Evening Star Newspaper, January 21, 1893, Page 7

SETTING THEF ASHIONS Two Styles of Careful Dressing for Boys. MANLY AND PICTURESQUE. of the collar r piece on the cross. It fastens in front. The corselet White Crepon Costume Suitable for » Young | is made of ribbon bese! ier! — Cope] Aged Woman the waist, or a foundation may fizst be made o pears = ‘A Bendsome | Victoria iawn, well boned and lined with sat- ning Toilet—Short Waists and Fall | teen, on which the ribbon is placed to look as skirte—Hoops to Come. thongh wound around the figure; —— be a fastened under the arm at the back. | ming of this dress, viz., the collar, plastron and Special Correspondence of The Evenine Star. New Yorn, January 20, 1893. | bertha. may be made sepa: in surah and Css DRESSING i ae! \ace, so that it may be used with any plainly made dress, ‘The sleeves are puffed. as evident in case of the children of the stage | as it is in their elders of the profession, the opera and tragedy queens. ‘The initial illustration portrays a young ex- quisite as attired for public display, and just ax mothers take pattern after the costumes of stage adults for their own wear so they take the dress of stage chil- dren as models for | their own little ones’ garb. Fashions for boys are now very handsome. Maybe the boys don't like their new styles as wellas the mothers must, but that has nothing todo with their looking perfectly distracting. a original of the age — was ht of eight or so, sturdy and well put together. | | apg ane : Sided om Mis Gall oot carty heed visse tap of | omeeerabanade ms geae oe bres the admiral kind. His knee breechgs fitted well | last illustration. The bodice is made low to his sturdy legs and a “reefer” jacket finished | necked and fastens over the skirt Ithasa the rig. The whole was in bright bine cloth, | basque one and one-half inches deep on the the buttons were brass, and shone like the smile | hips, two to two and x half inches at the back on the boy's merry face. Just above the top | and about three inches in front. It is easy, button of the reefer a scariet necktie shor however, to alter these dimensions according to the figure and cither to lengthen or diminish the length of the back and front points. It fastens in front, the hooks and eyes being hidden by the folds. One width should be al- lowed for the back and one for the front. ‘This would be sufficient for a person of me- dium size, but if the stuff be very narrow the width must be augmented. The bottom of the bodice is covered by a ribbon forming a sash. The sleeve lining is narrower than the material and has two seams. The bottom of the sleeve may be drawn near the arm with a piece of elastic run through the hem. The material is cut in one piece and is longer than the lining, so that it falls over at the bottom, and it should be draped with a few stitches. A broad piece of elastic holds the bodice tightly on the shoulder, the sleeve being fixed on the other side of ‘the elastic, which it entirely covers. The skirt is trimmed with alittle gathered flounce, the material for which is nsed double, forming a pretty heading. THE NEWEST SKIRTS are having their ruffles lined with crmoline, and there is certainly a welcome crispness of effect. If only we could be sure the fad will go no further than just crispness! But fashions never stop at their first pretty effect. They go on and on till the hideous exaggeration is upon us. Then we are slaves to the fashion and every one forgets the start of the thing and groans under what seems an unreasonal tyranny. The exaggeration of the crispness i of course, the awful hoop skirt and the yards and yards of stuff in skirts. Let us cling io the empire, or. perhaps, it is better to say, let the empire cling to us. ' Of course short waists are no guarantee against hoops, for, in fact, hoops are bound to come. They came as a reaction | the last time fashion took to clinging gowns for & time. So, if your mother has given you any | old dresses pause in your mad career and don't cut up the wide skirts. Keep them a few months Jonger and you can wear them just as they are. At the sight of the first models you will have to admit a charm of graciousness in the fashion and a suggestion of band-boxiness that is very alluring after our close-clinging, damp-looking notions of late. A shabby silk petticoat can be made really swell again by running its ruffles with narrow ribbon in rainbow combinations. Not only will the rows of ribbon give fresh color, but they will lend u criapness to the skirt and to the dress over it. a Are Women Free sid Equal? Frederic M. Bird in February Livpincot's. ‘The one point which is positively cleat and indisputably settled in the comparison of the sexes is that men are generally bigger and stronger than women. This physical fact rent for everything at the start and long after ; it will ‘bly go for much in the remote fu- it made man the head of the house, the Promoter and carrier-on of business public and i im in frontand there he stayed. consciousness that he had a soul as well as a body he naturally assumed to be also superior in brain and will, and his wife, being in his power and, so far as we know, of a gentler nature, did not contest the point. had her children, her humble cares and yet bumbler virtues, with the occasional caresses and qualified approval of her lord. As the rae progressed toward civilization she was admitted to be eapable of good looks, good manners, domestic thrift, taste in dress, the more highly prized ornament of a meek and quiet spirit. and the crowning grace of adoring obedience. When the arts and sciences were invented, had no part in them, with rare exceptions like | Sappho and Hypatia, who doubtless were gen- erally accounted impertinent hussies and no better than they should be. During the mid- dle ages. a woman had no chance to do any- thing unless she was a queen or something of the kind. As the free modern spirit came in few ventured to sotl their fingers with pen or )brush amid the frowns of their brothers and | the whispers of their feminine friends. If | Were wise they hid behind a male relative, like Fanny Mendelssohn and Dora Wordsworth, | rather than be “ansexed.” Others in England, France, and afterward Germany, rashly let their work be known as theirs. Some of these, ved braid. and that was worn overa shirt of 8% Mme. de Stael, Mrs. Somerville, George ine white muslin. very full, and with a ruftie | Send, Mra and George Eliot, were HANDSOME EVENING DRESS. A handsome evening dress of cream crepon A MANLY GET-UP. From the pocket in the jacket the corner of erisp handkerchief peeped, and his stockings were biack and his shoes sturdy and boyish looking. I can’t say he encout the admira- fen which his appearance crested. He gave one young Indy a reproving glance and then looked the other way with a smile, quite as if he were saying to himself and meant her to know it, “You can't make any impression on me, my young person. "The Little fellow just described was attired | like and looked a litte man, but many mot prefer to dress their boys more elabor- ately. Such welcomed the little Lord Fauntle- roy costumes, and, now that they are out of style, they continue their rage for his sash and curls anda general notion of picturesqueness for their small boys’ get-ups. Several little fellows have confided to me that in conse- quence they wished they were dead, but they are @ to any woman's eyes not- who confided in ‘picture. He wore MORE PICTURESQUE. velvet knee breeches, a very short sort of jacket, edged around with | definite answer. Good Lye, old chap, and good ADVICE. From Bick and White. ELL, AND WHAT IS the matter now?” said Holden, affectionately contemplating Loraine, dress, presented astrik- and his surroundings. Weather! “ah! Is abe guing to have you?” “That is just what I should like to know myself.” “‘T should think the way for you to find it out ‘was simple and obvious.” “The way out of other people's difficulties is always simple and obvious.” ‘Neat! Neat and crushing—go on.” “Well, the last time I naw her was just three weeks ago, at the Lindborough ball, and she certainly did that evening lead me to suppose that—well, that she did not altogether dislike me. For one thing she gave me nearly all the dances, and we sat out most of them, too.”” “‘And do you miean to say that during all that time you never managed to put the question?” alittle. As the evening went on I said nearly everything a man can say without actually proposing.” 'How like you! Now what was the good of all that beating ‘about the bush? Why not come up to the scratch and be done with 1 “My dear fellow! You talk as if the sale of « horse or tie hire of a house was in question. It i of this kind to rush at -band manner. One is tread. ing on delicate ground, one must feel one’s v. “Everything I said she received in the most charming way. I have never known her #0 sweet. She did not say one sharp word. And she smiled—have you ever noticed whut an ex- juisite emile it is? It was just as if all misun- ‘tandings were over between us, as if she really caréd for me and was not ashamed to show it. I cannot tell you what a darling she was “Pray don’t try! What I want to know is did you say anything definite to the darling or no It was on the ing her to her carri ddd time to choose!" It was a very guod time. We were more completely alone than we had been all night. No female dragons were on the watch, and the lackeys and other people round us were too busy looking and shouting for the carriages to pay any attention to what we were doing or saying. I said—well, I need not tell the exact words, but I told her what I felt and what I hoped. She did not shrink from me. on the contrary; I could ulmost feel her little heart beating against my own, and I will swear she was going to say ‘yes.’”” Well, didn’t she’ ‘She could not, for just then old Wentherley, on the step behind us—you know his manner— began roaring out as if the place had besn on fireand we were escaping from it: ‘Get in, Berry, get in! What on earth are you waiting for?’ Do you mean to keep the horses here all night?’” “Good man! He did not want his horses to take cold.” ‘Cold! Why it was suffocatingly not.” To you, perhaps. However, 1 suppose the answer was only deferred till next day.” “So I suppo: eps outside, as 1 was and I was to go to Basset Deane at once.” “T can’t see the good of that. He knew noth- ing about you, and cared less, though you were his heir. No; still, as I was, it seemed only decent that [should go. Well, you know the rest, I have been tied there r never had a chance of seeing Beryl. “But there was the penny post. “I wrote to her, of course, and now comes | the puzzling part of the story. She never an-| ‘swered—not one of my letters. Hum! How ma “Five; then I gave it up in despair.” “I suppose you made it clear you could not possibly got to Lindborough.”” “I madeit clear I could not get anywhere. 1 explained exactly te! 4 was kept prisoner morning, noon an it by lawyers, agents and relatives of cil whit all asking for money and all complaining—except the law- yers. They were quite happy, foresceing law ‘suits in” the “disteuce. Yes, + my Position and the miserable life I was Yet she did not send me so much as one sym- Pathizing word.” “And yet I could swoar that little girl's heart is in the right place,” said Holden, and beginning to pace ‘his untidy little smoking room. “A little too apt to jump at conclu- — eae most of her sex, but stanch, perfectly stanch.” st gipit "est do you think can bo the reason of “Ob, hang it all! You don’t expect me to give you a reason for anything « woman. What is it? It was a servant to announce that some one else wished to see Mr. Holden. ‘Show him into the next room. As he comes by appointment I must see him, but you can entertain yourself fora little, old man, can't | you! . I must be off. I think I shall go| straight down to Lindborough today.” | Yes, that isthe first thing to do, and the next is to seo Miss Wentherley as soon us pos sible.” “And then?” asked Loraine, carefully smooth- ing his hat, as he walked to the door. “Why then, if you take my advice—which of course you won't—you will give up your favor- ite way of dancing round and round the place You want to get to, instead of going straight up toit Ina novel thatis all very well, for it helps to spin out the story to the third volume. but inreal life it does not seem to pay. Ask Miss Weather!ey point blank why she did not answer your letters, and keep her to the point, or at least stick there yourself till you get » | luck to you.” Loraine took a hansom and, driving along Piccadilly in the sunshine of @ bright Juno morning. reflected on his friend's exhortation, ing contrast to his host | “It is about Beryl | ; d, but early next morning I) received a telegram to say Carstairs was dying, | ' -" ‘Of course; why not? It is only men that don’t answer letters. But men are very stupid over letter writing altogoiher—with some ex- ceptions, of course. I feel sure you wonld write a very good letter.” like most men, Ican only write when I have something to sav.” ‘Oh, but there is always somethi ‘But it is not always entertaining. “Ob, but you can easily make it so. A little Fearrangement of things, don’t you know? There is no harm init. A friendly letter is not one of those terrible legal documents which have to be signed and witnessed. People don’t want dry facts in a letter any more than they do m ordinary conversation. What they want is to beamased. I al ays write just as I talk, don’t you know,and I find my correspond- ents like my letters very much.” “I am certain they are delightful,” eaid Loraine, endeavoring, while not looking too ostensibly toward the clock, to discover what time it was. He began to consider the various trains from Lindborough and heard no more till through © long and sparkling review of fashionable amusements Mrs. Courteville reached the topic of doctors and then of Mr. Weatherley, “coming up on purpose to see oni is he ill?” asked Loraine quickl; “Of course. He in always ill in the dull season, when the shooting is over and the fish- ing has not begun.” : “Mr. and Miss Weatherley,” said a servant, throwing open the door. First entered Miss Wentherley, literally a nut- brown maid, forher hair and ‘eyes bad both the sheen and the color of a chestnut, and her transparent skin was of that pale brown which, when it reddens, takes so rich arhade of rose. Her mouth, the very opposite to Mrs. Courte- villo's, pouted rather than smiled hubitually, and the instant that she set eyes upon Loraine this pout changed to something even tore severe. But he was very differently received by Mr. Weatherley, a man of herculean build and with all the appearance of robust health. Ho shook Loraine heartily by the hand and congratulated hit, “You are an uncommonly lucky fellow, let me tell you that,” he cried. “Your cousin went off just about the time of life when men of his sort take to marrying their cooks." Mra. Courteville, hearing of this good for- tune for the first time, also offered her con- gratulations, the trio, and inwardly wondering why Beryl looked #0 cross. “But, Mr. Weatherley,” sho cried, when they were all seated, “I'am a0 sorry to hear you are obliged to see a doctor. I trust he will do you good.” doctor will ever do me any good.” ‘Oh, Mr. Weatherley, you must not say that.” “I can oniy tell you T have consulted two doctors within the last six weeks, not counting the one I have just seen, and what with fees and the railway tickets, it has cost me a pretty penny, and not a farthing’s worth of good have I got out of it all yet. “Oh, but Mr. Weatherley,” cried Mrs. Courte- ville, archly, “1am afraid’ you do not do what they’ tell you.”” “T don’t take their medicines, if that is what you mean. I can’t; they give ‘such preposter- ous directions with them. Every threo hours, every four hours, half an hour before meala, I and I don’t suppose even they expect I am go- ing to take their physic bottles out with me when I go fishing or shooting. Perfect folly! | I will say this for our local doctor, little Pan- He gives his jalap in a lump and is done it.” ‘But the new doctor—the today—how does he arrange “Oh, he doesn’t go in for medicine, it seems. Diet is his line—what he calis diet. It sounds more lie starvation to me.” He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and in dejected tones read aloud: Breakfast: Ten. egg lightly Why, breakfast is the moni I always do best at. ‘Lunch: One slice of meat, roastor boiled, toes, green vegetables. claret and water. there is a sickly mxture on earth it is claret and water entrees or savories'—they are the best part of the dinners!—‘atewed fruit or milk pudding'— ‘claret and water.’ That is a pretty thing to pay two guineas for!” “But who is this doctor?” “Dr. Clinker.” “Oh, you should not go to him. He starves all bis patiente, He has killed several. You ld go to Dr,.Vincent—quite o different Cm Hie Always foes 3a, tor poeaty of non ish- ment and keeping the strength up, Now, my sister you eaw her st year—so pale and thin, and no appetite! He ordered her to eat as. much as she could. Meat three times & day and plent yulant.”? you have seen ‘poreit ty of ‘Where does he live?” asked Mr. Weatherley, evidently im Is appeared that he lived clove by, insomuch that there was pienty of time to consult him before lunch, and this, after some demur, Mr. Weatherley was led to do, with ‘Mrs. Courtevilis herself aa his guide. t ca ‘Beryl and Mr. Loraine can enter! other, Wo don’t want either of them, do we, Mr. Weatherley?” ‘They were alone, and likely to remain so for at least 3 qnarter of an hour. Jt was one of those piéces of good fortune, ing expecta- tion, which sometimes fall’as if straight from heaven on mortals in their extremity. 9 |, a8 Loraine instantly recognized, to make the most of these priceloss minutes, and, looking toward Beryl. saw that she was employing them to read » maguzine story—and not s very amusing story, to judge by her expression. Loraine gazed at her usually Mixed feelings. Her attituge was ristic of a creature alruptly ive in her movements as in her action: i thet from front locks, sposed to wander where they should particular fell almost over her eres, down to the curve of a feverishly pink sk. Itfell too low and too straigiit to be jicturesqne; it was simply untidy, and yet Voraing was seized with a wild devire to lift it up tenderly and kiss it, For a moment or two, nuder the charm of ‘this suggestion, he was li down the front. The rattled cuffs of the ithought very creditable work— t turned back over the velvet sleeves, nothing original, nothing hie long wavy bair a Scotch cap # how should they? set. with a feather to delight bering that men not yet gray hav @vy bor's heart sticking up in front. A bright | Seen the colleges opened to women, with nearly the was at his throat and his stockings were silk. | ll the professions beyond those of school marm, Yet this ungrateful «mall boy stood thrashing Seamstress and salesiady, is it not rather too hin switch about over his head and said that | €arly to determine finally what are their meager man” did not take such awful good eare | abilities and large limitations? Give them a og, “girl things, anyhow.” he would chance to get used to their new and partial en- racted and buried tBem long ago. franchisement, to practice their untried powers “Aod if be didn’t take such good care of me awhile, to throw off the long burden of con- Iddrown myself, I wouldythe next time ma tempt, disparagement and repression, and had pot me into the things. Why, there isn't a then—perhaps within a century or two_they boy on my block who will speak ‘to me. The Will show as what they ean or cannot do. Ido fellows who are got up the same way by their not know that they will develop powersof ratio. mas are as ashamed as Iam, and the other fel- | ination, of initiation, of practicality, of crea- | lows. of course, won't know me. You can't | tion (if u diame them, now, can you?” mortals | not, but jot | ni be any such power vouchsafed to qual to those of men. Very likel: jet us wait and see. What isthe use ing snap judgment on a work not o1 dnished, but barely begun? “Why: taintaky ‘appearances or probabilities for certainties, and pretend to know what we don’t know? ~sSeckety” From Life Mr. G. Dragmore Pyke, formerly Mr. George | D. Pyke, gave a dinner the other night at | Claret's to twenty guests, The flowers were | expensi The ladies’ gowns were beautiful and the conversation was exceptionally point- leas and uninteresting. Whatever We Pyke inder takes be carries through with » great slo. Mr. Pyke's grandfather, Silas Pike, ju ho | also attractively Mrs. Harry Daivydson's little dance for her daug' jushie Friday it Daivydson residence, in estiag: Sonare, tos a very bright occasion. x2 e.not considered the correct thing in New fashionable society itlemen to keep . their hate on at dinner. a DRESS OF WHITE CREFON. Bottleneck Cupsey has come into pos- Turning from the little ones, the next picture | *ession of a bull pup from whom he expects so curiously illustrative of the difference be. tween them. Loraine liked sympathy in all his troubles, aud never failed to go for it to Holden, who also never failed to give it in fall measure, but too often accompanied with sug: gestions that, like this one, grated on Loraine finer sense of delicacy and discretion, ‘The hansom stopped suddenly, and. Loraine looking up perceived that the erush had brought him almost face to face with, and quite within speaking distance, of a lady seated in a victoria and dressed in the extreme of fashion. In the slender, clogant figure, and the face which by art had been almost’ made pretty, Loraine | recognized Mra. Courteville, another subject of dissension between himeelf and Holden. Lo- raine admired her greatly for qualities he always highly esteemed in women. At all times she looked as if she had just come fresh from the hands of some accomplished. maid, and nothing was ever permitted to. ruffle th bright repose of her ‘manner. ferent to these merits, accused her of insincerity and » total it tal, partly moral, to repeat or anythin, pee de apron riya viewed lenientiy in a nice-looking woma: smile, “Oh, Mr. Loraine, how naughty of you not to have been to see me for so long a time!” “I have not been in town for weeks till to- tempted to adopt Holden's rough-and-realy od—to take Beryl im bis arms and ask her, without further preface, why she had been xo cruel; but Loraine wad always slow in obeying impuises—this one had died away before he even moved. When he did at was to-approach the difioulty in what he considered a much more dignified manner. He strolled a little nearer to Beryl, lifted » china cup from a console and, carefully exam- ining the mark underneath, said: “Tsuppose you have been very gay at Lind- borough since I left?” Without turning ber head, or raising her eyes: from theleaf before her, Beryl answered sharply and short}; «Nery basy, then? Very busy, - “Not more than usual.” “Too busy to answer letters?” it depends if the letters were worth ing.’ "ET should think any letter doserred at barca =" he answered, leaning forward to talk to r. ‘Oh, ol ‘True, [ assure you.” “Then, when can you come and lunch with me? Today?” ‘The two processions moved on each a step. He began, “I am— I cannot,” would have been the conclusion, but she inter- ' The Weatherleys are coming. They are in town for . phil be bad fast time to accept eagerly when gave way, and she was swept onward. sd bout iioe Lorene wan seated in Mra. “Very kind of you to say so, but I am afraid, | chair. ing to say.” | lancing intelligently round upon | can’t stay at home all day looking at the clock | ‘Dinner: Soup, fish, ment or game, no | which Beryl, still steadily staring fore her, trembled as much from from anger. a really raean what you say, ine solecanly. manner, that night three weeks ago, when Jast saw you.” You were quite mistaken.” “Oh!” 0 was 1.” Loraine drew a long breath as he sank into a “‘We were both mistaken, in ft 19 ob- served. taking up a newspaper. ‘How forta nate we discovered our mistake in good time.” ‘Mr. Weatherley and Mrs. Courteville re- turned just in time to sit down to lunch. Dr. Vincent had not quite fulfilled the expectations roused by Mrs, Courteville, he having toa generous rule of diet affixed the re- striction that his patient should touch no wine or spirits, Still. that was an im Dr. Cli ind one which Mr. this special time, f wement on jeatberley, at le's keeping a good cook, and giv- im plenty ‘of employment. Luckily interference prevented Mr. Weatherley's appreciation of the feast, for Beryl, on one side of the table, could hardiy swallow, and Loraine, at the other, placid as he looked, was far too wretched to know what was her habit of ing her glad you like that,” said Mrs, s Mr. Weatberley heiped himself second time toa bewitching compound of most unwholesome ingredients. “Sir Fran- cis Gourmes—the great epicure, you know— gave me the receipt, and aid this’ peculiar kind of wine waa the proper thing to. drink with it. tiresome rales till you go home.” Mr. Weatherley gallantly obeyed, and praised the wine with an air of anthority, but confessed that for light wines in general he had very lit~ tle respect. A person who drank them and nothing stronger was, he considered, next door toa teetotaller. “How horrible! cried Mra, Courteville. ‘In that case I must take to drinking port and herry. Teototallers, I consider, are quite too dr Yet some nice, kind people belong to them, like the ‘Vernevs, you know. When their eldest girl was married this month—I told you about it, Bervl--but fancy, Mr. Loraine, they gave ua nothing to drink at breakfast but lemon- he “Poison!” observed Mr. Weatherley. “Why should you teil Mr. Loraine anything about it when be was there himself?" asked Beryl suddenly, laying down her knife and “Mr. Loraine! cried Mra. Courteville, for an instant unfeignediy bewildered. ‘Was he there? “Certainly not. I was at Basset Deane.” thought I did not remember seeing you.” “You told me yourself he was at the wed- ding,” said Beryl doggedly. “T did?” repeated Mra. Courteville, amazement. “Impossible, dear Bery!! “You told me in your last letter,” said Beryl, witha slow and distinct articulation of every syllable, “you told me. that Mr. Loraine was at the wedding, making himself agreeable to Miss usual, These were your exact as if in words.” Not Mr. Loraine, darling,” responded Mra. Courteville, her tone changing from the high pitch of astonishment to the lower note of tender persuasion. “Not Mr. Loraine—Mr. Lennox it would be. My handwriting is quite illegible, nd what on earth does it matter, Be imed her father impatiently. “Don’t be so childish. Mrs, Courteville, if you will allow me, | will ask for a little more of that lobster n't know when I have tasted a Now the tarragon— | indifference to time, place, and above every- thing, persons, whici: always distinguished her, was walking round the table toward Loraine. | While her eves sparkled and her lips trembled, she held ont her hand to him, and as ina strange mixture of rapture and discomfort he rose to take it, she said: “You ses, I’ thought—but I did not mean | what I said. I beg your pardon!” | “The girl has gone crazy!” cried Mr. Weath- erley. “What manners! Sit down, and let other and pray, for one person present. was averted by the—in her—very singular awkwardness with which Mrs. Courteville suddenly overturned her champagne glass into her lap, and the no less unwonted agitation she betrayed over the in- jury to her gown, Even Beryl was affected by this misfortune. and before the fuss it acl subsided all was forgiven or fore! gotten. Loraine accompanied them to the station that evening. a lovely evening, flushed with the promise of a lovelier day. ‘here is no mistake now, is there, Beryl?” he whispered as, standing by the carriage door, he toyed, caressingly with her little hands, while Mr. Weatherley was hunting fer the tickets. “Why, here they are in my pocket, after all! But I'l swear I never put them there! Weil, then, Loraine, we shall expect you tomorrow in time for dinner, We will bave a haunch of venison just fit to cook anda glass of port wine——.” He paused, checked by a disagree- le recollection, then’ concluded impatiently, fb, hang the London doctors! I don't be- lieve in any one of them. I'll send for little anton tomorrow. ——_—_-e+___ ‘Thy Name. ‘Take up thy pen and write ‘What [shall s1y,— ‘Thus said a voice tome One perfect day. Insummer’s regal prime, ‘When marching by, Came all the splendors of ‘The earth and sky, to song of birds, Bat every we Was jast th And every wom I wrote Was just—tny name! And wnen I asked the votce, & sD bear dit say, No otuer-word is meet For sucha @ay! Pant, 11. dful, almost ax bad as the Salvation Army. | But an explanation 60 undesirable, at least | cuddy-hole behind a sort 4 pertjeres, in which [STATE | Interesting Groups That May Be Seen at the Dining Tables—The Stand-Up Luncheon, Where the “Underpaid Employes” Get ‘Their Snack—Stories and Arguments. ieee eapgeioesn EN WHO HAVE been about the Capitol tions think this is a House and there is very little conflict and ir- ritation. Tom Murray, who runs the House restaurant, takes great credit to himself for this and says that there whatever-if some of the would be no ill-nature members did not live and go without a midday lunch. | accuse Murray of being a lobbyist, but he will confess to influencing legislation more than any professional about the building. His influence in not directed to any particular measures, but to all legislation, or, as he would agree, he pro- motes good feeling and advances the work of Congress by looking out for the diet and diges- tion of the statesmen who have the making of it. } THE HOUSE RESTAURANT isa great institution. Between the hours of land 2:30 it is the place where most of the members of the Houre are to be found, and it is where no small amount of the “fixing up of | things” is done. The restaurant takes up con- | siderable space on the basement floor of the | House wing of the Capitol, and the cooking is | done in a vaulted chamber under ground, | through whose narrow passages and tangle of arches has floa sh. The dining rooms—or more properly lunch rooms—are furnished with oval iron tables of ornate casting, with marble tops, that haw been in use there since the idea of a restaurant at the Caprtol first materialized, ‘There is @ Jong narrow room in which isa row of half a dozen tables along one side against the wall and a jong counter, paralleling the row of tables, runs nearly the whole length of the |room. On this counter are displayed those things which are usually put to the fore to show the customers that they are doing a regular A “STAND-UP.” business. It ishere that the member stands who wants a hasty lunch or a toddy, or if he | wants to feed more cheaply without attract ing attention to the fact. hind this is a big square room, opening into the corridors through arches without doors. This is the main room and the one usualiy oc- cupied by members who ha’ i lunch with them. On the side is with two deep window recesses, an alcove and something of snuggery and weclusion about it, where members with ladies usually take their | quail on toast and bottle of wine or something of that kind. A still more secluded room than this, where a small party of Congressmen will go when’ they want. to dine or lunch within the privacy of their own little group, isa little ‘of arcade, hung with there are but two tables. aust Two. Formerly this was long and very narrow, com- municating with the larger room by a row of archea, but half of it was cut off when the sand- wich stalls were turned out of the building, and in the other part was erected a counter, where those who do not want to go to the expense of @ regular lunch can get a sand@ich and glass of milk for about half price if they do not care to sit down. Construetively this place is for some of the poorly paid employes, but a number of statesmen patronize it, while the “poorly paid employes” sit at a table in the other room and smokea 10-cent cigar after a 10- cent bottie of beer and a 15-cent sandwich. It isan interesting scene in the restaurant during the lunch hours, and it furnishes an ex- cellent opportunity for the «tudy of our states- men when their natural dispositions are dis- closed. There is the very busy statesman, with the burden of the nation or his shoulders, who does not care for style, but stends upto the counter to eat his oysters or his pie because he A JOLLY Party. 1e8 he gots through quicker if he does not sitdown, He isas Iisly ie not t0 put eugar on his oysters and pepper on his pic, for he is thinking of affairs of state only. Murray does not hold himself ‘responsible for the digestion this man, INTERESTING GROUPS. for ® good many sos- peculiarly amiable Con- gress. There is seldom any excitement in the | heap boarding houses | No one would | the odor of many a savory | A group around a table in the next room are lingering long at table. They are in an earnest | discussion. It may be on a subject that is dry, | but it is not a dry discussion. They are the jolly four who always dine together. They be- long to the class of young and active members of the House. They go at statesmanship like they went at fooi ball’ but a few years ago. They do not fee! any great burden of respon bility and their good-feliowsaip is not affected by anything that may be bothering their col leagues on the floor of the House. They talk of fishing, poker, horses and dogs and what- not in the sporting line, and the sound of the voices of the pretty young ladies in the next room does not awaken enough interest to caure an upward glance, but merely lowers their voices as they tell « joke. COMRADES, The handsome and quiet-mannered young statesman sitting in the corner eating some delicacy and sipping wine with a stylish Indy is talking much more serionsly, and he is quite | ascontented asthe rest. There are only the | two of them at the table. The couple over at the tablo on the other side are talking seriously, but they are both men. They are drinking | whisky toddy, and their talk means bnsiness. Itinvolves a vote on the floor, perhaps the | paseage of a measure and n good ‘deal besides. There is a little legislating going on down here with all this eating. And £0 it is, if you could picture: the scenes in the House restaurant each day of the ses- | sion. There isa constant coming and going: and change of grouping, with a world of human | nature in it all, anda lot of interest, becanse people are interesting, and it is all a part of | the great make-up of the national legislative life—one feature in tho life at the Capitol. een isiamtal, A Trifle Complicated, to Be Sure. From the Chicazo Tribune. ‘Tho young woman in the fur-trimmed capo | had not time to buy a ten-ride ticket and | boarded the train without one. “Will you sell me a ride off your ticket?” she | id, addressing a young woman with a big red hat who sat on the other side of the aisle. “Certainly,” answered the other, tearing off | coupon representing a ride and handing it to her. | “Thanks, Can you change a quarter?” | “Well, Til get the conductor to change it. jean ham t for me, please, till he comes ugh. You take the ticket.” ‘take it.” spoke. ‘The young woman in the fur-trimmed cape, | who had taken the ticket, lost it in the bundles | she was carrying. and was by this time uncer- tain whether she had received it or not, held oat her 25-cent pisce to the and | said: | “Change it for me, please?” “Certainly.” And he handed her some small coins and on. She looked at them hurriedly, leaned across the aisle, and eaid to the young woman in the big red hat didn't need a ticket. He took the ride out of the quarter and gave me the change. “What did you let him do that for? I banded him’: ticket for you when I gave him mine.” “What did you do that for?” inquired an elderly matron in the same seat. “You bad ven her a ticket already.” ‘Had I? I had forgotton that, Then he's got one more ticket than he ought to have and has taken the pay for her rido besides.” “Maybe he didn’t keep out any money,” sug: gested the matron. “Have you looked ‘at the | change he gave you, mies? Did you count it? ‘Why, I surely thought—there! I put it in | my purse along with some other money, and | now I don't know whether he kept any out or not. Oh, dear! I’m getting all mixed up! Won't | you please count what's in my purse? It amay | be that I can remember when I know how much there 16. And she went across the aisle and emptied the contents of the purse in the other's lap. You shouldn't have done that,” bast claimed the young girl in the big red hat | had just dropped come change there myself. And here's a loose ticket, too. Where dad that | | come from?” ex- T ‘Wasn't it there already?” | Hove you any idea how much money was in your puree? ‘Not the slightest,” suid the agitated girl in the fur-trimmed cape, wringing ber bands wildly. “How much change bad you dropped “I baven't the remotest idea, And I don't see how we are ever going to straighten out this tangle uniess——" “But I owe you fora ticket! No, two tickets! ‘The only thing to do is for you to keep all of it except. “Except what? There's where the trouble-—” “Bat I would rather you kept it all than——" “No, take back as mach as vou think ——' “Sixty-third street!" yelled the brakeman, and the two young women hurriedly gathered up their belongings and went out of the car, still arguing and expostulating. and at the hour | of going to press with the Inst edition of this paper there was no reason to hope that the tan- gle had been straightened out. e+ No Time for Explanations. From the Detroit Tribune. Atempest beat against the windows, but within the drawing room all was light and warmth. Itoften occurs that way. ‘The sweet little woman with a Gligree hairpin was weeping with joy. She had just fallen it At the Same Time ft is Ne Wonder That Mra. Smeoks Was Alarmed. M"™ BEAUREGARD SNOOKS, WRILE 2¥2 approacuiag her remdence, on Q strom, ene afternoon last week, was surprised to see & police patrol wagon dash ap to the front of ber house. She was even alarmed when the single officer eho occupied the vehicle jumped oUt of it, ran qhickly up the steps and rang the Dell. At the same moment. as sbe observed, nother bine-conted castodien of the peace started on a dog trot toward the dwelling from the nearest corner on which he had heen stand= ing. He got there a! the anme instant with the mistress of the mansion herself, cod she maid to bim eagerly “What is the matter’ “Ldon't know. m he rertiea. “f 41 ran to see if I gues ID go faw the patrol wagon ox Iwas needed fc A and guard ansthong. ne back gate. had heen atmitied 4 “For heaven's sake, what has happened?” The ofteer replied “I don’t know, i'm #ure, ma’am.” why are you here lecaume Twas rent “Is there any great deal. ma nm, “If voa went about the find lors of it.” This remark pazzied Mra Sn “But what is wrou, suppose it's mostly the cold. ma'am.” oa dons on ate not going tid. the policeman, ity a» 1 do yoa would d frozen in the « or a ike that?” eried the Indy, agh The officer gazed upon ber with the look of e Person who regards another as mentally af ficted. He replied If one of veur chil | whom I saw two bors to bury in a sow bi | you to go and * that on is the little girl the next block trying it muaght be as well for Otberetsa, is tm any you were sent for, Wae it that sent for ve ‘The gentleman that lives here, ma'am. May ou're ? believe that was the gentleman's mame, =" “What did he war, Have burgiars broken into tae by a He ead that you for 0 “Yes: clothes for the “On!” It is ony postal card whieh m asking you tocall £ give away to the po. with a great bundle of previously prepared. them with Th thanks and « policeman received — poli reelf limp ‘over her composure, found a crowd of + persons assem euil and tried t Outside the house the of ragamifins and other curiou | bled, eager to know if anything ture was transpiring. As he drove away in the pairol wagon the butler « Temarked to his friend door but one, t had otman of next Mr, Snooks' tebed at last at stealing varions 8, Which, to the apeaker » certain knowle he said gentleman « gentle abstracting from the | considerabie period pairs of pants and other clothing, and hypoth- ecating at a neighboring paw: broker's. Im these enggertions the footman to whom they were offered heartily concurred, having always, vally aforesa: © all Beitiaber As for Policema he quickly found out at the back door what the matter was, only staying a few minutes with the cook, which has Fince progressed se favorably that the announcement of their en- tto be married may be expected al most at any time, TWO NEW COATS. New Styles That Have Just Come Over From England. From the Clothier and Purnisiier There are two recent English coats of that Pronounced charactor 1p keeying with the moré formal garb that the fashionable man seome bent upon adopting. The Sandowne ise top coat cut loose in font and shaped somewhat te the figure behind. It is made in dali finish fabrice and is of ample length, there being @ wader range of coloring than in the reguiaiem winter top coais of smooth clothe. The froa® THE FANDOWNE. of the coat buttons single-breasted to the wai line, easy in hang—showing four buttous—ead falls thence like any loosely made fly-fromt top coat. The back view discloses more of « ten- dency to fit the figure aud has a decidedly frockish appearance in the suggestion of long tails extending from the waist line, which are only indicated in plaite. There is n new rain cont that is the most dis tinguished garment of this type that has yet been offered. it is called the Carnavan. It comes in black. blue, dark green, but the black, is by all odds the more effectual coat. ‘The ma- ial is most pleasingly deceptive, having ne ‘appearance or odor of rubber, as have the mac- intowher generally, and there is ventilation im plentitude in the fact that under the ful cape