Evening Star Newspaper, May 4, 1895, Page 16

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1895-TWENTY PAGES. IN CRINKLED GOODS The Crepon Now Comes in Cottons, Silks and Linens. POINTS ABOUT SKIRTS AND WAISTS The Glory and the Brilliancy of the Modish Bodice. TO WHITE DUCK AS Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. OST EVERYTHING a, is crinkled for the summer season, not even excepting the temper of the dear patient men who have to foot the bills. Wool crepon started the craze, and now it comes in cottons and silks, wools and linens for gowns, and as for the bodice fabrics, its vagaries are something won- Gerful to contemplate. People are getting just a little tired of the crepon, and before the season is over everything will be as smooth as can be again. But just now do have a crepon if you can afford it. There ls an exquisite semi-transparent silk crepon that simply knocks the spots off of any lace or grenadine that was ever manufactured. It accomplishes the same thing for a five- dellar bill for each yard purchased, too, but it will be a thing of joy and a beauty long after lace of the same cost is in the rag bag. One of the newest crepons is striped, and another has Pompadour flow- ers down one stripe, and the alternating stripe is of lace. It is simply gorgeous. These crepons are to be made up simply over silk slips, and have not even a ribbon bew to trim them. Trimming would be a crime on such rich material. The heavy skirts with so much fullness in the back are driving women nearly dis- tracted, because of the weight, and the underskirt is being retired for a time at lecst. In its place dressmakers are fash- icning a long princess corset cover and skirt made in one piece of very light un- lired silk to match the dress with which it is to worn. Or if light-colored silk is preferred, then some good washable shade of the India and Habutai silks is selected. The skirt fits smoothly and easily over the lips, and is not’ over two yards wide at the bottom which strikes about the upper part of the ancles, with two or three lace-trim- med ruffles for a finish. The latest skirts are made with a steel in the bottom, so that they do not need the aid of the under- skirt to keep them from flopping about the heels, It is probable that the weight of the new skirt will be its own death knell. Pity it wouldn’t ring right away, too, for pretty and stylish as they are they are regular woman killers. Round waists are quite the thing for the youthful form, and are still to be seen on imported gowns for all alike, but the very latest creations show a tiny point back and front, one that is quite sharply out- lined, and nearly all fasten under the arm or in the back. Of course, there are a few matrons who have long passed their first youth who will have their bodices fastened up the back, but they will be laughed at by good dressers. The “elderly” woman has been shoved pretty well into the back- ground by fashion, but there are a few styles that she must let alone, unless she would appear ridiculous. All the seams on a bodice are supposed to be covered. This may be accomplished h vandyke points, passementerie, velvet ribbon or straps of ribbon with tiny bows. Ribbon in either silk or velvet trims almost every bodice; straps, bands, nows and rosettes—you must have somewhere about you, and with the pretty new cottons, sashes will be worn. The velvet bodice dies hard, and an occa- sional one {s seen, making its wearer look hot and worried, but the place for“t right now is in a camphor-lined box, away from moths and the sun. The soft silk and satin bodices, with the thinnest of linings, have taken their place in the every-day garb, and they get prettier every minute. One of the popular combinations is black. satin, with the three pleats back and front, edged with narrow white lace. They are very swell looking, but must be worn with an “air.” Such a pity that “air,” like “‘capac- ity,” is not a purchasable quantity. Flowers everywhere! There never was anything like it. And they are all so won- derfully perfect in coloring and so like the real that bees and butterflies ouzht to be forgiven for the attempt to suck 3weetness from them, since “folks” -don’t know any better than to sniff at crepe pa- per flowers for per- fume, as happened in a swell west end house last week, much to the discom- fiture of the caller when she found her face buried in scent- less paper imitations of jacqueminots. The flowers from Paris are simply huge, and, oh, so gorgeous. One peppy or a single rose with a leaf or two will make a whole bonnet, but a woman looks funny under one of them. Makes one think she ts say- ing all the time “for I’m to be gueen of the May, mothe Garlands of daisies, lilacs, for-get-me- nots, roses and violets, arranged with their own foliage, form bretelles on evening corsages and are bunched in huge panaches on the shoulders. They are also worn as ruches, either by themselves or set in lace frills, and they are pretty anyway you can fix them up. Head coverings are more flowers than hat. There Is’a bizarre taste for putting flowers in pairs about hat crown will accommodate with a little crowd- and as many intermediate shades as the crown wil accommodate with a little crowd- ing. The effect is outre rather than pretty, but above a pretty face it 1s rather fetch- ing, it must be admitted. All the dressing now is from the belt up. Skirts are as plain as pipe stems, but bodices look iike an advertisement for a bazaar. Silk is be the founda- tion, as it Is now al- most as cheap as cotton. Over that is lace and __ ribbon, passementerie and \ puffs, most anythir that you take a fanc to and can find a place to put it. Fancy fronts are par- ticularly affected to wear with the dressy little jackets and capes. A very pretty adjustment of chif- fon, to be worn over waist of bright color, is made back and ront alike, in the full effect so popular. The yoke is of fine, firm lace with a ruche of the same on a band of ribbon yelvot, either of black or matching the color of the waist. The belt bows and yoke band are of the same. The chiffon is stretched to fit closely “at the sides and to hang) full in the front and back, with full ruf- fles over the shoulders. Another illustration is for the front of the bodice only and has a pretty arrange- ment of lace attached to the collar and falling from a ripple to the belt, with a resetted collar band. At the bottom the chiffon is made into a double ruffie and is to be worn without a belt. An odd neck “fixin’” has a wrinkled band in front and the bow at the back, with the buckle and frill of iace very much in evidence. A hat that seems made to match this collarette is of loose open-work straw turned squarely up in the back and an immense bow across under the edge of the brim, with a buckle to match that on the neck. The outside is smothered under plumes. All the women are going to wear white duck this season. A duck of a girl in a fetching white duck dress is just about as cute a creature as one could well imagine, but don’t essay white duck gowns unless you can keep your hand on your purse and not wince, for a tumbled duck dress—and it tumbles quicker than any other kind of starch- ed materialis a tacky looking gown. A pretty design for a duck gown, and one that will launder comparatively easy, has plain skirt, with a band of fine embroidered in- sertion outlining a double skirt. The bod- ice {s cut out in a square neck, outlined with the embroidery, and extends over the arm in cap-like fashion. It has two darts in front and a ripple skirt with a band of the embroidery for a narrow belt. The bodice fastens in the back with small pearl buttons. The odd thing about it is that it is worn with a silk guimpe and sleeves, and has two lace shoulder caps, rather a novel combination, but stylish. Of course every woman is adding to her stock of wash gowns every day. One can’t have too many if one would be fresh and dainty looking all the time. A charming design for a print has a plain, full; unlined skirt, and ar ound-waisted unlined blouse with elbow sleeves. The ruffles down each side of the waist and the front of the skirt are of white embroidery edged with the brightest color in the print. You can get embroideries in almost any color now. Another example in lace-trimmed duck has alternating Vandykes of large and small Pointe de Venice, and the perfectly plain waist, fastened under the arm, has a gir- dle effect in the lace. A simple, but stylish, evening dress for a young lady in her first season is fashioned of pink and white striped silk, and trim- med about the foot with rows of insertion and a flounce of embroidery, and a full bertha of the embroidery outlining the round neck. ———._—_ SOCIAL AMENITIES. Scraps of Conversation of the Enter- tained About Their Entertainers. By Mrs. Burton Harrison. The banquet ended, many of the ladies, summoning their husbands, take fight almost immediately. They have other en- gagements and must get on, and the hos- tees, who fs glad the thing is so nearly over, does not urge them to remain. Hardly have the connublal couple again taken their place in their carriage than remarks like these are heard: “That is certainly the worst cook they ever had.” “I shouldn’t mind that so much if his champagne hadn't been sweet and cheap.” “The mushrooms were like leather, and that shrimp sauce to the fish tasted like a dishrag.” “Oh, I never take the kickshaws, but I did expect the saddle of mutton not to be overdone. And the canvas backs were simply atrocious—an imposition upon so- ciety.” “And such stupa people. I was bored to death. One comfort is we won't have to dine there again this year.” At a ball one may hear two old stagers of chaperones sitting against the wall talking in this wise: “Pretty good. But nothing new. There is so much sameness in all these things, don’t you think so?” “Can't say much for the cotillon favors. Where do you suppose she got them?” “Haven't an idea. But they must have spent lots of money on the whole thing. Don’t believe it will make that plain girl of theirs go, anyhow.” ‘No” (smothering a grievous yawn). “What time do you suppose it is? I told Mabel she had got to come away at 2:30, and if I have to stay much longer at this place, I'll simply die.” “Everything they give hangs fire in my opinion. But this Is certainly rather worse than usual. Goin’? Good-bye. I envy oe . . . ; At a musicale. The first half of the pro- gram is just concluded. The audience chat. “Dear me. I'm glad of a chance to open my mouth again. I thought that violon- cellist would never stop. And then to think of their encoring him, just as we hoped it was all over.” “Who was the contralto? Rather a nice voice, but such poky German songs. If you hear one, you hear all of that kind of a repertoire. Besides, nobody cares to listen nowadays, unless it’s one of the people from the opera. I suppose we shall have another dose of her in the last half.” “If that's to .be all gone over again I know what I'll do. Sit out on the stairs and have some fun.” “They say our host engaged to pay —_a perfectly fabulous sum to come here and sing three songs, and that when —— heard how the people kept talking in the halls while the music was going on, he just went away in a rage.” “Very pretty story to make us think they had engaged him. Don’t believe a word of it. They've just put us off tonight with second rates; and, with all their money, it isn’t a bit fair.” “Oh, well. What does it matter if every- bedy ‘wars all her jewels and you can look at the ‘crowned heads?” “Yes, there is something soothing in listening to Wagner while one fs studying new gowns. You certainly get a better chance to see how they are made.” “All the same, this music business 1s be- ginning to be run into the ground. I'll de clare, I'd almost as soon listen to an au- thor’s reading. Z “Not that! ae conversation comes to an abrupt alt. Written for The Evening Star. Thelma. Thelma! Thelma! Pride of the Northland— Daughter of Beauty, Sister of Song, Fairest of all the fair daughters of Norway— All the bright Graces to thee belong! Pure! Pure! Snow of thy N Drifted o'er valley, mountain Ts not more white than the fair soul of Thelma, Guileless of evil, thoughtless of ill. Lovely! Lovely! Bright stars of heaven Shine through the cold air far in the north Looking less bright than the beauty of Thelma— Falrest to look upony fairest in worth. —HARRY McGAW WOOD. -__—_—_ Afrald of Water. From the Detroit Tribune. “hoot that dog, sah.’* “But, major—" “Shoot that dog, sah. me, sah.” “Major, I “If you don’t shoot that dog, sah, begad, gab, the brute will have hydrophobia, sah.” He has just bitten WOMAN’S BEAUTY Some Suggestions in Regard to the Care of the Complexion. THE USE AND ABUSE OF SOAP The Liver and Digestion Should Be in Good Condition. FOR ROUGH SEINS Written Excisively for The Evening Star. NE OF THE MOST hopeful signs of the age is the evident de- sire of women to seem robust, wheth- er nature has been kind or not in the way of providing them with constitu- tions. It is not so many years ago that @ woman’s sole am- bition seemed to evince itself in a de- sire to be thought She must not walk lest she tire herself. She must not ride horseback, because the exercise was too violent. She must not move rapidly, because it was un- @ignified. Color in her face was considered ccarse, and she ate chaik and lead pencils, drank vinegar and plastered herself with white lead to reduce her symptoms of good health. Indulgence of a good appetite was all but a crime, and any exuberance of spirits was frowned upon most severely as unbecoming a “genteel” woman. It was so when my grandmother was young, but she was so fond of boyish pur- suits, hunting, fishing, riding to hounds and the like that she got the name of “tom- boy,” and while she gained in health and personal appearance she was the despair of her mother,and was called “masculine” and “advanced.” If all tom-boys could develop into women of her physique, and grow old as gracefully as she did, then the sooner schools for that sort of culture are opened the better. The girls are all at home again. I pre- sume that is what has set my mind to running on the tom-boy subject. Dorothy been in the west with Elaine, and Lovise, Bobbie, Nora and Jennie joined her there the Ist of March. From the looks of those girls they must have been housed in a tent and herding with their horses; in fact, Dorothy says they did nearly live on horseback, and a look at their faces 1s proof of that statement. They are as brown as gypsies, rosy as sun-kissed peach- es, and have appetites like Comanche In- dians, and they are all in such abounding good health that they actually carry about with them an atmosphere of animal spirits that is exhilarating to everybody they come near. delicate. Tan on the Face. Dorothy was nearly fagged out when she went with Elaine to their big California ranche, and when the girls went a little later it was with some misgiving that I saw them off, they seemed so spiritless and unlike what girls of their age ought to be. It has been a little lonesome without them, but I have had a good rest and it was quite a comfort to be able to lay my hand on the last magazine when I wanted it, and to be sure that my favorite pen and pillow were in their proper places instead of being in the library, or Dorothy’s room, or on the window sill in the guest chamber or any place, save where they ought to be, but, on the whole, I'm glad they are back. We were all sitting about the fire in my room last evening, enjoying the cheery blaze and discussing the shopping expedition of the day—the shop girls and dressmakers have had to suffer since those girls got back— when Bobbie suddenly announced that she had purchased a bottle of face bleach that she had seen highly recommended, and proposed to the girls that they all try it. I caught my breath in consternation! I had scolded them not a litte for getting so tanned, but I really had no idea that I had made any of them as desperate as that. “You'd better let face bleaches severely alone, Bobbette,” remarked Elaine, before I could give utterance to my remonstrance. “The tan will wear off. We are several shades whiter than we were when we left El Morte, and I would rather remain as brown as a Mexican than experiment. with unknown preparations.” “Oh, but I discovered today that there are freckles right across my nose that I couldn’t see when the tan was so thick,” wailed Bobbie. “I never can be Bess’ maid of honor and wear white tulle with freckles on my nose. Never,” she ended, striking an attitude. “I can give you a recipe that will clear both tan and freckles off your face in twen- ty-four . ours,” responded Elaine, with a twinkle in her eyes that meant mischief; but Bobbie didn’t see it, so tumbled right into the trap. “Oh, do tell it to me quick. I'll begin to use it right this minute.” “You will have to wait till morning to apply it, I fear,” said Elaine, gravely. “It isn't quite ready to begin taking, or, at least, it wasn’t when I was in the kitchen a few moments ago; but Jude will have it all prepared by morning.” “Jude! Why, what has she to do with it?” asked Bobbie, suspiciously. The Ironing Bourd Recipe. “Everything, in this house at least,” said Elaine. “My recipe is a hot kitchen full of steam from the tea kettle, a good ironing board, nice hot ‘flats’ and a big basket of clean clothes; the dose to be taken with enough energy to heat the blood to the perspiring point and keep it so for about six hours, drying the moisture on a clean, soft towel about every ten minutes, fol- lowed by a warm bath and an hour's sies- ta, after which you may dress and dust your face with a little powder to take off the shine, and appear like a rosebud fresh bathed in dew.” “Theoretically, that may be all right, but praetically it appears to me to present dif- ficulties, as I doubt if Jude could be hired to trust her beautiful white clothes to our unpracticed hands,” observed Nora. “Wouldn't a Turkish bath answer quite as fee No, because the exercise of muscle and getting the blood to course through the veins through the exertion attached to the ironing is quite as beneficial as the “sweat- ing’ process. But if you want a nice, pleasant face bleach, and one that is per- fectly safe, steam your face.” “Oh! I thought you didn’t believe in steaming the face,” was the surprised chorus. “And I do not, generally speaking; but there are times when it is beneficial. Polson is" good medicine sometimes, but an over- dose of it is disastrous. Now, let me tell you how to get rid of El Monte’s tan. Like charity, I think that a good complexion covers ‘a multitude of sins, and I took a thorough course in ‘skin study’ from a celebrated specialist who was a friend of papa's, just because I wanted to be scien- tifically informed. He said that while the bath tub was the place to make the start for improving the skin, there was great danger that unthinking people would only add to thelr troubles by washing all thé life out of their complexion. He recom- mended both Turkish and Russian baths, to be taken as often as once a week, but no oftener. The steaming the face then re- ceived was sufficient. No Soup on the Face. If only a tub bath was taken, the face might be steamed once a week, and that he constdered often enough. So do I, except in extreme cases, like Bobette’s. He sald, further, that no woman should use soap on her face, and that he had had the care of women who never used a drop of water on their faces! Oh, you needn‘t groan,” she sald, laughingly, as the girls looked their horror at that propositioa. ‘Some of the most beautiful women in ‘the world, and those who have retained their youthful complexions to a ripe old age, had not washed their faces in thirty’ years—in water, I mean. Patti has a skin like a baby Cupid. She is an earnest advocate of baths for all but the face; for that she uses olls, cold cream and massage, “The body, clothed away from the wind and sun, retains its natural oils and grows healthy ‘on its one or two bathings a day. But the face is exposed to sudden and se- vere atmospheric changes, to flying atoms of dust, to the drying and trying heat of unventilated hou; the tanning effects of wind, the burningby the sun’s rays, and it needs different treatment. In the first place, you can’t hope to have a good com- plexion unless your liver and digestion are in good order. Qorrecting their faults will usually cure heat lotches pad pimples that worry you. Anifyou must look inward for. the seat of that evil; all the lotions and washes ever invygnted will fail to help you if the sewers of {he system are clogged. Soap and Water. “Tf one’s skin is Yraturally very oily, then soap might be used, but always at night, just before retiring, so that the skin will have a chance to recover before going out in the air. If you,use water on the face, and,of course, the average woman prefers to, use soft water. “Boil the water if hard, and let it settle, then pour off in a pitcher, and use it for your face, always a little warm, and never put borax or ammonia in the face water excépt in unusual cases. Both of them dry and crack the skin, Never wash the face when very warm. It will only make you feel uncomfortable and roughen your skin, and it will accomplish about the same if you are very cold. If you must wash your face in a basin, use a pint of milk. Milk is softening and cleansing and it feeds the skin, Some people think that using oils and ointments on the face will make the fine hair grow thicker. I think not. Hair will grow where nature intended it to, and nothing will coax it to grow elsewhere. “One who uses cosmetics of any kind should be careful to remove every vestige of it before retiring. There are a thousand simple remedies for rough skin and among them one is sure to find a few that will suit individual needs, but with complexion remedies, as with medicines, what is one man’s meat is another man’s poison, so all that one can do is to test those that have been tried or that come properly recom- mended by reputable people, and having found the thing that seems to suit, stick to it.” The Steaming Process. “But you haven’t told me a word about how to steam my face,” remonstrated Bobbie, as Elaine paused. “Oh, that is easy enough. Fill a basin with boiling water and set it in a chair, then throw a blanket over yourself,envelop- ing the chair, and hold your face over the steam. After it begins to perspire freely dry your face and rub it with white vase- line for five minutes, then get more hot water and steam again. Then take a wine- glass full of lemon juice to which has been added half a pint of rain water, and rub your skin full of that. It will sting and smart, but keep it up for a few moments, then, just before retiring, rub your face and neck with white vaseline and sleep with it on. You'll be three shades whiter by morning. Do that every other night for a week.” “And my hands?’ holding up her brown paws. “Oh, your gloves will cover them and it won't make any difference about their color. Some day I'll tell you how to soften them.” And then they went off to “bleach” them- selves. I wish you could have seen the con- dition of their rooms when they got through. SENORA SARA. ——— FASHIONS IN HOSE. Some of the Moderm Designs for the Femitine Feet. The French woman dresses from the feet up, the American woman from the head down, so “they say,” but if proof of the falsity of this statement is desired, one has but to look, !nythe shop windows at the newest thfhg fh boots and stockings. What a woman does not spend on sleeves she seems determined to spend on stock- ings. Some of them are fine enough for gloves. There has been a wonderful change =a in “stocking taste” in the last few years, and true re- finement in a wo- man is pretty thor- oughly evidenced by the contents of her _ Stocking bag. ‘The bizarre stripes of pfismatic hues are no longer worn, and * tha choice is for sol- ¢id ‘colors in pale sbadea. “White fs out of date with anything but a white gown, : » -and never then, ex- cept the shoe be white also. Black’ silk and lisle thread are first favorites, of course. Until you, seeythem you would searcely believe jthat. there could be so many vagaries in black. Some of the long, shapely silk things have only the drop- stitch stripe, while others are handsomely embroidered in black, and some in bright colors. Others yet -are “inlaid” with duchess or rose point lace over the instep and up the front of the leg half way to the knee. Such stockings only cost $35 and on up. Of course they are never washed, and the occasion on which they could be shown would be a very grand one indeed— unless one wanted them to display among one’s laces with other bric-a-brac. Some of the more elegant black silk stockings have a beautiful lace-like instep woven in the stocking, and for evening wear there are cobwebby silk hose with lace insteps, and often the design out- lined with gems, seed pearls being the most popular—if a frerzy that costs $75 could be characterized as “popular.” Of course such stockings as have just been spoken of are only for house or evening wear, but some women, who seem to have “money to burn,” wear them on the street with Oxford ‘ties. It is bad taste, but having acquired such wearing apparel, they have the right as free-born American citizens to explolt their atrocious taste as much as they please, so long as it does not work harm to others. Various shades of tan and light brown, in. both silk and thread, are shown for wear with the tan and Russia leather shoes. Such ‘stock- ings are without or- namentation, except, perhaps, the drop- stitch ‘stripe, and good taste demands that with low shoes for street wear the hose should be per- fectly plain. The “boot top” hose per- mits of gratifying the taste for giddy colors, without expo- sure. The foot and ankle of the stocking is black or solid in color, and the upper part is bright yellow or pale blue, pink, red, or purple with dots and silk embroidery, lace sfripes or almost any other design that is fancied. Just now, canary yellow is the most popular color for boot top hose. Athletic girls have hosiery of their own. Golf “stockings are shown in remarkalle plaids and checks and stripes. ‘They are knitted of wool, fine as silk almost, and though they look on the dummy leg like a barber pole struck by lightning, it must be admitted that in the infrequent glimpses that one gets of them in the game they are not so bad. Bicycle stockings are regular “trunk hose,” and reach well above the knee, where they are moored by double- decked garters fastened to the bit of a girdle dignified by: the name of corset. The same stodking is’ worn for riding, and is generally pulled up over silk or thread equestrienne tights. , Jf a firm, rather thick silk stocking 1s worn when ‘cycling, over silk tights, ahd thé skirt of the cycling dress is thiclo‘cloth,-lined with satin, an almost ideal athletic costume is the out- come. ds Lg For the “common ‘herd” there are’ black stockings by ‘the cat load. Most of them are smooth, firlely woven cotton, warranted pi ! blacks, well-shaped fand durable, consid- ering the prices, ‘which range from 18 cents to three pairs a/for $1. When grand- y2mother was young she washed and spun and knit her own swool stockings; knit- “ted her own “cotton ones In curious “twisted stitch,” with many a fancy stripe and_ curious design, and half a dozen pairs, the fruit of her industrious labors as she sat “in the twilight with her knitting, while the sunset birds were flit- ting,” thinking of “Jamie on the stormy sea,” or listening to the lad’s lover-like vows, were expected to last her one year for best, two years for second best, and. after that, with new feet one year and new legs the next, they were expected to last her the remainder of her Ife! Truly, there are changes everywhere. FOR INDIGESTION AND NERVOUSNESS Use Horsford’s Acid Phosphate, Dr. W. 0. HOYT, Rome, Ga., says: “f have found {t both an agreeable and useful remedy in many cases of indigestion, and also in rervous troubles attended with sleeplessness and a feeling of exhaustion.” WHEN CHIMMEY ENLISTED ee BY WILLIAM H. WASSELL —— (Copyright, 1895, by William 1. Wassell.) Private McPhee was sitting on his iron bunk, hard at work polishing his kit. He was all alone in the big, bare squad room, where bunk after bunk stretched from one dreary wall to another—everything in mathemati- cal exactness; first a bunk, then four feet of space; then another bunk, separated from the third by exactly the same space; the wooden lockers accurately aligned at the ends of the bunks; each man’s extra shoes under his bunk in lines that never gave the exacting captain an excuse for a growl. Private McPhee’s bunk was like all the others, but his blankets and sheets and pil- lows had a freshness about them that pointed to their owner as a recruit. For the first time away from his beloved New York, with the Bowery swagger still lurk- ing under his ill-fitting blouse, McPhee, who all his known life had been simply “‘Chim- mey,” now found a “Private” tacked in front of his name, and had to think twice to know who was meant when the white- haired first sergeant called him. And it was “McPhee, you damned rookey this, and ‘McPhee, you damned rookey, that,” first from one sergeant, then from another, until the poor Bowery waif was glad to be left with only the empty bunks and himself in the big squad room. He was applying the seventeenth coating of heel bore dadyac to his waist belt, in the vain hope of making it shine like the rest of the company belts, when a weary figure in blue uniform appeared in the doorway. This figure came toward him, with just the ghost of an attempted swagger in its walk, but not until seated by his side on the iron bunk did it softly murmur, as though afraid that even the walls had ears, the old fa- miliar greeting, “Hello, Chimmey.”’ Private McPhee rubbed his waist belt with a dirty fist before he answered. When the rubbing was finished he tossed the belt to one side, looked around the room to see that no one but himself and his brother re- cruit were present, and then said: ~* “Say, Fitzy, don’t yer wish yer was back on de Bow’ry, dancin’ de heel an’ toe wid Maggie?" Fitzy, officially known as Private Burke, hung his head in deep meditation. Evi- dently something more.than usual was on his mind. “Wot have de blokes been doin’ to yer now?” asked McPhee. “Wot haven’t dey been doin’, yer mean, Chimmey. Yer see it’s dis way. We're Bow’ry kids, an’ as sharp as dey make ’em, but I tells yer, Chimmey, we'se not in’t wid dese fellows. On de Bow'ry we could give ’em points on der gran’fader’s hayseed, but we'se not in’t out west.” Burke paused for a minute. Then he con- tinued. “Chimmey,” he said, “look at me, me, Fitzy Burke. Take a good look at me mug, an’ tell me would yer take me fer a jay?” “Wot have dey been doin’ wid yer, Fitzy?” “Well, Chimmey, ‘twas dis way. Yer see, when we'se had supper las’ night, I noticed tight away dat we didn’t have no butter. Hew was I t’know dat de gover’ment didn’t furnish no butter? We’se had plenty of ev'rythin’ else, an’ I tought dere was some mistake. So dis mornin’ when we didn’t have none for breakfas’, eider, I spoke to bis nobs wot was sittin’ alongside o’ me. He said dat was all right, dat most of de men didn’t like butter, an’ so de cap’n of de comp’ny gave dem a dollar ev’ry mondth instead of de butter. Den he asks me if I'd got me butter money, an’, of course, I tells him I hadn’t. Den he tells me to go over to de cap'n’s house, an’ he would give it to me.” Burke paused and leaned his head in his hands. “Did yer git it from his nobs, de’ cap’n?” asked his companion. “Git it?” repeated Burke in disgust, “I got hell, an’ I deserved it for bein’ such a ay.” His head went in his hands again, and McPhee took up the waist belt and the dadyac. “Dat isn’t all,” said the unfortunate Burke, after a long pause. “Take a good leng look at me dis time, Chimmey, an’ tell me if yer tink I looks as big a moss- back as Tis. * * * Well, I is, only you’se me frien’ an’ wouldn’t say so. ’Twas dis way. Yer see, de first sergeant calls me down t’ his room an’ gives me a gun, an’ some ca’tridges, an’ a saber, an’ a knap- sack, an’ a canteen, an’ a lot o’ straps, an’ den I goes up to me bunk an’ begins t’ see wot all I has. Along comes some fellow, an’ ‘Hello,’ says he, ‘got yer outfit, did yer?” “Yes,’ says I, ‘cause he seems a decent sort. ‘Yer want t’ see dat de first sergeant gives yer all dat is comin’ t’ yer,’ says he. ‘How does I know,’ says I, ‘wot bloomin’ tings I ought t’ have? ‘Let me look at dem,’ says he, an’ den he counts, ‘One carbine, twenty ca’tridges, wais’ belt, canteen, an’ all de res’. Why,’ says he, ‘de first sergeant Gidn’t give yer no saber ammunition. Yer'd better go right down an’ git it before he forgits.’ So I jumps up an’ rushes down t’ de orderly room. ‘Where’s me saber am- munition?’ says I. “Yer a bloomin’ jay, Fitzy,’ interrupted McPhee, “not t’ know dat der isn’t no kind o’ ammunition for de saber. But wot did his nobs say?” “Say?” repeated Burke. “Why, he jus’ took me by de collar an’ gave me a kick. ‘Dere’s a little saber ammunition,’ says he, ‘come back when yer needs some more.’ ” Yer want t’ take a brace,” counseled his side partner. “Now, over here, it’s dis way. Of course I'm green in de soldier ways, but I don’t need no points on de outside. Say, yer ought t’ see me git dem las’ night. D'yer know wot de sock game is, Fitzy?” » : “No,” murmured Burke, hanging his head in ignorance. “Well, it’s dis way,” explained the wise McPhee. “Der is tree games. Yer see de fellows wot has money plays de real poker game; dat’s one. Den de fellows wot has no money but wot has credit at de canteen store, dey gits brass checks an’ plays for dem; dat’s two. Now, of course, de other blokes has t’ have some fun, too, even if dey hasn’t got no money nor no credit at de store. Well, yer know de gover’ment gives ev'ry fellow so many clothes ev'ry year, so many pants, so many blouses, an’ shirts, an’ shoes, an’ all de’ res’ wot a fel- low can wear. See? Well, de’ poor fellows, dey plays a sock game; dat is, de clothes go for jus’ wot dey cost. An’ dat’s de game me Chimmey McPhee plays in. Dey was playin’ a one sock ante las’ night when I sat inde game, an’ I drags over all de clothes de cap’n gave me, even me four different kinds of hats an’ me tree pairs of shoes. Well, I knows nothin’ about soldierin’, but, huly gee, me gamblin’ teeth was cut on de Bow'ry shootin’ craps, an’ I knows enough t’ stay out of de’ pots so long as I hain’t got nothin’ t’ draw to. So I plays along, losin’ a sock on de ante once or twict,an’ de I picks up me cards an’ finds tree typewriters right in de doorway. See? Well, I comes in an’ raises dem six pair of white gloves, an’ dey all stays. I draws one card, jus’ t’ fool dem, an’ sure as Mag- gie can dance, I catches de other type- writer. See? Well, one fellow bets a dozen linen collars, an’ de next fellow calls him wid two summer undershirts, which is de same value. Den-I raises dem a cam- paign hat an’ a pair of leggins. See? An’ dey all calls me, ‘cause ,dey all had big hands, an’ dey tought I was bluffin’. * * * Say, Fitzy, yer ought t’ saw dat pot. It looked like a secon’ han’ clothes store on de Bow’- ry. In dat one pot I wins a cap, an’ a dress helmet, an’ a white helmet, an’ a campaign hat, an’ a fur cap. In de coat line I wins a blouse dat was not made up, an’ a can- vas jacket wot we wears t’ work in, an’ a uniform dress coat wid tails. See? Den der was white shirts, an’ blue flannel shirts, an’ summer an’ winter undexshirts—sa: Fitzy, if yer need any togs, jus’ come me, will yer?” Burke assured him that they were both Bowery kids, and that they must stick to- gether. “I wish yer was over here in de in- fan’ry,” patronized McPhee, “‘an’ den I could look after yer. Dese fellows knows I'm de stuff, an’ dey don’t monkey wid me. See? Even de first sergeant is stuck on me shape, an’ down der on dat board,” McPhee proudly pointed to the company bulletin board, “yer'll find me name down for de kitchen perlice. See? I don’t know jus’ wot it is, but it’s some kind of dis- tinguished honor dat—” “Now, then, stop that talk and get to work on that belt,” interrupted a stern voice, as a tall, soldierly looking sergeant entered the room. “Let. me look at it,” he continued. “What have you been doing to it? Do you call that a polish? Oh, you miserable consumer of government rations, what, will your captain say when you stand your first inspection? Get to work, work, work, Dgn’t let me speak to you again, or I won’t be so easy with you.” McPhee grabbed the belt and rubbed it until hig arms ached, forgetting all about the distinguished honor that awaited him as a kitchen police. In army parlance, police is a much used Highest of all in Leavening Power.— Latest U.S. Gov't Report Ro AN | pS} ABSOLUTELY PURE Baking Powder word. The recruit ‘‘polices himself” when he takes a bath. The “police party” does all manner of work, from emptying water barrels to sawing cord wood. A detail from the company “police your yard” when they remove from it the accumulation of rubbish left by the previous occupant. The “general policing’ around a post is done by the guard house prisoners, for the work is not very elevating, nor is it a tax on the brain. “Kitchen police’ is a company detail made daily to do the rough work in the company kitchen. It is the first detail given a recruit, for the reason that it requires some time for him to learn his military duties, but no time in which to learn to peel potatoes and wash dishes. McPhee worked on his waist belt as long as the sergeant remained in the room, then he sauntered over to the bulletin board. There it was, “Kitchen police, Pvt. Mc- Phee.” One of the old soldiers of the com- pany came in and stood behind him. “Hello,” said the old soldier, “you're down for kitchen police, are you? Do you know what you have to do?” “No,” admitted McPhee. “I was jus’ ask some of you’se fellows.” answered the victim. “How should said his brothér soldier, “you're in luck, and I want to congratulate you. Why, man, only the most trusty, men in the company are given that detail, and they'll all be jealous when they know you've got it. It’s kind of a private detail. You see, the captain has‘a pretty good-looking cook, and she’s bothered during the evening by a lot of m2n who are breaking their necks after her. So, every night he has a man detailed to watch his kitchen—the kitchen police, or cook's police, as most 6f the men call it. I’ve beer. gn duty there myseff, and I'll take you over tonight and tell you what you've got to do.” McPhee thanked him and offered him a Pipeful of tobacco. He thonght himself stupid, “for a Bow’ry kid,” for as soon as it was explained to him he remembered hear- ing some men in the.company speak of “the cook's police’ that very morning. Then he indulged in a few hopes that the cook’s name might be “Maggie.” That night the officers and ladies of Fort Barrenall were giving an amateur perform- ance of “‘Woodcock’s Little Game.” Capt. Knight, who was in command of the com- pany to which McPhee had been assigned, was to attempt the not very difficult role of David, the man servant. The captain Was a small, slight man, and at an early day the alkaline waters of the frontier had removed most of the hair from his head. In his make-up for the character he had used sundry pillows to increase his avoir- dupois, and a sleek, black wig to cover his baldness, to say nothing of many pigments and powders to further alter his everyday appearance. Like many small men, he was nervous and fussy, and five minutes befpre the time announced for the performance he discovered that he had forgotten a pair of patent leather pumps that are referred to in the lines of the play. There was no time to be lost. The post hall was filled with officers, their families and the soldiers of the garrison; the regimental band was play- ing the opening selection. Throwing a mackintosh over his shoulders, the gallant captain took a, bee-line path down the alley- way for his quarters, reaching the back gate much out of breath and in a distress- ingly bad humor with the world in general. As he opened the gate a six-foot figure in blue uniform barred his entrance. “Who are yer?” demanded the figure, ac- cording to the instructions given him by the joking old soldier. “Get out of my way,” panted the dis- guised captain, as he made a rush to pass. “No yer don’t,” answered the obstruct- ing figure, seizing the maddened captain with a strong arm and holding him as in a vice. “Now, yer tells me who yer is, an’ if yer isn’t a frien’ of de’ cap’n’s cook, yer don’t come in. See?” “Release me .this moment,” howled the small captive. “Don’t you know me? I’m your captain, and I'll have you sent to Leavenworth for this. “Would yer hear him,” mimicked the captor. “Dis fat man, wid de bay window in front an’ de head of hair like a barber, sayin’ he’s me cap’n. He'll be de Prince of Wales nex’, but he can’t fool me, Chim- mey McPhee, de cook's perlice. Say, don't yer tink I knows me own cap’n?” The blood of the disguised company com- mander was at ,the boiling point, but he saw that it was useless to try to explain to the raw young giant. Besides, time was flying; they were waiting for him in the amusement hall. His family, all the fami- lies in the post, were there; he could not call for any of them. If he called for the guard the non-commissioned officer would recognize him at once, but the dignified captain hesitated about making himself the laughing stock of every soldier in the post. Meanwhile, the minutes were passing. For one brief moment he inwardly cursed ama- teur theatricals, the man who originated them and the soldier who had planned this ill-timed joke on the miserable recruit from the Bowery. Then an idea struck him. “Call my servant,” said he in a voice as dignified as his predicament would admit. “I don’t know de lady,” answered Mc- Phee. “You’se can call her yerself, an’ if she says yer a frien’ of hers, dat goes. See? But don’t yer go givin’ her de bluff dat yer me cap’ In a small, angry, but by no means the- atrical voice, the made-up captain called: the door of the kitchen was opened, and on the scene appeared the astonished cook and her devoted attendant, the captain's mia sergeant. “Sergeant,” said the captain, “take thi man to the guard house and confine him by my order, sir.” - “Huly gee!’ exclaimed McPhee, as the sergeant’s powerful hand closed on him. “Didn’t yer say yerself dat I was de cook's pertice? I wasn’t doin’ nothin’. How was it’ know his nobs dressed up dat way?” The old sergeant had served through many an Indian campaign, and in his days had seen recruits given all sorts of unmili- tary tasks by older soldiers. The captain and the commanding officer were more sacred to him than the laws of Moses, and, although he could not comprehend the scene he had just witnessed, he realized that the joke on McPhee was more serious than its originator had planned. “McPhee,” said he, as they neared the guard house, “one old soldier never gets erother old. soldier into trouble. If you know who put this night's job up on you you had better forget his name and his personal appearance.” “Wot yer givin’ me?” answered Chimmey. “D' yer s'pose I'd peach on a fellow?” At his captain’s request, McPhee was re- leased from the guard house the following morning. He was ordered to report at Capt. Knight's quarters, and there received a fifteen-minute talk that he never after- ward forgot. Particularly was it explained to him whose orders he should obey. But the captain’s efforts to learn the name or the general appearance of the man who had expiained the duties of the cook’s po- lice were fruitless. At the end of the fifteen minutes Private McPhee walked over to his barracks, with a fixed idea that his captain was “made of de proper stuff.” At the same time Capt. Knight walked over to the officers’ club, where a waiting assemblage compelled him to open as much champagne as though he were a cavalryman and had been thrown from his horse. —____— Better Death. From the St. Louls Post-Dispatch. The doctor put up his watch. “The crisis is past,” he said, “and Col. Bourbon is spared yet for many years to old Kentucky. I have now but one fear. The dreadful fever he has had may leave him his health but to rob him of his rea- son.” With a nod, he stepped noiselessly from the room. The friends of the sick man sat silent, hardly knowing as yet whether they should rejoice. Suddenly the sufferer stirred. ‘Water! water!” he gasped. The watchers started. “His mind wanders,” they said. Their worst fears were confirmed. “Better death!” they murmured, and wept like wome! Sleeves Too Big. From Tid-Bits. Mrs. Strongmind—“If women would only stand shoulder to shoulder they would soon win the suffrage.” Dr. Guffy—“But, madam, that is some- thing they can’t do, with the present styles in sleeves.” ——— MAY AND MARRIAGES. The Month is Considered Unlucky. and Few Weddings Take Place. There is an awful lot of superstition in the world after all. If you don’t believe it just watch the marriage license market for the remainde: of the month of May, and compare it with the month ending April 30, or measure its thirty-one days of per- mits to double up “for better or for worse” with those that are issued during June, and you will be surprised at the figures. It will bring you face to face with the fact that old world superstition has not died out,even from the centers of nineteenth century life and civilization. This prejudice against marrying in May is as old as recorded his- tory. The deep-rooted superstition hi lasted through all ages and is known in all climes, permeating all conditions of so- ciety, and gives excellent promise of hang- ing on as long as there are people left to marry. Where was the superstition ‘born? Under the shadow of the dark ages, it would seem, for nobody can go so far back that some mention of May's baleful influence over” marital happiness is not made. Of course, the gods and goddesses had a lot to do with it. They are responsible for almost as many superstitions about love and mar- riage as Cooper is for superstitions about good Indians. True, we know that gods and goddesses and good Indians are myths, but we go on believing in them, just the same. The Catholic Church, in the early years of its existence, forbade, under ban 9 its eternal displeasure, marriages in lay. Plutarch tried to fix up a reason for this most unreasonable superstition, saying that “4t is probable that May is regarded as un- lucky, because it comes between April and June, the months respectively Venus and Juno, the tutelary goddesses Of mar- riage. Or, perhaps, it is because May is the month of the feast of Lemurs, the souls of the dead.” The Scotch have a deep-rooted prejudice to marriages contracted in May. Sir Wal- ter Scott says of this prejudice: “The Scot- tish people, even of the better classes and rank, avoid in the month of May, which general season of flowers and breezes might in other respects appear 80 peculiarly favorable for that purpose.” It Was especially objected to the marriage of Mary queen of Scots with the profligate Earl of Bothwell that it was solemnized within the interdicted month. For once, perhaps, the moral properly pointed at the superstition. This prejudice got to be so ridiculous among the Scots that in 1684 a lot of enthusiasts, known as the Gibbites, who had set themselves to tear supersti- tion out by the roots, dallied with Friday and thirteen and May tarriages in a per- fectly frightful way, and like to have got themselves mobbed for their “blasphemy.” The pagans had a myth that “only bad women marry in May.” They had an- other, that if the marriage did take place the couple would live most unhappily end children born of the marriage—if it was not hopelessly rendered barren by thus slapping the fates in the face—would be deformed or imbecile. With prizes like that in prospect, it is not much wonder that the ignorant and superstitious taboo May mar- riages, but there is no excuse yet for ihis idiesyncrasy of thinking people. At least no sensible one. Ovid was a firm believer in the superstition, and said that no widow or young girl would marry in May unless she wished to invite the displeasure of the gods, and that the imprudent woman who braved their wrath would fill an early grave. Ovid pinned his faith to rosy June, the birth month of Juno, and when he got ready to launch his daughter on the matri- monial sea he studied the stars all superstitions to make sure that he wouk not run upon Scylla in steering off Charyb- dis. eer to match the girl, he tried to in What days unprosperous were; what moons were kind. After June’s sacred Ides his fancy strayed— Good to the man and happy to the maid.” The Italians look upon May as an un- lucky wedding month. “The month of flowers is a month of tears,” they say. And they cite the fact that many of noble blood who have striven to set the ancient superstition aside have gone early to their graves. May seems to have a baleful influence on a good many things. Kittens and babies born in the month of May will be sick a great deal and are very apt to be drowned—the kittens, of course—and who dares controvert that statement? There are natural causes for sickness of babies in their first summer, but that doesn’t Soest alongside of a full-grown supersti- tion. While not a good month in which to marry, May is the month par excellence for making love, and the crop of tenderness sown then bears fruit in June in a larger number of marriages than during any other month of the year. And therein hes mere superstition for you. June ‘s the month sacred to Juno, the venerable cx- eyed “Hera” of Homeric renown. Her very name signifies the “yokemaker” and she was a kind of female providence, protest- ing her sex from the cradle to the grave. The Romans thought her to be the guardiin of the national finances, and erected a temple to her on the Capitoline, in which they placed their mint. She was the god- dess of chastity, and no Magdalene- dared touch her altar. Her month, June, was considered especially propitious for mar- riage, and along down the ages the sweet myth has come, that rose-crowned June will bring to brides all of happiness there is to know. WHY STAY ‘AT Miss Banter's friends were surprised res cently when they saw her coming, but— It was not as they supposed.—Life.