Ligonier Banner., Volume 29, Number 22, Ligonier, Noble County, 6 September 1894 — Page 3

D o T : ! THE GLD MILL MYSTERY 1 Ukt i i By Arthur W. Marchment, B. A, #uthor of *¢ Miser Hoadley’s Secret,” **Madellne . DPower,” **By Whose Hard,” ‘ ¢ Isa,” &c , &c. [Copyright, 1392. by the Author.] CHAPTER XIX 'TWIXT LOVE AND DOUBT. Her heart beating high «ith strangely mingled emotions, Mary tore the envelope open:' “Dear Mary—l am' very miserable. I have broken my promise to youabout stopping to face out the trouble; but that is not the worst. I wish nowwith all my heart that I had taken your adviee; but there—l cannot tell you all that has happened. Some day I will I am going away either to America or Australia. I cannot stay in the country after what has happened; but I must see you if I can before I go. Can you forgive me enough to come and meet ‘me? lam here in Manchester, living at 19 Bolton street. Will you come and meet me, if only for the last time before Tgo? I am utterly wretched. I want to know that you can forgive me, and I want to hear it from your own lips. Then I can go across the sea with a lighter heart. Come Tuesday. I’ll meet all the chief trains that you can come by at Exchange station. Do come. Tom.” ‘“Across the sea!” That was the sentence which at first held her, and the thought of it stabbed the poor girl to the heart. Shesat for a minute or two perfectly still- in- dumb misery. ‘‘Across the sea!”—he toiill out his life in one world; she tolive in another—a life of work, hopeless, wearying, void of love. C

After a time she read the letter again, and thesecond reading was not so fruitful of emotion. Herreasoaing faculties were less deadened by her feelings; and she was surprised that Tom did not refer to what had happened at the mill, nor did he give the cause of his having left Walkden Bridge.

- With this thought uppermost, she read it again, and found that although there were one or two vague sentences which might or might not be taken to refer to the tragedy at the mill, they were not such as he would have written. -

“I cannot tell you all that has happened. . . . I wish now with all my heart I had taken your advice. « . . . Icannotstay in the country after what has happened.” These sentences were just what anyone might have written who was referring to some other reason for leaving the town, and not to the tragedy. What was it, then, that he could not tell?

That Tom would not stay. in the country when he felt that he had been branded as a suspected thief, was a nataral enough decision for him to make; but what if the letter did mean that he had heard the news and was going away in consequence? How was it possible that he had not heard? All of the evening papers on Saturday had been full of it; the morning papers that day had had long reports; the very fact of the murder having taken place in such a spot as a mill was enough to make everyone in Lancashire talk about it.

+ She could get to no solution, except ‘ that she would go and see him the very first thing next day. She took out paper and "began a letter to tell him so. But she did not finish it, as she reflected that now-it might not be.safe to write to him by name. Then she destroyed the letter. . . ‘She was tearing it up when some one came to the cottage and knocked. It was Reuben Gorringe, and as soon as he entered the door Mary saw by the expression en his face that he had important news. _ “You have news?” she said, glaneing at him, somewhat nervously. - ““‘Savannah is back.” he said. - “I know. I have seen her,” answered Mary. “Youw know that she has not seen Tom, then?” he asked. ' “*Yes, I am glad of it,” replied the girl. ‘ “Glad?” echoed Gorringe. ‘“Very glad,” said Mary, confidently. *Do you know what it means?” **Yes. It.means that Tom has been wrenged in regard to her.” “Why did he run away if not with her?” asked Gorringe, sharply, looking at her as he delivered the thrust. ‘“Because Mr. Coode and you told him to go if he wished to avoid proceeding against him on tje other matter. Youdrove him to go away,” she answered, readily. **You believe, then, that his only object in going away was this desire to avoid the consequences which Mr. Coode mentioned?” he asked, after a pause. - ‘I have no reason to believe anything else.” ) “My poor lass!” he said, sighing as he spoke. , The girl looked up questioningly and anxious. . . . ‘“Yes,” he said in answer to her look. “I have news, bad news. ’Tis hard on me to have to be the bearer of bad news to you; it will turn you against me, Mary.” . S » *Nay! I would never turn against anyone for the sake of the truth,” answered the girl. " ‘“What is the bad news?” ) ' -““Something that seems to give the motive for that deed at the mill,” he answered. EL “Against whom does it point?” she asked, almost breathlessly, her eyes wide open in apprehension. . “Against Tom Roylance.” ‘““What is it?” she asked, brave but pale, and facing the man. “Something was taken away which concerned no one but Tom,” he answered. He paused, and then added: “Papers that related to that money business.” - _ . It was a heart-thrust, and the girl went cold. £ “What papers were they?” she asked after awhile, her voice;hoarse and low, and her lips quivering.” ~ ¢ ~ “They were the papers which proved the case,” answered Gorringe. - “There were the accounts, on separate sheets, the receipts given by Tom for the money he had had and the receipts he had taken fromothers for what he had paid. The former included those for ‘which no account was ever given in by him = W - “Who missed them?” she asked, when phe had tfilfi,h‘;,fidprgbflhd‘ what this meant. )""'; :,.;""hw ;1. aoy v G “The poljés; when they senrolisd;” answered:Gorringe, | o _The use of the word was another

“How did the—how did they know the papers were there?” : “They went over all the papers, and these were missing.” - “Yes, but who missed them? Who knew that they were ever in Mr. Coode’s possession, and on that night particularly?” . _ » “I did. I gavethem myself into Mr. Coode’s hands.” » The girl thought she could see a glimpse of hope in this. v

“But you have not told -the—anyone of this, have you? You are Tom’s friend and mine,” she spoke, eagerly, and a light flashed in her eyes as she touched his hand. ' .

“No, I have told no one yet,” was his answer. g

Mary took his hand and pressed it, and then carried it to her lips, and looked at him with a light of sweet gratitude. “You are good indeéd—a true friend —a staunch friend. It is not such bad news if only youand I know it.” She spoke with a smile so wistful and sad that it touched his heart. He tried to respond so as to reassure her; but he could not. -He had what he knew would be much worse news than-any yet told. ‘ : She was quick to read his manner; and then sought to buoy up the hope she had expressed. i “You will not tell anyone, will you?” she asked, almost pleading to him. “You will promise me this?” “I will promise, if it be possible; and,” he added in a low warning voice, “if it be of any use.” o

“What do you mean? Ah, there is more behind. What is it? Please, what is the worse? Tell me the worst,” she cried, in a voice through svhich the pain and dread were audible. “The police have found a witness who saw Tom go into the mill at about ten o'clock on Friday night,” answered the inan, in slow, distinct tones.

She tried bravely to keep up an appearance of indifference, even to Reuben Gorringe, friend though he said was was.

“IYhat does that prove?” she asked, glancing up at him with almost as much fear as if he had been a judge.

“It shows that he was in the mill that night—on the last that Mr. Coode was seen alive—almost at the hour when he was thought to have been—to have died,” he said,f“chegking himself and changing the expression he was going to use. . ’

“But does anyone suppose that if Tom Roylance went to the mill to—to

do any such act as—as this, he would have gone publiely forall the world to see? People, when they go to do wrong, don’t carry a lamp to show others what they are doing, I suppose, do they?” She spoke fast, trying to feel as she spoke. “I don’t say he went publicly,” answered the man. ‘Mary, my lass,” he said, suddenly, taking her hand and clasping it firmly. = ‘“lt’s no use struggling against this. Heaven knows, I'd spare you the knowledge of it all, if I could. Tom was seen to break into the mill from the back—round by Watercourse lane; you know the spot. The police know it all now: and as if that were not enough, the traces of the window having been forced have ‘been seen easily enough, while close by the window inside the mill this was found.” o

As he spoke he took out of his pocket a thin neck scarf, with Tom’s name on

Mary recognized it instantly. She herself had given it to him. - “Who found that?” she asked, just in a whisper. “I did,” said Gorringe: ‘I have not shown it to anyone yet,” he added, as if anticipating her next question. The girl buried her face in her hands again, profoundly moved by what had been told her; too full of distress to speak. Then she rose and held out her hand. ,

*I cannot yet understand all that you have told me. lam bewildered. Forgive me if I ask you to leave me alone now—unless, . that is,” with sudden wistful pain and fear in her voice, ‘unless there is anything else to tell me.” ‘

“No, Mary, I have nothing more to tell you. I have brought enough bad news for one visit. But I have something I should like to say before I go. You know where Tom is. . Go to him.)”

“What do you mean?”’ asked Mary, in sudden alarm, showing the man by the expression on her face that he had guessed aright. “I thought you would be sure to know. I will not ask you. If you do not know, never mind; if you do, then think of it. Go to him, ask him to tell you frankly what all this means, to give you the fullest information of every movement of his on that night, and to say whether he can at once face an inquiry. If he can let him come back at once; if he cannot, then we, his friends here, can help him to a place of safety until the time comes when all can be cleared.” , -'

When she was alone Mary gave herself up, without restraint, to the storm of feeling that swept over her. The terror, inspired by the news which Reuben Gorringe had brought, was intensified by the air of relpctance;with which he had told it, and by the infinite kindness and friendliness with which he had spoken at the end, and had offered his advice that she should go and question her lover. But to go and question him on all the points of doubt and suspicion which Reuben Gorringe had suggested would seem like accusing him and doubting him at the same time. Did she doubt him? = She told herself over and over again that he could not have done anything so atrocious; but one ‘after another the accusing facts which Gorringe had told her rose up and refused to be explained away. - Thus it was with fear, and yet hope, that she looked forward to the interview with mother or Tom now. !

CHAPTER XX THE ARREST.

On the following morning Mary felt much calmer and was able to take a more hopeful view of the facts which overnight had seemed so black and so threatening. ; Her faith in her lover had strengthened, and although she could not see her way definitely to meet the charges, her confidence in Tom’s ability to do that was increased. _ If the police were, as Keuben Gorringe had said, really beginning to suspect Tom, he must come back and give the lie to the accusation. At 'the same time it was possible for innocent fneh to need time in which to prove their ¥hnocence; and it was therefore necessary that she should see Tom without ot the same time doing anything that

would be likely to hasten any steps being taken against him. She looked out, therefore, at the Walkden Bridge station, as well as ay Presburn, where she had to change carriages, to see that she was not followed; and this act of itself made her somewhat nervous and flurried.

At Manghester, being quite unused to the rush and crowd of a big station, the girl felt bewildered, and gazed about her in every direction, trying to catch a glimpse of her lover. Her heart gave a great leap as she caught sight of him. . They clasped hands and stood still in silence for fully a minute; and the girl’s heart was sad to see the change which even three days had wrought in him. He looked haggard, and worn, and worried; while there was a dejected, anxicus look of suffering in his face that filled her with infinite pain. At first she longed to let her pity and sympathy find vent in words; but then her woman’s wit checked her and she forced all the expression of alarm and concern out of her face and smiled. “I am so glad to see you, Tom,” she said. “So glad, dear. I was feeling quite lost in this great crowd. But now I feel safe and contented whenmy hand rests again on your arm.” Then she pressed closely to his side. “Let usget out of this lot of pushing folks and go where we can be by ourselves and have one of our long talks;’. and thus she drew him out of the crowd and away from the station. “T don’t know where to go to, lass,” he said, after they had gone some distance. -

*I have an idea,” she answered. ‘‘Let us get on the tram and go to the Botanical gardens.” On the tramcar she talked and laughed “about what they saw in the streets as they passed, so that the man might overcome the reserve and confusion which she ‘could see were disturbing him; and when they reached the gardens the change in his méanner told her that he was somewhat more at ease. )

They walked arm in arm through some of the walks in the place, until they came to a seat in a quiet sidewalk, and there they sat down. Then her forced courage gave way a little and she did not know how to begin. But the man had a question which he had been longing to ask her from the moment of their meeting; and with a return of the anxious worried look to his face, be turned his head this way and that, as if to make sure that they were not overheard, -and said in a low, nervous voice: “Is it true, Mary?” “Is what true?” “What I read in the newspapers yesterday about—about Mr. Coode—that he was—that he was. killed in the mill?” The question let a bright light of happy relief into the girl’s heart and filled her with an absolute reassurance of her confidence in him. “Yes, it is true; terribly true, dear. When did you see 12 : - “Yesterday morning, just after I had posted my letter to you. Who did it? Is it known yet?” “No; nobody knows yet!” “When did it happen? IS anyone suspected?” he ‘asked in a quick, hurried voice. “Some time on Friday night it happened. It is not quite certain when. He was seen alive somewhere about eight o’clock on Friday evening; and when Jake Farnworth went to the mill to fettle up something in the engine shed, he found him dead.” She did not answer his second question, but he repeated it. “Do they suspect anyone?” ~ “They’ve hardly begun to make any inquiries yet,” she answered, evading it.

““Are you sure of that, lass?” he asked, anxiously. “I thought they might perhaps suspect me.” He said this with a forced and uneasy laugh that grated painfully on the girl’s ear. “Why you, Tom? Why should they suspect you? Did you go to the mill that night, as we arranged you should? I have often wondered whether you did.” ' “No, lass, I didu’t go. I started to go, but I'never went.” “I" wish now you had,” she said. “Youmight have saved his life. This might never have happened. if you'd gone there. Why didn’t you go?” “] 'don’t know. I suppose I wasa bit afraid of facing him, or I didn’t' think any good would come ofit. He was so dead sure of my having tampered with his money.” : “Is that why you came away, then?” “Yes, mostly, that and other things.” “What other things?”, . %Oh, Idon’t want to talk aboutthem. Never mind them now. I did come away, and ever since I saw what had ‘happened that night, I've been down‘right afraid lest they should think I'd ‘cut it on mccount of—of old Coode’s 'death.” : :

““I wish you’d tell me what other things led to your coming away, dear,” said Mary, gently. : “Why? It can’t do any good that I can see,”” he answered, somewhat sharply. ‘l’ve been a fool, Mary,” he said, in a lmy, rather ashamed volce, *but I've given it the go-by now. Don’s ask me any questions about that; anyway not yet. I'll tell you some day. I’ve been a mad fool, but it’s all over, if you can forgive me. I'm going away, as I told you in the letter, and I don’t want you to think hardly of me, lass; but I'd rather you-didn’t ask me anything about that,” he said, dejectedly. “I’ll only ask you one thing. Yeu’re sure you weren’t in the mill that night, Tom?” ks

“Sure? Of course, I'm sure! Who says different? I wasn’t far away from the mill, but I didn’t go into it.” ‘““Thenif anyone says they saw you going into the place that night about ten o’clock from the Watercourse-lane, it wouldn’t be true. would it?” “No, it would be a thundering lle, whoever said it,” he answered, vehemently. Then he added, quickly and shrewdly: ‘“Then I’m right. They do suspect me, eh?” ‘““What scarf had you on that night, Tom?” she asked, passing over his last question. B . “Why, just what I have on now, to be sure,” he answered, readily. ‘‘Bus what do you mean by such a question as that?” ol : [TO BE CONTINUED.]

She Was the Adorning Feature. __The Coquette--I'm afraid I’ve got too many diamonds on. Beauty ungdorned’s adorned the most, you know, The Flatterer—Nonsense! Your diamonds are not' half so beautiful by bh‘emselves.:fiv hicago Record. CHICAGO alone spends nearly $35,000 per day for tobscoo. .

'THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. ' International Lesson for Septewmber 9, 1894 —Jesus and Nicodemus—John 3:1-16. [Specially arrangedifrom Peloubet’snotes.] GOLDEN TEXT.—God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, fhat whosoever believeth in H{m shouldnot perish, but have everlasting life.—John 3: 16. PLACE IN THE HISTORY.—F'irst year of Jesus’ ministry, The Year of Beginnings, and fourth event. (1) The first disciples. (2) The first miracle. (3) The first reform. (4) The first discourse—the conversation with Nisodemus. TiME.—April, A. D. 27. Soon after the last lesson. JESUS.—B3O-31 years of age. Three months after his baptism, and at the commencement of his public ministry at Jerusalem. ~ LESSON NOTFS. - The Seeker after Truth.—‘‘There was a- man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus.”' Nicodemus is a Greek name, meaning conqueror of the people, but was in common use among the Jews. All we know of himis recorded by John. First—A Pharisee. The strictest and most religious sect of the Jews, who believed in a future state, studied the Seriptures and were looking for the Messiah, whom they expected to be a temporal deliverer and king. Second—A member of the Sanhedrin. *‘*A ruler of the Jews.” This phrase is indefinite, but it would appear from John 7:50 that he belonged to the Sanhedrin, a body of about seventy men, whose position was es dignified and as much respected as that of the United States sendte and the supreme court combined. Third. A Scribe. An authorized religious teacher, as we learn from verse 10. Fourth. A Man of Great Influence. Tradition reports him to have been a man of great wealth and a rigid observer of the Pharisaic forms. Fifth. His Later Life. Twice, later on, we obtain a glimpse of Nicodemus. After this interview he seems to have become a secret disciple, or at least strongly inclined to accept of Je-sus-as the Messiah, for he, in a manner, defended Jesus before the Sanhedrin a year or so after this interview (John 7:50). But it was not till the crucifixion that he came out boldly and decidedly as a disciple of Jesus (John 19:39.) e

“The same came to Jesus,” after he had seen Jesus' hold deeds in the temple, and other miracles, probably not long after the Passover. It was doubtless in some guest chamber, an upper room which is always reached by outside stairs, and thus without disturbing the family. By night.” Why | by night? (1) The reason generally assumed is fear of the Jews, but this is ‘ not asserted by the Evangelist. As o 1 bad motive is imputed to him, it is most in accordance with €hristian charity to i suppose that his motives were such as | God would approve, especially as the Saviour did not reprove him. (2) As he was 2 member of the:Sanhedrin, and the business of that:body would be greatly increased at the time of the Passover, the night might have been the | only opportunity for such an interview as he desired. (3) Common prudence. 1 He would not commit himself as a follower of the unknown teacher till he i was assured that he was really thel Messiah. It was a costly step to take. The Sanhedrin exercised a terrorism over those it opposed. His family, his 1 position, his reputation, his influence, ] were all .at stake. Common prudence | would require him to know for certain what he was doing, before he launched } openly on an unknown sea. (4) Publicity at this time would have hindered the freedom of his inquiries. (5) The quiet evening hour, after the p_ublici work and teaching of Jesws was over, and the crowds had retired to their homes, was by far the best time for this purpose. (6) It is very probable that he had mingled motives, and all the above motives had more or less influence. (7) It is well to note that his going at all, implies strength of character, unprejudiced desire for the truth, earnestness, and honesty of purpose. The Teacher Sent from God.—‘‘Rabbi, that Thou art a teacher come from God.” So much they were assured of, but whether fHe was the Messiah or some inferior prophet they did not know. ‘‘For no man can do these miracles (signs) that Thou doest except God be with Him.” See chapter 2:11, 23. Miracles were God's signature indorsing those whom He had sent. The true teacher was (1) sent from God, taught of God. (2) He knew the truth (vs. 11-13). (3) e taught the truth. (4) He came with proofs of His authority, deeds that showed that God was with Him, and were signs of God’s good will, kindness, power and opposition to all evil. ; New Life from: Above.—‘‘Except a man (any one) be born again,” or anew, as in R. V. The Greek word more naturally and frequently means ‘‘ from above” (margin). But that meaning is here unsuiteple to the connection, for it would make Nicodemus’' answering inquiry a mere silliness. The meaning ‘anew ’is sometimes found, and here suits exactly. Whoever is born again, or anew, is necessarily born from above. ‘‘He cannot see the Kingdom of God.” The declaration is explicit that a new spiritual life is necessary, not only to enter into, but even to form any -correct- conception of the Kingdom of God. i ‘“‘Except a man, be born of water and of the Spirit.” ‘‘Our Lord here speaks of the second birth as completed by two agencies, water and the Spirit. The Baptist baptized with water for the remission of sins, but he was always careful to disclaim power to baptize with the Holy Ghost.” His baptism symbolized the washing away o sin from the soul. Assurance of paw- ; don John was empowered to give. - MULTUM IN PARVO. TRAVEL makes a wise man better, and a fool worse.—Feltham. LET every eye negotiate for itself, and trust no agent.—Shakespeare. SimpriCclTY of character is the natural result of profound thought.— Hazlitt. ' i v ‘WHEN peoplg ever are in the wrong, each line they add is much too long.— Prior. : : SIN may open, bright as the morning, but it will end dgrk as the night.—Talmage. : v ~ A MAN is called selfish, not for pursuing his own good, but for neglecting his neighbor’s.—Whately. WHAT is mine, even to my life, is hers I love; but the secret of my friend is not mine.—Sir P. Sidney. . - ToHE moment an ill can be patiently borne it is disarmed of its poison, though not of its pain.—H. W. Beecher.

TARE proper oare of the kitchen sink. Much disease is caused by not using proper precautions. Keep it fresh and clean by flushing it every day with boiling water, in which has been dissolved a little bit of copperas. .

"~ FASHION LETTER Handsome Stylish Gowns for Fall Weédi= The New ¢“Art” Brown to Be Ameéng the Popular Colors—Capes Will Be Semt Out with the Majority of Walking.and Visiting Costumes. . ; [New York Correspondence.] In the midst of all the elaborateness and dressiness of fashionable gov%ns, 3 it is plain to . SOO be seen that % simple skirts / ¥ 4 and severe B tailor-made 4; (h/%/gh coatswilllose g A&7 W 2% noneof their \‘\g\ vf’,,y’{%/ popularity N ,f?:%« » for autumn & ,{,?g ) wear. They i 4zb )/ are as much > ,;;&:,ggfii:*’,‘v_év%;f’ the rage as N § //c they wereaft--7?/ [/ b\ er their first 7’/}7 .k\ successful ol ;/ !é % season, and 4 4 ‘// Y | then come the 7 /// W “compro/4 % // B W) mise’suits by // ' L//;;% which are a a 3 G hoppyme ey -= Mo (ium be- - _tween the severe and the very ornate. One of these is a model in fawn-colored lightweight covert cloth, which has a draped skirt with full folds at the back and opens on the left side with revers of dark-green moire. The slender princess coat turns back with revers to match, over a trim waistcoat of the watered silk, . fastemed with small gilt and enamel buttons. The refined and delicate gray tints are | close rivals of the golden tans, russets and blues in marine and silver shades. Among soft, beauliful wools and fancy silks- for the autumn season, stone color, nun’s gray, pure silver gray and fawn with a becoming touch of yellow in it, will all be in high favor, and moire silk will still be used for an accessory, although for youthful wearers some of the figured taffetas or surahs will be used in combination. Gray cashmeres, crepons of heavier weight than have been used this summer, also Henrietta cloth, sacking and Fayetta will be made into stylish and pretty gowns for demi-dress wear. Many varieties of color have been added to the familiar standard shades, and there are also dots, checks, stripes and very pretty shot effects introduced in some of the new weaves. Added to these. are handsome new bengalines with ordinary, medium or heavy cords or ribs which appear in a range of lovely dyes and which will be used for entire gowns or in combinations for parts of fall costumes. Besides these there are tempting flowered taffetas, watered silks and changeable liberty satins of medum weight, but beautiful quality and heavy surahs of domestic manufacture that have grounds shot in two colors, with small chine B figures of the R one or the . other in the I% gro u nd, "-wl thrown upon Yoriif ‘}i’-j.~ - ‘ the surface., "/F ¢ g‘{‘@},\%/’:‘ i These make /N 4 WEBA/ NVb beautifuld 12‘;3“ 4 %}xw’* ?\Q ;,:, | gowns for all “})\ '}fy"'.f”fi | sorts of oc- : N 1 casions ac- A} ) é cording to riy / “%?/I | the color and Ll Ak //f/’//;' mny . degree of ///%/// Y elegance re-. . /§ /’7/ Z/Z ‘,, ‘ & 4, 5 A 2 quujfed., or the 74 /7/ '/4// (% 4 quantity of Z& 7/4 %”/ /4 W trimm ~,/ 4 /?/ % . sl 4 /;% 7 T used. "The Qfiym // //// 7 new ‘“art’ = /%/ / = brown of a e pasd D slightly red- : : dish tint will be amcng the popular colors this fall, appearing in the list of ‘handsome dress fabrics of striped bengaline, ladies’ cloth, camel’s hair, ‘Fayetta and cashmerve. It has already appeared among imported models for autumn gowns of ceremony, and it will be extensively used by ladies’ tailors for elegant costumes of plain’ velvet, velvet-striped Venetian cloth, nad covert cloth. For cold weather wear these gowns will be finished with picturesque 7looking shoulder-capes, and decorated with various brown furs, ’- Capes, both large and small, in single, double and triple effects, will } & g be sent out with T 2 the majority of %"" walking and ‘ ' visiting cos- . (;‘;" T tumes for the ‘" ; D present season, U 4 Y ‘their movelty | n)\‘( ‘J ) consisting chief*E " ly in their greatVIS ly varied fabf rics, one, two, “‘. and sometimes : ,i three materials W . el S 1;{ playing t thei (11' 3 .fa A accustome }f'l ?Q role, in addition ‘ ff-l to novel shaded ; ,fl_"} galloons and el“:fl- _ i% egant Persian l g 4 passementeries & A‘ both beaded and : T plain. Plain tail- : - or-made capesor coats may be beautifully elaborated by these garnitures, and the modiste produces thereby a small wrap of special distinction. From official sources comes the announcement that the skirt shape most noticeable at all fashionable gatherings, both in Paris and London, is nothing more nor less than the old bell shape so long popular. It’s general outline is improved, it is quite as full as those of the summer have been, and cut in the fashion. Trimming at the edge of the skirt is seldom used. If any decoration is required, it is very narrow or flat in the form of a rich line of passementerie insertion band of silk cord in openwork, soutache in very pretty dress of sacking, camel’s hair or Henrietta cloth in stem green, brown, gray, russett or petunia, have round waists of shepherd’s check in silk and wool, in green and ecru, brown and chamois color, violet and doe, old rose and mignonette green, and like effective mixtures. « . Karg DUNHAM.

Practical Definition of Comimencement.

*“Why do they call it ‘commencement,” maw?”’ asked Susie Simperly, carlessly tossing the essay she had read half an hour before upon the center table and heading for the pianostool. ; L

‘“Because,” came the reply in crushing tones, ‘‘because it designates the period when you're goin’ to commence to hustle around and do something. As soon as you can conveniently take off that white dress and those¢ button gloves you will find a pile of dinner dishes in the kitchen that need your attention,”—Buffalo Courier. ,

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. | WAITIN’ AT THE DOOR. Pvefiad s lot o’ blessin's in my time, but never knowed The pleasure of enjoyin’ every violet that growed, : : A’ every streak ¢’ sunshine, beamin’ brighter " evermore, "T3ll Mandy went to meetin’ an' I waited at the door! e I'd been a-lovin' Mandy almost too long to tell; I only know 'twas nat’ral, an’ she seemed to like it well; o £ But there come a little coolness an’ we hadn’t spoke before : : That day she went to meetin’ an’ I waited at the door.

Two weeks—or three’s more like—we'd kinder walked apart, : With her a-tossin’ of her head an’ hidin’ of her heart; : An' I warn’t first fér speakin’, being proud as - well as poor, = *Till that day she went to meetin’ an’ I waited at the door.

I don't know why I waited, fer I thought the sermont long, : An’ it did seem like the ¢hoir'd never finish up a song! i . An’ it 'peared like all the village knowed my . heart was feelin’ sore, : o An’ that Mandy was in meetin’ an’ me hangin’ - roun’ the door!

But I waited—couldn’t help it—in a-state 'o hope an’ doubt, 'Till I heard 'em sing “Old Hundred' an’ they come a-trompin’' out; . | An’ here come Mandy, cryin’! Never seen her so before, ; i Fer you see, she'd got religion while I waited v at the door! B

She run to meet me! ‘‘Mandy!’ an' she ane - swered, weepin’: “John!” ° : An’ we stopped behind a little, while the rest went walkin’ on; But I didn’t know that minute—all my senses in the lurch— T v If the chureh was on the steeple, or the steeple on the church!

“0O John! I've been so triflin’, but a better life I'll live; e e It was sweet in you to love me, an’ it's sweeter to forgive!” : But I couldn’t speak for chokin’, till I said—three times or four: - *lt’'s me that needs forgiveness, out here waitin’ by the door!” S

Well! we went home in the sunshine—happy, happy on the way; : ; An’ I took an’ left ter dollars at the preacher’s ‘house that day; An'l would ha’ made it twenty, an' kept run= nin’' up the score, - Fer the love that come to meet me fer that walitin’ at the door! - 2 ~—Frank L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution.

PROMPT COURTESY. ' A Quality That Y¥ill Transform a Boorish Lad Into a Gentleman. . Boys, rid yourself of that false shame that makes you shrink away when there is a book to be picked up, a door to be opened, somé one to be assisted. : !

I recently saw a young woman returning from- a shopping expedition laden with a numfer of patkages. Suddenly she tripped and one of her purchases fell to the ground. Behold her in a most awful predicament, when a bell rang, and on the instant a bevy of boys rushed from the schoolhouse near by. o - Their bright eyes grasped the situation at a glance—the young woman standing helplessly, arms and hands encumbered, the little brown parcel lying at her feet. Their kind hearts told them what to do, but shame, fear, a sort of cowardly timidity held them back. With one accord they stopped. looked at one another, then passed silently on. There was nota lad in that crowd whose fingers did not actually itch to pick up that bundle, yet not one dared to do it. ! :

Boys, I beg of you, let your hands; your feet, your voice, be the willing agents of that great master of politeness, the heart.

You see an aged person trying to mount the steps of a car. Your heart whispers: ‘‘Help.” Obey its impulse; go offer your strong young arm. - Your teacher drops a pencil; quick as a flash return it to her. Your very willingness will make her feel stronger and better. : :

The truly polite boy is a good son, for polixness teaches him the duty and respedt he owes to his parents. He isa grateful brother to his sisters, always returning a pleasant “Thank you” for any kindness received at their hands. o G

This world would be better and brighter if our boys would obey as readily as they feel the charitable impulse that rises in their hearts to assist the helplessand lend their strength to the weak. It is this prompt courtesy that will transform the awkward, boorish lad into the polished, ever yraceful zentleman.—N. Y. Observer

SMART LITTLE GIRL.

Fannie Erdofy Knows a Language for : Every Year of Her Age. Little Fannie Erdofy is only four years old, but she is one of the most accomplished young lodies in New York. She speaks four languages fluently, and her father promises to teach her two more before she reaches N i ; o ‘ W ! I, ¢ M 227 \}l‘# ' A, W 2N : NNy NS - ;\\\‘\ Al = Sy RN o\ NN 7 ot Vi, 7, e W) . I Ml ] ’ /\ i ~ { J‘s’“ M~ AV Q‘ Ry, 7L G o S LITTLE FANNIE ERDOFY. her fifth birthday. She does not care for dolls or other toys, but plays only with !irregular verbs, ablative absolutes, moods, tenses and syntactical puzzles. She speaks German like & Berlinese, French like a Parisienne, Hungarian like a Boyar and English “vith a Harlem accent. Miss Fannie’s gift illustrates the law o* heredity. ° Her father, Arthur Erdofy, who is an interpreter at Ellis island, was born in Buda-Pesth, Hungary, thirty-two years ago. He has the special linguistic aptitude of his race, having command of not less than ten languages. Mrs. Erdofy speaks English, Hungarian, German, French end Slavonian. 7 : It is said that the difficulty is not in eaching Miss Fannie a new language, but in preventing her from overtaxing her strength learning one without - struction. : : 2 | If They Only Would. ' What & perfectly lovely thing ‘twould be, | How the world would fill with light, 1f “The Heavenly Twins" woyld sailaway On “Ships That Pass in the Night.” l Nare ; N- Y. ww’

.. CLEVER LINK PUZZLE. llf You Follow These Instructions You Cax e - Make One Yourself. The puzzle is simply of constructiou. To succeed, however, you must pay careful attention to my instructions: You require two picces of steel wire (or- brass, if . you prefer).}§ of an inch thick and 23¢ inches long. Carefully round the ends with a file, or by rubbing them on a piece of tile or brick. Bend the wire to the shape of A and B respectively Fig. 1. If you use steel wire you can bend'it to shape cold AI! .I B ol ¢ (as you will doif you use brass wire), but in case .of stout steel wire it may be better to heat it a dull red, and gently hammer it round an iron rod of the required size. You can get the required turn with a pair of pincers, or by any other means your ingenuity may suggest. : ; One reason why I prefer steel wire is that you can nicely burnish the links, either with .emery powder or bysimply rubbing between the hands. If you happen to have a lathe and-burnishing wheel, why, there you are. ; Another reason—and an important one—is that the steel link can be made of finer wire than I-have given, and still retain the required stiffness neces~sary to prevent them being forced together, in fact, no force is required at all. : » . ’ . 1 must now call your attention to some important points, unless you observe which you will fail to gain the desired end. First, take particular notice that the ends A and B overlap the bends from which spring the straight _ends. Though not shown in the illustration, it must be distinctly understood that the ends A and B do net touch the bends, there being a space befween them @'most the width of the wire. - . : = g ; - You maynow proceed to put the puzzle together. If -you carefully study

Fig. 2 you will easily succeea; mnov, howerver, if you hayve A and B too close to theirrespective bends. Also, if you have too much space the links will “fall” together. What you wan?’ is to so regulate this space that you—knowing ‘‘how it’s done”—have difficulty to accomplish the feat, It will then test your friends’ ingenuity before they succeed. S : To take the links apart again—well, suppose You exercise your anenuity.—Golden Days. - - . -A'SAGACIOUS DOG. The Newfoundland Was Bound to Have His Evening Walk. There is a stcry 6f a French dog whose breakfast was forgotten, whereupon he ran out into the garden and returning with a sprig in his mouth, deposited it at his master’si feet. It was a sprig of forget-me-not. The truth of this story is perhaps open to question, but a story almost as remarkable has been furnished to Cassell’s Saturdday Journal by a gentleman whose veracity is said to be undoubted. The story runs: . - Jack is a handsome Newfoundland dog. Every evering, at nine o’clock, he is ‘taken for a walk by his master, who has an orangewood walking stick* which he particularly likes and usually carries. Every evening at the stroke of nine Jack, rushes to the hat rack in the hall, noses about among the walk-ing-sticks and umbrellas until he finds the orangewood stick, and immediately afterward appears before his master, carrying it in his teeth. He wags his tail and prances delightedly about,and shows as plainly as possible that he will be a broken-hearted dog if his friend and master omits the usual evening stroll. : : One evening the family were in the sitting-room with some guests. A shower had come on and it was raining hard when the cilock struck nine. The strokes had hardly died away when Jack danced gayly in the room with the orangewood stick in his mouth. “No, Jack,” said his master, ‘‘we cannot go to-night. It is raining too hard. We should get wet. Just listen to it, Jack.” With that the host turned his attention once more to his guests, and presently they heard Jack pulling over the things'in the hat rack. They sup- - posed Le was putting away the walking stick, like the clever dog that he is. “Ar few moments later a beseeching little bark was heard. There in the—-sitting-room door stood Jack, with an umbrella in his mouth. Every oue flew for the waterproof and hat of the man of the house, and that gentleman, bearing the umbrella so persuasively offered him, took Jack out for his walk without further delay. - :

The Difference in Voices.

- One's surprise at the fact that no two persons’ voices are perfectly alike ceases when one is informed by an authority on the subject that, though there are only nine perfect tones in the human voice, there are the astounding number ‘of 17,592,186,044,415 different sounds. Of these fourteen direct/muscles produce 16,383, and 30 indirect muscles produce 173,741,823, while all in cooperation - produce the total 'giver above e X .'L 2T

Ditficult to Cranslate. It was the duchess of Gordon, aclever and beautiful Scotch woman, who successfully dumfounded a pretentious ‘dandy. He was beside her at a supper‘party, and in order to gain her good graces, affected a liking for the Scottish tongue, declaring there was not‘a Scottish pnrase he did not understand. “Rax me o sprawl o' that hubblyjock,” replied the duchess, without changing a muscle of her face. The exquisite looked appalled, and then slunk away in eonfusion, while ‘the commission was performed by & cavalier hailing from the north of the Tweed. . She wanted a turkey-wing.