Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 April 1895 — Page 4

AT TWILIGHT. I stood at twilight by the shimmering lake. And watched the shadowy, autumntinted leaves. Inverted, swaying in the evening ! breeze. And the red tower and the pretty boathouse make • A picture that no future years can take ; From out my memory; shadows such as *- these— The beautiful unreal—make oases In every earnest life; we dream and wake To nobler duties from such times of rest Earth seems a paradise reflecting heaven; love floods the soul with colors richer far Than even nature in the glowing west. The hopes of youth come back; new strength is given. As through the twilight breaks the evening star. —[Sarah K. Bolton, in Clevaud Leader.

EPHBAIM'S PINCH.

BY REV. S. BARING-GOULD. A little to one side of the track that leads to Widdecombe in the Moor and that branches from the main artery of travel which runs from Tavistock to Moreton Hampstead, and thence to Exeter, is an ancient tenement in the midst of the waste, called Runnage. Runnage lies in a very lonesome spot; the hills that fold about it to the back and west afford sufficient shelter for sycamores to have grown to a considerable size—sycamore, the one tree which will hold its own anywhere. The tenants of these holdings enjoy great right by custom. The heir of each and every one, on the death of each and every tenant, has by custom the privilege of inclosing eight acres of the forest or waste ground, paying therefor one shilling annually to the Crown and this inclosure is called a new-take. No wonder that the Duchy of Cornwall does all in its power to rid itself of these encroaching neighbors. The new-take walls have wrought the destruction of the rude stone monuments; avenues of upright stones, circles, cromlechs, kistvaens, have j)een ruthlessly pillaged, used as quarries w’.'.Ht b?ve been handy. In great many cases the largest upright ones have been seized upon as gateposts, or thrown acrossleats and rivers as bridges, or have been utilized to prep up linhays, and the lesser stones that perhaps commemorate some insignificant tradesman, have been left, while the great menhir set up in honor of his chief has disappeared. Souetim?? the builders of tne new-take walls threw down a great manolith with the intention of breaking it up, and then abandoned it because they found smaller stones more handy; sometimes they transported such big stones part way to the new wall, and cast it down, it being too heavy for their arms to convey any further. The marvel is that so much still remains after over a thousand years of wanton ravage. Runnage tenement house is new. The ancient farm dwelling has been rebuilt in recent times, but at the time of our story the old dwelling was standing. It was a typical moorhouse. A gateway in a high wall of rude granite blocks built up without, mortar gave access to a courtyard paved, very small, into which all the windows of the house looked. Here also, were the outhouses, stables, pigstyes, the well house, the peat store, the saddle and farm implement houses. All opened inward, all could be reached with very little exposure. The main door of the dwelling did not open into the kitchen, but into a sort of barn in which every sort of lumber was kept, with the fowls roosting on the lumber. This served as a workhouse for the men on rainy or foggy days; here they could repairdamaged tools, hammer out nails and rivets, store potatoes, nurse the sheep in “yeaning time,” prepare the rushes for thatching. Here at the end were heaped up high to the roof vast masses of dry bracken to serve as bedding, and in this, in bad weather, the children played hide and seek, and constructed themselves nests. At Runnage at one time lived the substantial tenant, Quintin Creeber, paying to the Crown a slight acknowledgment, and thriving on the produce of his sheep and kine and horses. He tilled ’little grain, grew no roots. There was always grass or hay for his beasts. If the snow lay on the ground deep, then only had he recourse to the hayrick. What little grain he grew was rye, and that was for the household bread.

Quintan Creeber had a daughter, Cecily, or. as she was always called, Sysly, a pretty girl with warm complexion, like a ripe apricot, very full soft brown eyes and the richest auburn hair. She was lithe, strong, energetic; she was Quintin’s only child; his three sons were dead. One had been killed in a mine, one had died of scarlet fever, and the third had fallen into the river in time of flood, and had aquired a chill which had carried him off. Sysly would be the heir to Quintin —inherit Runnage, his savings and the right, on her father's death, of inclosing another eight acres of moor. On the loss of his sons, Quintin had taken into his service one Ephraim Weekes, a young man, broad-shouldered, strongly built, noted as a constructor of new-take walls. Ephraim had a marvelous skill in moving masses of granite which could not be stirred by three ordinary men. It was all knack, he said, all done by pinching, that in to i say, by leverage. But he used more than a lever—he employed rollers as well. Without other than a ready wit, and a keen estimation of weights and forces drawn from experience, Ephraim was able to move und get into place blocks which two and even three other men would avoid touching. He was not a tall man. but was ’ admirably set and proportioned. He had fair hair and blue-gray eyes, a grave, undemonstrative manner, and Instead of wearing hair about his face, it was Ephraim’s custom to dhftve Up and cheek and chin; the

hair of hit head ho wore somewhat long, except only on two occasions when he had his hair mown by the blacksmith at Widdecombe; one of these was Christmas, the other midj summer. Then for a while he was i short-cropped; but his hair grew I rapidly again. He was a quiet man who did not speak much, reserved with the i farmer, and not seeking companion- ! ship at the nearest hamlet of Post i Bridge, where was the tavern, the I social heart of the region. Ephraim was the youngest son of a small farmer at’Walna, a housed with a bit of land that had been parted off from Runnage tenement I at some time in the tenth century, I Walna could not maintain four men, beside the farmer and his wife, con- | sequently the youngest, Ephraim, | was obliged to seek work away from the parental house; and he had been employed repairing fallen walls and constructing new ones, till Quintin Creeber had engaged him as a laborer on his farm. Not for one moment had it occurred to the owner of Runnage that this might lead to results other than those of business between master and man—that it was possible Ephraim might aspire to Sysly, and his daughter stoop to love the laboring man.

It was quite true that in the matter of blood the Creebers and the Weekeses were equal, but a moorman is too practical a man to consider blood; he looks to position, to money. The husband he had in his eye for his daughter was a man who had capital wherewith to develop the resources of the farm, to enlarge the new-takes, to break up fresh soil, to buy well bred horses, and double the number of oxen, and quadruple that of sheep kept on the farm and the moor over which he had free right of common. Quintin would have hesitated to take into his employ Killeas, that is to say, Archelaus Weekes,

the eldest son of his neighbor at Walna, a handsome fellow, with a song or a joke always in his mouth, who loved to romp with the girls, who liked his glass at the tavern; but Ephriam was different. What girl would care for him, plain, silent, without wickedness (i. e., mischief) in him, who never made or understood a joke? Sysly was aged seventeen when Ephraim, a man of twenty-three, came into the service of Quintin Creeber. He served faithfully for seven years, and never gave the farmer cause to reproach him for inactivity, was ever docile, obliging and industrious Such a man was not to be found elsewhere; such a combination of great strength, skill and sobriety, Creeber esteemed himself most lucky in having such a servant. Ephraim did more than two other mon, and never asked for increase of wage, never grumbled at the tasks imposed upon him. When seven years were over, then Sysly was twenty-four, and Ephraim was thirty. There had come suitors for the girl—-among them the eldest son of the farmer Weekes, the lighthearted, handsome Killeas. She had refused him. The young farmer of Hexworthy had sued for her, and had been rejected, greatly to the wonder of Quintin. Now, when the seven years were over, then Ephraim, in his wonted quiet, composed manner, said to the owner of Runnage: “Maister, me and your Sysly likes one another, and wo reckon us’ll make one. What sez you to that, Maister?” Quintin stared, fell back in astonishment, and did not answer for three minutes, while he gave himself time for consideration. He did not want to lose a valuable servant. He hud no thought of giving him his daughter. So he said: “Pshaw! you’re both too young. Wait another seven years, and if you be in the mind then, you and she, speak of it again.” Ephraim took Quintin at his word, without a remonstrance, without an attempt to persuade him to be more yielding. He remained on another seven years.

Then Sysly was aged thirty-one, and he—thirty-seven. On the very day fourteen years on which he had entered the house at Runnage, exactly when the seven years were concluded, at the end of which farmer Quintin had bid him speak of the matter again, then Ephriam went in quest of him, with the intent of again asking for Sysly. He had not wavered in his devotion to her. She had refused every suitor—for him. He found the old man in the outer burn or entrance to the house; he was Hilling a sack with rye. “I say—Ephriam,” he spoke, as Weekesentered: ‘‘there’s the horse gone lame, and we be out of flour. What is to be done? Sysly tells me there hain’t a crumb of flour more in the bin, and her wants to bake to once.” “Maister,” said Ephriam, ‘‘l’ve waited as you said this second seven years. The time be up to-day. Me and Sysly, us ain’t changed our minds, notone bit. Just the same, only us likes one another a thousand times dearer nor ever us did afore. Will’y now give her to me?” ‘‘Look’y here, Ephriam. Carry this sack o’ rye on your back to ; Widdecombe mill, and bring it home | full o’ flour—and I will.” He had set the man ap impossible task. It was five miles to the mill, and the road a mountainous one. But he had put him off—that was all he cared for.

In the room was Sysly. She had heard all. She came out; she saw Ephriam tying up the neck of the sack. ‘‘‘Help her up on my back, Sysly,” said he. “Eph ! —you do not mean it! You can’t do it. It’s too much.” He said: ‘ Carry this sack to Widdecombe mill, and bring’n back full of flour, and you shall have her.” “It was a joke.” “I don’t understand a joke. He said it. He’s a man of his word, straight Up and down.” Sysly held the sack up. But her heart misgave her. “Eph,” she said; ‘‘my father only said that because he knew you couldn't do it;” “I can do it—when I see you before me.” “How do’y mean. Eph ? ” “ ‘Bring back the sack o’ flour.and you shall have her.’ Sys, I’d r arr’ the world on my back for that.”

He was strong, broad-shouldered, and he started with his burden. Sysly watched him with doubt and unrest. Was it possible that he could reach Widdecombe with such a burden? If he reached the mill, could he carry back the sack of flour? She watched him down the hill, and across the Wallabrook that gives its name Walna (now corrupted into Warner) to his father’s farm., Then ensued an ascent, and she saw him toiling up the hill of Sousson’s Moor with the

sack en hie back, Was there any avail in his undertaking this tremendous exertion? Surely her father, if he had intended to give his consent, 'would not have made it conditional on the discharge of such a task ! | Surely, if he had designed to make Ephraim his son-in-law, he would not have subjected him to such a strain! Mas it not probable that Ephraim would do himself an injury in attempting this impossible task? Sysly knew the resolution, the low* of the silent, strong-hearted man; she felt assured that he would labor on under his burden, toil up the steep slopes—struggle, with perspiration streaming, with panting lungs and quivering muscles, up the great ridge of Hamledon—that he would pursue his purpose till nature gave way. And for what ? She did not share his confidence in the good faith of her father. She watched Ephraim till CtoSMwirs 80 clouded her eyes that she ciAd# see the patient, faithful man n wronger. Hours passed. The evening came on; and Quintin Creeber returned to the house. “Where is Ephraim?” he asked. “I want to have the mare blistered—she can’t put a foot to the ground.” “Ephraim is gone to Widdecombe, ” answered Sysly. “To Widdecombe? Who gave him leave?” “Father, you told him to.carry the sack.”

Old Creeber stood aghast. » “To carry the sack 'o rye!” “You told him he was to take that to the mill, and bring back flour.” “It was nonsense. I never meant it. It was a put-off. He can’t do it. No man can. He’ll chuck the sack down on the way and come back without it.” “He’ll never do that, Father.” Quintin Creeber was much astonished. The man had taken him at his word. The more fool he. He had attempted the impossible. Well, there was this advantage. When Weekes returned without the'flour or rye, he. Quintin. would be able to laugh at him and say: “You have not fulfilled the condition, therefore —no Sysly for you.” Quintin Creeber walked out of his farm buildings and went to the Widdecombe road. “Pshaw,” said he, “the man is an ass. He couldn’t do it. He should have known that, and not have attempted it.” As he said these words to himself he discerned in the evening glow over Sousson’s Moor a figure descending the path or road. “By gum!” said the farmer, “it is Ephraim. He’s never done it; he has come back beat—turned halfway. How the chap staggers! By crock! he’s down, he’s fallen over a stone. The weight is too much for him descending. I swear, if I didn’t know he were as temperate as—as —no one else on the moor, I’d say he were drunk, he reels so. There he is now at the bridge. Ha! he has set the sack down, and is leaning—his head on it. I reckon he’s just about dead beat. The more fool he! He should ha’ known I never meant it. What! he’s coming on again. Up hill! That’ll try him. Gum! a snail goes faster. He has a halt every three steps. He daren’t set down the sack; he’d never get her up on his back again. There he is, down on one knee; kneeling to his prayers, be he? or taking his breath? He's up again and crawling on. Well, I rocken this is a pretty bit of a strain for Ephraim, up this steep ascent wi’ a sack o’ flour on his back, and four to five miles behind him.” The farmer watched the man as he toiled up the road, step by step; it seemed as if each must be the last, and he must collapse, go down in a heap at the next. Slowly, however, he forged on till he came up to Quintin. Then the yeoman saw his face. Ephraim was haggard, his eyes starting from his head; he breathed hoarsely, like one snoring, and there was froth on his lips. Quintin Creeber put his hand under the sack. “By gain!” said he; “flour!” -t was even so. That man had carried the burden of rye to the mill, and had come back with it in the condition of flour.

Half-supporting the sack, the farmer attended his man as he stumbled forward, turned out of the road, and took the track to Runnage. Ephraim could not speak. He looked out of his great, starting eyes at the master, and moved his lips; but foam, not words formed on them. They were purple, cracked and bleeding So they went on till they reached the farm. Then, in the outer chamber, without a word, Ephraim dropped the sack and sank against it, and pointed to Sysly, who appeared at the door. “Gammon!” said Quintin; “you weren’t such a fool as to think to have she? Her’s not for you—not tho’ you’ve took the sack and brought’n back again. Sysly—yours —never!” The man could not speak. He sank, slipped down, and fell before the sack, that partly held him up. His head dropped forward on his breast. “Look up, Ephraim; don’t be a fool!” said the yeoman. He was past looking up. He was dead. On the old ordnance map of 1809, I see that the steep ascent up which Weekes made his last climb, Inden with the sack of rye flour, is marked as “Ephraim’s Pinch.” As a moorman said: “That was a pinch for Ephraim—such a climb

with such a weight after nine miles; but there was for he a worser pinch, when old Creeber said, ‘lt is all for naught. You sha’n’t have she.* That pinched Ephraim’s heart, and pinched the life out of he.” But I observe on the new ordnance of 1886 “Ephraim’s Pinch” is omitted. Can it he that the surveyors

did not think the name worth preserving? Can it be that Ephraim and his pinch are forgotten on the moor? Alas! time with her waves washes out the writing on the sands. May my humble pen serve to preserve the memory of Ephraim and his Pinch.—[The Independent.

The World's Money.

It is interesting to know that while the United States is one of the richest countries in the world, its stock of gold and silver money is not by any means so large as that of France, which has more metallic money than any other nation. The gold coins of the world are equal in value to $3,582,605,000, and the silver coins to $1,012,700,000, while the paper money has a face value of $2,685,873,000. jOf this vast amount France has $800,000,000 worth of gold and $700,000,000 worth of silver; the United States $601,000,000 worth of gold and $615,000,000 worth of silver, and Great Britain $550,000,000 of gold and $100,000,000 of silver. Germany has $600,000,000 worth of gold coin and $211,000,000 worth of silver, while Russia, with a much larger population, has $50,000,000 worth of gold and $60,000,000 worth of silver coin. She has, however, $500,000,000 worth of paper money, while South America keeps in circulation $600,000,000 worth; the United States, $112,000,000; Austria, $260,000.000; Italy, $163,000,000; Germany, $107,000,000; France, $81,000,000, and Great Britain, $50,000,000. If the gold coins of the United States were divided into equal shares each person would have about $9. Foliowing the same plan, every Englishman, woman and child would have about $14.50, every German about sl2, every Russian about $2.25, and every Frenchman about S2O.

The ratio for all kinds of money would still leave the Frenchman the richest man in the world, for if all the gold, silver and paper money in France were shared equally he would have $40.50, while the citizen of the United States would have $24.50, the residents of Austria, Belgium and Holland a little more, the Englishman $13.50 and the Russian only s7.l6. —[Chicago Record.

In an Indian Canoe.

“What a wonderful creation is> the Indian canoe I Light as foam, blown like a feather by the slightest breeze, responsive as a cork to the least rip1 this same fragile bark is adapted to the wildest waters. It leaps in safety from crest to crest of the cataract, or buoyantly surmounts the billows of the stormy lake. It was well for this morning that it was so, for we were heading toward a broad sheet of water that ivas thickly dotted with white caps. We were soon far enough out to feel the full force of the gale that stung our faces with wind and spray. To go against such a wind with a bark canoe would be an utter impossibility, but to run with it was great fun. Our safety depended upon the skill of the steersman in keeping her before the wind. Certainly the da}' had commenced auspiciously; we were making quick time. The complacent Irishman was taking to himself all the credit for this gale as though it were a part of his business. I was forbidden to paddle, but with Capt. Mick’s consent I tied the tails of my rubber coat to the handles of two paddles and inserted the blades in the armholes. This extempore sail greatly added to the speed of our flying craft. On we flew, outstripping the spray that leaped after us and fell short. This kind of sailing furnished sensations for which no analogy can be found in the whole range of navigation. Instead of plunging deeply and laboring heavily as a wooden boat would, our buoyant vessel scarcely deigned to plunge at all, but seemed to skim like a sea-gull on the very foam itself. So we crossed Lake Talon in a boat which a man could carry, doing eight miles of angry waves without shipping a thimbleful of water.” [Outing.

Ancient Lighthouses.

Beacon lights to guide the wavetossed mariner to a safe harbor must have been almost coeval with the earliest commerce. There is p< sitive record that lighthouses were built in ancient times, though few evidences remain to us from old writers or in crumbled ruins. This is not strange, for light towers, never the most stable architectural form, were exposed to the storms of sea and war. The Greeks attributed the first lighthouses to Hercules, and he was considered the protector of voyagers. It is claimed by some that Homer refers to lighthouses in the XIX. book of the Iliad. Virgil mentions a light on « temple to Apollo, which, visible fur out at sea, warned and guided mariners. The Colossus at Rhodes, erected about 300 8.C., is said to have shown a signal light from its uplifted hand. The oldest towers known were built by the Libyans in Lower Egypt. They were temples also, at.d the lightkeeper priests taught pil stage, hydrography and navigation. The famous tower on the Isle of Pharos, at Alexandria, built about 285 years B. C., is the first lighthouse c-f undoubted record. This tower, constructed by Sostratus, the architect, was square in plan, of great height and built in offsets. An open brazier at the top of the tower contained the fuel for the light. At Dover and Boulogne, on -either side of the English Channel, were ancient lighthouses, built by the Romans. But the lighthouse at Corrunna, Spain, built in the reign of Trajan, and reconstructed in 1684, is believed to be the oldest existing lighthouse. —[Cassler’s Magazine.

Apples for Coffee.

German papers report that apples cut into little pieces, well dried and pulverized, make an excellent coffee substitute. When this is mixed with equal parts of ground coffee, only an expert can tell it from genuine unmixed coffee. The apple flour alone mixed with a little chicory is said to give a palatable “coffee,”— [New York World. , Arbor, Mich., is to have uamited ifwter curriers.

COZY-LOOKING COATS.

MANY NOVELTIES ARE PRESENTED THIS SEASON. Frock Coats for Dress Occasions Come to the Knees, While the Ulster-Like Shapes Are Long; Enough to Come Below a W alking; Skirt. Gotham Fashion Gossip. New York Correspondence:

, w MONG the cozy / looking coats that fyA are now stylish JU there are many ' heavy ones that are of the longOvS neglected ulster H sort. These are ot chinchilla or pilot cloth, are 1/1 lined with plaid Vi wool or silk and fit snugly at the lo I) back, with box lc''Y front and high r A collar. The favor- ,<•< ite trimming or \ finish is black as-

trakan in narrow bands and sometimes an extra cape-collar of the astrakan is added. The usual color for such coats is black or very dark blue, though brown trimmed with black "strakan is very stylish. Sometimes braiding and frogs are added, but the general tendency is toward plainness. Some coats are as short as pea jackets, and these are especially jaunty for young folks. Indeed, In the youthful fashions plainness of finish is not required, and much dainty trickery is exercised In adornment A novelty in this line is seen In the initial picture, where is shown a coat of heavy black silk combined with velvet. The center seams of the back show an inserted piece of black silk velvet, narrow at the top and very wide at the bottom. Around the shoulders there is'a bertha of the velvet lined with silk and laid in box pleats on the shoulders, and at the center of back and front a large velvet bow appears. The seams are strapped and ornamented with buttons, and sufficient stuff must be allowed to make

A NO-SHAPE AT-ALL CLOAK.

the high collar, which is shaped from deep funnel pleats with the opening at the top. The bows with long streaming ends constitute a sufficiently novel ornamentation to make the garment a very dressy one. Frock coats for dress occasions come to the knees, the skirts being put on full to a tight-fitting upper part. The latter may be much enriched with jetting. braid, lace or fur, and the material may be anything from the richest fur, velvet or satin to the humble tweed or pilot cloth. Very large bone buttons are used on all the less ornate coats, but on the velvet garments the buttons cannot be too rich, miniatures set in rhinestones being a feature of some of the handsomest coats. With the ulster-like shapes, elegance is permitted in direct ratio to the degree of departure from the democratic ulster of a few winters ago. All come to the edge of the skirt; indeed, many are long enough to come well below a short walking skirt They are made full and loose, really shrouding a slim figure. The Russian idea of an over garment that literally bundles a person out of recognition seems to be coming in, the ideas being that a dainty girl looks all the daintier when she slips out of a big, clumsy, no-shape-at-all cloak. But with all trace of the ulster obliterated from the long wrap, dressy finish and handsome trimmings are allowable. To what lengths showiness is permitted to go, and with what elegant results, the second sketch depicts. Here is a black velvet wrap trimmed with jet passementerie and sable. Starting from the hem. the two passementerie tabs meet in the back, outlining a round yoke that is headed by fur. Beneath the left tab the garment fastens, and from them the cape

FOR THE SLENDER ONLY.

begins. The latter is fur-edged, its point of joining the passementerie is hidden by velvet ribbon rows, anti -imllar bows show at intervals near the skirt’s hem. Fur borders the higli standing collar, which comes well drawn up about the chin, as is now correct. From the days of late summer when women began to consider the coming fashions for cooler weather, the fancy bodice for Indoor wear has had an important place, and one that has steadily Increased in consequence. What jury toe aansidenad aa a reflation of ft

is the liking for fancy collarettes for outdoors by which women adorn their upper halves as handsomely, in many cases, as for the drawing-room. Such a cape collarette is the most conspicuous item In the next pictured costume. Although, as has been said above, the fancy bodice has been reigning since summer with as little friction as a fairy book princess, the end is not yet, and every week brings some new notion or development. A little while ago and the more completely contrasted to the skirt the bodice was the better, but now the collarette must match the skirt That is, one may wear a black satin skirt and a fancy bodice of, rose brocade heavily trimmed with pale green velvet and pale gray lace, but the band about the neck must be of black satin. Again, the skirt may be cerist and the bodice pale yellow draped in

A BRAND NEW SLEEVE.

black chiffon, but the collarette must be cerise and of the same material as the skirt. 1 From such devices there is fashloi news enough above the waist, but as to sleeves, changes have been few and not adopted generally. For months and months it has sufficed to announce that they were even bigger; but, while there Is no sign of lessening size, there is little possibility for further increase. One or two novel cuts that at once gained some small degree of favor Indicated that the puff was to slip off the shoulder toward the elbow, but as yet this sliding has absolutely refused to become ai. avalanche. It is plainly a case wherein the doctors of modes disagree. While the wise ones hesitate over the diagnosis, there is time to consider one novelty that has just put in its bid. It is to be seen in the next illustration, and consists of an inside sleeve made entirely of embroidered velvet, the satin puff being merely a cap that covers the sleeve’s outside. This bodice is pointed back and front, fastens along the shoulder and under the arm. and is made entirely of velvet, with a satin yoke. The velvet bell skirt is trimmed in an unusual way with large satin bows with long ends. Skirts of street gowns are mostly plain, but there are exceptions enough to prove rules by the dozen, and they are handsome enough to constitute the best sort of an excuse for their lawbreaking. In one elegant example the full skirt has at the foot an edge of astrakan and openwork points or vandykes of braiding set in, the points reaching upward and a rich lining of the skirt showing through the interstices. The bodice has an eton front that opens over a vest of cloth to match the lining of the gown, and is

A PARDONABLE LAW BREAKER.

finished all over with the openwork points. Jet ornaments and trimming are used in profusion on the last costume shown, and one long-current rule is defied, for ordinarily, when trimming is used like the slanting lines that show on this skirt, there is either some repetition of it on the bodice, or the latter does not have extensive adornment But here there are showy jet ornaments hanging in straight lines from the bust. Boucle cloth and velvet are combined in this costume, the bodice being made entirely of velvet and fastened in the front. Its sleeves are of cloth, with passementerie finish at the wrists. Muffs will have an inning at great popularity this winter. Fur is all right and either an ordinary size may be carried or one big enough to rival our grandmother’s own. It is said that a little hand looks all the smaller and prettier coming from a great bear of a muff, besides, it is sometimes as well to have a muff big enough to accomodate his hand. Fancy muffs to match the hat, collarette or coat, or all three, are quite the thing, and the more fanciful they are the better. Such affairs may be stylish, but they always look like a bundle of odds and ends, used together because no one piece was big enough by itself. Velvet muffs are really like a pair of cuff ruffled sewed together, one ruffle going each way.

Lace frills are then put inside and a band of ribbon with lace set in is tied about the round of the muff. A lot of fur is arranged on either side of this band, with a little family of fur beads for ornaments, and sometimes a few tails hang about in a fringe-like way. The whw’e depends from the neck by a gold or silver chain, either very small or very big, and set at intervals with pierced stones. Copyiftht. 1894. Thieves entered the Hoboken postoffiee and stalls |7,MO in stamps. 1

THE JOKER’S BUDGET.

JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Couldn’t Match It—Salo Made-. Too Poor--For the Family'a Good Name--Etc., Etc. couldn’t match it. The elegantly-attired lady moved quietly up to the glove counter, where there was a new clerk, who was polite and willing enough, but he didn’t know much about the business. ‘‘l want a pair of gloves to match a gray wool dress,” she said. ’’Certainly, Madam,” he replied as he bounced around to the boxes. He dragged down a lot of them, and then turned back to the lady. “I am very sorry, Madam,” he said, ‘‘but we haven’t got a gray wool glove in the house.”—[Detroit Free Press. BALE MADE. It was in a Paris shop. They were on their wedding tour. ‘‘lf I could speak French I’d ask the price of this bit of lace and buy it for you,” said he. “Unfortunately, however, I can’t.” ‘‘l spik ze Angleesh prett goot. Ze lace ees seexty franc,” said the saleswoman, and of course the poor bridegroom had to buy it.—[Harper’s Bazar. TOO POOR. Jane—So you have accepted that old millionaire?” Frou-Frou—Yes, dear. Jane—Why didn't you give the old. thing the mitten? Frou-Frou—Because I hadn’t one. Don’t you know, I’m so poor I couldn’t buy a mitten if yarn were selling at a cent a ton?—[Detroit Free Press. CAUSE FOR CAUTION. “What made you take all that impudence from that fellow?” asked ithe friendly passenger of the conductor. “Why, he didn’t even pay l|isfare.” ‘‘That’s tt,” said the conductor “If he had paid his fare, I’d have bioken his head; but he’s riding on a jass, and maybe he has a pull.”— [Harlem Life. m\ke WORRY FOR THE CHILDREN. "*V a y> Jen,” called little Tommy. “ fljhat?” returned his sister. “ I was just thinkin’—you’ve had to wear ma’s old dresses made |ver an’ I’ve always been stuck with pi’s old clo’es—which of us d’you have things made out o’ ma’s bicycle bloomers when they get old? - ’ —[Chicago Record. A WISH. I’d like to be tough as a football Which feels not the kick that’s a ripper, For then I could smile when my mother Plays a so.o on me with her slipper. —[Harper’s Bazar. HOW HE WON HER. “I will beyotrs,” she whispered. He smoothed the raven hair that lay on the maible brow and murmured passionately; ‘‘Won at last If ‘‘No, not until ve are united in marriage,” and ale laughed softly to herself. \ “That’s one on |e.” «e said. He had forgotteVTlilivtfm,-W!lirthe humorist of the Weekly Bugle.— [New York Press. A DELICATE QUESTION. Father: Ido not require that the man who marries my daughter shall be rich. All that I ask is that he be able to keep out of debt. Suitor: Would you consider a man in debt who borrows money from his father-in-law?—[Life. A SCHEMER. Eaton—Slicksmith, the new boarder, always refers to the contents of the milk pitcher as cream. Lanks—H’m! Wonder what his little game is?—[Puck. PLAIN LANGUAGE. “No,” said Mrs. Fisher, “I don’t call myself a lady, but simply a plain woman.” ‘‘Well,” said Mrs. Candor, “you’re plain enough; that’s a fact.”—[New York Press. THE FINEST KIND. She (reading)—Bells are now made, of steel in this country. He —Yes; but the finest ones are made of silk and satin. IT WOULD SEEM SO. “It is hard towrite a popular comie song.” ‘ ‘I should think writing of any kind would come hard to the writer of a popular comic song.”—[New York Press. EXTENUATING. Friend—Your son has become a great dialect poet. Parent—AV ell, he ain’t entirely to blame. I never could spell mysilf. I suppose he came honestly by its—[Detroit Tribune. I NOT UTTERLY OBJECTIONABLE. I Amy (indignantly)—You are juefc like the villain of a novel 1 Jack —AVell, what ought I to be like—the hero of a novel? Amy—Oh, no! That would be worsa. K,

An Odd Man.

The eccentricities of Hen ry Stephen Fox, an early English minister at Washington, were the laugh of the town. Fox generally did not arise until people were about ready to go to bed. When duty compelled him to rise earlier. Fox was like a an owl in the day time. "How strange,” said he to Mme. Calderon, one morning at a State “function”—“howstrange we look to each other bydaylight.” His debts compelled him to economy, and he rarely gave dinners. He once invited a large party to his house —Mr. Clay, Mr. Calhoun, Mr. Webster, and all the giants—and when they were all assembled, he said 1 : “Gentlemen, now be good, enough to put on your hats and follow mq.” And thus saying, he led the way to a neighboring eating house.- [The Argonaut.