Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 January 1896 — Page 5

A GOLDEN DREAM

CHAPTER XlX—(Continued.) Paul’* first movement was toward Aube with extended hands, but she shrank from him as if mistrusting her own powers, and giving her a reproachful look, Paul turned to Nousie. “Madame Dulau,” he said, quietly, “I owe you an apology for my behavior yesterday. Believe me I was so overcome by surprise that I hardly knew what I said. You forgive me?” “I have nothing to forgive,” replied Nousie. “Your surprise was natural.” “Then let me be brief and speak out as a man should under these circumstances. Madame Dulau, your daughter has been my sister's friend and companion for years.” “I know,” * “And almost from a boy, though I rarely saw her, I grew up to love your child. Of the proof of that love for her, which she knows well, I need say nothing more than that I have followed her across the sea to ask your consent to our marriage. Give it to me; it is for her happiness and mine.” Nousie looked at him pityingly, and then at her child, who was deadly pale. “Aube, dearest,” she said, softly, “you are vour own mistress; what shall I •ay?” Aube fixed her eyes on Nousie. “Tell him, mother, that it is impossible; that he must think of me no more, and that I pray him for my happiness and yours to bid me, as dear Lucie's friend and sister, good-by forever—now, at once, and go.” She kept her eyes fixed upon her mother, and there was not a tremor in her voice as she spoke. Nousie did not speak, but turned to Paul, whose face was set and hard. “There is no need to repeat the words, madame,” he said, “for I will not take them as being the true utterances of my sister's friend. She could not be so cruel to one who loves her as I do. Well, if it is to be like this, I shall stay somewhere near to watch over her and wait.” “No,” cried Nousie excitedly, “you must not stay. Go back! Leave this place. Your life is not safe!” “I can protect myself,” said Paul, scornfully. “I am not afraid, and I can and will protect your child. An unfair influence has been brought to bear upon her. I cannot, I will not believe those words are from her heart.” “Tell him, mother.” said Aube, faintly, “it is true, and that I implore him to leave us in peace.” “Never,” cried Paul. “You do not know me. Aube. I will stay in spite of everything, and win you yet. You foolish girl,” he continued, “you think because I find you in a home like this you ought to resign me. It is the greater reason why we should be one.” Aube shook her head. “I know you better,” he said half laughingly. “Then, Madame Dulau, we will not take this seriously. I am refused, but if it is a hundred times I shall come again—always till I know that Aube loves another better than I hope and believe she loves me.” “No, no,” cried Nousie, “for Aube’s sake, for mine, you must go back. I tell you,” she whispered, “your life is not safe if you stay.” “I am not to be frightened away,” said Paul, coldly. “It would take far more than a threat of injury to send me back — alone,” be added with a meaning look at Aube; and then he flushed and bit his lip, for there were horse’s paces outside, and Bart laid his hand upon his friend’s arm. “Steady,” he whispered; “be cool. Recollect where we are.” “Cool, man; who is to be cool?” whispered back Paul, as Saintone entered, carelessly glanced at him, and then passed them, going over to Aube, smiling at her as if hey were the most intimate friends, and then to Nouise. “You had my mother’s note?” he said. “I know you will make no excuses this time. Mademoiselle Dulau, the carriage is coming along the road, and I am to be your escort back.” “If I say no,” thought Nousie, with an excited look from one to the other, “I should not have time, and it would kill her. too. If I say yes, I may have time.” “Keeping me in suspense,” said Saintone, merrily. “Well, how long will mademoiselle be?”

“I will ask her,” said Nousie, striving hard to be calm; and Paul saw, to his rage and agony, that a meaning look passed between them. “Aube, my child, will you trust me, and do what I ask?” whispered Nousie. Aube’s eyes said “Yes.” “Go to Madame Saintone's to-day; for my sake.” “Go?” said Aube, with her eyes dilat- : - “I repeatit— for my sake.”’ “Yes, mother,” she said, slowly. “I will go.” She spoke aloud, and Saintone gave Paul a half-contemptuous look, and turned away. “Aube,” whispered Paul, going to her bide, “is this of your own free will?” “Of my own free will, Mr. Lowther,” she said, slowly, and as if speaking in her sleep. “Good-by.” Paul stepped back, as if he had been struck some violent blow, and before he could recover Nousie and Aube had left the room. CHAPTER XX. Nousie sat in Aube’s room watching through the open window. There were three or four people by the buffet where Cherubine was installed, but their voices only came in a low murmur, and the darkness was intense without, as it was in the mother’s heart. For again and again, as she watched for her child’s return, she had been reviewing her position and trying to see the light—the clear bright sunshine beyond the present trouble —which should irradiate her child’s life. The complication was terrible. She had brought Aube over there, thinking in her ignorance more of her own happiness than her child’s, and yet it had all seemed so simple. She had saved; she was comparatively rich; and she had intended to devote herself to making her child's life glide onward in peace, whereas she was face to face with the fact that, by a terrible accident of fate, Aube had been thrown into intimacy with the family she most abhorred; and, crowning horror of all, Etienne Saintone, son of the man who had slain her husband, evidently passionately loved her «Uld.

Nousie’* brow grew wet aud cold as she recalled the terrible night when, by the light of her burning house, she saw George Dulau shot down, and in his dying agony turn upon his murderer —the would-be destroyer of his wife's honor — and deal his enemy his death-blow even as he himself passed away. The idea of a union between the children of two such deadly enemies was fearful to her. She felt that after all these years she could bury her own hatred against Saintone's son, but to consent to such a fate for her child was too much. And yet by her own aet she was crushed. For years past for the sake of the gain it brought her she had been connected with the Voudoux sect, never sharing in their terrible ceremonies, but acknowledged as one of them and familiar with their proceedings. Their power was enormous, and it was under the protection of these people that she had lived and prospered. In a weak moment and tempted by the money Saintone had offered—money to hoard up for her child—she had listened to the young man's importunities, and taken him and his friend to a meeting, and left them after the introduction to be initiated in the signs and mysteries of the sect, little dreaming how soon Saintone would, on the strength of his brotherhood, and grown powerful by the claim he had on those to whom he was joined, make a demand upon her for her assistance, and literally force her to listen to his suit She had been almost dazed by this turn in the affair, seeing as she did, upon the opening up of a new complication by the arrival of Paul, that Aube loved this young Englishman, but was ready to sacrifice herself, and be devoted to the mother who had suffered so for her sake. “If they would only leave us to ourselves,” thought Nousie, as she racked her brain for a way out of the difficulty, and pondered on her position. Aube loved Paul, but he evidently scorned the mother who bore her, and the surroundings of the girl’s home. To force Aube to listen to her lover and the dictates of her own heart was to give her up forever—and die. On the other hand, to yield to Saintone, as she felt that she must, unless by some help from her Voudoux friends she could set him at defiance, was to see her child among the highest set in the place, beautitpl, wealthy and powerful; ami even if they separated, that separation would not be so great. It seemed the lesser evil, and it was the termination toward which she was being almost insensibly forced. Still she was balanced between the two, when the scale was forced dowm by Saintone, who whispered to her (hat if she did not consent to Aube’s acceptance of Madame Saintone’s invitation he would call on Certain of the Voudoux to help him, and the two young Englishmen would not see the light of another day. “And it would kill her, too,” thought Nousie, with a pang at her heart, as she hesitated no longer, but surrendered to the position, and astounded Aube by her demand. And now, closed in still by the darkness which yet oppressed her, Nousie sat watching for her, child’s return, trying to satisfy herself that the course she had chosen was for the best. “Chosen!” she said, bitterly; “into which I am forced. But he loves her, and she may forget.” Shrinking from the union ns she did, there was that intense feeling of love for her child that was so hard to combat, and she drew herself up with a sigh of relief at last as she said, despairingly: “If they did not kill him he would take her away and I could not bear that, even to see her happy—it is too much—too much to bear.” She had hardly come to this conclusion when there was the sound of wheels, and she hurried to the door in time to see, in the light cast from the long room window, Saintone helping Aube to alight from his vehicle, and with a degree of reverence which strengthened the mother’s willingness to let herself be carried away by what seemed inevitable, bend down and kiss Aube’s hand

The next moment the girl had glided by her mother into the house, and after speaking sharply to his impatient horse, Saintone turned to Nousie, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. “Thank you, sister,” he said, half mockingly. “There, you see I have brought her safely back. She is an angel, Nousie,” he whispered, “and I love her to distraction.” “You love her?” said Nousie softly, for how, she thought, could she hate the man who loved her child. “Love her! Yes. Who could see her and not love her?” he whispered, eagerly. “My mother worships her, and you see now that it is for the best.” Nousie was silent. “Y’ou don’t speak. There, you are angry because I threatened. Well, I did; I swear it; I would. Do you think lam going to let this wretched, contemptible foreign dog stand in the way of my happiness? lam one of your people, and I joined for power. I have the power now, and they should remove him from my path as if he were a serpent. Well, why don’t you speak?” “I was thinking,” said Nousie, simply —“of my child.” He grasped her shoulder, and placed his lips close to her ear. “No shrinking,” he said, sternly. “I call upon you for help. You shall side with me, and keep those foreign dogs at a distance. It is to save their lives. Ido not want to go to extremities; but nothing shall move me now. You must help me. Why, Nousie, you ought to be proud that I ask you to give her to me for my wife. I shall be a leader soon, and your child will be one of the greatest ladies of the land. Do you want to see her taken away by this foreigner, never to meet her again?” He had struck the chord which vibrated most strongly in the mother’s breast, and, after a pause, she drew a long and painful breath. “Tell me—promise me not to hurt him — for Aube’s sake —and I will try.” “Try?” he said, scornfully. “I call upon you to help me. As for him. Bah! Let him keep out of my path. There—go to her—talk about me; make her tell you how happy we have made her at the house. She must soon come again. The horse is getting fidgety. Stand still, brute! Good-night, sister —mother,” he added, laughingly. “Here, give me a light for my cigar.” Nousie went in through the veranda and brought out a candle, whose flame did not even flicker in the hot, still night:

•nd •• Saintone lit his cigar the light waa thrown upon Aube’* white face as •he gased out of her window after unin-tentionally-being a witness and a hearer of all that had passed. “Good-night," said Saintone, exnltingly. “Take care of my treasure. There, I am quite satisfied with you now. Goodnight.” Nousie stood holding the eandle in the veranda as Saintone sprang into his carriage and drove away, and listening to the dying a way of the wheels in the dusty, ill-kept road. “It is fate,” she said, with a sigh. “My darling! Would it not be better if we both could die? Yes,” she muttered, after a pause, as she turned toward the window from which Aube had shrunk away, and the light cast curious shadows upon her stern face, "better if we could die and go to him. We would be happy then, for we should be at peace." CHAPTER XXL “Pah!” ejaculated Saintone, as he drove slowly along the dark road, “a snake—a worm in my path. Kill him? Not if he keeps out of piy way If he tries tq raise his head and sting" me, T can crush liim now under my heel. The Voudoux is a power stronger than I thought. “My darling! How beautiful she is! Safe and soon. Yes, the Voudoux is a force that shall help me in all my schemes. Get on, brute!” he cried to his horse, which had stoped so suddenly that Saintone was nearly thrown out. "What’s the mater? Hah!” He lashed at the horse sharply, for he had caught sight of a great black figure at its head, but the animal only plunged and shivered, for its bit was held fast. “Don’t hurry, Etienne,” said a voice; and a figure came from the side of the road and laid a hand upon his arm. “I want to speak to you.” “Genie!” cried Saintone, whose heart beat fast. , “Yes, Genie. Are you coming home?” “I home,” he said, sharply. “Tell that fellow to loose my horse's head, or something may happen. I am armed." “But you cannot turn against him,” said the woman, with a laugh; “he is a brother. You see I know.” “Know what?” “Pish!” she said contemptuously, “do you think I do not know you came to me to ask me to take you to a meeting, but I was not going to have you to join us. I did not want you.” “No,” said Saintone, meaningly. “But you are one of us I can talk freely. You see I know. r ’ ” “Yes,” said Saintone, “and I know, too.” “You wish to quarrel?” said the woman, softly, “but I'shall not—not yet,” she added to herself. Then aloud—“ Where have you been to-night?” “Where I pleased,” said Saintone, roughly. “Tell your man to loose my horse, or he may repent it.” “If you wish to die to-morrow, perhaps to-night,” said the woman quietly, “try to injure him. You cannot, but you may try. Why, Etienne, he could crush you with one hand, and he would at a word from me. I saw her,” she said, with a sudden change in her voice. “I am not blind. Do you think I do not know—everything. You did not know, but you can know now, I am a priestess among our people, and do you think I am going to let you throw me off as you have?” “Bah! I have no time to talk,” said Saintone, contemptuously. “Priestess? Pish! Genie, you are half mad.” “With jealousy—yes,” she said, viciously, “but you do not know me yet. I’ll tell you where you have been—baek with that white-faced girl. It is to be that creature, is it? I am to be thrown over for her?” “Yes,” he said as fiercely. “If you will have it. lam not afraid of you and your creed. I command, now that lam one of you, and I know, too. Go to him. Take him from my horse’s head. I saw you together to-day. He is your lover. Do you think I was going to accept a rival in a black? Stand away!” he roared, and he gave his horse so furious a lash that the great negro sprang aside to avoid a blow from the horse’s hoofs as the frightened beast bounded forward, and Saintone did not check its gallop till he was close home. (To be continued.)

Crawfish Inside a Frog.

“There was a bad case of cruelty recently at our house," said the manager of the largest apartment-house of the city the other day. The manager had a fad for pets of the sea. He keeps his pets in a small fish pond in the court of the house. He came across some large bullfrogs In the market one day and took them to the fish pond. One old fellow thrived there. He got so he would sit on the edge and catch in his mouth pieces of beef tossed to him. This old frog was big and fat and comfortable when a few young crawfish made their advent in the pond. The fat one picked out the one he thought juciest, dived after him, swallowed him at a gulp and took his accustomed place, a sunny spot on the edge of the pond. “He looked very comfortable at first," said the manager, “but soon I noticed the old fellow was getting nervous. He shifted about on his seat, blinked his eyes very hard, scratched his head with his toe and looked surprised. Then he opened his big mouth and retched and retched, but with no results. I left him making a heroic effort to look pleasant “Next day the big frog was still more restless. IJe kept growing worse and worse, got morose, took to bellowing, until people in the house would run to the windows in the court to see what the trouble was. “I saw the old fellow was going to die, so I killed him. I ripped him open and out wriggled the crawfish, chipper as you please. The frog’s carcass was hollow. All his works were inside the crawfish.—Leisure Hours.

Easy Circumstances.

A young man Inherited $50,000 from an aunt, and by a course of extravagance and speculation was pretty soon at the end of his fortune. “However,” said one of his friends, “Bill isn’t without resources. He has two more aunts.” Like this, but different, was the case of a colored man concerning whom, according to the Yankee Blade, a neighbor of his own race was called to testify in court. “Witness,” said the opposing lawyer, “’You speak of Mr. Smith as ‘well off.' Just what do you mean? Is he worth five thousand dollars?” “No, sah.” “Two thousand?” “No, sah; he ain’t worth twenty-five cents.” “Then how is he well off?” “Got a wife who is a washerwoman, sah, and s’ports de hull fam'ly, sah." The smallest flower known to the botanist is said to be that of the yeast plant It is miscroscoplc in size and is sand to be only one-hundredth of a millimeter in diameter.

FOR THE FAIR SEX.

ITEMS OF INTEREST ON THE FASHIONS. Patti's Railroad. Haw Sha Stood. Athletic* at Bryn Mawr. If a Queen Why Not a Physician. The Drooping Sleeve. PATTI'S RAILROAD. Here is a little story lieing told of Patti. It is well known that she built a railroad In Wales from her castle. Craig-y-Nos. to Swansea, but it is not generally known that all who wish to use It do so free of charge.

HOW SHE STOOD.

The Greek woman stood straight, which nroessitated her shoulders over her instep; this threw her hip line into opitosition. Women to-day do not have cm-reet hip lines because they throw the shoulders over the heels, making a continuous curve down the buck to the heels. A fashion-monger—it may have been that strange iiwougruity of harmony and absurdity. Worththought he would like to have some women with oppositions or Greek lines, so he Invented the much beloved but now discarded bustle, and inaptly called it the Grecian bend.

ATHLETICS AT BRYN MAWR.

Bryn Mawr. Philadelphia, is keeping up with the other women’s colleges as far as athletics are concerned. Frederick Law Olmsted is now at work upon plans for the grounds. These provide for a circular bicycle track, with four laps to the mile, and within this a large space for tennis, basket ball and other sports. This will be so arranged that in winter tlme.lt can be flooded and provide a tine skating pond for the students. These grounds are kept in order by an athletic association of tlie undergraduates, who manage such affairs in much the same fashion as they are looked after at men’s colleges.

IF A QUEEN. WHY NOT A PHYSICIAN?

The British Royal College of Physicians had a lively debate over the proposition to admit women to the examinations and diplomas of the college, and then rejected it by a vote of 59 to 50. Some of lite arguments for tlie “opening wedge” were ingenious, Sir Benjamin Richardson, for instance, contending that when the college was founded no woman had ruled over England, but since then tlie nation had had four queens. And if a woman could lie a queen why could she not lie a physician? Dr. Payne said that the women examined for degrees at the University of London ranked as high as the men, and Sir William Broadbent reminded the committee that since women were bound to become doctors regardless of opposition, it would be better for the public that they should come under the jurisdiction of the College of Physicians.

THE DROOPING SLEEVE.

The sleeve is at present the most important part of a gown, and well it may be, when it requires as much, if not more, material than the skirt. At tlie beginning of the season the cry “down the large sleeve!” was heard in every quarter. But once more lias Marie Antoinette lost her sway, for the sleeve of her reign lias not been accepted by tlie great middle classes. That the sleeve of le petite Trianon lias modified tlie prosent mode there can be no doubt, however, for tin 1 sleeve of to-day is pre-eminently drooping and draped, without any of the stiffness of the past season, which made it stand so arrogantly about our shoulders. Many gowns have sleeves which are puffed hero aud there above the elbow. A pretty idea for chiffon sleeves Is to have them caught down witli tiny sprays of artificial flowers to match the gown in color. Others are fastened with choux of the material. House gowns have puff sleeves that end just below the elbow. In decided contrast to them, sleeves for promenade gowns are very long, with cuffs that conceal the greater part of the hand.

THE BOWERY INDUCER.

Chicago women think they know a thing or two about city life, and how to buy a bonnet; but when they get to New York they find they are not on to the ways of a metropolis. Down on Division street, which is a kind of woman’s edition of Baxter, the street Is lined with millinery stores. At the door of each shop stands one, frequently two, muscular and longtongued women who are known as “inducers.” It is their business to persuade every woman who comes along to enter the shop peaceably, If it can be done, but forcibly if necessary, and to sell her as much as she can lie inveigled into taking. At some points these “inducers” are so thick and so voracious that it takes as much as twenty or thirty minutes to get a few floors on the way, as a woman is forced into first one store and then another, no matter how determined she is not to buy. Chicago women who have run the gauntlet of the “inducers" say they prefer the old-fashioned and peaceful methods of their own lake front and suburbs, where the victim is first sandbagged and then robbed while unconscious. It is so much more hiimane.

ENTER NOT BOHEMIA.

“The Girl Who Is Employed” is affectionately addressed and wisely counseled by Ruth Ashmore in the Indies’ Home Journal. The writer tells the girls of their duty to their employers and to themselves, discusses matters of dress and warns them against “the dangerous land" which she designates “Bohemia,” "which seems to you so attractive. In reality it is a country of which you should not become a citizen. No matter whether your friends call you prude or not, do not permit the social side of .your life to degenerate into a free and easy condition where no respect is shown to you as a woman. In Bohemia there may be -some laughter, but be sure there are many tears. In that land you would probably spend all your wages in one day of festivity, and be a beggar, or worse still, a borrower for the rest of the week. In that land a woman buys one fine frock, too fine for her position in life, and during the working hours she looks untidy and

always suggestive, by her shabby finery. of a gay girl rather than a wellbred woman. which is what the busy girl should aim to be. In Bohemia it is claimed then* is a jolly good-fellow-ship. and nothing else, be tween men and women. You don't want to be a jolly good fellow. You want to be a woman who is respected. not only liecause of her sex. but because of herself. and the free and easy life in which a man offers a woman a cigarette. and she volunteers to get for him something that he counts more cheerful than a cup of tea. is one which my busy girl does not want to live. If for no other reason this would be one. In Bohemia all women must be young and lieeutiful. ami you are not going to lie that forever. So make for yourself a social world that will lie enjoyable. that will be pleasant, but where you will be liked when youth and beauty have gone, lieeause of the good that is in you mentally and spiritually.”

HOW TO BIERCE THE EAR.

The Henlid contained recently a brief account of a little Italiau girl, four years of age. dying from blood poisoning, which set in the day after her mother had pierced her rars. The Italiau mother, in utter ignorance of the laws of health, drew a green thread through the holes which she had made in the child’s ears, to keep them open ipitil the wounds healed. Inflammation set in very soon after the operation. This occurrence brings properly on the tapis the 1 subject of ear-rings and pieruing ears. With a view of learning whether there were many such cases on record. I secured the* views of a surgeon whose* practice for the past twentydive years lias been largely confined to women. He read the brief article before making any comment. Then, as he returned the paper, he said: “No, I have never known of death caused by the operation before this one in the* Herald. But I have seen a great many cases of agony and suffering. And I have never seen the operation done* properly by mothers or jewelers. In the first place, the* ears are’never, except by chance, pierced so that the ear-rings will hang, or be held properly. One turns in and the other out. as a rule. One* is often higher than the other. The lobe* is pierced too high up. or too low down. One hole la nearer the face than the other. “The danger of blood poisoning Is not to be* ignored as of no account because* the operation is supposedly not n dangerous one. There is nothing right about this home* surgery. Tin* cleanest person, when it comes to a surgical operation, Is, without proper scientific laving, medically unclean. If you could but know the* extreme* cautions that arc* taken in all well conducted hospitals! The operating surgeon will not* allow any due to hand him a towel even, if such a one has not antiseptic-ally prepared his hands to act ns an assistant. All the instruments to be used have* been cleansed. A woman takes a needle, any needle, and threads it with any thread. This thread may have been in her work liasket months and months, lying next to other spools of all colors. Bhe would not think of washing her own hands or washing tin* ear to be pierced. A cork Is taken out of some bottle, any bottle, without thought as to what is in the* bottle, or how long the* cork has been exposed to the dust. This cork Is placed under the* lobe of the* ear for tin* needle to strike* against when it comes through. Inflammation (and suppuration naturally result. "1 have* always insisted that the operation should be done by a surgeon, and by one* who will take the trouble to do It properly.” “But would not so slight an operation be beneath the notice of a surgeon, Doctor?” “No, the rich can command these*, aud the* poor could have it done at hospitals." “How about wearing ear-rings, any way? Arc* not ear-rings a relic of both barbarism and ancient Biblical slavery ?” "I do not think that women should wear ear-rings. But so long as they will do it, the ears should be properly treated, so that the rings will hang gracefully and both alike. And, more important still, the danger should also be avoided. Wash the* lobe of the ear with a disinfectant. Make it surgically clean. Use a cutting needle. Pass it through the centre of the lobe, and at right angles to it. Use silk thread prepared so tlmt it is free from disease germs and will turn easily in the hole, that the tissues may not be Irritated.”

FASHION NOTES.

Among the broadcloth gowns those with a coat of velvet or of flowered brocade are numerous. Very young women wear glossy black fur waists with sleeves and skirt of raspberry-red and of mulberry cloths. So many baby-lamb waists have been made for cloth gowns the furriers complain that dressmakers have exhausted their supply. , Even a black cloth gown can be made very effective when Redfern adds a full vest of emerald-green velvet almost overwrought with gold. Bishop's purple and violet cloth gowns are not thought too sombre for quite young women, and are richly braided by tailors with gold cord In very intricate designs. Some extremely gay and very novel gowns with skirt of bright plaid have a tucked yoke and bishop sleeves of very rich peau de sole in chameleon colors following those in the plaid. Fur trimmings, which were so popular last year, are in greater demand than ever, and sable, chinchilla, and Persian lamb are equally fashionable. Heavy guipure lace, in cream or string color, with or without tracings of gold or jet sequins, is very much used to cover revers, collars, aud form yoke effects over silk above a low-ciit waist. Skirts have lost nothing of their summer fulness; but the absence of stiffening, except at the bottom,’ makes them much more graceful. And, although the sleeves have the appearance of being somewhat smaller, be-

1 cause of the different arrangement and less stiffening In the lining, there is no diminution in the ac tual size. Velvet gowns with voluminous skirts and elaborately trimmed waists stand first among those for dressy occasions, and dark green and black seem to be the favorite colors. Dress trimmings of all sorts and conditions were never more elegant, aud elalxirate embroidery of silk, velvet, aud lac*e is shown on almost every gown, whether It is made of velvet, silk or cloth. The moat noticeable feature* of the* i new bodice is the coat effect, which is ’ given by an added Icascpte. from six to twelve inches deep, which falls Icelow a very narrow belt. It is usually cut somewhat circular in shaite, so the c*dge hangs in flutc*d folds, or plaited iu full box-plaits at the liuc-k. Bluc-k gowns of fancy wool, crepon, and brocaded satin arc* very mueh. worn: and the waists are macle dressy with some color to brighten them. Pale green and dark violet are very stylish, used In contrast with brown, ns well as black; and a very little* turcptoise him* gives u very fashionable* touch to a dark-green gown. are somewhat , larger than heretofore. They are usually made* of one sort of fur. but some dressy ones have* edgings of a different material. A handsome* muff of otter has Isinds of ermine at the ends; another muff has a wide* ermine* band around the* middle. Ermine and sealskin make* a favorite combination, but one* that will, it is said, go out of style before* spring. The dye from the* sealskin is likely to soil the* immaculatcness of the white* fur, and when such is the* case. the com.bination falls into disfavor. As a cape* or cloak lining ermine is very popular, and as a finish for children’s garments it Is, and probably always will be. the* first choice. Nothing could be more* beautiful than an ermine cloak for a baby, and for tiny girls ermine and velvet cannot be surpassc*d.

A Queer Cemetery.

A correspondent of Tin* Boston Traveler describes the* queer cemetery of the* Mexican city of Guanajuato. There is hardly room In Guanajuato for the living, so It behooves her people* to exercise rigid economy In the* disposition of hpr dead. The burial place is on the* top of u steep hill, which overlooks the? city, and consists of an area inclosed by what appears from the outside* to be a high wall, but which dis-c-overs Itself from within to be n receptacle* for Ixxßes, which are placed In tiers, much as the* confines of their native* valleys compel them to live. Each apartment in the wall is large enough to admit one coffin, and Is rented for $1 per month. The poor people are burled In tin* ground without the formality of a coffin, though one Is usually rented, tn widt h I lie body is conveyed to the grave. As there* are not graves enough to go around, whenever a m*w one* is needed a previous tenant must be disturbed, and this likewise* happens when a tenant’s rent is not promptly paid in advance. The body Is then removed from its place In the mausoleum, or exhumed, as the case my be. and the bones are thrown Into the* basement below.

Largest Mirror in the World

The largest French plate-glass mirror ever brought to tills country, and, according to the Importer, Jacques Kalin, the largest mirror in the world, lais been set up in the dining-room of the new portion of the Hotel Savoy, says the New York World. It took two days and a night, with over a score of workmen, to get it from the steamer to the hotel and to set it In place. The dimensions of the mirror arc 158 by 158 inches, making about 174 square feet of glass. It Is nearly half an inch thick. The glass ahiue weighs f)00 pounds, and the combined weight of it and the case it came in was over a ton. The mirror Is not only the largest but the most expensive in the world, its actual cost being In the neighborhood of .$.>,000. The cost of manufacturing the one glass'would have been alxmt SI,OOO. |> n t live different glasses had to lie east before this perfect one was made. The expense of moving It was fully SSOO. The package was so large that there are but two steamships in commission which could bring It across the ocean.

Where Pennies Are Coined

It is not generally known that all the minor coins of base metal, such as pennies and nickels, are made at the Philadelphia Mint, and that nearly 100,000.000 pennies are coined here every year. This large number is occasioned by the fact that thousands of pennies are lost annually, and the Government has some difficulty in maintaining a supply. The profit of the Government on their manufacture is large. The blanks for making them are purchased for $1 a thousand from a Cincinnati flrm that produces them by contract. Blanks for nickels are obtained in the same way, costing Uncle Sam only a cent and a half apiece. Gold is coined in Philadelphia and San Francisco. Not enough of It comes into the mint at New Orleans to make the coinage of it worth while. Gold pieces are the only coins of the United States which are worth their face value intrinsically. A double eagle contains S2O worth of gold without counting the one-tenth part copper. i

Kings Who Liked Perfumes.

Napoleon was extravagantly fond of perfumes, and always had rose water and violet water in his bath. Charlemagne was always so highly scented that his appearance was heralded by the odor of the crushed flowers which he Used in large quantities in his toilet water. Philip Augustus never was without perfumes. After a hard day of riding or hunting lie had a bottle of scented water poured over his head. George 11. of England did not care for English scents. Those that he and his family used were brought fronr,Paris and the south of France! "

A TOWN MADE OF SALVE.

All Diseases Divided Among tke Competitors. Adams, in Jefferaou county. New York, is a salve town. It manufactures salve, s|H*eulates in salve, and corners the salve market wlrc*n it wants to. This salve* is pnt'np in round tin boxes, one size selllag at fifty cents and the* other at twenty-five cents. When money is witrc*e these boxes of salve pass as legal tender te the village. There arc* probably one hundred different brands of salve* made* in Adame. There Is salve* for rheumatism, salve for eczema, salve for burns, scratches and bruises, salve for consumption, salve for tan and sunburn—and so through a long catalogue* of ailments. Fifteen years ago then* was counted no shrewder business man iu Northern New York titan Henry <». Kenyon. Left a substantial property by bis father, he* so managed and umnipnlated it that lie doubh*d its value. The fever of spec ulation seized Mr. Kenyon. and iu* went to Chicago and began dabbling in wheat. c*orn ami )s>rk. He was apuarently successful. The uniform success of his venture's on the Chicago board gradually led Mr. Kenyon to believe himself invincible, and he* became reckless. Ono clay lie* invested heavily in wheat. Wheat took a tumble, and the next day Mr. Kenyon was looking around for a job of work that would afford him the means of buying bread for himself and family. This unfortunate* downfall* of Mr. Kenyon was the* beginning of Adams’ greatness. Mr. Kenyon settled down iu Adams and Itegan to cast alsnit him for some sort of business that could lie started without capital. There was an old physician next door to Mr. Kenyon—a physician who had brought safely through colic-. teething, mumps, measles and scarlatina ninetent hs of Adams' population. This doctor prepared a salve* that was a favorite with ills patients for nil skin disease's. Tin* old doctor died soon after Kenyon reached town, hut before passing away he* gave the secret of the salve* compound to Mr. Kenyon. The ex-speculator In wheat bought a few cents’ worth of the required materials and a couple* dozen tin boxen aud opened up business In his wife's kltciic'ii. Cnnvnsslng agents were employed on commission and soon twenty-five* and llfty-eent lmxi*s of Adams’ now product found their way Into nearly every house In the* county. The venture was a success from the* start. Other Adams citizens without capita 1 and wit it an inherited distaste* for work concluded that the* salve* business offered brilliant Inducements, and soon nearly every other house In the* village was redolent with herba and pasty concoctions, and strewn from cellar to garret with tin boxes and printed labels. These new manufacturers determlned upon an honorable course* Im*fore* entering the* field occupied by Mr. Kenyon. They all met in conference, undo plan was adopted whereby It was agreed that there* should la* no clashing coin|ie*tltlon. An organization was jrnrfeeted under the* title* of tin* Salve Makers' Protective League, aud an agreement provide! for the allotment of a certain number of diseases and ailments to each manufacturer. Tbim one* salve nutker was permitted to make salve* for healing burns, scalds, tetter, itch, eczema. etc,; another for wounds, bruises, cuts, sores, ulcers, ami another for croup, diphtheria, lumlsigo, rheumatism and jaundice—und so on through a long list embracing all known ailments. Every manufacturer was bound by the agreement to sti«*k to his own disease. Candidates for admission to the league were considered eligible when they could present a list of diseases not owned by another member, und licenses to manufacture were then Issued duly setting forth the field of which the new salve was to have sole control. Tin* business thrived, and up to this time not one of those who within the past dozen years took up the manufacture of salve at Adams has failed to make money.

Carved in the Bark.

“I don't quite understand, and I never could," said an observer, “what prompts people to write their names in public places. Trees have always been favorite objects upon which to carve names, aud the smooth bark of the beech offers a field most inviting to tbe knife of the carver. 1 suw owe a bunch of beech trees upon which thousands of names had been cut. This was in Virginia, close by the left bank of the James River. A ravine nuuie back from the river, and at the head of this ravine there was a spring. Around the spring was this clump of beech trees. "The names carved on these trees were those of soldiers who had been encamped thereabouts in the time of the Civil War, and who bad come to this spring for water. It was in 1879 that I saw them, so that they must have been there then at least fourteen years; they had probably been there longer. About a third of the names were still legible; many of them were the names of men of Pennsylvania regiments; those that had become illegible were mainly those that uad been carved on smaller trees. “There was one big tree that had upon It, I should think, 500 names. They encircled It for twenty feet up from the ground. It seemed as if some of those among the highest must have been cut by men who swung down from the first branch, and one could imagine that men stood on one another's shoulders to reach above the names already carved by men standing on the ground, or that perhaps there was led up beside the tree a horse upon whose back the carver stood. “These names may have been carved, every one of them, simply as a pastime, aud yet it seemed somehow as though this was a case in which the curving might have been done in something more than a merely idle spirit.”

House Plant Lore.

Keep them in the sun. Keep them as far from gas and furnace heat as possible. Keep them wet, warm and clean. Keep soap out of the water. Keep a brush or carpet-rag to wash them. Keep the soil loose. Never pull off a leaf; the plant may bleed to death. Clip the withered tips of palms.