lic tiliatljcim Hccorit
fllje Chatham ftecotfr. :
RATES .OF. ADVERtlSINi
One qnre, on Insertion $1.00
One square,- two inter tions 1.60
One square, one month . , j, 2. 60
For Larger Advertiser
ments Liberal iConr
tracts will be rtiada.
TTaTlondon,
Editor and Proprietor,
... H
"TRMS of subscription,
Ay ;u
Ay. Ay a
- M
Sir
Hi
i V
$1.50.-Per Year.
Strictly in Advance.
VOL. XXVII.
NO. 48.
taw
Mil
ij) Ay
O
Q
PTTTRTlOTri PTTATU AM nnnMTV M . n -. tittttoii & u Tin ; o
' 11 s s i , s -
L LUKE HAMMOND, 1
1 THE MISER..
By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck,
Author of the "TKo Stone-Cutter
of Lisbon," Etc
' CHAPTER X. -,
Continued. -
You say so now. I expected you
weuld," "remarked Luke, coolly.
Catharine Elgin, I am a desperate
"man: unscrupulous when my interest
demands it. I ha,d Intended to use
other and less severe measures to
wake you the wiJe of my son, but hav
ing discovered that you have given
your love to James Greene, and be
cause you have learned of your father's
existence I am not to be trifled with
now. I tell you plainly, you shall
never lie less a prisoner than you are
iiotoc until you are the wife of Charles
Hammond."
""l have never seen him," said Kate,
with scathing conteniptr "but merely
because he is your son I detest and
abominate him. You are wasting time,
Luke Hammond."
"Your father's life depends
your resolve," said Luke, coldly.
upon
i "Wretch! Have you not already In
jured him beyond barbarity' Itself?"
cried Kate. "You dare not take his
life,"
"You forget that he is, in fact, al
ready dead and buried," said Ham
mond. "The very fact that I have done
what I have should prove to you that
I t'.are do anything and will do any
llil."' he said, fiercely.
f-,-Arc you, Mrs. Harker, a woman,
pud hear you this threat without rais
ing your voice?" exclaimed Kate to
Jsaney.
"Tell her, Luke, tell her what I am
to you. The truth may weaken her
courage," said Nancy, writhing under
Kate's scornful words.
"I will, sometime hereafter," said
Luke. "Better wait until Charles has
arrived to urge his suit."
T "Leave me! in Heaven's holy name, I
Ibeg you to leave me," cried Kate.
Th?n clasping her
hands and falling
upon her knees, she cried:
"Oh, mother! dear mother! look
down upon thy most unfortunate child!
Ask from our God His powerful aid to
free me and my poor father from the
cruelty of this wicked man. And, oh
God! hear my mother's prayer!"
V She covered her lovely face with her
hands, and wept bitterly,
r "She melts at last," said Luke, with
a grim smile of triumph.
"Melts!" exclaimed Kate, springing
to her feet, ' and standing defiantly
erect. "I am rock iron steel to you,
villain. Would to Heaven I were a liv
ing sword to cleave you down where
you stand thou hideous, cruel, un
grateful scoundrel!"
"I shall not forget your . compli
ments," said Hammond, quiveringsvith
rage. "I have little time to waste in
talking. You hold your father's life or
Ieatli upon your lips. He dies if you
remain rebellious to my commands."
"Rebellious!" said Kate. "I owe you
no obedience."
"if your father, then, shall command
you to marry my son, will you obey
him?" demanded Luke.
"In his right reason, my father would
bite his tongue off ere he would con
tent to such a thing," said. Kate.
"Knowing that, I would disobey his
forced or insane command. Leave
me."
"You hope to be rescued," sneered
Luke. "You shall sooner fly. You
hope for the aid of James Greene.
True, he will seek for you and find
a swift and sudden death."
! "Oh, Father in Heaven! This is too
much!" sobbed Kate, almost swooning
With a new-born fear.
"Tell me, inhuman being that you
are! Can you be my mother's brother?
Is there a single drop of kindred blood
in your veins and mine?"
"Why question it?"
"Because my mother was kind, lov
ing, pious, gentle she would not force
a pang from the heart of her bitterest
foe, though in being merciful she
should Lave broken her own. And you
you sre what? I can find no name
to describe your villainy! I dare you,
cowardly tryant, to face James Greene
with a threat! He would crush you,
hut for the hair of your head, which
has grown white with evil. Leave me,
I say!"
"Take this fact to bend you with its
terror, Catharine Elgin," said Ham
mond, hoarse with rage, and astounded
at her courage. "James Greene will
come here to-night; a note in your writ
ing will lure him here. He goes not
heue? a living man."
"Heaven will protect him and punish
you," replied brave Kate.
("We shall see," said Luke, fiercely.
"I have gone too far to retreat. James
Greene must die or I must hang. . Look
at me and say if I am one to sacrifice
y life for that of James Greene."
He turned his dark and evil face so
that every desperate purpose in his
soul seemed blazing upon it in fearful
resolve.
"J eavo me! You look like a fiend,"
6a,'.(.lK:ile' shutting ber eyes in teTror.
"To Kave the life of James Greene,"
,6ad Hammond,: "will.you consent to
' obey me?" V i ?
'if James Greene loves me as I love
fS'l from my soul I believe be
said Kate, gazing firmly at her
jyvaat, "be win prefer sudden death to
fueiong misery. And to kaow. mi tb
II"
Copyright 1896, I
by Eobikt Bonner's Sons. I
CA.U rights reserved.) I
wife of another would be agony to him,
as to see him the husband of another
would be woe to me, Luke Hammond.
I place my trust where my mother
taught me to place it, and where I
know she now is in heaven!"
She pointed upward as she spoke, and
the noble dignity and confidence of her
face and attitude abashed Hammond
while he admired.
"By my blood!" he muttered, as he
left the room and strode along the hall,
"I half wish Charles may refuse. That
girl begins to turn my brain. But to
force her to marry me will be infinitely
harder than to make her Mrs. Charles
Hammond. Surely my son will arrive
this day."
He met Stephen pacing the hall.
"How is he?" asked Luke.
- "Awake and wants to see you," said
Stephen.
"He Is perfectly sensible, then?"
Yes, sir, and would talk with me If
I would answer him," said Stephen.
"I will give him a chance to wag his
tongue." said Hammond, with a hard,
cruel smile, as he entered the crimson
chamber.
"Good day, Elgin," said Luke, tafcing
a seat near the bed. "I am rejoiced to
see your eye so clear. You feel better?"
"Villain! Have you come to renew
your tortures?" groaned Henry Elgin.
"Where is my child?"
"She is in the white-and-gold cham
ber, Henry Elgin, and there to remain
until she shall become Charles Ham
mond's wife."
"She will die there, then, for she
loves "james Greene," said Elgin.
"Alas! my poor child!"
"She may forget James Greene if
you command her to marry ' Charles
Hammond."
"I shall not command her. You know
it well, scoundrel.
"Not even to save your life to regain
health and freedom, Henry Elgin?"
"No; not for twenty such lives as
mine would I make my daughter miser
able. My life and liberty! You dare
not give me my liberty; my life you are
stealing from me by slow torture."
"To save her life, then, will you com
mand her to wed Charles Hammond?"
"Monster! Will you dare harm that
innocent girl, the child of your sister?"
"She must become Mrs. Hammond.
I have sworn it, plotted It for years."
- "Luke Hammond," said Elgin, "my
purse has often saved you from ruin.
My house has been your home for
years. All that I enjoyed you shared.
Your sister was my wife; my child is
your niece. Have you no humanity,
no gratitude?"
"None, Henry Elgin, said Luke.
"None, when to show such would be
to ruin myself. I am upon the verge
of bankruptcy. I have no friend of
whom 1 can borrow. If I fail it will be
proved a fraudulent bankruptcy. I
have been entrusted with large sums
by various persons. Those sums I
have used in speculations, and lost
every dollar. A time for settlement is
near at hand. You are rich, very rich,
and could have saved me a year ago."
"The riches you call mine by right be
long to James Greene," said Elgin,
"and you are already largely indebted
to me for money advanced."
"Too late to speak of that now," said
Hammond. "Though all believe you to
be dead, I have prevented a settlement
of your affairs. My notes due to you I
have destroyed. Think you I will suf
fer you to go free with the power and
will to ruin me? Do what I tell you
make over all your property to your
daughter, as all men now believe you
have already done. Command your
daughter to become the wife of my
son, and you shall go free."
"You would not dare trust me free.
You would murder me after having
gained your purpose," said Elgin.
"Not if you would pledge me your
solemn word of honor, Henry Elgin,
to leave me unmolested."
"What if I advance you the money
you need to save your reputation?"
asked Elgin.
"Yon cannot, "Henry Elgin," said
Hammond. "You are dead to the
world. Make a will dated prior to the
day of your supposed death, leaving
your property to your child, and she
can advance the money at your com
mand. You cannot appear again in
New York while I am in it."
"You would fly elsewhere with the
money," said Elgin. "You are a de
faulter, a villain, and would use the
money so gained to pay your debts.
Nor shall I defraud James Greene any
longer of his rights. I have been a bad
man, and now I am suffering my just
punishment. Years ago the father of
James Greene, when dying, made me
the guardian of bis infant son, who
now loves my daughter. I was false to
the trust. Young Greene had no rela
tives, and I easily gained undisputed
possession of the property. Then I ap
prenticed the boy to learn the carpen
ter's trade. During the last three years
of my life among men I repented of my
villainy. For the ' sake of my child I
dared nof: reveal my crime, lut ,J
took a course which would have right
ed James Greene and left her with an
unstained name, had you not inter
fered. I do not think you dare to mur
der me, or you would have done so the
instant you dJicovwed my TrUV'
Hammond mntteretf: .
And I -would, by my ; blood! but t
thought you were dying and I would
now, had I the will.'
He dared not tell Henry Elgin that
the will was lost, lest the know-ledge
should cause him to grow strong In re
sistance. .,-.
"You are right, Elgin, said he, at
length. "It is needles to disguise the
matter. The principal part of your
property is In real estate. I wish it
J sold, and the money to be placed in my
nanas. . unce in my hands I will leave
America, and you shall be restored to
life and liberty. Money I need money
I will have. I now say to you plainly,
as the highwayman said to the' traveler
'Your money or your life!' I say more
'Your money or two lives; your and
your daughter's!' Think of it. I will
give you a few hours only for reflec
tion and decision. Till then,, good
day." And bowing with mock polite
ness Luke left the crimson chamber t
prepare the springing of the trap he
had set for James Greene. A deep and
bitter curse rolled after him .from the
pallid lips of his tortured prisoner, to
which Luke replied with a mocking
laugh. ...
CHAPTER XI.
LUKE HAMMOND SPBINGS HIS TRAP.
After three hours of hard labor in
the old store room, which was upon
the ground floor of the mansion, Luke
Hammond pronounced his man-trap in
fine working order, and having retired
to his library summoned old Fan.
She entered the library with her half
idiotic, half-eavage grin and waited
for orders. .
"Fan," said Hammond, avoiding her
sharp, distorted eyes, "there's five-dollar
gold piece for you."
He placed the coin upon the table,
and she snapped It into her pocket in a
second.
"Good! we are to have some devilry ,'
muttered Fan, smacking her withered
lips.
"At 9 o'clock," said Hammond, "you
will place yourself in the vestibule. Af
ter a time a gentleman in a white hat
will enter the yard gate boldly, walk
up to you, and you will say, Th
note!' He will give it to you. Then
condftet him into the rear parlor, and
bring the note to me, Do you under
stand?" "Yes, Mr. Hammond, said Fan.
"Very well. Now, have dinner serve!
at 6, and go about your business," said
Hammond.
Old Fan departed, chuckling over her
good luck.
"He pays well," she muttered, as she
retreated to her den near the kitchen.
"Pays well! It's a pious pleasure to
serve Luke. I wonder what .villainy
he is about now. He's got the true
master and tnistress of the house
locked up! Ho! Luke Hammond,
you're a fine bird. But you pay in gold
good red and yellow gold."
Lifting a loose brick from the hearth
he raised from a hole beneath a small
sack of coins, which she untied and
emptied upon her bed.
"Good birdies," said she, fondling the
coins tenderly, "are you well? Here's
another yellow lark to nestle with ye.
Make him at home, birdies. You are
the only children I have now. Don't
fly away! don't!"
She counted them a score of times,
and returning them to the sack placed
it under the brick.
"Nobody will find you nobody!" she
said, raking ashes over the brick.
"You're mine you're my 6ons and
daughters, good birdies!"
A pair of greedy, longing eyes wer
watching her all the time through the
alley window. The eyes belonged to
Daniel, who had just returned from his
errand and had peered in by accident.
Daniel resolved , to think about the
matter vfind hastened to the library,
where he found Hammond anxiously
awaiting him.
"You have been long enough to go
around the globe," said his master.
"I had a time of finding him," said
Daniel. "Mr. James Greene was not at
his shop, but over in Brooklyn, seeing
about putting up a house. But I found
him."
"What did he say?" asked Hammond.
"He read the note, put it in his pocket
very keerfully, and looked at me sharp
as a new cold cut chisel," said Daniel.
"Well, what then?"
"He took the sachel, peeped into it
and' smiled," said Daniel. "Then he
wrote on a bit of paper, gave it to me
to give to Miss Elgin, and then gave
me a dollar."
"He's very generous," said Ham
mond, with a sneer. "Here's another
dollar, so give me the bit of pape."
Daniel produ'eed a small note, neatly
folded, and gave it to Hammond, who
opened it and read, written in pencil:
. "Expect me. J. G."
"We'll expect him," muttered Ham
mond. ",Now, Daniel, go relieve Ste
phen. Stay; any shipping intelligence?
"Yes, sir," said Daniel. "Bark Glean
er coming up the bay."
"Good!" almost shouted Hammond.
'Daniel, there's another dollar for your
uews."
Daniel grinned, secured the money in
his vest and bowed himself out.
"To be served "well, pay well," said
Hammond, when alone. "I've had vil
lains about me all my life, and they
have been true to me always, because
I have paid well and promptly. That
fellow, Daniel, knows I can hang him,"
and he might have added truthfully,
"and I know he might oblige me in the
same manner." But the reflection was
very unpleasant, and he thought oT
something else. He thought ofhis son
Charles.
T""' To be continued.
A toque formed of. shaded nastur
tiums was worn with an effective
brown costume seen recently. The ma
terial was cigar brown canvas trimmed
with embroidered taffeta to match and
coffee colored guipux -
I MSB . - I
1 -1 . . - - i
H
umo r of
Just One.
"Were there any practical jokes
played on you at your wedding?"
"Only by Fate." New York Sun.
Overweening Ambition.
A microbe on a dollar bill
Abode in neace and nlentv.
Bat moved one day and starved to death.
aw new uome was a twenty.
Chicago Tribune.
Hid jFlounderingg.
"Isn't Mr. Teejus a deep thinker?"
"He must be," answered Miss Cay
enne. "I- never heard him try to say
anything without getting beyond his
depth." Washington Star.
- Stir-Sacrifice.
He "I don't see what makes women
such awful gossips. Now, a man prides
himself on being a good listener."
She "That's just it. A woman likes
to flatter his vanity, and how could he
listen if she didn't talk?" Detroit
Free Press.
Joy Aliratf.
Jenkins "Aren't you disappointed
that your baby was a girl?"
Popley "No, indeed. I've just been
thinking how much pleasure it will af
ford me some day to tell some foreign
duke or count that he can't have her."
Philadelphia Ledger.
Tralh Bronglit Home.
"After all," said the moralist, "the
Almighty Dollar is man's greatest en
emy. It "
"If that's so," interrupted old Box
ley, "I guess that young wife of mine
merely loves me for the enemies I've
made." Philadelphia Press.
j
"Why He Lauchod.
"Oh, George, dear, I'm so glad you've
come home! We've had burglars in
the fiat, and they took all our silver
and beat the janitor dreadfully! What
are you laughing at?"
"I'm laughing because they beat the
janitor." Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Professional Amenities.
"I was really so excited that I just
simply lost my voice altogether."
"Wasn't that lucky! I was wonder
ing how they came to accept it."
Puck.
Their Ancestors.
trace my ancestors Dack
fourteen generations," said
"I can
through
the man with the long hair and the
frayed cuffs.
"I can't," replied the man with the
new suit and the patent leather shoes;
"I haven't time." - - Chicago Record
Herald. Tlie Sequ.l.
Old Friend "Hello, Bill! Haven't
seen you in ten years. The last time
we met you were writing a book on
'How I Got Rich Quick.' What be
came of you after that?"..
Bill "Oh, then I wrote another on
How I Got Into Jail Quicker.' "De
troit Free Press.
In the Fifth Avenue Parade.
Respectable Deacon "I wish tnat
young Canon Mayberry weren't obliged
to preach to such a small congrega
tion." .
Frivolous Widow "So do I. Every
time he said 'Dearly beloved' this
morning I felt as if I had received a
proposal." Smart Set.
Unanswerable. "
Maiden Aunt "Caroline, you don't
know how to train children. I've been
noticing how you deal with Johnny.
Nine out of every ten injunctions you
lay upon him are 'don'ts.' "
Married Niece "Why, Aunt Abigail,
nine Uf the Ten Commandments" are
'don'ts!' "Chicago Tribune.
" A Birt For Fame.
Mrs. 'Rastus Johnsing "Dem Coon
leys doan' nebah had chicken fo' din
nah ho mo'." -
Mr. 'Rastus Johnsing "Naw! Seuce
dey begin makin' a leetle money dey
bin tryin' ter make b'lieve dey kin
affo'd ter buy in broad daylight all de
grub dey need." Philadelphia Press.
A Florida Incident.
"So you won't go out in a row boat
with me?" he asked, with a disappoint
ed look. .
"I'm timid," she replied; "I never fell
out of a boat, and I'm afraid I couldn't
do it gracefully.'.'
"Well, come out on the bacK stoop
and we'll try falling out of a ham
mock!" Yonkers Statesman.
Same Then as Now, ;
: wonder,..wliQ , was the, first politi
cian ?'!;-queried:-, the heavy weight neWj
boarder. . .
"Adam," answered the-cheerful idiot.
"How do you figure thrt out?" asked
the obese party.
"Ho didn't have to go to .work until
he lost his job," PXEjiatiseO. the c. ..
CQhjBibu.S Dispatch. -
rWILLIAMSGN'S INSOMNIA.1
How Taking Care of the Baby Effected a
Two-Fold Cure.
Williamson always complained that
he was a bad sleeper. In his babyhood
the tendency exhibited itself in the
shape of a fondness for, exercise be
tween the hours of 1 and 4 o'clock in
the morning. As he grew older the.
somnolent characteristics of the normal
boy were noticeable by their absence.
The sound of ra'n on the roof, a creak
ing door, the thought of to-morrow's
examinations, could banish from him
all possibility of sleep.
Mrs.Williainson's first important les
son in her married life concerned the
sacredness of Wiliamson's slumbers. A
mother-in-law, three sistersrin-law and
a maiden aunt of - her husband's all
united to impress on her mind that if
Charlie once fell asleep nothing short
of a domestic tragedy was an excuse J.
for awakening him. His oversleeping
in the morning was to be hailed with
thankfulness, as a partial atonement
for the sufferings of a wakeful night.
All of which Mrs. Williamson took to
heart as in duty bound.
Williamson, junior, however, did not
prove as tractable a pupil as his
mother. Considering his inches, he had
an extraordinary amount of self-assurance,
and his bump of reverence
seemed totally undeveloped. If he felt
in the mood for roaring, he roared re
gardless of the hour of whose slumbers'
he disturbed. The room chosen for the
nursery was as remote as possible from
Williamson's sleeping room, and here
Mrs. Williamson spent many an hour
of the night in an effort to render the
outcries of her son and heir inaudible
to her husband.
But one time when Williamson junior
was cutting his first teeth his mother
had been up with him for three succes
sive nights. Then Williamson made a
proposition that would have astonished
his mother and sisters and the maiden
aunt.
Looking across the table at his wife's
pretty, tired face, the dark lines of
weariness giving a new luster to her
eyes, he said, kindly: "Kitty, you look
worn out. Tonight you must get a
good sleep. I will look after the baby."
Mrs. Williamson gasped. "Why,
Charlie, you won't sleep at all. The
time you , usually go to sleep is just
his hour for starting in." ;
"I can stand It for one night," said
Williamson. Then he added with a
martyr-like air, "I sleep so littte any
way that I might as well turn - my
wakefulness to some account."
The prospect of one night of undis
turbed sleep was too tempting to be
resisted. Mrs. Williamson yielded with
ecstatic gratitude. She retired early
that evening, having first inducted her
husband into the chief mysteries con
nected with the care of an infant.
It seemed to her that she had hardly
fallen asleep when she was aroused
by the vigorous lamentations of her
offspring. Her first impulse was to go
to her husband's assistance, but she
heroically suppressed it. She wouia
not spoil his sacrifice. She fell asleep
again, her mind full of images of Will
iamson heating milk and walking the
floor and crooning lullabies under his
breath to the red, wriggling piece of
humanity who seemed on such oc
casions a prey to the most bitter cyn
icism. Occasionally through the night
she was awakened by the baby's cries,
but each Jtime she sunk to sleep, with
the delicious consciousness that Charlie
was doing everything necessary.
The sun was high -next morning when
Williamson bolted into his wife's room,
watch in hand. ."What time have you,
Kitty? My watch seems to be off."
"Why; it's 9 o'clock," gasped Mrs.
Williamson. "You've overslept." Then,
with commiserating tenderness, "I sup
pose you were so worn out, poor boy,
that when he gave you a chance y ou
just slept, regardless of everything."
Williamson looked sheepish. "To
tell the truth, I never remember hav
ing had a better sleep," he said. "I
was in a tranquil mood and the little
fellow seemed to feel it. He never
made a sound all night."
"Charlie Williamson!" shrieked his
wife. "Do you mean to say that you
never heard that poor child? Didn't
you even feed him?"
She was answered by Williamson's
guilty silence. Then, as she realized
the astonishing truth, she gave her
self up to helpless laughter. .
The cure was two-fold. Williamson,
junior, was a baby of discrimination,
and that long night in which his ap
peals had been ignored was enough to
teach him a lesson. Williamson, senior,,
after this episode, found it embarrass
ing to say much ibout his insomnia.
Singular to say, his insomnia retaliated
by leaving him to his own resources.
At last accounts Williamson was sleep
ing very much like other people. But
since the night he took care of the baby
Mrs. Williamson has never trusted him
with the care of that precious infant.
Chicago News.
His Own Son. ' ' ' -
The Judge of one of the Missouri
County Courts went to his home the
other afternoon, and, becoming ac
quainted with some flagrant act of his
seven-year-old son, summoned the lad
before him. "Now, sir, lay off your
coat," he said, sternly. "I am going
to give you a whipping that you will
remember as long as you live" "If it
pleases your Honor," said the boy,
"we desire to ask a stay of the proceed
ings in this case until we can prepare
and file a change t venue to mother's
court. Our application will be based
on the belief that this court has formed
an opinion regarding the guilt of the
defendant which cannot be shaken by
evidence,, and is ..therefore not .com
petent to try the case." , Stay was
granted, and the boy allowed twenty
five cents attorney . fee Columbia
(Mo.) Herald.
- Moscow is s!fnatea almost in the ggo
I metrical ctstie of European Russia, v
A "Woman May Be Independent.
If a woman can make -, preserves,
pickles or pound cake, and secure pur
chasers; if she can knit shawls, sweat
ers and slumber shoes, if she can raise
poultry or Angora cats, if she can, in
brief, send out from her home any
product whatever that people want and
will pay for, she need not be worried.
She will lie down at night tired and
complacent, and while , retaining her
grasp on the home in its essentials, she
will not feel that she is a pensioner on
her husband's bounty. No wife should
ever acknowledge that she feels herself
this; no wife ever is this in any true
sense. A wife is neither mendicant
nor pensioner, but, unfortunately, many
wives acutely feel, and silently resent,'
the blundering attitude of otherwise
good husbands in this commonplace
particular. Would that the good men's
eyes were opened! Margaret E. Sang
ster, in Woman's Home Companion.
In Cases of Accident.'
A careful materfamilias has in her
'medicine closet, which hangs on the
bath room wall, a little roll of soft old
flannel pieces, another roll of old hand
kerchiefs and napkins, several rolls of
the sterilized narrow bandages sold by
the druggist in sealed wrappers, a roll
of surgeon's plaster, a package of ab
sorbent cotton and a bottle of boiled
carbolized water.
The trouble is that the family
equipped for all emergencies is the one
in which nothing1 ever happens, while
the . house across the way, which is
run in a "catch-as-catch-can" style, is
always coming down witfa. cuts, bruises
and burns, boils and all other lament
able human ills. However, as the pro
prietor of the first aid to the injured
cabinet says, "It's better to be ready
and not be hurt, than to be hurt and
not be ready." New York Evening Sun.
: Bride-Elect's House Ldnen.
The mind of the bride-elect turns
naturally to her house linen, her trous
seau being, of course, completed, says
the Newark, N. J., Advertiser. The
shops are dealing in exquisite linen
sets, their beauty never having been
excelled. Italian filet and English em
broideries are lavishly used on them.
Some are fraught with the very air of
the Orient, and those of Chinese grass
cloth, embroidered in characteristic de
signs in silky white cotton, are indeed
beautiful. The girl who can will surely
possess luncheon .sets in Byzantine
point Arab, cluny orvin the new lace
called Italian neapolitan. -In the direc
tion of table covers there are many ex
clusive and beautiful designs, while in
bed linen one may range from the sum
mits of luxury, as represented by
drawn work and hand embroidered
sheets, to the levels of simplicity. In
deed, all of the linen shown could not
possibly be excelled in beauty. The
brides should glory in their fortune in
having such a glorious selection.
Woman Versus Man.
It seems to me that woman's , excel
lence (and I have been using the word
always in its proper meaning to denote
superiority), lies in three things: A
certain fineness and delicacy of physi
cal organization and balance; a certain
deep and sensitive power of intellectual
and moral sympathy, and a certain
firm and gentle faculty of social order
and rule. I believe that nature gives
the germ and potency of these things
to her more fully and more richly than
to man, at the beginning of life. I be
lieve that they are native and inherent
capacities wherein the normal feminine
excels the normal masculine. But that
is not the point, and so we may evade,
'for the present, the somewhat fierce
and perilous discussion whiclr swirls
around it. Whether these excellences
are inherent or acquired, they are cer
tainly desirable. They fit and adorn a
woman for the place and the privileges
whieh belong to her in civilized society.
And the course of life, the method of
training and education, which develops
these things; in a girl is the way to
womanhood. Henry van Dyke, in Har
per's Bazar. -' ; -
Making Fudge' For a IAVlng.
"Good morning, gentlemen," said the
young woman, placing a suit case on a
vacant desk in a downtown office. The
half dozen men in the room looked up
from their work.
"I've got something here that will in
terest you," went cn the young woman,
all the while unfastening the straps of
the suit case.
"It'll be useless to spring a book on
ns ' sfild one man.
"Don't worry," responded the young
woman. "I'm not a book agent. But
I'm selling something, and I'll bet there
isn't one of you can guess what."
At last the suit case was opened. It
was packed with' neat pasteboard
boxes, tied witli ribbons of different
hues, .t" m -..'..-
. "Here we . are," went on the young
woman, taking out a box and untying
the ribbon. "Before I take off the
cover I want to say to you all that this
is the best article of its kind on the
market home-made fudge." Just try
a piece," she urged, going from one to
the other with the box.
Everybody took a box at, twenty -five
cents each. The young woman said her
mother, her sister and herself made the
fudce at home. ' She was the traveling
salesman of the firm, having given up
a job as typewriter to do this woi-k.
So far, she said, she had made, a big
hit, for every day she sold all the fam
Jiy could make. New YorH un,
, , About the Hair and Hat. '
; .... . . .
Of course, the Easter. bonnet is one ol
the all-absorbing subjects' at thlswrit- '
ing. Never before have the hai$ and
the hat. been so dependent one ngan the
other, and. the shape and styjeof hat
that the fashionable leaders of society
are selecting depend entirely upon the
mode in which the haic.ia dressed.
The pompadour dressing, still - pre
vails, but in its later phases it is much
smeller, doubtless' to accord with the
much smaller chapeaux that, the, best
milliners in Paris are pushing upon
their clients just 1 now. ' ' And 'these
smaller hats will make quite at differ
ence in the mode and manner of dress-
ng the hair. ? ,
When the large picture ' hats were
worn and the big and shady shepherd
esses, a stray, lock or two of, hair did
not look at all untidy. Iudeedif it
were curly it added quite a charmj and
straggling locks twisting their ? curly
way around the face took away, some
what from the severity of outline of
the large velvet picture hat J 'But in
the smaller ones they make for , quite
a different effect, and what was charm
ing carelessness in the large hat will
appear just plain ' untidiness ' in the
smaller. Therefore one : ought to bo
thankful for these novelt coiffure, nets. -They
are made of real human hair, and
when you have carefully matched the
tint of your own locks in one of these
netsit will be hard to tell at a parsing
glance whether you , are weanpg ona
or not.'
-Newark Advertised,
TVvr T.lttln Girls.
Open work embroidery on cloth and
silk as well as upon linen and heavy
cottons enters into the new -coats and
there are delectable coats of a Hover
open work embroidery,1 ; or Swiss or
fine lawn, and trimmed in Valen
ciennes. .Shepherds' checks, with trim
mings -of plain bright color and . sou
tache, are made up into cunning coats
for little tots, but are hardly so at
tractive as the plain woolens. r.ti
Hats for the small girl are as a rule
slightly smaller than last year's, fol- -lowing
the tendency of ' millinery- for
grown-ups. The -lingerie - hats ..with,
Tam crown and full brinrare more pop
ular and more beautiful than ever; and
as a concession to the open work em
broidery fad one , sees many hats of
linen or pique with flat Tam crown and
flat, plain brim. ": ""
- The crown is ornamented with -open
work buttonhole embroidery .. .and, the
brim has a , border of this embroidery
and scalloped , buttonhole edges.' Soft
silk is folded .around -the crowniand
knotted at the left front. vJ ev
Embroidered pique, not open, work, is
made up in the same way, and often
the brims of these rather severe little
hats are faced with 6 shirred lawn or
overlapping frills . of narrow, Valen
ciennes. Lingerie hats in this shape,
but formed entirely of Valenciennes
frills on ruflied edgings, are liked,: and
there are some pretty shapes in corded
mull and lawn.
The variations run upon'-the poke
bonnet are legion,., and straw is . more
used for these than it has. been in
many seasons. Some ' of ' the "models
have not even a facing, the dainty,
fancy straw being-left to. frame, the
face, with a cluster of blossoms tucked
in against the hair.'
Flowers and the softest of ribbons
are the accepted trimmings, .tiny, roses
and small field flowers having the pref
erence. Some shirred 'Napoleonic
shapes are shown. Dutch bonnets! are
picturesque when becoming, and there
are, of course, many straight brim and
roll brim sailors. New York Sun.
si
It was never so easy to bring old
sleeves up to date. ' '
Wistaria blooms on 5 a good many of
the summer fabrics. ; , : . i. t ' v i
, Lingerie robes and blouses .will, be
more worn than ever.
Those buff cottons are going to be
trying to most complexions.' ,u ' "a
Fuchsia pink "blended with' lilac is
particularly good in millinery- fjf
One must walk behind the modern
hat in order to thoroughly enjoy it,
Particularly smart is a check in
brown, dark blue and creamy white
Mull, with balls instead of dots is
being made up into fascinating bloupes.
For morning frocks there are pretty
girdles and stocks of plaid ribboii.sa
A fetching -fashion-Js-tbc little tulle
bow worn at the side( beneath .the. chin.
Delicate fichus of hand-embroidered'
batiste are 'the latest accessory shown.
The little bolero of esrtbroidercf linen
will be worn with auy thin white drfrss.
Dainty little lace-trimmed slips f of
colored silk are to be had ready-made.
The demand for' a gracefulpring' at
the hip-line lwis revived the; circular
and umbrella skirts.-, modified 'to meet
the. present fashion for, exaggerated
fulness about the feet. '
Too many of the white muslins.are
trimmed with lace which ,doeVnot layn
der as well as Valenciennes.'' One d6is
not care to see Rennaisance motIves"1n
set among mull tucks.5 X number''' of
thin gowns ere sq decorated,' as are
also, macy liandkertftlet liR?H hlousef.
v i v ii.v m.
" ' . . -. ... . a
t i
IK
-Hi
v
2 t
' ?';
a-
if j i
ft,
li
I'-''!
hi
i
li;
t 1
x !
J1
' if.
f 1
i'. i