Evening Star Newspaper, June 30, 1894, Page 19

FOR SEA BREEZES Stylish Costumes to ¥ Worn on the Ocean Beach. RSs see eae FOR A DIP IN THE SURF Suggestions About Colors, Mate- rials and Designs. FOR YOUNG AND OLD PEOPLE ¥ritten Exclusively for The Evening Star. ACH DAY THE seashores are becom- ing gayer, and in a week or two the short summer season Hl be at its very height. Despite the “har? times" beautl ful costumes, auda- cious colors and per- ishable materials are quite as much a mat- ter of necessity as they have ever been; consequently, if one ts so fortunate as to be already charming this year's fashions will make her doubly 20; perfection of loveliness, and seem expressly designed to conceal def: and enhance beauty. Just now everything in skirts has what fs called the movement effect. Few but! tailor-made « are made with clinging | Graperies, the dressy ones being of silk, fancy wool or wash fabrics, draped, lifted or slashed, according to individual fancy. Wriukled apron overskirts are very short upon the sides, and extending into long sash ends, are new, and show every indica- tion of becoming popuiar. Sashes are the order of the day, some of them being of ribbon, while others are| made of lined and stiffened lencths of silk caught down on the back breadths of the skirt. Ruffies of silk and jabots of lace are! Placed down the fronts of bodices, and are often used for the decoration of skirts. Sleeves are made extremely full, but! drooping from the shoulder, and pleated | or sathered on the tmsidé of the arm, in| order to give the necessary fuliness. Two lengths of »on or doubled silk are frequently placed on each side of the front of the shoulder, where they are se- cured by rosettes. and the ends left hang- ing, frequently reaching the bottom of the dress. This graceful decoration is used upon both coats gnd dress bodices. Wri led, di chable collars of satin or velvet are held by a large buckie in front, while at the back is an enormous butterfly bow. The jacket and skirt with pique or duck vest and stiff shirt is the success of the season. re covert cloth, canvas, hop- sacking and checked cheviot are the ma- teriais best liked. booed and Dark e is quite ta- place are suits of tan, suiting, tailor-made and in its For the Seashore. | For seaside wear white will be largely used, suits of cream serge. pique, grass nen and i sik all being popular. Yor styles of making are ex- tr ely simple, the blouse waist, big sailor collar and esthetic sash forming the prin-} ¢ipal features. Of this pretty fashion the ng biond in the first illus- a charming flannel < we with grace but the back vox yards around $s; the ac t of crims om the left sic wright stu to e straw 6: } Lhe gloves ed or w y ichever t ing and alm threat be teo! just fil up the | ‘ial matching letung the bars run | enade Costume. t me which is so at-| tractiv played by the sailor girl's! f tan covert suiting, with | of white corded pique, | e silk, elaborately tigured | with vivid crim The bodice fashionable jacket 73 of white. The revers are made with square corners, and the pe over, as shown in| the sk 1 with a bright goid| butt white is very nar- row the have a deep, sharp poiat hat gives to the figure a tr appearanc which is muc by risian t side the skirt is double, | the upper skirt is faced Dover the tour-} nure. as shown in the sket | The skirt is ¢ faced with the white wimining, ws prettily when the| dress is or blown al | Por the Litile Ones, In the same cut the very comfortable- Jeman {s dressed in a is used for youngsters almost ion styles. The ique, with deep sailor collar of dark biue duck, fasien- ed by a silk tie of the same color. Of course, navy biue trousers must be worn, and the entire outtit is extremely trim and stylish, and has the admirabie qua 7 little one conscio looking young ger suit which of all o The girl's suit fect comfort and In this one ins of color to he dress, the matei with searlet co! ra and stockings of ue. also de: Jom of 2 is of too gr sed as an ever al being of cream flan: a i a the same gorgeous Bathing Coston: Now for a litle chat about bathing! —— j}are more in dresses. Last summer black was used in preference to all colors, the objective point of the outfit, the single touch of color, be- ing given by the bright silk kerchief which Deauty twisted about her head. The day has passed for baggy, uncouth bathing garments, the bright little woman of today exercising as much care in the fit of her bathing dress as she devotes to her tailor-made gown. They are things of beauty, and prove as great a joy to the beholder as to the wearer herself, which is saying a good deal, for heretofore the seashore lounger has had but scant oppor- tunity to cultivate an elevated ideal of the human form divine. On bathing dresses, as on everything el: the early Victorian era has set its mark. Epaulettes and revers of the deep, deeper and deepest variety, and Immense sleeves, both long and short, are the latest edicts. The most approved cut for these garments is a combination of blouse and drawers in one piece, the skirt being separate on a firm band of its own. if made in this way accidents are impossible. A Sensible Costume. The skirt should be long enough to reach just below the knee, and is usually made 23-4 yards wide. The first pattern shows a sensible and popular style, the ma- terial being dark blue flannel, with scarlet collar, belt and skirtband. The sleeves may be long or short, as the fancy dictates, but jthe long sleeve’ {s tabooed by those who have pretty, plump arms, as they are so often worn by young women whose angles evidence than curves. If a more elaborate costume be wished for than the one just described, make it after the third cut. More Elaborate. The original model was developed in black silk, with shoulder frill and girdle of scarlet silk. Then, with a bright bandana to tie up your curly locks, you will not have many rivals either on the sands or in the water. Or if something still brighter be desired, make {t of white flannel, with scarlet decorations. The effect of the latter ig rather frivolous, but decidedly chic. In Pale Gray Flannel. The next drawing shows a young lady | Who ts anxious to keep her arms and shoul- ders pretty and white, so has adopted hero- ie methods for doing so. The costume ts of pale gray flannel, with trimmings of black soutache braid. With this suit is wern a bright red, oiled taffeta hat, with a broad brim. The effect of this {s really bewitching when a pretty, youthful face is under the brim. Black silk stockings, with shoes combined, are worn with all these etumes. t emire vests fit y and hold the figure well in shape, il not be found necessary to wear cor. For stout women, a new corset has ap- which is admirably adapted for in the water. It consists of a peared, wearing bre 1 band of strong jean or cotton cordu- molded to fit and perfectly support the B. figure. Vv. K. Hair Renewer bas re- wl culor und prevented es. It will do #0 to ay balr to its ia thousands of bs a Shee THE EVENING STAR, ° SATURDAY, JUNE. £0, 1894—TWENTY PAGES, SOME SUMMER TYPES The People Are Always Frionds at the Resorts, FATHATRONS AND IRREPRESSIBLE BOYS The Novel Reading Girl and the One With a Beau. SUPPLY OF YOUNG MEN Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. HE TIME IS AL- Most at hand when there will begin that strange, short-lived season at the strange summer resorts; when the people that one never sees at any other time of year will come forth and show themselves for about six weeks and then will wholly dis- appear. Of course, these people have ex- istences during the rest of the year, and there is no doubt that we see them all the time without being fully aware of that fact, but we don’t know them as the same people that interested us so much when we met them at the seashore or in the mountains. They have their uwn homes in the city, whereas at the summer resort their home and yours are temporarily the same, and you thus study them and they study you. Here are a few of the most usual types: First of all there is that fine, stout, bux- om lady, who has come to the seashore to enjoy herself. She wears a good city gown for breakfast and a glerious evening gown for dinner, She wears considerable jewelry at all times, but at dinner she always wears | her diamonds. There comes down, after} she has been alone for a week or two, her husband. He, too, has his notion of sum- mer enjoyment, and he smokes all day and talks all day, and he and his wife take ene short walk a day. They are both extremely polite to the other guests, and on all oc- casions they wear their company manners. It is true the wife boasts somewhat. She is accustomed to having people respect her husband and perhaps to look up to him in the little household of which he is the head at home, and she desires the same treat- ment, if possible, in the big household of which he is not the head. She sits in the parlor in the evening and talks to the other stout buxom ladies who are there, and they mutually endeavor to impress upon each other an idea of their respective importance at home. As for her husband, he spends the evening smoking and talking on the porch. It is hard to conceive that they gather much excitement from their vacation, or much of genuine relaxation and ease, but they must enjoy themselves after their fashion, or perhaps they enjoy most the talking about it after they get home. | Of Uncertain Age. ‘Then there is the angular maiden lady, without whom no summer hotel is complete. She ts quite alone, but she soon knows everybody in the house, and then nobody | else ts alone, for she is a creature fond of ecming in to sit with you in your room, or equally fond of joining you on the piazza, or of walking with you. “After a very short acquaintance she feels that she knows you quite well and you have yourself received an elaborate account of her whole family, and have seen the picture of the nephew that she most particularly adores. That nephew, by the way, 1s always on the point of com- | ing down to pay her a visit, and when final- ly he does put in an appearance for a two days’ stay she trots him around and tntro- duces him to every man, woman and child | in the hotel, and even gives him a semi-| introduction to the waiters. ‘This excellent | lady never wears diamonds or glorious | evening gowns, and you have an uneasy feeling that she is very poor, and that some richer relatives have given her the money | with which she may take this vacation. She | 4s a very good soul, and it is to be regretted that she is not handsome, and that no one | has married her. If you are a charitable | man you feel this very strongly, and you perhaps wish you were ar emperor in order to compel some man to marry her, but you would not ike any one to compel you to do it. In a@ corner of the hotel veranda sits a mother and her two grown-up daughters. They are not pretty, and their appearance puts them in the middle class of life. AN day long they read novels, and in the even- ing the three take a walk together, and af- ter sitting together for a short time in the parlor they go to bed. They are never apart. At 8 o'clock in the morning they | file in to breakfast together, and they wait for each other to finish the meal, so that | they may not be separated. You may no- tice that they do not talk very much, but the only talking they do is to one another. They never speak to the other guests, and, | having stay t the hotel for three weeks, | they leave it, having made only one ac- | quaintance, and that one the day they left. It may happen to you that the next | winter you see a face on the’ street and wonder where you ever saw it before, until you finally remember that it was one of the family that occupied a corner of the | hotel piazza entirely apart from the other | people, and whom nobody knew and who| knew nobody. The Irrepressible Boy. It would not do in treating of this sub- ject to pass by the particular boy of the house, who acts as captain of the other boys. In whatever school he is being edu- cated, there is certainly no course in mod- esty, for this frank youth is on terms of rfect familiarity with everybody. He} Enoae the man who drives the hotel ‘bus | intimately and calls him by his first name, | and he speaks to the old gentleman who)! used to be a judge in very much the same way, and says “How d'ye do, judge,” with- | out the faintest idea that it would be proper if he took his hat off to the judge. He can tell you all about anybody in the hotel, and he is the one to inform you that the dis- tinguished-looking foreign gentleman whom you met strolling by the beach is the Ital- fan chef who reigns over the hotel kitchen. This boy has no respect for anything that 1s inactive, and he is death to your slumber or to any repose you may wish to take. The hotel pfazza is his favorite race course, and he and his band of followers make more noise than a steam roller as they troop around the hotel over the re- sounding planks. You don’t know exactly how to take this boy, and yet you are really afraid of him. You know that should you incur his displeasure he would be quite certain to take his revenge and render life very miserable to you. You wish he had been taught better manners, yet you cannot but feel that it is wrong to wish he had been drowned In his infancy. Every summer hotel that “takes children” has one or more of these boy But there is a grown-up boy at the sum- mer hotel that attracts even more atten- tion than falls to the lot of the noisy youth. This is the summer man, who ap- pears with flannels and tennis shoes and @ briar-wood pipe and a tobacco pouch worked by the fair hands of some one who must be in love with him. He goe§ in bathing, he walks, he plays cards, he leads the hotel german, he organizes picnics, he flirts with fifteen or twenty of the 300 girls at the hotel, but his usefulness in this line 1s impaired because of the hope- lessness of Hs ever being able to accom. plish anything where there are such over- whelming numbers to contend with. Final. ly the young man abandons any attempt at doing his duty in this line and flirts with one girl out of the 500. She accepts his homage complacently, and the other 2ug girls at once start a report of an engage- ment. The Delights of mdal. Then the hotel wakes up, and the angu- lar lady, and the stout, buxom lady, dnd all the rest of them have @ congenial occupa- tion in incessantly watching the couple that are reported to be engaged. The over- active, disrespectful boy is impressed into service, and a great deal of news he brings in. He tells it to one person, who tells it to another, and so on. Perhaps by some chance that it would really seem difficult to avoid the young man is seen kissing the young girl, and if so then there comes a perfect storm of gossip. There is @ small scandal at the hotel, and what could be finer? If the whole affair ends in smoke, if there is no genuine engagement, cnly one of those harmless summer fiirta: tions, the hotel community really feels ag- grieved. and suspects that it has been | cheated out of its rights. This young man whose advent is the real sensation of thc season at the hotel deserves more space than cun be given him here, but he comes under the general classification of ‘sum mer men,” of whom there are as many different varieties as there are of flowers. It would not be fair in speaking of the hotel habitues to overlook the great femak Lovel reader, whose voracious appetite for light literature in ye'llow paper covers is something simply incredible. If you come up the pathway to the hotel in the morn- ing you will find her in a shady ncok ot the piazza, with her feet supported upor the lower rounds of a second chair, dee in a new novel. As the sun shifts and in- vades her nook, she shifts her seat; other- wise she moves not till the time for luncheon arrives. Then she gets up, hugs the novel to her heart and walks in to take refreshment. Having finished she goes back to the piazza, or else to her room, if the weather is warm, and reads till’ dinner time, She appears in the dining room still hugging the book, and in the evening, by the light of a wretched lamp, with a whist party of old folks chatting away on one side of her, and a small riot insti- gated by the hotel boy in progress in the passageway on the other side of her, she still continues to read. She Escapes Harmle She ts of middie age and neither good nor bad looking. She wears some false hair in front, but it is not unbecoming. She dresses well. She has a daughter who does not care much for novels, Her husband is dead, which is not unfortunate, perhaps, as it gives her a chance to imagine that he pos- sessed all the amiable qualities of the dif- ferent heroes she spends her time with. A woman with a@ live husband would hardly care to read so much sentimental nonsense as she reads. Does she remember any of the books she reads? Do they make any im- pression on her? It is to be hoped not. If any human being absorbed as much trash as she reads every summer, she would be @ murderess, or @ lunatic, or both. If you talk to this novel reader you will find her entirely prosaic, from which it may be in- ferred that novels, like some Poisons, are innocuous if you swallow an overdose. if anybody supposes that this article 1s going to deal with the hotel belle, he or she is mistaken. The girls of the hotel are vastly in the majority, and the belle of the hotel is the one that catches one of the stray men that comes along, and these men are a little more numerous than the trout that the prospectus of the hotel declares are in the neighboring creek. Nobody ever sees the trout at all, whereas one does oc- casicnally see a young man at a summer hotel. But how the girl catches him, by what process she can get him to concen- trate on her rather than on some one of her numerous sisters, is too deep a question. it would be just as well to ask the number that wins a prize in the lottery why it should have woh rather than any other | number. ‘There is a fate about it. or luck, or something else that is beyond human ken. Sut it is probable that summer hotels do do something toward making a few mar- rages, but if any woman really is search- ing for a husbend she makes a great mis- take if she supposes she will be apt to find one there, —__—-__. SAVED! The Thrilling Rescue of a Bicycle Gtrl Who Hadn’t Learned How to Stop. From the Chicago Dally News, ‘The shades of night were getting In their work and the peace of a righteous com- munity was filtering through the atmo: jPhere. Brown and Jones were enjoying | thelr last cigars and conversing on stocks; there is nothing frivolous or flighty about Brown and Jones. Suddenly there came a swish of feminine skirts, a skurry of a bicycle and throuzh the darkened air a shrill wail faltered: “Oh, won't you please help me?’ Then a bicycle at full tilt sped across the street crossing and Brown and Jones stared at each other aghast. “O-o-ooh!" half cried the yeice of the disappearing rider. “What in thunder about?” gasped Jones, "Se Want help “She wasn’t tipping over Her wheel was all right ‘0 one was pursuing Help!” floated With one wild rush of alarm two cl; n and two reputab cried Brown. citizens went spinning Never since their college days have Jones and Brown made a running record like the one credited to that night's performance, with a movable goal for object. One block, two blocks, two and a haif and then the fleeing wheel with its sobbing rider came in view. With an extraordinary spurt Brown and Jones caught up, grabbed the handle bars and stopped the wild progress of the mod- ern Flying Dutchman. * began Jones. “How—" gasped . Who was stout and unpleasan:iy conscious of something ridiculous in the whole proceeding. ‘Oh,” not young and not fair. “Oh, how can I ever thank you! Oh, my goodness, what @ scare! I can ride, you know—just learned —but I can’t turn round and I can't mount | and I can't stop my wheel, and I was get- ting farther away from home every min- ute, and, oh, dear, what would I have done if— Jones coughed. In her excitement the dis- tressed lady was reposing against his shirt front. It was a fresh shirt fropt, and her act disturbed him, “Shall we get you started for home?” | queried Brown, who always had presence | outward evidences of what had been achiev- of mind. “Oh, if you would,” said the distressed lady, and then the two reputable citizens put her on her wheel, turned it «round, pushed her half a block and saw her dis- appear in the darkness, leaving a trail of inarticulate gasps, thanks, protests and exclamations in her wake. Silence fell over Lake avenue. and Jones stuffed their handkerchiefs into their collars and looked at each other medi tatively. Suddenly Brown went into con- vulsions. He grabbed Jones’ arin. “How,” he stuttered, “how, I say, is that fool woman going to stop when she does get home?” Then they sat down on the curbstone to recover and incidentally to calculate wheth- er the woman who hadn't learned how to make the wheel stop going round would eventually reach the north pole or be drowned in Lake Superior. “And yet,” Brown says scornfully when he tells the adventure, “yet some mis- guided mortals claim that women have sense enough to vote and decide the fate of the nation. Humph!” The way he say: ‘humph” makes the hearer wither right away—if the hearer is a | woman. soo THE RINGS OF A TREE. Much of the Past Weather and Cli- matic Conditions to Be Learned. From the Baltimore American. Almost every one is aware of the fact that when a tree is cut down its age can be determined by counting the rings, each of which represents a year’s increment, but closer observers find in the irregularities of these rings and other signs a very faithful register of climate and other conditions in any given year during the whole period of growth. The years of small rings, that is, of little growth, were either very cry or the tree was exhausted by bearing un ex- ceptionally heavy fruit crop. The broad rings indicate abundant rain and good growing conditions. Brownish spots on the cut surface, look- ing as if they were worm-eaten, are evi- dence of a severe winter, the young sep- wood formed in summer having been partly destroyed by the severe cold, and the in- jured part covered over with sound wood next year. The year may easily be fixed by counting the rings from the outside. If the layers of wood are not of uniform thickness all around, they afford evidence that at this stage of growth there were conditions which hindered its growth on one side. The spread of its roots or branches has been arrested, perhaps by a neighboring tree. The number of layers showing this irregu- larity indicates the number of years during which the tree was exposed to the unfa- vorable conditions. The student of forestry may learn lessons of practical value in the management of forests by a careful study of the annual rings. ———_ ++ Teaching Children. From the Philadelphia ‘Times. ‘Teach the children to discern right from wrong. Teach them that if anything seems wrong to them they are not to do It, no matter if people do say that it is proper, and that if it is right they must go on re- gardless of what people say. We are, doubtless, all familiar with households where er always asks, “What will peo- whenever a subject is brought up for consideration. Of course, a reasonable amount of respect ought to be paid to the rest of the world, and public opi often a healthful restraining power. take public opinion as a rule of action, and invariably be guided by {t. shows a weak- ness and lack of will and reasoning power. dowa Lake avenue. | quavered the feminine rider, who | Brown | A FAMILY FORMALITY From the New York Times. The Greenocks were fond of repeating the stcry in their early married days, before the moth and the rust had entered their king- dom. In fact, Its pleasurable endurance be came the initiation and test of their friend- ship. Henry would make many a shy jes‘ about his wife having done the courting, and Agnes would toss her head and blush and protest that “she didn’t care,” which, being translated from feminine cipher, meant that she did care very much and was quite proud of her conduct. Then, as the children grew up, they, too, became familiar with the recital; indeed, their earliest play of any imagination was an acting of Its details. Young Arthur got to tease his parents about it; but pretty Madge would have far sooner joked about Joseph and his brethren. The tale became a sucred legend to her, adding a romantic admuration to filial love. She never wearied of its repetition, and her flusheé cheeks and parted lips and sparkling eyes were in part the cause of its being stored away on the topmost shelf in the closet of family tradition. “Bless the dear little heart,” Agnes said one day to her husband, in that connubial confidence which is a shade less interesting than soliloquy. “We must get that silly yarn out of her head, or else one of these fine days she will be following my dreadful example.” And so, in their sapience, they ceased to speak of it, thus encouraging a maiden’s fancy to do its own fanciful edorn- ing. ‘The story so buried was as follows: Henry Greenock, when a penniless young graduate of Pierson, just scraping on the ash-heap of the law, had dared to make love to Agnes Blondeli, only child of old Blondel, who had acquired such riches (both unctu- ous and financial) in oil. Singularly enough, the millionaire, instead of enacting the stern parent from lowering eyebrow to tip of boot, had rather fancied the young at- torney, and thus their passion, belng ori- ented to this golden sun, had prospered in the light of its countenance. But there had come diificulties, springing from too much facility, as most difliculties do. Henry was proud in proportion to his poverty, and sensitive in proportion to his pride. Agnes was frivolous, and high-spir- ited enough to deem her frivoilty a right. | She loved sincerely; yet retained her dis- crimination. Henry was her chosen above all others; but still there were the others— she really liked to make much of them, too, it oniy for the sake of the delicious con- trast. And so there had been a quarrel, desperate words, and an ominous disappear- ance on the part of Henry; a judgment of “good riddance” growled by the disgusted oil king, and to Agnes, repentance and agitation and despair. She was so sorry, she wanted to sob her contrition; but how could she properly do so without an ad- jacent manly breast? Do what she could, She was unable to tind a trace of the rec- reant. At last she advertised for him success- \ fully, but at the expense of a great sensa- | tion—and of current rates. She had placed | the following personal in the most promi- nent newspaper of the metropolis: “Darling | Henry. Forgive me. Return at once to your brokenhearted A. B.” At least 80 (She had meant to write it; but in her emo- tion she had not only signed her full name, but had added her address. And people ‘had laughed and talked, and old Biondell sworn as only a2 oleaginous millionaire an Swear at the presumption of an unto- ward event, and Henry had come back, and wedding bells had sounded a joyous rec- onciliation. Such was ‘the misadventure which the Greenocks in their young days vaunted and in their ripe days ignored. Parental pru- dence, as has been seen, in part worked this change; but the dignity of prosperity {perpetuated it. Old Blondell died full of | years (and of oil) and left countless dollars, ach one of which Henry ait! Agnes soon came to regard as a reward of merit prop- erly bestowed. ‘They rapidly advanced into that middle-aged ‘state of complacence, Which is both puffy and pompous,and there, as if it were a seventh day, they rested. And in particular they did not suffer their memory to do any work. Why should they, indeed; since if change be recalled it may also be anticipated. The river Lethe right- ly borders the Elysian fields; and forgetful- ness is but another name for selfish sat- isfaction. The romantic preliminary to their marriage wes at variance to their respected decorous and opulent condition in which marriages are arranged; people, who have arrived, must put away childish things or their former absence becomes apparent. Does any one suppose that Agnes, at meet- ings of the Ethical Culture Club, ever con- fessed that once she flirted, or that Henry, tefore corporate boards, boasted of his col- | legiate taste for golden bucks and bitter | beer? Noblesse oblige; especially when it comes from oil. But Madge kept the tradition deep within |her heart. The flirting part of it had al-| Ways been expurgated in her presence; hence {t stood as the epitome of constant loyal devotion. Chivalry did not die when | | man abandoned the golden spurs; it lingers )@ holy spark in many a maiden’s breast. | When Madge returned home from her fin- ishing school, prettier, more winsome than | ever, her mother was well pleased with the | ed. Could she have looked within she would have seen ideals, purposes and as- pirations, rendered firm by purity and truth, | Which would have seemed signs of neglect to her, for a pincushiony bosom often gets to cover a pincushiony heart. But Madge | kept her gods within their chosen shrine where their worship since secret would be| sincere. Perhaps the time might come when she would have to defend them; she | | hoped not, for her spirit was light and joy- ous, well pleased with the good things | Which surrounded her as naturally as did the air. She hoped not, for she knew that then not to endure and not to suffer would | seem sacrilege to her. Heroism is a brute | instinct unless reason qualifies it with fear. | At this time Arthur was a sophomore at | Pierson, heartily emulating the fame which | his father had repudiated. In an endeavor to see all sides of college life, and thus gain a well-rounded education, he had formed | two friendships, one with Raymond Larned, |@ scholastic marvel, the other with Jack Barton, a convivial ‘prodigy; or, to use an ept classical comparison, With a very old Socrates and a very young Alcibiades. There was, however, a saving quality in each of these young men. A sense of humor kept the former from being a prig; a sense of honor kept the latter from being a rake. That spirit of frank, honest com- radeship which Pierson implants as an in- stinct bound Arthur and these two men- tors in a circle of intimacy. It was natural then that during the sum- mer they should all be together at the! Greenock country seat. And since there they both saw Madge, it was natural that the two guests should simultaneously and | with equal zest fall in love with her. In j ing, each one showed his nature. Was passionate, tender, devoted: deeming any number of words’ well lost. and peopling the universe with but his charmer and himself. Raymond, gallant—he would explain a Greek quota~ tion, or the precise epoch of a rock with infinite patience and consideration, But, as his studies had taught him to always seek the primal cause, he was deferential to his host and attentive to his hostess. With the one he discussed investments, and revealed ancestral thrift; to the other he confided the struggles of ‘his spirit for light. Thus, while Henry and Agnes thought considerably of Raymond as a coming young man, and coming their way, too, they thought no more of “Jack” than they did of the hobby horse with which Arthur had once also amused himself. Still, a straight road must always have an ad. vantage in distance, and parents are far more apt to look around a curve than are their children, Of course, there was an accident that summer. One might almost say that the country seat had been expressly provided with such a facility, similar to a “pre- serve,” but directly opposite in effects, for there was a small lake, surrounded by hills, nearby, and a crank little sailing boat. And {t' was Jack who dived and struggled and swam to the shore with the uncon- scious girl; she knew it, for she kad cried his name ‘as she sank! But then, Kay- mond was 60 prompt and efficacious in re. sources and remedies. It was he who fetched the blankets and the wraps and the whisky and quinine, and had set the serv. ants building fires and heating water and | 1 il of his having been present. Of course, 1e had helped her, just he would help 1er on with hef cloak or into @ carriage. Doubtless, too, he had been to blame for he boat's upsetting, but they were willing to balance the recklessness with what was ceally @ creditable action, and so he did not advance tn their estimation. In fact, with the weight of justice imposed, he could not fail to sink. So when the vacation was over, while Raymond was privately invited ‘o return with Arabie profusion, Arthur was secretly warned not to bring that hor- rid young Barton ever again. But what did Madge think of it all, after the boys had gone away, for there Ww: ample chance for reflection before the re- turn to the city? At all events, there was no uncertainty in her thinking, for she knew. When she had sunk in the cold, deadly waters, that cry and that name had come, unbidden, straight from her heart. When she had opened her eyes once more on the sunlight and the radiant skies, and could feel life and strength returning to every fiber, she had realized that nature seemed closer and more caressing, and that her vitality itself was changed. It had been restored, ah, yes! but as if from captivity, as if as u hostage! Thenceforward all personal interests were diverted and intensified and concentrated on the one who had responded so intui- tively to her call, At first this conviction displeased her. It made her feel older, and she had rejoiced in her youth. It made her feel anxious, and she had reveled in the careless freedom of a bird. Then, forth from her shrine came the oracles of her aspirations, reproaching, encouraging, sus- taining her, She studied Jack Barton’s yet unformed character, and perceived ‘its weaknesses, and she loved him for them. If, through her, he might become strong, would he not then be all the more her own? Hz had been earnest in half-uttered protestations at their parting, the more earnest for his very incoherence. They were both so young; in the lowest class of the school of life. Come, now; she would | stimulate him to be what he seemed to her he might be; this was her duty—how blessed its identity with happiness! Madge straightway told her mother these Secred communings of her heart—that is, she faithfully began to do so. But con- fidence cannot stand ridicule, and Agnes did laugh heartily enough. . “There, there, my dear child,” she protested. “That will do; I know it all. I felt the same way when I was a girl, oh, dozens of times! ! After you come out and see a little of so- ciety, you will take off those green spec- tecles, I do assure you. You can’t think how unbecoming they are. Meanwhile, I/ wouldn't interfere with your sweet,innocent | passion for the world. Certainly, you may icve Jack Barton forever; the sooner that is settled the quicker you'll forget him. But eS Was Not as ingenuous as her words. The supremacy of wifehood had given her vast reliance in her powers of management; just as an ant, doubtless, be- lieves {t can remove a mountain. No one need know who pulls the threads if the screen dnly be high enough. So she let Madge talk of her love as freely as she pleased, never arguing or retorting, but | simply smiling a mute reply. She knew that a smile cen force contempt insidiously through the stoutest armor of faith, and when Madge gradually ceased from talking | she readily believed she had ceased from thinking. Especially as she had been un- tiring im distractions; especially as Jack Barton’s visit was never repeated, and that emiable philosopher, Raymond Larned, kept coming with augmenting ardor. Such a nice young man, so well equipped with solid, substantial wealth! By the time Arthur's senior year had dawned, Agnes was quite in the habit of confiding to sundry intimate friends that really there was something between her> little girl and that distinguished Mr. Lar- | ned. It was quite absurd, you know, at} their age, but stili—and here her eyebrows and hands would graciously complete the respected the confidence as sundry intimate friends always do, by whispering that it was disgraceful how that old cat had fished | for that poor Raymond Larned. Thus dis-| playing their malice in the very incompati- | bility of the mixed metaphor. j Yes, Madge had ceased from talking, for she perceived its inutility; but silence is | fecund of meditation and discernment. She | appreciated her mother's petty worldly | schemes far better than !f she had been | that good woman's conscience, for her | mental qualities had not yet been fickled in vanity. She perceived, too, that the wall | of a general understanding was being built | around her and Raymond. When the time came she would push {t over, never fear! As far as he was concerned, he could not have the slightest misapprehension as to sentence. And the sundry intimate friends | © her preference; if he persisted, it was be- | cause with eyes wide open io the fruit) being beyond his grasp, he doggedly waited | for others to upraise him. Meanwhile, she | | rested content. She had seen “Jack” once or twice, through her brother's mediation; | | for Arthur had the true Pierson sympathy | | with the under dog. She had pointed out to | him, ah, so timidiy, ah, so tenderly, that tf, | a he so fondly boasted, he rarely felt that | he was blessed above all men, then there | was an obligation on bim to prove that he | had received far less than his deserts. And | “Jack” had gone back to college, like one | who has left an angel bearing a tinge of the divinity with him. Alcibiades, the idier, mow went to the wars, and was showing himself a gallant soldier. Why should not | Madge rest content, indeed; she knew her- | self, and oh, how implicitly she believed in | Jack. The June of senior year came, and Agnes deliberated as to whether she had best take Madge, and, as the beautiful mother of a more beautiful daughter, grace the festivi- ties of commencement at Pierson. She did not hesitate long; poor Jack Barton was the only argument contra, or, as she felt, con- trary; in favor there were Arthur's gradu- ation and Raymond’s honors, and her own personal gratification; of course she decided, and of course they went. So low, then, had poor Jack Barton's chances fallen that they had not even the thistle-down weight requisite to start an anxious mother’s doubts. Yet the news of such ignoring did not perturb him a whit; he plumed himself mightily, like a good knight, who, having worthily made his de- voirs, was waiting to be crowned by the Queen of Love and Beauty, As for Ray- mond, he felt that the time had come when, upraised by maternal encouragement and the constant congratulations of friends, he would be able to grasp the darling fruit. Arthur surveyed his two comrades with fraternal amazement. He wished that he had two sisters, since his sort seemed to possess such an exalted value. As, however, that was a little arrangement ‘which he could not very well consummate, he did feel sorry for old Larned. The Greenocks arrived quite ten days be- fore commencement, and Raymond started in on his campaign at once. The post of | cavalier to this charming young girl was) generally conceded to him, and admiring classmates were as sincere as they were profuse in felicitations regarding his young lady. Poor Jack Barton was not in eyt- dence at all, unless the bunch of violets which each day expired on Madge’s bosom could be deemed an unobtrusive exhibit. And yet even Jack's sternest critics ad- mitted that he had come up wonderfully in | the past two years; while his friends, named legion, boasted of the credit that his scholarship and literary skill refiected on the college. And Raymond was jealous of those same tranquil flowers, and altogether found but a shadowy happiness in the possession of a shadow. He tried so hard, too, painfully elaborating traditions and fairly sweating over time-honored jokes. But Madge, while sweet tempered—that is, natural—was not responsive. Her soul was no more in her | words than there is soul in a phonograr She was gravely considering how to pro- duce an irremediable situation. It was Raymond himseif who furnished | the clue, for flat-footed men are most read- ily tracked. One day he was maundering in a hopeless sort of way about the ap proaching publication of “The Pierson An- {tort of a German second-class. nual,” of which he was one of the editors, when he detected unusual interest in his companion’s face. What could it mean Was Madge, too, touched by that passion for writing, a distemper peculiarly virulent toward her sex? At all events he would follow so favorable a theme, and vow, if needs be, that every dewdrop was ink proper size. “The Annual,” he proceeded, “Is really considered quite an event of commencement week. It is an epitome of collegiate wit and | wisdom. It js a directory to the university world. If one does not see or hear whut one wants it tells one where to see or hear it. It will be issued just on the eve of senior | promenade, and you may be eure all our | fair guests wil eagerly study it. Why, it might be called the ‘Belle’s Vade Mecum—" Mz. Larned,” asked Madge, solemnly, ill you do a favor for me?” “Oh, a thousand,” protested the young man, “Anything, everything... The devotion of a life, the very heart's blood—” racing for doctors ere any one else had caught one’s breath. Perhaps “Jack’’ might have seemed ex- cusable for this difficulty, had he not been so undeniably discourteous, for he had barely endured the hysterical embraces of Agnes and had replied, “It’s nothing,” after Henry had asserted how great his obliga- tion was. Raymond, on his part, had been hearty in congratulations to the father, and c in salts and sympathy for the Gratitude in most breasts is a sickly plant and requires constant encouragement. After a little the Greenocks, husband and wife, came to think that Jack’s saving of Madge was very much of an essential de- “One will y. — wpe continued Madge. “And it wi proof of your sin- cere, unselfish friendship. Oh, the volume of cold water contained in those last three words. simple, frank appeal it was forever ex- tinguished. But he promised his services, however, in terms of which a Bayard might have been proud. And who knows? j which ft j of the froit that p ing and more free from fear and reproach in deed than in manne>. It was the night of the senior promenade. Agnes was tn full regalia like Solomon in all his glory; when to her thus ed in readiness came Madge, a lily of “Mamma,” said the girl, softly, a is down stairs waiti and Ji with him.” a _ “That won't do at all,” asserted the matron, vigorously. “I shall send ws about his business in a jiffy. The vmond, of course, must go with us, yhat would people think?" ‘But, mamma,” pleaded Madge, “have you ‘seen the Annual?” and she érew ® Sony of this immortal work from under het wrap. “What ails the for that trumpery me see it. ever!” Ra; wi ne: “My engagement with Mr. Jack Bartom of the senior class ts hereby announced. ‘MADGE GREE: “There, there,” said Agnes, good-netured- ly enough, after a moment. “Don't muss me, and for goodness sake don't snivel, oF your nose will be red. muke the best of it, as I always have toy but what on earth will your father say? “I think he will " cs agree with you, — lear,” suggested Madge, demurely. she jaughed, “I do believe she wouldn't | have considered her engagement — wd not announced it herself in ‘culous way, just because her mother did something quite as silly ever so years ago. It’s quite a family f Of course, match. Such a bright blood, and all that, the Bartons of Arm- way, pon snow, and Arthur's most intimate imagine that ni = pe ae best man.” ee ut the sharp young collegians at least Understocd every in and out of the litle transformation. How they swarmed around Madge, fairly worshiping in her that loyaity which men always do worshipl How they slapped Jack Barton on the back. for the luckiest of lucky dogs, and him as a jolly good fellow. And if ther whispered encomiums did not bring to Ray- mond Larned ali that ecstasy which LJ Tupper can descry, still they proved vo him that out from an unselfish act there does come manful consolation. young man, RAILROADS They Grant the Traveler Abendaneg of Time to View the Scenery. From the Boston Transcript. writes: “The Spanish people are the most amiable obliging people in the world. Their is of @ genuine nature and touches the hear§ in the way Gallic suavity never doea We have often stayed at inns where ne lane suage but Spanisa is spoken, and, with @ very limited vocabulary, have got on exe tremely well, owing to the quickness 3. sympathetic understanding and pleasang tempers of the people. You cannot ones about or bully even 4 Spanish servant ail are conscious of descent from the Uhat 1s, Im their notion, a Taiber more an- cent and important lineage than over in the alaynower.’ she m them vit their bools to Mave them cicaned after @ walk at 10 © clock im the torenvon! ‘Travele ing in Spain is a matter of mcreamug fae “the trains are slow according to oup rushing American ideas, but why should one wisk to hasten to rapidly through beautiful or picturesgue scenery? it Worth while to tke ten minutes to pass @ jovely Waterfall or mouutaim gorge. The railroads and their slowest traims are, at all events, & Vast improvement both ta speed and im Comrort over che diligences of the days when there were no railroads in Spaime For out-of-the-way (reveling they are stall common enough. In Granada we sew the duigence come rolling in from Lanjaron ig the Sierra Nevadas one day, aud it looked old and Ume-stained enough to be the one that Granada knew in the duys of Washing> ton Irving, sixty years und more ago. Tae Urst-class carriages are all good un ine ralle ways, the second-class vary, apparenuy ae cording to luck, from the qualiiy of an Bae glish fourth-class up to the upholstered come ror night travel (and the long journcy over Don Quixe ote’s plains of La Mancha, between Madri@ and Cordova, is usually mace at night ig the express trains) there are nice, funny lite Ue sleeping cars, or the passenger may have & private berlma—a rort of huif couch—for i0 per cent of his fare extra, where two peo= je, with traveling rugs, may sicep in eles ant and secluded comfort. ‘Ihis is over the Medrid, Saragossa and Alicante road, rather, the Zaragoza road, as they spell on the spot, and the initials of the M, Z and A, constanUy remind the American whe knows the west of the M., K. and T., how perverse the association which hitches the Missouri, Kansas and Texas, even im thought, to the line from the wonderful pies ture gallery of Madrid to the battle plaing of Seragossa!” sd A Book Luncheon. From Demorest’s Magazine. Here is a luncheon designed even to thé minutest detail by a clever person, who ie a leading light in one of the smartest liters ary clubs of New York. On the center of the square, black oak dining table was lai@ an immense sheet of blue blotting paper, and on this was arranged a very super crystal and silver writing set, around which: in groups were gathered most exquisite editions de luxe, in miniature, of Shakes- peare, Montaigne, De Musset and that formed a part of the series of discussed during the winter by the club, Outside the rank and file of dainty little books, gathered about the bive blotting ran a wreath of green iaurel leaves, either end of the tabie, im glass globes charmingly etched to show on them map of the world, were huge clusters rosy mountain laurel blossoms. At every, late lay a wee sheepskin-covered pame phiet bearing on its leaves, in illuminated text, a verse or two appropriate to the special charms and talents of every gu! a menu leaf, and the outline of the ne: season's reading for the club. More tham this, every guest found also on he~ napkig. her name card. It was large, square, a bore her name, surrounded by wreath laurel done in water colors; above it ap= peared the crest and motto of the club, and through the card, holding to it a knot of blue ribbon, the club's color, was th a silver pin, the head of which was a silv laurel wreath. ——-se-+ — ‘The Danger of Water Filters, From Demorest’s Magazine. Somewhat of a surprise was created fee cently by Dr Swarts of the Rhode Isian@ Medical Society, who declared that water filters, as regards (heir worth for purifying water, are a faliure. According to t noted scientist, not alone are they worth- less as water purifiers, but their use is exe tremely dangerous to health. As proof of this assertion, Dr. Swarts took some until. tered water, in which he showed thirty-ctg different specimens oi nil and vegets ble matter, poured this throush a filter wh! had been in use fer two d and creat considerable surprise by pr ° that ow the water parsed through the fiter there were thousands of new germs added to it, In explanation of this the doctor says that as the filter is used from day to Gay It cole jects the impure substances, and these, as is readily seen, render the water more ims pure than when no filter ts used at all; so that unless some method Is devised’ by rs can be thoroughly cleaned at least once a day, it is discretion to disposs of their use entirely. ~—n soe An Enemy to Cholera. From Demorest’s Magazine, So inimical to the cholera bac‘llus are oranges and lemons that if the bacteria be placed in contact with the cut surface of the fruits they survive but a few hours; an@ even if placed on the rind of the whole fruit they will not live longer than twenty> four hours. It is supposed to be the aci@ ‘sses this destructive power. Owing to valu: property in these fruits no resirictions are placed on their transit and sale, even when ft is known that they were grown in infected districts. ———_ +e+ The Height of Courtesy. From Life. Bingo—“Is that friend of yours from Kentucky going to be here tonight to see our firework Mrs. Bingo. ‘I expect him, my dear.” hen 1 guess 1 ‘would bette suakes out of the program.” leave Unose ~