Evening Star Newspaper, October 21, 1893, Page 18

18 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON. WITH DAINTY GRACE. The Way to Dress Little Girls Just Out of Long Gowns. MATERIALS AND STYLES. Stylish But Simple Gowns of Wools and Wash Goods. THE FOND MOTHER’S PRIDE. Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. NEW YORK, October 2, 1893. IMPLE MATERIALS should be used for the most part as soon as the little girl is out of vaby-girl long gowns and into the short ones of nine and ten years. Depend upon wools,wash goods and no silks. This ruie must prevail till the girl is well into her teens. So use up all your bits of brocade and fine stufts, and all your laces and Gainties while she is a little girl. On her head she wears lit- tle bonnets that tie under the chin as ladies tn Beau Brummel’s time. At six and seven she wears picture hats, great soft’ felts and leghorns. As soon as she is out — of the Greenaway gown, during which time her pretty hair may be wobbed up, her Jocks should hang quite loose and be guilt- of any knowledge of curling irons. Re- ber, sow is the time to make her hair for the shy age of maidenhood,and the period of beiledom. When one con- all the. lovely things which can be e with a little girl and her wardrobe, it one thankful it was a girl. pretty dress which can be made of thin woolen suiting or of batiste is ed im the initial above. It has a rt. tight fitting ning in the waist part, skirt being lined or not as preferred, the dress is cut in one, sufficient fabric allowed to form a hi dress buttons behin: cut square at the neck in The short sleeve puffs are a band of embroidery and three tiny ruffles, and the same embroidery goes round the bottom of the skirt and over the shoulders. Around the waist comes a heavy silk cond with tassels. Dainty Materia’ Although plain things should predominate from eight years on, before that age the Uttle girl is a delight to any mother who cares about the pretty things. No material 1s too dainty, too rich or too quaint for her. She may follow her mamma's fashions in a manner that is simply distracting, or she may wear picture gowns all of her own which copy those of the dames of any period. She may wear the lovely Kate Greenaway rigs, or long skirts of big figured old time musiins, and the skirts may stand out stiffly over as many as three stiff muslin petticoats. The little bodice may be pretty shoulders,and the sleeves may Duffs that it is all she can do little fat hands together, and delicious climax her hair may be on top of her funny little head, little left to hang over her sty FEE uty fat i if A Party Dress of Satin. short she can be the living expression of her mother’s fancies, and can show any de- gree of good or bad taste, depending upon the parent’s judgment. It would be a mother having a taste for Tich materials and a long purse to purchase with who could choose for her little girl the Fich and handsome dress of the next illus- tration. It is made of white beaded satin after the old-time Dutch models, and the tiny bodice is heavily whaleboned. The red skirt attached to it is stiffened until it almost stands alone, and the inside ts ished with a white silk frill. The ice fastens in back and it and the skirt are trimmed with pale green silk braid as shown. The epaulettes over the tiny bal- Joon sleeves are made of brocade, finished with brid. The skirt measures about one and three-quarter yards around the bottom and is gathered to the ice with slight fullness. The braid trimming commences in front where the skirt joins the bodice, then eontinues downward and then with round- @4 corners runs around the back, parallel with the lower hem. A full chiffon ruching Bves around the neck. Another way of making a tot look like an old Dutch miniature is to put her in a gown lke those of the little maids of 1630. It may be of gray, the long skirt starting well un- @er the arms, and the plain short-waisted bodice finished with squares of velvet that mark the joining of the skirt and waist. A guimpe of fine lawn goes with this, and there are under sleeves and a dear, quaint @lose Dutch cap. All this while the little Warriors Three. maid is at those most fascinating years between three and eight. As nine and ten Somes she must dress a little more conven- tionally. But even then with skirts prettily short. as they may be even till thirteen, d with simple little bodices that do not Sompress the childish figure, she ts a joy to fold and behold. To be sure after ten she approaches the scragey age, but you must fot think of that till you cannot help It, and at five you can have all sorts of good times with her. The dress on the little girl in the third f- lustration is suitable for the latter age, and from that to as young as three. Its ma- terlal ie pale blue and white striped flannel or silk finished with a deep bias fold of plain blue silk around the bottom of the skirt. The latter is joined to the bodice by four rows of gathers. The neck is cut in pointed decollette and edged with a frill of | White lace put on with a small head. A blue ribbon belt ties around the waist and with long loops and ends behind. The small boy is a bit of a puzzle to the mother who desires him to be a real boy from the very first. When he is a very wee small boy; that is, when he is a baby in long clothes, she can dress him in a way that shows he is a boy, but later it is dif- ficult, and from a year to three it is quite @ problem to make a boy attractive and still boyish. But at three there is no more trouble, for then he may go into breeches. A sailor suit of the smallest size and for the youngest wearers fs shown as the com- panion figure to the little girl's dress just described. It is made of white Jersey cloth with a sash of blue silk, a biue cloth collar and cuffs to match. The blouse closes with white horn buttons and has two pockets on the left side. In front there is a plastron, tening at one side and buttoning over to the other, or it can be made separately and others substituted when a change Is desired. The sash has a heavy knotted fringe. The breeches have three horn buttons on the outer seam. ‘ One Simple, the Other Elaborate. A pretty couple prettily dressed is shown in the next sketch. At the left ts a simple dress of red striped woolen goods, with no ornamentation but a frill of white lace at the neck and a silk sash about the waist. The other little lady is attired more elabor- ately. The fabric used for her dress is old rose bengaline, trimmed with white lace and ribbon. The skirt is very full and is trimmed with three rows of narrow silk ribbon of the same color as the material. It from a square yoke which is cross- — by vertical bands of ribbon and bordered ith narrow passementerie. The sleeve puffs are very full and are topped by lace ulettes, while the tight cuffs are encir- cled by one band of ribbon and end in a narrow frill. — An Aproned Puir. Another charming dress for a little one of six or eight years is portrayed at the left in the last picture. It is made of dark green woolen stuff strewn with salmon colored flowers and trimmed with green velvet. T! skirt is made of straight breadths, ig gathered to the bodice and ty garnished with a bias fold of velvet and lined with satin. The seam where skirt and bodice join is hidden by a bias velvet belt hooking with a clasp at the side. The bodice has a fitted lining and has full back and fronts. It is trimmed with velvet bre- telles, which end in rounded points in front and back. The sleeves have a tight lining apd are quite full, being gathered into a narrow cuff. A pink batiste apron ts worn over the drese. It is tucked three times at the bottom and fs edged with embroidery. Straps cross over the shoulders and are but- toned to the waist band. These are edged with embroidery bretelles. Another pretty apron is shown on the other youngster. It {s made of straight breadths of strined ba- tiste shirred four times at the waist and thered into a square embroldery yoke, Thich is edi with a Valenciennes frill. It buttons at the back. and the bottom is garnished with one wide and two narrow ucks. . At about eight, when the gowns begin to be short, shoes and stockings must have much attention, and_ cannot be too dainty or too well-fitting. Tt ts all very well to talk about not compressing the growing feet. and all that. but there is no sense in letting 2 girl's feet get flat and ugly from wearing shapeleas big shoes. If you do, she will, all of a sudden. at about fifteen and aixteen, take to wearing smal! shoes in spite of everything, and hurt her feet dreadfullv. Retter see to it that her feet are trimly —____+e+_____- SMALL DRAWINGS MADE LARGE. The Perspectograph, a German Inven- tion, for Use tn the Arta. The oft felt wish of many of our artistic readers, to be able to enlarge original draw- ings without much trouble has hitherto remained ungratified. but now says the Season, they will certainly rejoice to hear of a clever little invention by which many technical difficulties may be overcome. The leading feature is an elastic band, on which a small bead Is threaded. As this bead fits so tight that it can only be moved when the elastic is stretched to the utmost, we may consider !t to be firm wherever fixed. One end of the elnztie Is secured between two metal plates forming a sort of button, and the other runs into the movable center of an ordinary pencil case, which turns to prevent the twisting of the elastic when in use. The button, the small original and the sheet for the copy are fastened with draw- ing pins on the drawing board, the two former to the upper left part. Then the pencil is taken in the hand and guided to follow the movements of the bead over the outlines of the original. Curious as the work seems at first, the hand soon becomes accustomed to the involuntary motion and begins to feel as if it were drawing with the bead itself rather than with the pencil, while the effect is both useful and interest- ing. ‘The directions and instrument are equally easy, the actual length of the elastic hav- ing nothing to do with the proportions; the position of the bead alone determines the size of the copy. Say, for instance, the original measures eight and one-half inches high and we wish the copy to be twenty- two, all we have to do ts to place the pen- efl at twenty-two inches, and the head at eight and one-half. When thus arranged it 1s impossible to obtain other propor- tions, whatever the relative position of original, copy or paper may be. The above described instrument can, however, only be used for large designs, as the bead em- braces too much space to allow of very fine lines, so for photographs, mintatures, small engravings. &c., a somewhat finer appar- atus is preferable. By its aid the finest as well as the thickest lines can be produced. In place of the bead we have a strin of metal. with a point as fine as a needle, capable of tracing the smallest curves or features: this is fixed between two paral- lel elastic bands, whose ends are fastened with a spring to two metal discs, ending in the pencil case and the motive power of the needle, otherwise the rules are the same as for the single thread apparatus. The new perspectograph is a patented Ger- man invention. —_—_—+e+—____ Sectal Burdens the Navy. From the San Franetsco Chronicle. A commander in the United States navy |says that the heaviest drain on the re- | Sources of the officers comes from social obligation, especially in foreign ports. They | are invited to dine with a king, a prince, a |Sovernor, and as a representative of this | nation they have tc go Then, in return, | they must invite the potentate to dinner with them. They must decorate the ship {brilliantly and provide a sumptuous | “spread,” not only for the king, but for as many ministers and hangers on as he chooses to bring with him, and every time this is done each officer must go down into his pocket for $25 or more. embroidered with a blue silk anchor, fas- | A DELICATE CASE. WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY JOHN HABBERTON. —_—_—_.———- ‘opyright, 1893, by the author.] —_- HIL TREWITT, New York merchant, went one morning to his office in the pro- duce exchange in a \ very comfortable frame of mind and body. He was not yet forty-five, his health was superb,he had plenty of friends, | @ good bank account, | @ pleasant home, and =": was on the right side a=— of the grain market, which had been unusually brisk for some | i months. Yet no sooner had he assorted his mail and opened one particular letter, which he seemed to expect, than he began to look Srave, and then to frown. He ran through the letter hastily, reread it slowly, his face lengthening all the while; then he closed the door of his private office, stretched himself in his chair, looked through his window at the sky, and began muttering to himself. “Like father, like son! It never occurred to me when I fel! desperately in love at twenty-one that my son would follow in my footsteps. I made a runaway match; what it he should follow me in that particular, too! Mine turned out well, as long as the dear girl lived. Suppose, though, that my boy's shouldn't, Lightning doesn't always strike twice in the same place; neither does the luck of a boy who thinks he has found the oniy woman in the world. I’d had one love affair before; Phil, junior, hasn't; so he hasn’t any experience to guide him. I supposed he would be entirely safe when | 1 let him go down to Old Point with the | Merrys; quiet folks, quiet place—and dur- though, if I'd thought carefully. Big hotel- big military post within ten minutes’ walk— @ score or two of young officers. I might ; have known that any number of romantic | girls would tease their parents to take them down there—of course, to mitigate the rigors of © northern spring, as well as of Lent!” ‘Trewitt wrinkled his brow a moment or two, and then smoothed it as he continued: “After all, the boy won't be likely to get anything but a heartache. He certainly won't get the girl. No youngster who is a civilian stands a ghost of a show beside a lot of uniforms. A single brass button or a bit of military braid will outweigh the finest wardrobe that a young man can dis- play himself in. On the other hand, I don’t want my boy to get a heartache—it’s a complaint that gave me a great deal of suf- fering when I was of Phil's age, and it might have done me a great deat of harm if I hadn't suddenly found myself in love with another woman—after the manner of the youthful Romeo in the play that is never put upon the stage. Pshaw! I'm making a fool of myself, I suppose; still, when a man has only one son, and is wrapped up in the dear scamp—But let me see once more what he says.” He took the letter from his pocket and looked through it, occasionally reading e: ssions alcud: ‘Finest woman I ever mi ‘sure you would like her”—“noble face”— ‘seems to understand me perfectly’’—“her mother is a charming old lady’’—“I write you so fully because I’ve always promised you that I would never think myself in love without telling you"—“feel as if I ought to | Secure her before some other man has sense enough to see her incomparabte worth.” Then Trewitt dropped the etter, rose ab- ruptly from his chair and exclaimed: “I shall have to hurry down there and look after Master Phil, if I don’t want him to make a fool of himself. I don’t wonder that any woman should like him, bless him, for he’s more manly than most fellows te! years older, and he has all his mother’s sweetness besides. But I intend to know something about any woman who enchants him. I can’t welt Got the time, but I can’t at all spare the boy.” ‘Trewitt took an evening train, and was aroused next morning by the morning gun saluting the colors that broke from the flagstaff at Fort Monroe. A few minutes later he was enjoying an early breakfast, having first learned at the hotel office that his son did not come down until a late hour. Within an hour he had met SS = juaintances, as city men are sw wherever they go. When, finally, Master Phil lounged down, and sauntered to the door for a boutonniere, he was astonished to see his own father in the center of a group of ladies and gentlemen. An old- fashioned greeting followed, but the young man quickly made an excuse to drag his father out to the beach, and no sooner were they well apart from every one else than he exclaimed : “Father! Isn’t she stmply perfect?” “She?” echoed the father; “whom do you wm otteas ? Why, the only young woman in “Mean? y, the the party you were with. Who introduced rou?" Ytrewitt stopped abruptly and asked: “Whom are you talking of, Phil?" “Of Marian, of course—Miss Raybright, I mean. You were talking with her when I first recognized you, and it made me very happy; you were looking so appreciative. Did you ever see a finer face, handsomer eyes, such a glorious head of hair? Oh,fath- er, she’s simply angelic—divine!” Trewitt’s head fell as he resumed the walk, and asked: “Is that the young woman of whom you wrote me?” “To be sure she is; whom else could I mean? What's the matter, father? Do you think—” Phil did not seem to know how to con- clude his question, so there was silence for @ moment. ‘She is, indeed, a glorious woman, my boy; I am glad that you have the discern- ment to admire her. But—why, you silly fellow, she’s old enough to be your mother. “Oh, father!" replied the youth, in a tor resembling a groan. “I suppose she is little older than I, but you know I never did admire very young girls. She's not much older, though. Why, every young fel- low here is head over ears in love with her, though she gives none of them any en- couragement. As to the officers at the fort, they simply form hollow square around her whenever she appears, and they ought to be good judges of girls—they see hundreds and thousands every season. They desert all the others for Marian, though. She is 80 sensible, 80 sympathetic, so radiant.’* “Oh, Phil! Phil!’ "Twas now the father’s turn to . “She appears worth a hun- dred young girls; but, really, my boy, you musn’t allow yourself to think of her as anything more than a friend. I should be glad for you to like each other always; a woman like that is the best friend that any young man could possibly have; but if you were to talk love to her you would only of- fend her, and make yourself unhappy.” “Merely because she is two or three years older than I?” said the young man, with an unbecoming pout. “Because she is many years your senior,” sald the father. “The very qualities which attract you are the results of the thought and experience of years—more years you seem able to imagine.” “There's no sign of age about her face or figure,” Phil declared. “You are right, to that extent, and I hope she will keep her fresh and cheerful look for many years to come; but, my dear boy, you must admit that my knowledge of such matters is larger than yours.” Phil seemed inclined to doubt this state- ment. He put on a sullen face, and kicked savagely at every pebble large enough to attract his attention. His father continued: “Don’t, I beg, make a fool of yourself, merely because a mature woman has the discernment and kindliness to be pleasant to you. All women who amount to any- thing are fond of very young men who are decent, mannerly and clever.” “But, father,” pleaded Phil, “she seems specially fond of me. As I’ve told you, all the other fellows—including the handsome bachelor officers at the fort—are wild about her; but she will excuse herself to any of them for the sake of strolling or sailing with me.” “Can it be possible?” murmured the father, looking as earnestly at the sands as if he were searching them for a reason for this preference. “Indeed it is. I never talk any nonsense to her, but she takes an interest in what- ever interests me. Why, she has drawn me out about all I have studied at school; what pictures I have seen, the music f have heard and the books I have read. Of course, I've talked a great deal about you, dear old man. Other girls never seem to care to hear anything about a_fellow’s father, but she listens patiently. Isn’t this a sign that she cares a great deal for me. If not, what does {t mean?” “it means, I suppose,” said Trewitt, after pondering a moment, “merely that she isn’t a fiighty young thing. My dear boy, what you have told me should haye shown you, if you had any judgment regarding human nature, that she is a mature woman, in- stead of a maiden young enough for you ing Lent, too. I might have known better, to think of falling in love witn. It doesn’t mean, in the least, that she is likely to fail in love with you. You should study woman’s nature a long time, my boy, if = don’t wish to be terribly disappointed y mistaking one sentiment for another. You should have very good reasons before you imagine a woman can love you. You must give me better reasons than any I've yet heard before I can imagine that Miss Raybright can think of you as anything more than an interesting boy. You must your own feelings, too; don’t im- agine, because I married at twenty-one and was happy as long as your dear mother lived, that heaven will be equally merciful to you in your ignorance. Beside, I had gone through a heartbreak before I finally succeeded. "Twas entirely my own fault; the gir! was not in the least to blame; but it set me to thinking seriously about “love and i@ myself less selfish and more manly. Of course, you admire Miss Ray- bright very much, as everyone does, so you tell me; but love—the reai article—must be @ plant of slow growth if there's to be any health and strength to it. As to the possi- bility of Miss Raybright loving you, there isn’t any. The idea is simply preposter- ° “Is it?” said Phil, defiantly, and turning flashing eyes upon his father. Suddenly, though, he turned his face toward the Water, and said, very softly and hesi- tatingly: “You said you wanted better rea- sons than any I mere. you. Well, she—she has squeezed my hand—very tenderly—two or three times, while I was saying good- night. What do you say to that?” Again Trewitt was slow in answering, but at last he said: “A good woman's intereat in a good 7a nothing more, Phil; I’d stake my fife on it. “Boy!” ejaculated Phil, so vigorously that two or three youngsters who were playing in the sand dropped their shovels and looked up to see who was addressing them. The father gently replied: “Yes, ‘boy’—to her. You're the manliest fellow of your age that I ever knew, and to some girls you'd appear as old as the hills; but not to her. Time has given her too much advantage over you.” “Father, you are real cruel and ungal- lant to ke harping on Marian’s age. One would think, to hear you talk, that years were disgraceful in woman.” “On the contrary. I’ve always found that the older a woman grows the sweeter she becomes. But in this case, really, my boy, you must take my word, instead of your own impressions. Suppose that I were to prove to you, by some of her family friends who are here, that she is—say, fifteen years older than you." “Well,” was the dogged reply. “We Tre- witts are a very long-lived race, you know, so probably I should outlive her. You've always boasted that your father was younger at eighty than most men at fifty.” “You're a persistent scamp,” the father replied. “‘Let’s drop the subject for the present. Go on admiring Miss Raybright— admire her with all your might; it will do you @ great deal of good. Teach yourself, though, to respect her too much to lessen her respect for you by talking love. I shouldn't like my son to lose the friend- ship of a woman like that. I’m not afraid in the least of her falling in love with you; to prove it, I'll take you, her, and her mother out driving or sailing every day I can remain here; I'll throw you together all I can. You needn’t be ashamed to talk and act as you feel before me.” Trewitt returned to the hotel, and re- joined some of his acquaintances, new and old, while Phil, junior, continued to pace the beach, inflicting upon the delicious and unoffending air of early April a count- enance clouded with gloom and cigarette smoke. Never before had he found his father unreasonable; of course, his father was unreasonable, for wasn’t Marian so handsome that all the pretty women at the hotel adored her, as they wouldn’t were she so much older than they? Fifteen years his senior? Ridiculous! But even if she were, was not beauty eternal, when it was full of soul? He to and fro, apparently wanting no company but his own thoughts. Finally he entered the fort, by way of the water battery, for he had heard that there was a cannon there—gun forty—which had a ro- mantic history. It was a legend of Old Point that if a fellow asked a lady to walk with him to gun forty it was equivalent to a proposal. He reached the gun, leaned gloomily against the carriage, and won- dered why so many men, some of them worthless, probably, had been made happy, while he was compelled to endure all the discomforts of a wet blanket thrown upon his heart—and by his own father, too! Years hence, when he would be approach- ing forty-five, he would remember this day and be more sympathetic, should a son of his be in the condition which he, Phil, now found himself. The approach of other visitors roused him from his reverie. He strolled into and through the fort, along the south walk of the parade, where, to his astonishment and: somewha~. to his indignation, he en- countered hi. father and: Miss Raybright looking at sire trophies of war, and chat- ting as mecrily as if between them they were not riaking misery for a very tender heart. As if to make his indignation more pervas.ve, Fhil, whea recognized by his father, was addressed as “Bub” and order- ed to join the couple and make himself agreeable. Miss Raybright did not seem the least embarrassed by the meeting, as Phil felt she ought, and when Trewitt, who had a little knowledge about almost every- thing in nature, broke the tip of a twig from one of the old live oaks on the parade, and showed Miss Raybright, from the con- formation of the leaves, how Fort Monroe was the northern limit of that species of the genus quercus, and the lady listened with an expression of great interest, as she slowly broke leaf after leaf from the stem, it seemed to Phil that ’twas a heart better than a heart of oak that was being cast under foot. All day long the youth lounged about dis- consolately, for he did not get a moment alone with his charmer. His father monop- olized the girl, even sitting at dinner with her and her mother, the ladies inviting an army officer, instead of Phil, to take the re- maining chair at the table. What was his father up to? Between Philip, junior, and Philip, senior, there had always been entire confidence, as frequently exists between widowed fathers and only sons; yet the young man was excited enough to be sus- picious. His father had the reputation, in business circles, of being a man of great tact; perhaps he was making the most of his opportunities to spoil his son's chances by saying things which would lessen the regard in which Phil was sure Marian held It is unnecessary to say how far suspicion may go, even in the best natures, when it gets a fair start. There was to be a hop at the hotel that evening. Phil knew that Miss Raybright did not dance, or even care much for looking at a dance. Every one else would be there; the beach would be desert- ed; the air was still and warm; the star- light would be bright enough to show the ‘way, yet dim enough to hide any one from curious eyes. He would write her, declare his love and beg her to write him an im- mediate answer to his room, and afterward meet him on the piazza, and stroll with him on the beach—if the answer was favorable. He started quickly to act upon this inspi- ration, but never before had his pen seemed so dull. He wrote note after note, destroy- ing each before he began another, for man though he believed himself, and fluent of speech though he usually was, his words did not seem adequate to their duty. He tried to tell himself—and her—that his tongue would be more able than his pen, but this did not make his successive notes seem more fit to be read by Marian bright. He had noted how quickly her eye detected any awkwardness or other fault in book or story, and that she seemed really pained by lame or halting sentences; yet now, in spite of an education on which ex- pense and effort had not been spared, he seemed unable to write with either distinct- ness or good mar. He had heard her make pitiless fun of some posals read aloud from novels, yet any of these were in better form than such as he was composing and destroying. Meanwhile, the evening was disappearing; soon it would be too late to expect the response he hoped for. Desperately the young man scrawled half a dozen lines, sealed them, hurried below, “tipped” a waiter to take the note at once to Miss Raybright’s room, and followed the sable Mercury part of the way to see that there should be no mistake. Then he strolled out to the office, met his father and pretended not to recognize him, but Trewitt stopped him, saying: “What's the matter, my boy?” “Nothing,” = Phil, averting his eyes. “Be honest with your father, my son,” ‘Trewitt replied, almost in a whisper, yet very earnestly. “Something unusual is on your mind.” Phil remained silent, and was also sullen. “Be honest,” repeated his father; “be manly, too. Don’t go back on your blood— and your father. I never went back on you.”” Then remorse seized the youth; he dragged his father to his room and made a full confession. He wished afterward that he had not, for never before had he seen his father look so unhappy, so he said: “I'll never forgive myself, father, for sus- pecting you of being unfair to me.” “Um not thinking of myself, my son,” said Trewitt, very gravely. “But the girl— what can she think—of both of us? Of course she will decline; then I shall have to explain to her, or her mother, that I tried to dissuade you; afterward you and I will have to depart in haste, to avoid unpleasant reminders. Your departure will make a break in the party that was kind enough to invite you, and—" “It seems awful, father,” groaned the son, from the depths of penitence; “but suppose . D. C. SATURDAY. OCTOBER 21, 1893-TWENTY PAGES. | She shouldn’t decline?” | a shook his head gloomily, and re- Plied: t “That's past hoping for. She can’t be a fool.” The two men sat like criminals awaiting the death sentence—sat half an hour in | Silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. A knock at the door broke the spell, and brought both to their feet. “Come in,” said the youth, though he had to force his voice to make it audible. “Come @ng’ the father roared, savagely. “Lettah, sah,” said the waiter. Phil snatched it, looked the address, hurried under the gaslight and handled the envelope with trembling fingers. His father followed him, looked pityingly at him, and finally said: “Courage, dear boy! You meant well. You'll always have the honor of having ad- mired her with your whole heart.” Then he turned away and wiped his eyes. Boys will be boys; he had been one himself; but why should time be remorseless enough to wreak such cruel revenge? The sins of the parents might descend to the children, but why mere blunders? What should he do to allay as quickly as possible the pain of the blow? A dozen plans hurried into his mind, and he resolved to try them all, if necessary. He would even give up busi- ness for a year, at no matter whatever loss to himself, so as to be his own son's con- stant companion. Fortunately, the boy never had outgrown childhood’s fondness for his father’s society. The father had al- ways tried to keep himself young for his child’s sake. Now he would go back to rowing or sailing; he would learn bicycling and he would go to all the ball games, though there was nothing more tiresome to him than sitting on a bench as a spectator while other men did the playing. And how earnestly he would pray heaven to be as merciful to the son as it had been to the father—to let = roe girl cross the boy's th and make PPy- Pavteanwhile, he turned his head and studied the boy’s face. Why, there was good stuff in Phil, junior; he was taking om disappointment bravely. Still, there ‘were women who could say “no” so grace- fully and tenderly as to take the sting from the word. He could easily imagine Marian Raybright such an one. If— “Accepted!” shouted Phil. Trewitt’s face became iron, and his eyes flashed as he hissed between his set teeth. “What?” “Accepted!” the youth repeated. To Phil junior’s astonishment Phil senior dropped into a chair, and looked the picture of per- plexed imbecility. Phil was really sorry for his father, yet so full of joy that he could not help displaying the air of superi- ority which any young American feels to- ward his ancestors to any number of gen- erations back. Still, he would be generous— yes, he would not exult; he would merely impress gently upon his father a fact of which all middle-aged parents seemed ob- Mvious, so he said: “Father, perhaps I don’t seem as young to her as to you. You tell me sometimes that althovgh I have twenty-one years, and six feet of stature, and a mustache, that I'm still your little boy. She has seen me only 68 a man, and—' “Phil,” interrupted his father, regaining possession of, himself, and rising from his chair, “are you sure she ts you?” “Sure?” Phil echoed, the instant the word dropped from his father’s lips. “Why, lis- ten to this—where is it! Oh, ‘Heart and soul I am yours; I fe never loved any one else.’ Isn't that plain English? As to her age, about which you said some things which I still think very unfair, she says, dear girl, ‘My life has gone backward rap- idly, year by year, within a few months.’ Father, you said this morning that I had known her but a short time, but you ovght to remember that time is eternity to lovers. She knows it, for she writes: ‘You have been in my heart so long.’ What an in- tense, poetic nature she has. There are some passages here which J can hardly un- derstand, well as I know her. It would seem as if she had loved me years instead of days.” Trewitt turned pale, and then red. Sud- denly he astonished his son by snatching @ newspaper from a table and fanning him- self vigorously. “Father!” exclaimed young Phil, with some show of indignation, “do you think all this extraordinary demonstration is called for? You continue to act as if it was the most wonderful, inexplicable thing in the world that Marian has ted me. Won't you please stop? I know you don’t mean any offense by it, but really it makes me feel as if you were unable to realize that I am a man. I am willing to always re- main a boy to you, in almost everything; but I do think you might recognize me as a man, on this day of all days. I don’t ike the idea that any one, even Marian, can. see any more in me than you seem to see; yet she’s accepted me, and you don’t seem fo find anything in your son thit could have justified her choice. I should think her own words in this letter would explain all to you; but—” pacing the z Ping tie yee who had been loor, with wrinkled brow and clasped hands, stopped abru: errul banieon te teeters iptly and interrupted “Excuse me, Phil. I've not meant to under-rate you, nor have I done 80. Try to bear with me a moment longer, and trust me—trust me to read her answer?” The young man yielded the letter. The father then poo Tread it slowly to the end, ana “How did you sign “Phil Trewitt;—the me by ef Me ‘Didn't you add ‘No, I think not; your—proposal?” only name she knows ‘junior’ to your signa- indeed, I know I didn’t. It looks awkward amon; ere But why do ou aa ae "8 face took ressiol Frhich his son had never seen before Seen, ‘Because, my poor boy, Mir Yybrigh has ea a iss Ra: it ead Of pene Philip Trewitt, senior—in- “What!” gasped the youn, man. Listen, Phil,” said ‘Trewite, raplaly, « made love to her before you were borm When she mas ttle more than fifteen, and ounger than "ve met her in more than twenty, years’ ot quaitiance 1 the last Yew eres pat BS ; @ doubt she thinks your" letter wee ne J hoped that I might not have to explain to you what happened ip bid not 7 bon eet — lac gid Heavens, my boy, how Young Phil was indeed misery. The proud glow faded into ashy pallor ne lana- Marian had not writer of the letter, he saw a gleam of mistaken as to ti Suddenly he thought pron wo he asked: “Do you really my potnanatiy ror, 9™5 0d mistake exes resemblance between them.” “She's not seen mine in more twent years, my dear boy. Besides, in thoes days I fancy that I wrote about as you now do; business ‘hurry hadn't yet taken the fous: ishes from my Then the father went over the letter aloud, explaining, with much the manner of a penitent offender, the passages which had Phil, who finally stopped him by saying, with the most manly look his father hai ever seen in his face: ‘You're right; there can be no doubt of it.” at him sorrowfully, His father looked tenderly, but the boy continued, rapidly: you shal! see now how ees mind me; much of a man I am! Do think of though, poor girl! She mus: thin ata err et en, it never know of “Not though the world fall: the father, with much emphas: Pry sagt yo boy again, and e Inking mom oa murmuring: ice peru “T see it all. No wonder she spe- celal interest in me—'twas Decanse was Well, I'm right about her in one lg ee and loyal wo- jut she shouldn’t beca le a fool of myself.” re or she shan’t, my boy, if you'll—” ll do anything in the world to save her from humiliation. I'll go down and explain— but no, I won't, either, for that would make ee matter worse. Oh, what a fool I’ve “There’s but one way to spare her feel- ings, dear boy; and that would make grea recto pond you.”” . i “No, it wouldn't, no matter what it be. What is it? Tell me, quick.” aR “Can’t you imagine? She has accepted Proposal, through no fault of her own. It's a family matter, and she can’t be saved unless your father sees her through.” “And I have put you in this position; I— your own, your only son!” “Don't worry about that, my son,” said Trewitt, with a voice which seemed to be troubling him greatly. “Any man should | be willing to go through anything to spare jsuch a woman the least annoyance on so delicate a subject. I alone am to blame; I ought to pay the penalty. But what non- sense I am talking. Any man should feel himself specially honored to be accepted by Marian Raybright. As for you, you are at least to be congratulated upon your skill in letter writing.” “Heavens!” exclaimed Phil, suddenly. “I asked her to meet me for a walk on the beach, should her answer be favorable.” “Meet you? Where?” asked Trewitt, his voice trembling. “‘At what particular place?” “Hurry down to the piazza, father,” said Phil, springing from his chair. “She may be waiting. Straighten your face; your scarf is awry; let me fix !t. So you are to sacri- fice yourself for me.” 3 3 £ A 3 2 i! Hid SUIGELAVEG otek “You are the only saci If it weren't for you I Piest man alive.” ; “Should you, though?” said the boy, with @ brave smile. “Then I'll be happy, too. But hurry, hurry!” pi his from the room. Young Phil was not long in ¢ had been only admirer, not lover. there is nobody like a handsome stepmother ine te ee “ee of a young man, and o tome 'y girl whom she can love as — 9 SHALL WOMEN SMOKE? This is the Question Now tating Feminine Circles in chonee: An American woman writes to the Buro- pean edition of the New York Herald on the subject of the habit of smoking among women as follows: “To smoke or not to smoke—that seems the question now most Colin advocated the use of ‘the weed’ in ® way that is most tempting, while Mrs. Linton calls the practice “‘unwomanily’ and dreads its adoption. Without an opinion either way, 1 cannot deny that it is Quite a common thing ‘wo- men in this country to smoke. Statistics Say that this year the consumption of bacco has increased 1,100,007 pounds. Is this on account of its demand by the ladies? “The first time my attention was called to the fact that women were to smoke was at @ dinner party at a very ‘smart’ were half a dozen beautiful young women present, all married. crear barty were assembied passed round. I was the aap smoke as the owner loiled back in a regular smoker's attitude I think it added to her attractions eyes. “And rely the smell of stale odious in a man, cannot be less so man. The husbands, on rejoin! seemed to look upon the scene as a ma‘ course. I wondered if this habit was ticed before » OF was it adopted as @ soother to the nerves, irritated by the Jars of the married state? indeed go so far as to say that smoking is the cause of cancer of the mouth—but now that women persevere in overcoming the terrible nausea which attends a ‘first smoke’ I cannot help believing there must be com- pensations worth having. Let me add that respectable looking girls may be seen com- ing out of tobacco shops with lighted cigar- ettes in their mouths. Also at the Earl's Court exhibition. and even at the Imperial oe grounds, ladies enjoy the weed in public.” ——+or She Doesn’t Worry. From an Exchange. All dressed in white and gauzy things * The lovely Ann Mi But doth the gentle maiden sigh ‘While ruminating over Those pleasant summer nights, when bigh ‘The moon was sailing over And Willie Johaen’s tener consned ‘The songs most to ber liking— Ecstatic nights on which they spooned ‘Till 12 o'clock was striking? ! Such memories as these Disturb not fair Miranda; Although sbe cannot get the breeze ‘And squeeze on the She's well aware that Willie can pints, bet. and Goes it tly, off the soft Just every bit as tightly! Another on the Georgia Pig. From the Florida Times-Union. The ragor-back pigs of Taylor county, Ga., have many pleasing peculiarities. They are built for speed rather than weight, and frequently climb trees to shake down nuts when they are slow about ; Some of them saw down great nut trees with their sharp spines and eat the nuts at leisure. The drying up of streams is at- tributed to this wholesale destruction of timber. ———-—+-e+-_—_____ A Foggy Day at the World’s Fair. From the Chicago Herald. vat 3 4 g ik ult a vos i it An international dispute. > ‘The ostriches looked depressed. ¥ Bry x8 FINE PORK AND MUTTON. Sweetly Pretty Are the Pigs and Sheep at the Pair. So Fat That They Cannot Move and Chicago Packer Looks With Loag- ing Upon Such Possibilities. Correspondence of The Evening Star. CHICAGO, October 11, 18%, “Are they not sweet?” A pretty girl was standing in front of a pen in the stock barns at the world’s fair and made this remark as she gazed at a couple of Poland-China hogs of such a vast ‘breeder can give: The color is black, but | the trotters are white. The ears lop over | and shake whenever the pig moves, and he | twitches them when an impudent fiy alights E 7 ilk: Lt H i ¢ “4 eas Fi] i283 age 8 Ng, E ? i te 8 é. © ggpes 2 ff a8 H i i & Hi iG fil 8 g ag iG j : i i HS i 4 fas 8 i i é : Es a : 5 Fs g a i LY i ag i i i { | i i i é i f abe Hf i H i i i iF for opege § af i ity | : | Be i & : il j 3 | i H if if § g i 4 ge p LF ciel t if iy i i 8 g i Pid i wEaR iil i a ait f i i i is g § i $ s i i 2 f i a Fr ! af ie eoge ee i with the thunders from Krakatoa, which nen Ss oe - artillery In their Finally o'clock on Monday ne mightiest noise ever heard on this Batavia is ninety-five miles distant Krakatoa. At Carimon, Ja’ tik Sway, reports were heard morning which led to the belief must be some vessel was il ie sen’ make a search; they presen nothing could be found in want The reports were sounds which all the way from Krakatoa. At in Celebes, loud attracted notice of everybody. ze il Two steamers find what was the hastily sent ca | _— on to Mlustrate the extreordinary distance to which the greatest noise that ever beard was able to penetrate. The have to be expressed in thousands. This seems almost incredible, but it is certainly true. In the Victoria plains, in West Aus- tralla, the sheph: were startled by noises like heavy cannonading. It was some ie aerenuiity had been disturbed by the uility on an then proceeding at Krakatoa, 1,700 miles away. Bite From Chicago. i An old gentleman standing before a marble statue which wore only the costume of the “nude In art.” He slowly spelled the itle—“"P-s-y-c-h-e" —an’ ith one sweep- in e murmured, “Ah, yes! I see = Life.