understood, “They told you I was married? Your father had heard some foolish story about that. I suppose there was some confusion with my Cousin Charley, who was married a little while ago; but surely you might have known! © me AJ Wilfrid,” she interrupted,” “Wilfrid . Lyle?” “Of course—Wilfrid Charles, We call him Charlie to distinguish him from me, but he is always called Wilfrid at home. Was that the dreadful mistake that robbed me of you? Oh, Doris, Doris! How could you believe it—you? Had you forgotten that last night, and what you gave me then?” She hid her face with a sharp and bitter cry, and the man who was watching them, himself so unthought of and unseen, scowled fiercely, and clenched his hands as he looked. “Did you not care for me when yon gave me is?” said Wilfrid, and his tone compelled h to look up. He held out an open pocket boo! it lay a small withered flower, scentless and brown and dry. “Did you not care for me then?” he repeated; and Doris could not speak, could not even control the trembling that shook her from head to foot. e 2 “You loved me, then!” he cried, with swift conviction; *‘and, Doris, my Doris! I believe you love me now!” A moment Doris bent her head on: her clasped hands, and then she stepped back a pace, and looked at him, and, trembling as she was, her gaze neither shrank nor wavered. Her face was set and pale, but there was something so noble and lofty in her look that both the men held their breath. ,” she said, “t the last time I shall everisee you, and if itis any comfort to you to know that I love you, take it! But even for you I cannot go back from my word or wrong the goodandnoble gentleman whose wife I shall be to-morrow. Did you not yourself teach me ‘Noblesse Oblige?’ = Her tone and look went to Wilfred’s heart. and not to his only. Sir Philip Chisholm strode suddenly down the room and fronted them with eyes that held a great sorrow and u great resolve. 2 Carew,” said the gray-haired soldier, whom Doris had called not untraly a good and noble gentleman, ‘Miss Carew, [have come to bid you good-by. I love you too truly to s .cri- fice your life to mine. Yes, Doris, my darling! Lknow that you were willing. I know that you would have kept your word and done your ty—and broken your heart in doing it!” Do you think I will let you do it, or that an old soldier shall be outdone in heroism by a girl? I, too, have aduty to perform, and that is to set you free. I, too, have a watchword and it is, like yours and his, ‘Noblesse Oblige.’” The Black Death. From Chambers’ Journal. This disease is believed to have originated in China, and took its name from the black spots which usually appeared on the person of the sufferer. These spots were symptomatic of putrid decomposition, and their appearance was nearly always a fatal sign. Beginning with inflammatory boils and tamors, the black death produced stupor, mental affections and palsy of the tongue. the last generally becom- ing Diack, as if suffused with blood. The char- acteristics of the disease were burning, un- slakable a in the chest, — of blood and fetid breath. This pestilence at- tacked Europe in a mild form in 1342 and may be traced as moving in the wake of the numerous caravan routes from the east. Spreading from the north coast of the Black sea to Constantinople, and thence to Italy, it radiated from there by many routes over the whole of Europe. Wherever it appeared it committed such fearful ravi as materially to check the increase of pop’ tion; in China the deaths from this disease were estimated at 13,000,000, and the rest of the east lost nearly 24,000,000, while a moderate calculation puts the loss in Europe at 25,000, 000. London and Venice lost 100,000 in! tants each; and P Florence, and Norwich half that number apiece. It caused so serious a decrease of population in this country for atime as to create a dearth of workmen and laborers; and in consequence a great rise in wages. Prof. Thorold Rogers, who has inves- tigated the economic beatings of this disease very thoroughly, states that the working classes were at no time so well off in England as dur- ing the period which immediately followed the ravages of black death in the fourteenth cen- tury. It is never known to have made its ap- pearance since then. Odd Remedies. From All the Year Round. seen was much more prevalent in the old days, when so many thousand acres of what is jected to them on superstit job eS aee other courses were open to him. Thus, he is directed to have a cake baked of salted bran; while the fit is on he break up the cake and give the oer The then leave hint and stick vy -lookins object a wit! having the worst of it—the stay-at-homes or the went-aways. The excessive rainfall has made it uncomfortable and disgusting to both, the former having the advantage of wide lati- tude under residential roofs, while the latter are sardined into the cuddy holes alleged to be habitable rooms found at the average summer resorts, A few spells of exceedingly hot weather had the tendency to drive off those who are able as well as those who were determined to go—between whom there is « vast difference— and to cause the economical or those of limited means to set about devising schemes to cheat seldom if ever occur to persons who drink that lost by perspiration; if none can tained the skin ceases to perspire and sun- stroke is apt to occur. The popular saying that a dry skin in hot weather is a source of but perspiration, which goes on continually There are different degrees of cases, who have tried ingly dangerous to pour # quantity of ice cold water suddenly into the stomach whether over- heated or not. An inordinate use of it or its use under some special conditions and circum- stances is attended with danger—so is the im- proper use of any kind of food or drink. The assumption that iced water is dangerous and that iced tea, or iced coffee, or iced lemonade are all delightful, refreshi beverages when used with moderation. is no doubt that ice is a great. sanitary agent and should be freely use: months by every household. There are some individuals.go doubt, who cannot drink ice water without injury, and ther should never touch it at all, but to’ great majority it is un- doubtedly healthful and refreshing. tention is given to palatable and refreshing summer drinks outside of saloons, The human race does not subsist upon food alone at any season of the year, an summer season, yet housekeepers, while stu ously compounding edibles with the wi range of latitude to sui weather and atmosphere, trudge along in t] line of setting out tea, coffee, and day, and chocolate, coffee. and tea the next, A little experimental attention in this direction might result in offering some tempting bever- ages at home which certain mem family go fishing for elsewhere, figures lar hot weather. 1 cold water, a little of any of the fruit sirups aand dash of claret, one may concocta “pu ‘= harmless and delicious, and just the thing ite itt It is a question this summer as to which are and refreshing drink is nto « large it four » fresh oatmeal’ ait omncce of y 4 half a lemon cut into small Mix all together with « little warm water. then pour over it one gulion of boiling water, sti all together thoroughly. Use when cold. If preferred, raspberry vinegar or any other flavoring may take the place of the uron. Toast water for invalids and those wishing a delicate drink is pre; icely by t PY ice of stale bread, from which the crust Tas been broken, -to a nice brown. Break the slice into three or four pieces in a pitcher, adds slice of lemon, and pour on one pint of boiling water. When cold strain off for use. so FISHING WITH BOTTLES. A New Use for Something That ts Usually Used for Carrying Bait. From Wide Awake. Catching fish is surely a very novel use for a bottle, but the feat is easily accomplished and affordsa great deal of amusement, A number of empty champagne or beer bottles being obtained, each one is to be filled with sand or shot until it will stand upright when floated in water. Each bottle is then tightly corked and a strong tapering ash or hickory stick, 18 inches iong, is passed through each cork, this stick having a small, bright-colored burgee (a three-cornered flag) at its tip. Next a piece of wire is twisted around the neck of the bottle, so that it cannot slip off, and in this wire a large loop is made, to which the fish line is fastened. The length of the line must depend entirely upon the depth of the water to be fished; 10 feet is usually long enough. The hooks for gencral use should be of medium size—say No. 5. Moderately heavy sinkers are attached to the line. A swivel will make the outfit complete, although not abso- lutely necessary. If the bottles themselves cost nothing, a dozen may be prepared ate cost of 25 cents. HOW IT 18 DONE. The bottles thus having been made ready, may be used in a number of ways. They may be set ina row on the bank of a stream, or on & pier, close to the edge: the hooks, having been properly baited, are to be dropped im the water. It will not be long before one of the bottles will begin to waver and suddenly take @ mighty leap overboard, swimming off and bob- big around in a very peculiar manner. The excitement which a row of these fishing bot- tles will grouse, and the guessing as to which bottle will go first, is very amusing, and not to be despised as sport. One or more of the bot tles, having popped off and been taken in tow by @ fish, must now be rescued; this can be done by means of « long stick ‘having three hooks, without barbs, lashed to it, back to back: some one of the hooks will soon catch into the loop of wire around the neck of the bottle. Se ean draw in both bottle and fish. Where there is a lake or pond at hand aud # boat available the bottles may taken out from shore and set afloat around boat. If the fish are at all lively, and there any bottles to tend, there will be some xciting sport in chaging the bottles, for they will start in all directions at every me Where there are a number in the part may be chosen—two sets of botties nished, an even number to es and each set having a flag differing in ¢ The side catching the most fish wins the prize. FOR SEA FISHING an additional arrangement is needed, because the waves cause the bottles to bob up and down, so that hard to know when a fish bites, The flag is brought into use as a signal, ‘The upright rod is furnished at ite tip with a small screw-eye. and a strip of tin three inches long is fastened by its lower end to the lower nd of the rod, parallel with it, so as to make a — clip. The flag is fastened to the end of the line and is set by being caught in the clip made by the strip of tin. In this position the flag is “lowered.” as it were, being at the foot of the rod; but when the fish bites he pulls it away from the clip and raises it to the top of the rod, where it ps, being too large to go through ‘the eye, hat the flag may fly straight and not be drawn into the eye and crumpled, it is best to sew it to astraight bit of wire having a loop at the top,to which the line is tied. Another improvement is to paint the inside of the bottle white by pouring in white paint aud shaking it around aad then pouring it out and letting the bottle dry. Then prepare the bottle as described, and shoulda large fish turn the bottle upside down, as he very likely will, it can readily be seen and followed. oo , Jux 26m. 919 PENNSYLVANIA AVE, white pieces the hot weather of its best intentions. While July is given to such things occasion- ally, August is rarely ever caught temporizing ith vaste ac te Sorel iy of ther- low degree. Therefore, it may be expected that the next four or five weeks will | furnish some very warm, uncomfortable days— those of the sweliering kind. “But everybody is out of town,” they say. Everybody is not out of town—indeed, one can never realize how few are out of town until a stroll some pleasant evening is taken through the resident tions of the city. To be sure, the fashiona- le section is largely closed up, and there one gets the impression that the city has been de- serted, when in fact but a very small percent- ‘ion has flown to green pas- breezes blow. FOR THE STAY-AT-HOMES, To keep one’s self in first-rate working order and in a healthy condition a certain amount of prudence is necessary. Precautions against becoming over-heated, over-eating and over-drinking are most essential, and yet least guarded against of all dangerous conditions. People flurry about, get warm, take a drink of ice-cold water, sit in a draft and suffer the con- sequences. Then some crank writes a theore' story about “death in a glass of ice water,” andso on. Occasionally a man after treating his stomach to a quantity of stale beer or bad y during a hot day winds up the evening with an injudicious meal, with possibly ice cream and lemonade added. Then there isa rumpus. The stomach gets on a lark and the individual is called upon to pay dearly for his indiscretion, if he does not keep his family uj all night in a state of alarmand distress. Suc experiments are tried daily all around us on a smaller scale, and the victims wonder why in the world they are sick. When persisted in they generally find out at that point, but too late, when the “subsequent proceedings will interest them no more.” SOMETHING ABOUT EATING. No one has yet been able, and will never be, tolay down rules for a summer diet. What suits one disagrees with another. A careful —— may eat what he wants of either vegeta- les or fresh mature meat, just as at other sea- sons of the year, only he should rest a little be- fore meals if he is hot and tired, eat slowly, and rest a little while before exercising again in the hotsun. When unusually tired and hot it is better to eat very little, and that only of simple foods. If food is not digested, the sooner one is ridof it the better, before it has left the stomach. Though objected to by many, there appears to be no objection to the use of a glass or two of water at meals by one who wants it, If there is an unsatisfied craving for water it is better either to drink a little vinegar and water or to let the stomach rest, AS TO EVENINGS AND NIGHTS. The most delightful part of the day to those who miss the cool early morning is the long evening, when the breeze begins to blow throngh the parched streets of the city and the citizens throng the doorsteps and pavements in the enjoyment of the refreshing night air. Many persons believe that there is a direct connection between this sudden cooling of the air at night in late summer and autumn and ‘ial diseases. ‘As long as refreshing sleep is enjoyed at night the heat of day need not be feared. A imple evening meal, a pleasant sponging of the body with cool water and a mind free from anxiety are the things necessary for a good night's sleep. < WATER AND SUNSTROKES. According to medical authority sunstrokes water freely. The causes generally are heat, over-exertion and an insufficient supply of water. If water is drunk it takes the place of ob- danger is correct. It is not necessary to sweat, without our knowledge, is essential to health, stroke or heat prostration which require different methods of treatment. When one begins to feel sick and oppressed by heat the best thing to do is to retire toa shady place, to cool the hands and wrists and face first, and then to sip & moderate quantity of the cooling drink, little by little. This is perfectly safe in most THE ICE WATER THEORISTS. ‘ Any sensible’ person, and the fodlish ones , Will adwit that it is exceed- WE HAVE IN STOCK, ALL TOLD, ABOUT 150 PIECES FRENCH SATINES. WE WANT TO CLOSE THEM. THE DESIGNS ARE GOOD, THE STYLES EXCELLENT. CLOSING PRICE, 200. IN SCOTCH AND FRENCH GINGHAMS WE CAN SHOW 150 PIECES OF ALL STYLES AND PRICES, WANT TO CLOSE THEM AND HAVE MAKKED THEM AT PRICES THAT WILL MAKE THEM MOVE RAPIDLY. IT WILL PAX YOU TO CALL AND SEE THEM. 50 PIECES WHITE GOODS, WANT TO CLOSE THEM. FORMER PRICE 20 AND 25c. HAVE RE- DUCED THEM TO 12igc. PER YARD. A RARE CHANCE TO GET A GOOD WHITE DRESS FOR A SMALL CONSIDERATION. 50 PIECES ENGLISH DIMITY STRIPES, WHITE GROUNDS WITH SMALL OOLORED STRIPES. OFFER THEM FOR 12340. IT WILL PAY ANY SHOPPER TO LOOK ATOUR REMNANT COUNTERS. ALL KINDS OF RKEM- NANTS AT VERY LOW PRICES WILL BE DIs- PLAYED QN OUR CENTER COUNTERS FOR THE NEXT PEW DAYS. IN WHITE GOODS WE HAVE VICTORIA LAWNS. INDIA LINENS, BOTH PLAIN AND HEM- STITCHED. ; WELTS, ALL KINDS. BATISTE DE PARIS, FRENCH MULLS. NAINSOOK, PLAIN, STRIPED AND PLAIDS. PERSIAN LAWNS. SWISS MUSLINS, PLAIN AND FIGURED. WE HAVE TWENTY PIKCESOF EMBROIDERED SWISS, CONTAINING 4 YARDS, FOR WHITE DRESSES. HAVE MARKED THEM AWFULLE CHEAP. . ABOUT 80 GENTLEMEN'S NEGLIGE SHIRTS REDUCED; WANT TO CLOSE THEM, 80 HAVE MADE THE PRICE LOW TO MAKE THEM MOVE RAPIDLY. 30 PIECES OUTING CLOTHS, BEAUTIFUL DE- SIGNS, AT THE LOW PRICE OF 12% CENTS PER YARD. ONLY 20 DOZ GENTS’ PLAITED SILK HOSE LEFT; THIS 18 THE LAST OF TRESE S00D8 WE SHALL HAVE. ‘CUSTOMERS OWING BILLS WILL PLEASE CALL . AND SETTLE, 48 WE ARE COMPELLED TO (CLOSE ALL BOOK ACCOUNTS RELATING TOOLD harmless substitute is a delusion. They and harmless There during the warmer REFRESHING SUMMER DRINKS, It is a very surprising thing that so little at- especially during the ideet of old chocolate one ite every chi rs of the Chopped ice gely in nearly all saloon drinks in With this, some slices of lemon, hy for the the blood and " refreshing fi f } i | i d i a pees ee