Evening Star Newspaper, August 29, 1896, Page 17

_THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 189>-TWENTY PAGES. THE DRAPED SKIRT It Will Be Worn This Season Only on Ceremonious Occasions. THEN THERE ARE FLOUNCES’ GALORE Popularity of the Corselet and the Reason for It. LACE ON TIGHT SLEEVES ——— Correspondence of The Evening Star. RAQUETTE LAKE, August 27, 1896. HIS IS THE FOR- | est primeval. They tell me—men tell me, that is; a superior sex, believe me, my sisters, and convenient to tell us things we want to know without the trouble of learning— that the lumberman has cut and gashed the woods away up the Raquetie river, has dammed the for- est lake so as to leave their shores a mel- anch blight of dead trees standing in the water, and has turned mile upon mile of the beautiful river course into a sort of canal between sloping mud banks where one Cannot disembark for lunch or rest; but that it was never profitable to cut and float the logs from quite this distance, and so ™cst of the lake's shore is still state prop- erty. I know it must be true, for right on the lake shore you may see many a big e rearing its great head a hundred feet aloft upon a stem two feet and more through the base. And I know that the Raque river some miles below is the muddy and melancholy waste they de- Be We came through that waste. Every one does. This big lake, enough for storms and shipwreck and wide driving reaches of angry water, Is the meeting place of the three highways into the woods’ heart, from the rerth up the Raquette, from the south- ¥ way of Blue Mountain lake, from puthwest by way of the Fulton chain he Brown's Tract inlet, where in the muddy stream there grow more water lilies than I had supposed the world held. nt to travel again by boat as ! Up the Saranac, through a glimpse of the upper Sara- ne Indian Carry, across to the ponds, the row up the river, aw the most lovely freight barge by six strong men and rejoiced that such things still were; up Long lake; through lovelier reaches of foaming shaded river beyond; through Forked lake and across to the foot of Raquette, we had a Spectacle Whe two days’ journ full every moment of delight. There are little steamers here and on Blue Mountain lake, and there are hotels and Saratogas and women happy to be for once in a place where there are an men enough to “go around,” ndid men, too. Some Feminine Methods. The last week of the summer, and very autumnal in the evening chill here among the mouniains! Yet summer still reigns unquestioned in the gowns of the fair ones here. ‘They are, as I have said, two kinds © fishers of men don appropriate garb of serge and leather and join the prey im their sports; some dress in frills and furbelows and take care of their complex- ions at the hotels. Each method Is the best and worst. it depends on the person who ts it. There is an adorable brunette at one of the hotels on Blue Mountain lake, who carries devastation through the woods in & most extraordinary gown of moire with a deep frill at the bottom attached by three rows of delicate embroidery, swept downward to a point in front. The bodice is adorned with a similar triplet of bands forming a pointed yoke, which Is filled in with white satin, embroidered with forget- me-nots. The siveves have triple puffs. The shoulders are roofed with flat epaulets of embroilcry. There are big satin bows at the top and front of the shoulder seam, and @ satin belt with a big medalion buckle. The hat is a high-crowned shade, with wide- spreading plumes, and there is a asol tor some strong man to carry. Such garb is rather ridiculous in the Woods, but the complexion of the wearer is most admirable and—well, men have the instinct of wanting to take care of prett; helpless creatures. On the other hand there ts an adorable girl, shorter and plumper than the other, whese leggings of buff are scratched with Blackberry briars, whose waist is encir- cled with a wice ribbon corselet, who wears, when thinks of it, a flat sailor hat in a rather bedraggled condition of sunburn and rain stain and a fetching little jacket of dark cloth edged with black braid, open- ing over a soft front of yellow silk, chosen so “it won't show dirt so soon,” the wearer frankly says. And between two such examples of the opposing schools the honors of conquest are easy. But I notice that even the wood nymph puts a big, fluffy bow at her throat before coming down to dinner, when she has time. a The Draped Skirt. There is no question that the drift of the times ts away -from sweet simplicity and toward flounce, The draped skirt— ‘Yes, we are to have the draped skirts. ‘There's no dodging that conclusion. They will be worn only for rather ceremonious purposes, the plain skirt seeking reserva- tion for purposes of active exercise. I don’t look to see flounces on a bicycle skirt, surely. Not yet. But I have heard from New York of the arrival of a gown bowed across with fifteen rows of narrow lace, not wide flounces, each meeting the other, but narrower ones, perhaps an inch wide and three inches apart. And in Paris there is free use made of wide-flounced skirts worn with matching capes and of embroid- ery in long panels, and of Vandykes heavily marked with embroidery and of single bands of lace flouncing. And all these things are held in especial regard for fete gowns and lawn parties. Extraordinary is the popularity of the corselet. It may take the form of a simple wide belt. It is more apt to be defiant with embroidery and ablaze with steel or frippery and frivol. BABIES’ WARDROBE They Are Not Particular About the Fit of Their Clothes. BUT THEY OBJECT 0 TIGHT GARMENTS What a Little One Most Needs During the First Year. jet or paste. The underlying principle op} ADVICE TO MOTHERS the corselet is that it calls attention to a fine figure, and now that tight lacing is no longer the mode there are fine figures in_plenty to exhibit. The spotted-muslin-over-silk combination is most popular. The colors are pale pink and cream, pale blue and white, pale green and yellow. Such a gown can be made very simply, with a perfectly plain bodice, ribbon belt and collar and sleeves snug fitting well above the elbow, and gives a charming effect of neat simplicity to which an examination of the dressmaker’s bill might be fatal. It has become possible to decorate the rew tight sleeves with little rows of lace, bowing them about, to match the trimming of the skirt. Such refinement of the sleeve is really an innovation and not altogether @ pleasant one. It must be that only a lady with very long thin arms could pos- sibly need such a device. ELLEN OSBORN. SS NEWPORT FASHION NOTES. What Society Leaders at This Gay Resort Wear. White is a great favorite at Newpor' Many of the dresses are made entirely of white chiffon or mousseline de soie. Mous- seline sleeves in puffs that just reach the elbow are seen more often than any other style. One yovng lady wore a white straw hat, trimmed with long white ostrich feathers and a pink rose under the brim, with her white taffeta gown. An elderly lady who wore black had small puffs of white silk at the top of her tight sleeves, and with this gown she wore a most eccentric round hat of white mous- seline, with broad mousseline ti A lady in black and white-striped sik wore a black hat, with a cockade of white quill feathers, Everybody here wears feathers. The summer hats are being “freshened up” with feathers and wings and whole birds, just as we freshened up the late winter hats with flowers last spring before the Easier bonnets came out. Blue is a favorite tint as well, and is much used in combination with white. A white costume, with Eton jacket, had a pleated blue chiffon front, with a Frenca touch at the back in the shape of a flaring collar of green ribbon, figured with red roses. Purple, though not so popular here as in London, nevertheless finds a good deal of favor, and when worn by the right per- son is exceedingly fetching. A purple gown was made quite plain, except for some rich lace at the throat. The hat that went with it was decidedly chic, though simple. It was made of loops of black velvet rib- bon, set back from the forehead, and some fine white and black osprey feathers. Lace trimmings are seen on every kind of dress, and nowhere more frequently than at these meetings of the rich, who, if they haven't any of their own grand- mother’s laces, have money enough to buy from those who have. > MEALS IN OLDEN TIMES. Breakfast is Quite a Modern Institu- tion. From Notes and Queries. The chief meals—dinner and supper—were taken in the hall, both by the old English and the Normans, for the parlor did not come into use until the reign of Elizabeth. Breakfast did not become a regular meal until quite lately, and Dr. Murray in the Oxford dictionary gave 1463 as the date of the earliest quotation in which the word occurred. The meal did not become recog- nized until late in the seventeenth century, for Pepys habitually took his draught of half a pint of Rhenish wine or a drachm of strong waters in place of a morning meal. Dinner was always the great meal of the day, and from the accession of Henry IV to the death of Queen Elizabeth the dinners were as sumptuous and ex- travagant as any of those now served. Carving was then a fine art. Each guest brought his own knife and spoon, for the small fork was not introduced into Eng- [tana until Thomas Coryate of Odcombe published his “Crudities” in 1611. Pepys took his spoon and fork with him to the lord mayor's feast in 166%. The absence of torks led to much stress being laid upon the act of washing the hands both before and after meals, and to the rule that the left hand alone should be dipped into the common dish, the right hand being occupied with the knife. The perfect dinner at the best time of English cookery consisted of three courses, each complete in itself, and terminated’ by a subtlety or device, the whole being round- ed off with Ypocras after which the guests retired into another room, where pastry, sweetmeats and frult were served with the choicer wines. The English were es- sentially meat eaters, and it was not until the time of the commonwealth that pud- ding attained its extraordinary popular- ity; indeed, the first mention of pudding in ‘the menus of the ‘“Buckfeast” at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital did not occur until FAMOUS VARIETIES OF LACE COMPARED. ENGbIDA POIRS. BRYNDES) Pons. aia D*AbLNSGON = AVRALPIAN Done imum pay) PT can Pe ae nae en i i ; Cot aR) corooves IL WLAN 3 nAcks 5 Z LACE PATTERNS 1710, and in 1712 1s an item of 5s. for Ice. in Different Varieties and How to Distinguish Them, tell all the different It is impossible to remember me women can inds of lace. the patterns and borders, which are in- finite in variety, but pretty easy to fix a few of the cimple stitches of the grounds and bars ¢nd most characteristic details. ‘he English point—“point™ means nothing more nor less than “stitch”—takes usually to rosettes as ornaments, and these are made by sewing round and round the in- tersection of two cross bars in darning stitch, over and under. Brussels point is the simplest of all, just ession of loops or loose buttonhole Stitches, the stitches of the new row catching on at the bottoms of the loops of the last cne made. Spanish point 1s a loose buttenhole stitch, too, only the threads are twisted twice about the needle and the loop then drawn out. This makes the mesh stiffer than Brussels. Venetian point 1s a loose buttonhole stitch with four tight buttonhole stitches worked in each loop. D’Alencon point is a light and graceful effect for edgings and bars. It's a sort of herring-bone stitch, the reedle thrown over the bar, then under, then passed back through its own loop. As for the Sorrento stitch, it’s almost exactly like a srubbing knot, and any yachtsma’ will be proud to show his sktil in tying that, and never dream that he’s making 0 lace stitch in doing it. Guipure relief is not properly a stitch. One outline of a pattern can be thrown across a ground of any sort, and it is then filled in with the darning stitch. It takes a great deal more skill to make lace by mschinery than by hand, the ma- chines are of such fearful and wonderful complexity, and even then the lace is a miserable makeshift and can be told from the real thing at a glance. There is one kind of imitation, though, that deceives the experts. This is a lace made by using ma- chine-made lace braids of different kinds, putting them carefully together for differ- ent patterns, and filling in the spaces by hand with the usal stitches and designs. E THOUGHT WE would be so happy when the baby came, but somehow it is all so different from what I expected it would be. The child is so cross, and, in- deed, I have done all I know how to do for its comfort.” I really felt sorry for the little, frail woman,too young by several years for the cares of motherhood, as she changed the position of the fretful infant on her knees. Seventeen and a mother! My heart fairly ached for the misguided girl, whose am- bitious mother, as I know, had forced her through school and into society, and then rushed her into marriage because she knew that Fred Parton was an eligible parti, and that if he had to wait a few years he might change his mind. She was a worldly minded woman, and the ambition of her life was to get her three girls married off as fast as possible. The eldest of the three she had back on her hands, a divorced wo- man in less than three years. The second died when her first baby was born, and the poor little creature was left to the mercy of its worldly grandmother. The third and last daughter, Elsie, who only three ‘years ag9 was still playing dolls with Rose, is now a mother, and Rose has not yet don- ned her first long gown! I took the wailing infant in my arms, threw aside the sott hot piliow on which it had been resting, turned it on its stom- ach, and began to straighten down {ts clothes. “Don't you think that you have too many clothes on the baby for this hot day?” I asked her, as I went under the stiffly starched dress, with its mass of scratchy embroidery, to find a satin-soft flannel skirt, ai! hand embroidered in s a second quite as fine, but plainer; ur that a pinning bianket olen socks and flannel The Dresses Were Pretty. “Why, I thought babies had to be Kept very warm,” she replied, mildly worried at the new idea. “I made so many of those pretty skirts that I nearly put my eyes out. It seems a pity not to use ti I have six that are embroidere quarter of a yard deep, and I did it every stitch myself. I got quite nervous over it sometimes. and would have mace some of the skirts much plainer, but mma said it would not do. And now baby is so cross we cannot take her anywhere, and there is no pleasure in having anybody to visit us. Mamma simply won't come near the house till she is sure that nurse is out with the baby.” And then she ended with a gush of tears. I let her cry her petulance out, and went on an investigating tour. That baby was three months oid, past the colicky period and normally healthy, but it howled in- cessantly, and squirmed itself nearly off my lap several times. I felt very sure that aside from having inherited some of {ts mother’s nervousness there was nothing the matter with it that couid not be cured in a@ short time. I felt of its skirt bands and they seemed to be lo: enough, but they were wet with perspiration. “Of course you have taken off its bands?” I asked, though I felt something suspiciously like one through the flannel skirt bands. “No, indeed,” she replied quickly. ‘“‘Mam- ma says that it would be well enough to take them off of a boy, but that for a girl she would keep them on till short clothes were put on. It shapes the waist so much better, she thinks! We really have quite a ume getting the bands adjusted, for Ruth simply screams herself black in the face before nurse gets them pinned. Nurse says it is a crime to keep them on, but mamma ought to know all about it. Don’t you think so? she asked anxiously. A Tight Band. “She ought to,” I replied cautiously, “but they do not give babies the same treatment that they did when your mother and I were caring for our children.” By that time I had taken off the fine outside flannel skirt, and had loosened the other skirt and pinning blanket band to get at the under band, which I felt very sure was cavsing all the trouble and fast mak ing a cross baby. When I unpinned that band it fairly popped, it had been so tight, and the child stopped crying instantly, though it soon began again. The mother, not satisfied with almost wrecking her daughter's prospeets of health and happiness, had set about mur- dering the baby by inches, though she had an idea, doubtless, that it was for the best interests of all concerned. In the first place, the baby had on a little gauze wool shirt. Then came that linen band, as tight and stiff as though it bad been boned and drawn with corset strings, the flannel band of the pinning blanket, two flannel bands of the two skirts, and the richly embroidered fine linen dres: all the skirts being at least half a yard too long. Its pvor little reet were weight- ed down with the draperies till they couldn't move, and its Lody was a mass of heat blisters, the creases about its fat neck being made raw by the starch in the dress! And yet that ignorant mother, who hated the touch of flannel on her own skin, ard who would have sent back in a hurry one of her lounging robes that came home with starch about the neck, wonder- ed why it was that her baby fretted, and why “it was all so different from what she had expected” when she was stitching loving thoughts into the dainty clothes. When I got down to the tender little body, I sprinkled it thick with talcum pow- der from the silver box in the beautiful baby basket, and with the gentlest touch imaginable rubbed the heat-flecked back and stomach. Almost before I knew it the baby was in a seraphic sleep. Then I told Elsie my method of caring for a baby. It is common sense, though not very senti- mental. The Baby’s Wardrobe. When the baby comes, whether it is the first or the fifth, the ways of the household have to change for a time, and the small autocrat rules, or else its vociferous de- mands ruin the peace of the household. One of these two is bound to happen. Then there is its wardrobe. Of course, if you have a mine of wealth at your back, you can make as“many clothes as you like, and trim them just as richly. If you are sensible, however, you will save the handsome clothes to show to admiring friends and put on the baby the plainest and softest garments, with nothing to tease and tor- ment its soft flesh. A little baby is a very delicate piece of mechanism, and it should be treated as such. Its bath should be given once a day in a room a little warmer than the temperature of the body, in water soft, if possible, a little warmer than blood heat. The purest and finest soap should be used sparingly, and well rinsed off and the body thoroughly dried, then dusted with purest baby powder. Where perspiration gets in its raw work, the parts should be gently tcuched with vaseline and freely sprinkled with talcum powder. The shirt should be of fine wool, but if this seems to irritate the flesh, and it often does, put under it a shirt of thin nest silk, and don’t let the wool touch the body at all. After the third or fourth week at most, unless the child is far from strong, leave off the bands, which should be of soft old linen or cotton for summer, or of fine flannel for winter. They should never be adjusted very tight after the second week. The piuning blanket comes next. For summer wear this should be %f fine white outing flannel, with a soft muslin band. Three-fourths of a yard is quite long enough for this and the longest skirts. Shorter for common wear is best. One fine, soft wool skirt is heavy enough for house wear cool mornings and evenings, and during the heat of the day it should be fully a taken off and the small legs left to fly at will under the plain little muslin gown. Clothes for the Tender Limbs. This should-be made in the old-fashioned sack style, than which nothing better was ever invented. You may make it of as fine material as you like, linen, lawn, nainsook, cambric or dimity, but you will never find anything more’ lasting than the English “Jongcloth,” or that will launder better. It is as fine as silk to the touch, and should never be profaned with starch for a baby. Don’t trim it,,.A tiny edge of fine lace at the neck and wrists will make a pretty finish, but only the cobwebbiest of embroid- ery should be ‘used, and even then the slight roughness will hurt the flesh of some babies. Make the little gowns a yard long and two paris wide at the bottom, and put six-inch strings of the same three- fourths of a yard long in the side seams to tle the gowns back. For morning wear, plainly made “double gowns" of daintily colored outing flannel are best to slip on baby till dressing time. For sudden cool spells, a blanket of a square of wide cream cashmere, with a border of crocheted silk or wool, and roomy little sacks of the same are quite the thing. Of course you will have soft wool booties or stockings. Make all the first clothes roomy. The baby that seems lost in them the first day will fill them nicely about the fourteenth. Don’t make too many clothes. They get yellow with lying by, and it is unnecessary extravagance. For the first three months babies, like little pigs, should sleep and eat, eat and sleep, be kept com- fortable and, aside from that, be let se- verely alone. The plainer its clothes, the better for its comfort. One clean gown a day, barring accident, 1s enough for any child till it is past a year old and is on exhibition. ight of the plain gowns will be an ample number, with the six pinning blankets, six flannel skirts, two fine, and four plain ones. Muslin skirts are unnecessary, but if you must have them, three will answer. Tiree pretty dresses, encrusted with needle work, and lace or embroidery decorated ought to sat- isfy your vanity. Half a dozen double gowns, three little sacks, two blankets to “spell ‘fh other, while being done up, four pairs of bootees, six shirts, and two dozen squares made of double cotton diaper, is a big wardrobe for a baby’s first year. A Mother's Responsibility. It may be that you will want to add some more fine dresses, and, of course, there is the cloak and caps, but those should be an after consideration, It isn't every long- ed-for baby that lives, and very often the expectant mother uses up so much of her nervous feree and vitality getting ready for the little stranger, that when it comes it is a fretful weakling, with small vigor, nd weak constitution, the result, pure and simple, of its mother’s ignorance and vanity. Good hearty food, plenty of healthy exercise, stimulating reading, and a strict regard for ail of nature's laws will gen- rally result in giving a baby the right kind of a mother, and insuring the new sou! a body fit to live in After the baby comes you must be more y careful than ever if you nurse the thing yourself, and you should if ble, for that is part of the burden of motherhood. The strictest attention shouid be paid to your diet, because every time you have indigestion, a headache, or get the baby will howl with the igent motherhood is one of the ying necds of our civilization, and until we heave more of it the babies are going to spend the fir Ww years of thi lives, if, indeed, they have strength to live, in a painful fight for a normaily healthy body, which should have been their birthright, Lut of which they were robbed by the al- mcst criminal ‘gnorance of their progeni- tors. SENORA SARA. —_—_ HOUSEHOLD HINTS This is the Jelly season, and also the sea- son for breaking glasses without stint with the hot juices. ‘Try this: With the end of your finger take up a little sweet, fresh lard and rub ir all over the outside of the glass, bottom and all, so that every par- ticle of the service is covered. Pour the Jelly in the glass and set it away to coul. After ccoling, rub off all the lard, and cover the top .with a tough white paper and white of an egg. Weak eyes wil be materlally strengthen- by bathing in cold tea night and morn- ing. Salt and water is also excellent. For incipient catarrh, which almost every human being has, immediate relief can be obtained by using salt and water. A pint of water slightly more than blood heat, a Pinch cf baking soda and an even tea- spoonful of sa’ Pour a little at a time in the hand and snuff izorously. If too strong use a little more er. It is nota painful process, and is recommended by a physician of long practice. Cold boiled potatoes are a nuisance in a family that doesn’t like them fried or in salad. One woman of economical turn puts them into boiling water and lets them bubble for about ten minutes, then she peels and mashes them in a kettle over the heat, puts in butter and cream and beats them for five minutes, and you wouldn't know them from perfectly fresh masaed potatoes. Some one wants to know how to freshen ham grease so as to be able to use it with- out the taste of the ham in it. One «ood method is to put the fryings in a tin pan over the fire, with a pint of cold water, and let it come to a boil. Then put in thick slices of raw potatoes, and set on the back of the stove to simmer. Half a dozen slices will do. Cook ten minutes; then set away to cool. Skim off the grease that rises to the top, and you will find that it will do nicely for frying things in or to use as shortening for meat pies or baking pow- der biscuit. Never throw away a scrap of grease. Save all in a can, kept for the purpose, and once a week at least put over the fire and fry it out. After the frying process 1s con- cluded, pour on a pint or two of watcr, and let it boil up a minute or two; then set away to cool. Skim off the grease. and use with lye in making scrubbing soap. It is easily done, and is excellent for cleaning burposes, When you tell the wee one to do some- thing, and for the first time it says “I won't,” and stamps its small foot, don't laugh ahd think it a good joke. That is the surest way to spoil ycur child. Gravely in- sist on your point, and even if it comes to @ very small chastisement, you will find that it is worth the pain to yourself. The nexl time the small autocrat will recognize your power and obey. If it does not, ap- ply the punishment again. That is the way a horse is trained, and a child ought to have as much sense as a horse, though many mothers give up, as though chey thought the other way. The sensible woman doesn’t cover her floors with tacked-down carpets, but has heavy rugs that only partially cover a painted or oiled flocr. Then she can take up the rugs once a week and throw them out in the sun, where they can be dusted, and germs of malaria killed by the sun- shine. Carpets are unhealthy things. Mat- ting is much better; bare floors best, by all odds. If you want to ask a favor of a man in the morning, wait until the animal has fed. He will be much better-natured. For some unexplained reason, the average man is a perfect bear till he has breakfasted. And so is a woman; To keep the “ialf moon” showing at the root of the nails, push the flesh gently back with the towet every time you wash your hands. Do it carefully, and don't break the flesh, for that makes hang nails. An excellent remedy for burns is carron oil. It is made of equal parts of linseed oil and lime water.’ Apply as an ointment and cover the burn with soft old linen. Tomato figs are good. Six pounds of brown sugar—or, granulated, as you like— sixteen pounds of pear-shaped tomatoes. Remove the skins in boiling water, but do not break the fruit. Put the sugar over the fire, with barely enough water to keep it from burning, and when melted and boiling put the tomatoes in very carefuily. Cook ten minutes; then pour all gently into a colander, and place the juice on the fire to boil to sirup. Then put the figs back for ten minutes. Do this three times. The last time let them cook till clear. Lift Lae figs out on plates to dry. Pack in_layers, sprinkled with powdered sugar. Can the juice for use when you wish to have some of the tomatoes stewed for dessert use. —_+—— In a Millinery Store. From the Texas Sifter. “I want a new hat in the very latest style.” “Please sit down for a few minutes. The fashion is just about to change.” PRINCE CHARMING, —__+____ THE WAY TOTTLEBY TELLS IT BY LYDIA FELICIA PERKINS, This isn’t a once-upon-a-timey story, but @ really really one. I love to hear Cousin El’nor read about Prince Charming. 1 just love Prince Charming, anyway; but I mustn’t go ahead and tell all the story before I begin. I'm really telling this story. Cousin El’nor she just only writes it. Anybody can write! But I must begin somewhere if I tell a story, Cousin El'nor says. I know that! So it was one morning when Cousin El'nor had been reading all about Prince Charming—you know Prince Charming; well, I just went right out the minute af- terward, and I lay down in the garden grass and I just prayed for Prince Charm- ing to come, because I just loved him, and wanted him that minute. I was just pray- ing over and over again, and when I raised up to look there stood Prince Charming. Cousin El'nor says—but never mind, I’m going to tell you all. Prince Charming was laughing all round his eyes, but his mouth stood still, and I must have prayed out loud, real loud, Cousin El'nor says, but the fairies can hear you think, and he heard me think, for he said: “Well, Tottleby, here is Prince Charming. What can I do for you, little lady?” Every- body else calls me little girl, but he called me little lady, like srewn up, and I am. “I want you,” I said, for I wasn’t a teeny bit afraid of hiin. Prince Charming sat right down there on the gr and pulled me into his lap. “What do you want me for?” he said, in a kind of creepy voice; you know it kind of es you creepy over, and feel snugly. So I did snuggle up to him, and I said what Uncle Nat did to Aunt Isabel, be- cause it sounded so nice: “Because I need you, darling.” Wasn't that nice? He thought so, because his eyes laughed again. Tien he put his mouth right to my ear, and whispered awful creepy: ‘1 need a sweetheart, too.” His eyes weren't laughing then, but they looked— oh, beautiful! “Do you? I'll be your sweetheart,” I said, because he didn’t !ook happy a little Dit, and I said again, “I'll be your sw heart, Prince € rming, if the fairies won't love you any 2 “Will you? mot he as red as red, ed. Then all at once he got a and said so fast: “Well, then, kiss me, “Tottle I did a thousand times most, I guess. What do you think? I found he n't looking at me at all, bu®right over my head. Well, I looked too, and there was Cousin EI'nor. Just think! Elnor laughed, and sat down by me Prince Charming, and pulled me into lap—Cousin Elnor did, and kissed me right where Prince Charming did, and he pulled me away and kissed me again right on the mouth just where El'nor did, and I stayed h Prince Charming. He and Cousin nor talked awful fast to one another, and he said she was cruel, and without a heart, and, of course, she is. That all that day. Cousin’ El'nor said I went to sleep, but I didn’t, for I stopped right there like a really really fairy story, and it is. Every day Prince Charming came, and and waited in the came at the to hear Cousin r Sa le Jem, “I must go and look up that child,” mean- ing me! I was a litle lady, too. Prince Charming said so. He kno he told Cousi bad princess ii'nor, just like that she had no t, and was cruel, and I thought she would be ashamed of hersel: but she wasn’t, for she'd laugh, and s “Oh, Chartie, I knew be he didn’t know best, for she’s only a girl, and he's Prince Charming. Just think: Prirce Charming used to say: “If you were onl: lady, she loves me.” He meant me. I should say I did love him. Wonder why he wanted El'nor to love him. She's only a girl, and not a teeny bit of a fairy princess. I'm not a this sweet Ittle fairy princess, either, you know, but I love him without any trouble. Something funny happened. One day Cousin Ei'nor came out of the ho ing, and I heard Uncle Jem talking ab that Charlie. I was sitting on Prine Charming’s jap, and he was telling me why the butiercups are yellow. The fair- ies use them for their butter bowls. Did you ever! But when he heard Uncle Jem say that about Charlie, he stopped talking, and turned all whitey, and his eyes were not a bit pretty—just scarey. He tried to I wouldn't go. you? Cousin Ei'nor said to Prince 1ut me off his lap, but Woui . I'm afraid this has to stop. iful today Prince Charming got right up from where he was, and I tumbled out of his lap. I cried, too, then—well, because Cousin El'nor vas crying, and Prince Charming was worse than crying, and he forgot all about me. He said ‘My darling, my darling, how can I leave you? El'nor is nothing but a girl, and she just cried on, but I stopped right short, and I said: “Oh, Prince Charming, don't go.” I knew he was going to fairyland, and never would come back. When I tried to hold him, he—pushed—me—aside, and just—cavght old El'nor in his arms, and— he kissed—her, and she cried more, ‘course, and she tried to pull away from him, but t Kissed her again; then she put her 1 old arms around my _ Prince Charming, and kissed him just once only! Just think, and he said like he had an aw- ful scre throat—“Well, I'll leave, then, if you think it's best. But it's going to break my heart.” Wasn’t that awful? If his rt was broken he couldn't live, could he? Well, when I told him not to go, he never even once looked at me, and my heart nearly broke—not quite. There's a girl that comes sometimes to the foot of our garden. She's not very nice, I think. Cousin El'nor always said to m ‘ow, Marjorie (that’s my real name), don’t talk to that Rubers girl—she’s not a suitable companion for you. She dees not talk about nice things.” Now, after Prince Charming left me, I couldn't be so very good any more. It wasn’t so easy because he was not there to ask me questions about how I had been, and if I had been his sweet little lady. When he had been gone a long time—Cous- in EYnor said it was only a day or so, but I know better, so 1 say when he had been gone a long time—I heard Lily Rubers whistling for me, and I went. I kind of slipped away frcm the house, you know, because if Cousin El’nor had scen me going she'd called me. You see, Prince Charm- ing was gone, and I was mis’rable, and didn’t care what I did. I guess I was desp’rate, like Uncle Nat was before he married. “See here, Marg,” said that Lily Rubers, “I've something to tell you just awful. Come right under this hedge here, and nobody will see us at the house.” I was desp’rate, I know, because I slipped right under the hedge real quick, and when we were out of sight she said, in a spooky tone: “I’m going to hang myself.” “What's that?” I asked, with a jump. ‘It's what a little boy I heard about did when his papa whipped him. He went into the barn and hung himself to a joist.” “How—lid—he—do—it—Lily Rubers “Why, he got an old plow rope and tied it to a joist in his papa’s barn and got up on a barre! and tied the rope around his neck and jumped off the barrel. When his papa found him he wished he hadn't vhipped him.” ‘ut how does it feel to hang?” I said, awfully interested. I got to thinking how sorry Prince Charming would feel if he found me hanging to a joist, and I almost cried, it made me feel so sorry for him and Cousin El’nor and mamma. “It don’t feel at all,” said Lily Rubers; ‘you don’t feel any more, id you don’t see any more—you just sleep. It was desp'rate, I know, but I got to thinking over it more an’ more, then { said to Lily Rubers: “Why are you going to hang yourself?” She said: “Because they don’t treat me right at home, and we don’t have any barn of our own, and I am going to hang myself in your barn.” “No; you mustn’t, Lily Rubers; indeed, you mustn’t; ’cause my family don’t like you a little bit. They wouldn’t like you to do it in our barn. You'd better hang your- self somewhere else.”” I know I was right, because our people don’t like Lily Rubers a bit. If she had been real nice she might have hung her- 17 self in our barn very nicely, you know. Well, she got awful mad at me, and said I was as stingy as dirt, and stuck out her tongue at me. I left right away. I couldn’t tell Cousin El’nor about it, be- cause she had told me not to go with Lily Rubers. Cousin Elnor cried all the time when Uncle Jem was out of the house. I asked her why she didn’t hang herself. She said it_ was wicked of me to say such things. Wasn't she mean? Of course I wouldn't tell her about the little boy hanging him- self after that, would you? Sure enough, Prince Charming wasn’t coming back any more. Well, one day it Was raining, and I was up in the garret playing. I found an old clothes line, and I thought all at once I'd see. I tied the repe around my neck, and then I climbed up on top of an old trunk and tled the other end of the rope around a big nail in the wall, because there wasn’t any joist, and then I jumped off the trunk. You see, I was only seeing. But oh, I thought I was killed. It did feel! Oh, it felt awful, and I tried to make a sound and I couldn't, just like an awful dream. I was nearly dead, I guess, before I got back on that trunk again, and that old rope off my reck. Then I fell right off the trunk and wied to call Cousin E!'nor, but I couldn't, and it got night all at once, and I was asleep. I waked up and heard Cousin EM'nor calling as loud as she could, and heard Uncle Jem say: “Look in the gar- ret.” I tried to call her, too, but my throat was awful sore—lots worse than croup, and I couldn't make a sound. When Cousin Elnor found me I know she was scared, because she scolded me, but I didn’t mind. “This feels lots better,” I said, and snug- gled up in her arms. “Better than what?” Cousin El'nor asked. “Better than that rope,” said I, and then I told her all, and felt, oh, lots better still. Well, I told her I wanted Princ Charming, too, and she oughtn’t have sent him away. Uncle Jem was in the room, and he didn’t like it because she had him gO away, because he scowled and left the room quick. I guess he wanted to cry. That is how I always do when I want to ary. 1 waked up that night, Cousin El'nor (she let me “Cousin El'nor, L want et : irg.”” What do you suppose Cousin said? vow aie think! “Oh, Marjorie, I Want him, too and said to “What made you send him off, then?” I asked, and wouldn't you? : Courin x didn’t answer that. She ck after that—a long time. Cousin so, too. One morning before at 'y light I heard Uncle Jem say “She will have to be taken to grandmoth your That very day mamma came over, and took me in a carriage to grandma's. It was @ long way, bec it was most n: before Tg But before I went and when Co Pnor was kissing me good- bye, she whispered right in my ear—now listen! “Kiss Prince Charming for me When I woke up next morning at grand- a’s, mamma brought me a big cup of drop. Then na, T want iam: ce Cha! Very _we id mamma, and left the room. She back in a minute, and when I w wondering where Prine he put an awful old tin dol- What would you have done da Prince Charming real Charming ie on the bed. ou had w: it bad, and somebody wo: an old tin dol away as hard I could, and just cried awful, ‘cause my heart Was broken—d most.’ Mamma, she was hurt, of cour. wouldn't you? ‘Bui I told her T was sorry, but she ieft me alone. I cried till I couldn't ery another wink, and then I went to sleep. When I woke up the room was all dark, and J eard—Prince—Charming—say—just as--plain “Poor little lady, i must see her right off. Well, I knew he meant me. He alwa‘ called me lady, and he did, for Charming came right inte the roo: he picked me up in his arms, li teensy baby, and said so queerly, and in Dy Voic poor little Tottleby, my poor littl and he kissed me good, and said next thin; that 80? Why, I just th “How "nor?" Just think! “Pll tell you if you will prom- said Prince Charming, ‘at down on the bed, and kissed me you'll come back again,” said I, “because we need you. El'nor wants you awful bad. She told me. Oh, I’ve told all. I didn’t mean to, but it slipped out.” “God bless you, Tottleby,” Prince Charm- ing said, and he cried! Prince Charming cried! He did, because I felt something warm drop on my cheek in the dark, and I know what that means. It means crying, because El'nor has cried in the dark lots of times, and sometimes a tear would fall on my cheek. I've felt it. Then we both cried. It was awful nice. “Aren't we mis'rable, Prince Charming?” and I hugged him. Then he said. What do you suppose? “Tottleby, my dear little la Prince Charming well enough io be willing to do something nice for him? Yes, Tottle- by, I am miserable. Would you make me happy if you could?” I answered, quick as a wink: “Try me.” “Does Cousin El'nor look happy?” said my _ prince. “No-0-0-0." I just pulled out the no as long as I could breathe; then I asked Prince Charming how I could make him happy, and I wanted to start at it right off. He said: “Listen!” ll mamma to write to Cousin El'nor that you want to see her.” Well, I did. I told mamma that I wanted El'nor, and mamma said I should have her. Cousin El'nor came. She was fixing me up for bed, and had just given me my bed-night kiss, and Prince Charming came in to kiss me a bed- night, too. He said: “Thank God, thank God them thanked me. Did 3 didn’t see me. Think of it! They kissed forty-leven dozen times, I gui Then he said, fast: hat does Uncle Jem say? And Efnor said that Uncle Jem still fussed some, but she thought he would for- give them. He did. Cousin El'nor said that Prince Charming was just my Cousin Charlie. But Prince Neither one of ju ever! They Charming says she is Princess Charming | now. Of course he is right. that Uncle Jem fussed because they were cousins, and didn't want cousins to marry. 1 should think not! Prince Charming says I married him and Cousin EYnor. I did. Ccusin El'nor says I told this story real nicely. I did, too. Don't you think so? That hateful Lily Rubers didn't hang her- self after all. She never intended to, Prince Charming says. He knows. That's all. Se French Against Bull Fighting. A Paris correspondent of the London Times writes: “Quite recently a bull fight was organized at Dijon, but matadors, toreadors, bulls and trappings had to go as they came. Nobody would patronize tie horrible spectacle. The thing fell utterly through from want of patronage. It may be remembered that a similar fiasco eceu- red in Paris not long after the exhibition in 1889. Bull fights did, indead, ai that huge cosmopolitan affair, 2 mately the arena was pulled down and the fittings sold for a mere song. Parisians were disgusted with the whole concern. It is to be hoped for the honor of France that the prefets of the south will remorse- lessly carry out their instr banish this relic of barbaz soll. y, do you love | Mamma says | GIRLS WHO HAVE BROTHERS Have you any idea how popular you be- come if you are a girl Whose brother is en- tering upon the dancing and eligible stage? It is a thing really beautiful to contem- plate, the sweet affection and thoughtful- ness of the girls who either know or want to know your brother. It is one of several pleasant things connected with the growing up of what was a small brother. Some of the other pleasant things are his being able at last to see matters in a good deal the same light as you do, being able to discuss books and pictures and people with moder= ate intelligence, being able to act as an es- cort in default of any one better—that Is, some other girl's brother—and being able to carry on a conversation for several min- utes in the presence of your “best beau’ without seriously putting his foot in it. But all these are as nothing compared to your new popularity. Girls call that never called before. The debutantes cover you with delicate attentions. If you are of an unsuspicious disposition you will think the charm lies in yourself; but if you are mod- erately sharp you will see through it, and this deference from the debutantes will make you feel how seasons are piling up upon your head. You are invited to small affairs of the buds that reason will tell you you would not be thought an addition to were it not for the halo of glory that a young man brother poises above your brow. You see so muc of the fine side of girl nature that you gradually reform the rather severe judg- ments that you made from your own expe- riences with your own sex; perhaps girls are better than you believed after all. There is rot much danger of your ever having tco gocd an opinion of girl nature, however. For May will in the course of a nice, cozy afternoon tea chat tell you how | untidy Less and Dodo and Lily are, and how Katy and Julia and Clara and “all the other * smoke cigarettes, and how Lizzi nd Hlen and Anna and Maud let the men hold their | Julia or He hands. And Bess or n will drop in some morning and tell you just about the same thing, only that May’s name will appear in all the | lists of sinners and the speake will be conspicuous by its . Then you realize that the coming girl is not much more of a saint than you They talk you in a confiding sort of w you were the elder sister th like to have you be some day he other. day I did a m » oh, so hot, woman I stiffest. white r ten times tie yourself—stiffer | stiffer than all of ut atent le | patent hound my as Thi . rather as they would | | | | an Is and di ther; the stuck a torturing ang and my | Would nct hang in graceful folds. Let me | impress m you again that it was 3 o'clock on a hot day, that my room was jon the hot side of the and that I | was not comfortable. | having to turn out to make a call on | ticularly fa at m i card of one of the sweet 3 gir | whom I don't like over well. I knew that girl knew my brother was at | that she hope him far more than she wanted to So I said to th Japan do was meant for Mr Jack Japauese that sort , of thing; he doesn’t know ma probably rica for a girl rd to a man, so without | took it to my brother’ 1 saw Jack go dow | perplexed and a rather bored expression on his By and by I own in my starch simulated surprise at t he . She wanted to know if in't taken me her card. I didn’t fib. just avoided a direct reply and said: What did he do with the card?” “He brought it to m a “Oh, those foreigners are so stupid. I suppose he thought it was Jack you said I. And then I told her that I reall had to go out, as I had an engagemen {but that I hoped she'd stop and am |my brother. And she did. I know a girl that has about the nicest brother in town. The girl is an awful bore, and she's catish and hateful, too, but dear me! how all the other girls do |leve hor. How they make her handker- | chiefs and embroideries that show off their needlework; how those who are too proper to give the brother their photographs lay them at the sister's shrine; how many " she gets invited to that broth sigh for in vain: how her opin- ered to: how her jokes are laugh- ed at and her eternal stories of conquests impossible she ever should have made are listened to with rapt attention. I know, ase I like the brother myself, though J don’t bow down to and wor | her quite as some of th: and hip girls do, I frankly admit that I am pretty nice to her, whereas under other circumstances I wouldn't tol- erate her. I suppose it's human nate: That girl's a goose. She ha an ide that it isn’t she who attracts, whic makes her still more in for the brothers of sisters, out whether they see through it all or not. Men are such mean, close-mouthed thin Will Prevent the Here is something new and way of a cure for seasickn erer explains the physiolo; on which it is based. He is an Irishman, Thomas Moy by nam Some years ago, when crossing the Irish channel on board a passenger steame with a very rough sea, it oc: 4 to him that as the motions of the vessel produced seasickness, it might be possible to prevent that disagreeable malady has three kinds of motion: a motion of the entire vess motion longitudinally gravity; and a trarsverse rolling motion. Mr. Moy treated the longitudinal motion as having a tendency to drive matter, ce | trifugally, toward the head and s' nm, an the rolling motions as having a simila tendency to drive matter outward from the er of such motions. Sirange in the Its dise: principles al w for details, “The entrance to the stomach,” says Mr. Moy, “is on the left side of the body, the orsophagus end, and the exit is on the right side, pyloric orifice; and my experiment ‘consisted in utihzing the longitudinal motions se as to keep the food in the stomach, and utilizing the rollir as to assist the aatural the in ocsophaxus propelling the food toward the pyloric fice. This 1 effected by selecting a couch dina line with the keel, lying with d toward the engine room, and ly.ug upon my left side.” The experiment, Mr. Moy adds, was entirely suc ful, and he has always adopted it in rough seas, when a suitable berth could 1 ained. 1 would be interesting to know whether any- one else has tried the remedy, and, if so, with what result. Too Much, rper’s Bozar. . Mr. Graduate,” said clerk, a this-year graduate ‘I am very sorry, but after S: I shall have to dispense with your I, of cour Imire you © usi- but I reali having you : time the brol rT of rday serv- Young Amazon—“Get him down on the ground, Teddy, an’ leave the rest to me!”