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the mercury.
e.LMd M MOond-clM. mutter at the San.
^ den Title Poeteffloe, April 37, 1880.
gaiJcnrlUe, Wartlagteu C*nty, 8*.
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April 3, 1830.
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SANDERSVILLE, GA., OCTOBER 26, 1880.
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April 3, 1880.
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Thero comoa an hour when all lile’s |oys and
paina
To our raiaed viaion acem
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Ol aorae dead midnight dreatn !
Thore comes an hour when earth recodes ao
tar,
Ha wasted, wavering my
Wanes to tho ghostly pallor ol a star
Merged in tho milky-way.
Sot on the sharp, sheer summit that divides
Immortal truth'trom mortal lantisie;
Wo hear the moaning ot time’s muflled tides
In measuroless distance die !
Past passions—loves, nmbitions and despairs,
Aoross tho expiring swell
Sond thro’ void space, like waits_ol Lethean
airs,
Vague voices oi farewell.
Ah, then t Irom lire’s long-haunted dream wo
part—
Roused as a child new-born,
Wo feel the pulses ol tho eternal hoart
Throb thro* tho eternal morn,
—Paul H, Hayne, in Youth’t Companion.
eUums.
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A. J. JERNIGAN.
A young lady was speaking to a friend
who had called upon her regarding a
trait characteristic of her mother, who
always had a good word to say to every
one: “ Why,” said she, “ I believe if
oatan were under discussion, mother
would have a good word to say for him."’
Just then the mother entered, and was
informed what tho daughter had said,
whereupon she quietly said: “Well,
“ty dear, I think we might all imitate
Satan’s perseverance.
GREED OF GOLD.
“ Is this you, Gipsy P”
The slight girl turned her roseate face,
with a glad, involuntary cry.
“Yes, it is I, Cesare. Did you think
it was a water-nymphP”
But the gay tongue tripped, and the
roseate bloom rose up to the ripples of
brown hair which shaded Veta Kane’s
pretty forehead.
Ccsaro D’Areil saw and understood,
and drew the dripping girl under his
umbrella with the proud imperiousness
of possession. Tho satislied and happy
look was far more becoming to his
plendid boauty than the usual sneer and
frown his perfect features wore.
Of Italian parentage, his American
birth had done little toward reconciling
him to poverty in this land of great
probabilities.
Ho was music-teacher in the little
town of Oak borough, and Veta Rane,
an orphan girl, had been his sweei heart
from a child. The most careless ob
server could read, as he ian, that Cesave
D’Arcil, this young man of singular
beauty, luxuriant nnd cynical, the step-
son of the richest man in town, was all
the world to her.
“ I thought I should get home before
the shower came,” laughed Veta, happy
on Iris nrm under the sheltering um
brclla. ‘“You see what a wretched
guesscr I ami" the raindrops sparkling
on the long eyelashes.
But already the cloud of discontent
hud gloomed Closure's dark eyes. Veta,
clattering on, saw in a moment that his
mind was far away from her. Her mo
bile face became shadowed, her silvery
tongue silent, ns they walked rapidly
down tho green country road in the pelt
ing summer rain.
“Has Doctor D’Alembert’s fuuoral
net taken pmcc, Cesare P” she asked, at
or gth.
“Yes, nnd the will read."
“And youP” she asked, quickly.
“ I am leftout in tho cold, of course.”
he answered, with a short, unmusical
laugh.
She murmured a word of sympathy.
“ Oh, I am not in the least disappoint
ed, Gipsy. There was never any love
lost between my stepfather and my
self.”
And Doctor D’Alembert’s great
wealth is left to—”
His son lgnace, of course. Fortu
nately lor the ducats. He won’t make
ducks and drakes of them, us I would
“He is a very tine young man, isn’t
hcP” ventured Veta, timidly; but Ce-
saro did not hear.
“There was a proviso that the inher
itance of the Itoses, etc., depended on
lgnace marrying Miss Wayne within a
year; otherwise the property reverted
tome. But that is nothing. Of course,
lgnace will marry Mabvn.”
Gipsy’s brown eyes dilated, but her
tongue hesitated to express her sur
prise.
“ Do you know herP"
“MabynWayneP Yes."
“ Is she good P Is she pretty P”
“ She is an angel, and very beauti
ful." ,
The brown eyes, raised with an in
stant’s penetration, sought the ground
again.
Cesare was too cool and careless to be
in love with Miss Wayne himself,
whomsoever might be. That was not
what called up His bone of discontent.
But in the hillside farmhouse, whose
comfort and quaintness pleased him, he
found a temporary balm for his woes.
The sweetest and most innocent girl in
the world loved him—was his slave.
The great youth and tender beauty, tho
dependent nature and exquisitely fem
inine traits of Veta Rane suited him
perfectly. Unlike him, she was not
ambitious, bad no quarrel with fate,
since she might love and be loved, and
something of her happy con tent banished
his unrest that evening.
“ You are necessary to me, Gipsy, he
said, snatching her suddenly to his
breast. " I am never so good or happy
as when with you.”
And with a woman’s devotion, she
responded, in her utter happiness.
"'And I will never fail you, Cesare. I
never can be anything but what I am,
^Yet^it that moment the tuture seemed
not bright, but vaguely ominous, to
b °Cesare D’Arcil walked back to town
by moonlight. Leaving behind him at
Inqt the lone road of glittering vines and
dipping tree-boughs, he reached the
large, shent house and suit of rooms he
Ca it°tad been years since the Roses had
been his home. He had been part of the
unhappiness which his handsome Ital
ian mother had caused there.
She hated her husband s son, and, in
return, Doctor D’Alembert hated hera
A prudent and just man, he held the
most decided disapproval of his Step
son’s hauteur, extravagance and selfish
ness, and gave him no part in his plans
iwn l hoy was gentle, frank, gen-
prous with self-possessed, deferential
— : which made him ever master
Thettsa, 8 'died'°he h“ad“ detemined that
Tunace only should inherit at the Roses.
doctor had planned another mistress for
lb Mabyn‘Wayne was the daughter of
his stepsister, connected, but not related
to him by blood. From a gentle and
pretty child, she had developed into a
good nnd beautiful woman. For six
years she had heou abroad, lgnace had
not seen her since her fourteenth year,
when she was a schoolgirl, but lie had
ever flushed with pleasure at the least
reference to his father’s well-known
plan—that, at a suitable age, he should
marry Mabyn.
Her lamily acknowledged him, in
every respect, a suitable match for her,
and from time to time there came from
Mabyn herself some pleasant word or
token for her old playfellow. So no one
wondered at Doctor D’Alembert’s will.
And now Mabyn Was coming home.
Cidied to Now York in the selection of a
musical instrument for n pupil, Cesare
p’Arcil accidentally met her in tho very
hour of her landing. Transfixed by her
beauty, which was a wonder, there
arose within him such passionate jeal
ousy of lgnace D’Alembert that a sud
den madness took possession of him.
Why should another man have the
priceless possession of the Roses and
Mabyn Wayne, and he nothing of this
world’s success P
Not that he loved her. Love for him
self only devoured him. But ho im
agined himself, Balisfled and exultant,
the master of tho Roses, with this peer
less woman Iris wife, and was utterly
possessed by the thought.
Mabyn had not heard of Doctor
D’Alembert’s death, and was greatly
shocked.
“ I am very, very much pained I’Vsaid
Mabyn. “ And lgnace—I suppose he is
in great nfllictionP”
A faint blush tinged tier check.
“Doubtless,” replied Cesare, affably.
Something in his manner arrested
Mabyn's attention. She was looking at
him, attentively, when he added:
“ I should have thought lgnace would
have accompanied me to New York and
made an early call upon you. t men
tioned it, but lie lias gone to Redwood,
hunting. Probably you will see him as
soon as ho returns Irom the expedition.”
A burning blush, succeeded by
snowy paleness, betrayed to him her
secret.
“ She remembers—hopes to love him,”
he said, under his breath, and added
“She is offended.”
Ho lmd deceived her in speaking the
truth.
He was upon barely speaking terms
with lgnace. At the lime he had men
tioned going to New Yolk lgnace had
not known that Mabvu’s arrival in that
city was so near. He was going hunt
ing out of courtesy to guests staying for
a few days at the Roses, not that he was
i hen inclined to the sport, or especially
fond of it at any time. The inference
that lie had preferred a gunning oxpe
dition to meeting Mabyn Wayne was
an utterly false one, which he would
have vi sented v. ith spirit if aware that
it had ever been drawn.
But the mischief was done. A cer
tain subtle sweetness find gone out of
Mabyn's coming home. And when
week after week pass' d, nnd no tidings
or token came from the Roses, she was
passionately humiliated by her strong
disappointment and sadness.
“lie shall never dream I cared so
much," she murmured, witli n burning
cheek, and in a week was tho belle of
the set.
And Cesaro D’Arcil still remained in
New York. He had grown thin and
pale, with restless, burrring eyes. Every
day lie contrived to see Mabyn. Some
times it would be during her morning
drive or shopping expedition; oftencr
at some gay evening reception.
And Mabyn—she never met him with
out a faint change of color, and some
thing in her manner which betokened
sincere emotion. But those keen eyes
of Cesare D’Arcil’s were not deceived.
He knew the fading nnd coming of the
roses in those beautiful cheeks wore not
for him. It was only of the profound
association in her mind of him self with
lgnnce D’Alembert that made her pale
and falter at his npproach.
But, whatever the truth was, it gave
him access to her presence when others
could not npproach her. He spent long
mornings in tho parlors of the rich
mansion which w-is her home. Ho
danced frequently with her in public;
he was seen in the Wayne carriage.
At the Roses, lgnace D’Alembert
moodily watched the mails. For
Cesare had said to him: “ I will let you
know when Miss Wayne returns."
Simple and straightforward himselt,
the thought of treachery had never oe-
cured to him when Cesare D’Arcii's
wish had become a detined and con
firmed plot. Mabyn had returned in
November. It was January when he
determined to go to New York, and
from a brother of Mabyn’s learn when
she was to arrive home.
On his way uptown he pnssed the
Wayne mansion. It was evening. It
being a period of thawing weather,a win
dow was raised to admit fresh air into
the artificially-heated rooms. The
radiant light streamed out upon the
sidewalk, and revealed a table, with a
gilded book, a boquet, and a woman’s
white glove, which stood very near the
window. It suddenly took possession
of lgnace that the glove was Mabyn’s
He turned back, ascended the steps,
rang the bell,and asued for Miss Wayne.
In return he was shown into the room
with the open window, and Mabyn rose
from a sofa to receive him.
Cesare rose also from an r asy-chair
“Curse it! I have worked like a dog,
and yet delayed their meeting only two
months,” he mutterpd, yet coolly pro
ceeded to put another spoke in his own
wheel.
“ I have been wondering, lgnace, why
you did not come before.”
“ How long has Miss Wayne been
home?”
Two months,” replied Mabyn.
“ Have you written me, CesareP"
“ Certainly.”
“ I did not get the letter.”
He turned eagerly to Mabyn’s beauti
ful eyes then: but thore was an unmis
takable ice in her manner. Not his
rarest gentleness could melt it; yet,
alter the sweetest evening of her life,
when she had yet been very silent.
Mabyn Wayne locked herself in her
chamber to burst into passionate weep
ing.
“He is good and noble, as I thought
him. I love him with all my heart.
Yet I do not believe he cares a straw
for me!”
And lgnace, pacing the floor ot his
hotel chamber, was brooding the
thoughts:
“Beautiful, yet utterly indifferent to
me. I had hoped—I know it now—th it
she would be prepared to regard me
with some lavor; for I have loved her
from a child. I could fall on m.v knee3,
and offer her my all this moment.”
Business demanded bis return to Oak-
borough upon the following day, but he
dined that dAy at Colonel Wayne’s.
Mrs. Wayne was ever very fond of him.
“ You will come to tho Roses and
visit me, though my father ianot thereP’
he said to her, but llis eyes wandering
to Mabyn's fact).
“ Wo will como, yes, and try to cheer
you up, poor boy I” said the elder lady
affectionately.
And the colonel chimed in:
"Yes, yesi whenever you please,
lgnace, set the time.”
But Mabyn never raised her beautiful
eyes.
Yot ho knew she would come.
She
could not refuse without singularity;
and under that roof, of which she would
so fittingly be the mistress, would he
find hope and gain courage to ask her to
be hisP
Ho went away with a grave face—re
turned to Oakuorougb, leaving Cesare
D’Areil again master of tlio field; yet
lgnace never drentned of being jealous
ot him. He had known Cesare irom a
child; knew his selfishness, his untruth.
Mabyn was so pure, so soft and fair.
There seemed no possibility of any geni
ality betwen the two. He merely won
dered how the latter could afford to stay
long in town; then, dismissed nil
thought of him, nnd rattled down to the
Roses, with a heartache which made
him numb and dull to all the rest of the
world but beautiful Mabyn Wayne.
* * * * * *
“To the Roses? No, six miles, miss.”
A broken carriage before a country
inn ; an old gentleman, with a broken
log, upheld by two men; an elderly lady
weeping dismally, and n beautiful girl,
collected and brave in tho general dis
tress.
“If ye wanted to go to the Roses, miss,
ye ought to have got out at the next
station,” said the driver of the broken
carriage, with nn air of sullen civility.
It is so long since I have been here, I
had forgotten; and I think we were told
yesterday that Hamilton was the sta
tion,” said M .byn, absently, distracted
by her father's groans and mother’s sobs
though she yet appeared quite calm.
It was Cesare who had misdirected
the party.
“ At least we arc fortunate to be near
a clean and respectable tavern, dear
father,” she continued, and gave direc
tion to have the men bring In the colo
nel nnd go tor a doctor.
Outside the sulky coachman scratched
Iris head and surveyed the broken car
riage.
“Itolethat blnok-eyed furrincr that
’twould snarl tho whole vehicle ter pull
out tho linch-pin, an’ it has. Well, 1
don’t care if he pays me, ns ho says lie
will, to do tho whole job. Here goes
fur a look out for letters!”
In the bull he alrendy met Miss Wayne
with a brief note for young Mr. D'Alem
bert. He received it with faithiul prom
ises of delivery, went outside to secretly
destroy it, then hied away to communi
cate with tho “ black-oycd furriner.”
Cesare was soon on the scene. Of
courso, under the circumstances, hi
could make himsell invaluable.
“Wuiting to hear from IgnaceP My
dear Mrs. Wayne, you are very foolish
You know nothing of Oakboroutrii phy
sicians—and tlioy are simply know-
nothings. You should return to New
York at once."
He had hustled them to the point ol
departure, when thero came an unlocked
for npparition. It was lgnace D’Alem
bert, with a face utterly colorless.
He had been sitting in his library the
night previous, when a servant showed
in a young girl. She was pale, gent e,
timid; her beauty dimmed with recent
weeping.
“You know rap, I think,” with a dig
nity beyond hor years. “ I am Veta
Rane."
Yes, I know you,” giving her a kind
hand. " Will you be seatedP”
She seemed making u great effort to
be calm, then said:
Mr. D’Alembert, you will under
stand me. You are very unhappy be
cause you love some one; and so
am I.”
lgnace started.
“ Can I serve youP” in asked, at last.
“No; but perhaps I can serve you.
Cesare D’Arcil has been devoting him
sell nil winter to Miss Wayne, and that
is the reason she has become estranged
from you. Do not ask me bow I know
this; but I do know it. And they are
all at Hamilton now—at tho Post house.
I wish you would go there at once, and
see if what I have told you is not true.”
A few words more of explanation, and
site was gone.
It was true. He knew it the moment
his firm eyes blazed their accusation in
to Cesare’s false ones. But for a time lie
held his peace.
Devoting himself to reassuring Col
onel Wayne, he promised him that he
should be attended by his own physician
at the Roses; and placing him, with his
wife, in the most luxurious ot cushioned
carriages, with a carelul driver, he
gravely asked of Mabyn the privilege
of driving with her in a separate car
riage.
She assented, with a sudden sense of
security and protection, for of late Ce
sare seemed drawing nearer and nearer
into her life, with a fascination in his
black eyes which held her lreedom. She
glanced behind her now with almost a
look of fear as she stepped into the car
riage.
But Cesare was not there.
On the narrow cliff road a figure sud
denly rose among the bushes. The high-
mettled horses reared and plunged, the
buggy rocked, but the animals were
held from dashing away by the vise-like
grasp upon the lines.
But lgnace utter a groan ot mortal an
guish, for the cushion of blue velvet be
side him was empty.
Without a cry, Mabyn had gone over
the wheel!
The next instant he stood upon the
ground where she lay. There was a
stain of blood on her white lips.
The strength left the brave man’s
limbs suddenly.
“ She is dead!” he moaned.
But she moved, and murmured!
“Can I be of any assistanceP” said a
voice.
But Cesare’s craven cheek was white;
his tones shook. Had the death he
planned in frightening the horses come
—and to her, not his rival P
“Stand aside!” exclaimed lgnace,
sternly. “Do notin my presence lay a
finger upon her helpless and uncon
scious loim. If she lives, she shall
choose between us! Let that be enough
ior the present. For the past, you have
played me falsely. You professed to
play a brother’s part, yet used every
effort to supplant me. Yet I cannot be
lieve she ever could have loved you!”
Even in his passionate speaking, he
had found a little snow at tbe roadside,
and pressed it upon Mabyn’s temples
until she opened her eyes.
Who told you that lleP” demanded
Cesare, sullenly,
“ Veta Rane,’’replied lgnace, mechan
ically.
For Mabyn had lifted her eyes to his
face with a faint, grateful smile, and he
knew nothing else for a moment but
the sweetness of that gale.
Cesare gazed at the two faces with a
muttered curse of bitter despair, and
then turned and was lost in the winter
gloom,
Night f und him in the farmhouse
garden before Veta Rane.
“rio you pitied tell-tale! So you spied
ho gave you the right, I
to knowP” he sneered,
upon me!
would like
brutally.
“ I have not watched you, and it was
true.” she murmured, her hand upon
her heart.
He was mad with exoitement and his
own bitter thoughts—nay, he had been
mad with an evil scheme for months;
now he was simply ragging.
Take caro, weak, passionate Cesare
D’Arcill Youreok not what those bit
ter word-b’ows are doing to that tender
girl who stands so helpless before you.
First she reeled a little away from him.
All unheeding, he went on with his bit
ter taunts and reproaches.
Oh, man! sho loved you, and your
lightest displeasure ever struck cold to
her heart!
He paused suddenly, for she had sunk
down, and lay still at his feet.
Poor child! She never knew how his
yot madder cry of remorse rang on the
night air, when ho turned your still face
to the moonlight, kissed your unbreath
ing lips and found you dead of hoart dis
ease.
So he was not all badP No! Few nre.
He was only one of many who curse
their lives, nnd that of others, with
grcoJ of gold-
NO. 30.
FOR THE FAIR REX.
THE MERCURY.
PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY.
NOTICE.
jy All ooBkinunioationa intended for this
paper most be aooomponied with the toll
name oi the writer, not neoeeenrily far publi
cation, but as a guarantee of good faith.
We are in no way rosponiible lor the views
cr opinions of correspondents.
Various Ways of Cooking Rice.
Rice dishes of Italy. Tho rice dishes
of Italy are popular and delicious, so
unlike our own well-known ones that wo
urge a trial of their excellence upon our
readers. Chief among them rank the
rizotto of Milan and the cream of rice
and chicken. The rizotto is made by
parboiling well-washed rice in boiling
water for five minutes, druining and
drying it o. a cloth, frying it light
brown with > little chopped onion and
butter, and t. m stowing It, until tender,
in enough Llghly-seasoned broth to
well cover i .; it has to bo watched
closely, and tL < saucepan shnken as the
rico absorbs th'. broth, so that it shall
not burn; whet, the rice is dono it is put
into a buttered mold with shreds of cold
chicken, tongue or ham, well Bhaken
down, dusted with grnted cheese and
browned in the oven. Slices ot mush
room or a little tomato sauco are used ns
variations from the chicken or tongue.
The cream of rice is made by boiling the
breast of a fowl and a cup of rice in
clriokon broth until soft enough to rub
through a fine sieve; the paste thus
formed is used to thicken boiling milk,
seasoned with salt, peppor and nutmeg,
to the consistency of thick cream; it is
one of the most delicious and nutritious
of all soups. Rizotto is prepared with
sausages in the nortli of Italy in a very
appetizing dish. The sausages are
twisted without breaking the skin, in
inch pieces and fried brown; tho rice is
washed, boiled for five minutes in boil
ing water, vlrained and dried, and then
browned in tho suusage fat with a chop
ped onion; last of all these ingredients
are stewed in highly-seasoned brotli
until the rice is tender and has absorbed
all the broth, enough being used to well
cover it when it is sot to stew.
Spanish rico dishes. Tho rico dishes
of Spain are more highly tlavored with
garlic than those of Italy, but tho native
palate calls for abundance of this pung
ent bu.b. Tho rice is washed, boiled
and browned in butter, a little garlic
lining substituted for the onion; tlion
two large, ripe tomatoes, a spoonful of
grated cheese, and plenty of Spanish
red pepper, or pimiento, is added, and
the rice simmered till tender in a little
broth; sometimes it is served with
slices of ham, bacon, sausage, smoked
salmon or driod fish, any ono of these
being stowed with the rice. Polio con
arroz is made in the snmo way, morsels
of fowl being substituted for the meat
and the seasoning being varied with
warm spices.
Rice dishes of Portugal. A matel-
lotteof fish with rice is well worth n
trial. Some highly-flavored fish, such
as eels, is fried brown in oil or bacon
fat, with a clove of garlic, tablespoonful
of saffron, and plenty of red popper and
salt; then rice, partly boiled and dried,
iB added and browned, enough red wine
is poured over these ingredients to cover
them, and they are allowed to simmer
gently until the rice is tender, the
saheepan being shaken to prevent the
burning of the rice.
A Portuguese dish of sweet rice is
prepared as follows: A cupful of rice is
washed and boiled till soft in a pint and
a half of milk, with four tablespoonfuls
oi sugar and a laurel or bay leef; when
the rice is soft the bay leaf is removed,
a gill of cream and the yolks of four
eggs added and the rice is dished and
cooled. When it is quite cold the sur
face is dusted with powdered sugar and
cinnamon, or with burnt almond-dust
The almond-dust is prepared by brown
ing peeled or blanched almonds in the
oven and then pounding them into
fine powder.
The use of the riot is by no means
confined to the semi-tropical climates
we have mentioned, but the l’mitof
our article will not permit lurther de
scription ot the many dishes of which
it forme the base; for there seems to be
a general appreciation of its alimentary
value when it is combined with flesh
forming materials.—Mss Corson
They Plagued Him.
A story is told of an English voter
who possessed influence, and who asked
the candidate to give his son a letter of
recommendation to an officer at tbe ad
miralty. Tho request was granted, but
when the youth called to deliver his cre-
dentir .s he fouud that he had mislaid
the r I'.’cious epistle. However, he sue
ceedci in obtaining a nomination, and
sumo weeks alter his return home dis
covered the lost “ letter of recommenda
tion” among some papers. Having
done without it he had the curiosity to
open it, and was startled to find that it
contained an earnest injunction tc
“ throw every obstacle in his way,” for,
as the writer added, “ I cannot disoblige
his youth’s father, and if he once enters
he navy he will be plaguing my life out
o get him a ship.” The young man
was furious, but the father, a practical-
minded man. cooily remarked; “ It is
not worth making a disturbance; we
will take him at his word and plague
him for a ship,” which was done aocord-
ingly, with success.
Aulnmil an<l Winter Bonnets,
Opening-dav at the fashionable millin
ery houses shows the small bonnets,
and also many that are a trifle larger,
with tho front raised slightly from the
head to disclose the plain butrioh lining
of plush, which extends to the back «3
the brim. Other bonnets go to the ex
treme of size, and are genuine poke
shapes; but these are commended by
careful milliners only to very young
ladies who have small and piquant
faces. Elderly faces and those with
large features have their peculiarities
exaggerated by these large bonnets.
Tbe medium-sized bonnets with hand
somely lined brims promise to be the
most popular. They are worn back on
the crown of the bead, resting on tbe
low braids of the coiffure, and they
show the smoothly parted front hair to
becoming advantage. All crown braids
or puffs are objectionable with tbeso
bonnets, as they give too much height,
and also add to the breadth. Flat,
broad, or slightly rounded crowns are
on the more youthful-looking bonnets,
with well-defined hard crowns on those
for older ladles; but the latter are made
shapely by the graceful trimmings of
plush that drape the space between brim
and crown, or elso by solt bands of
feathers. The curtain band below tho
crown may bo trimmed will: some flat
ornaments, or a row of large faceted
bead 9 , but is most often left quite plain,
and affords an open spaco between tho
side trimmings that extend below and
fall on the coiffure.
Combinations of materials aro as uni
versal in bonnets as in drosses. Plush
is more used lhau any other fabric, but
oven this favorite material will not
sorve for the entire bonnet, and is lighted
up by the satia Surahs, or plain satin,
or is combined with beavor, or pornaps
with its kindred fabric, velvet, which
loses all resemblance to it when placed
beside it; thero aro also rough plushes
and smooth plushos that differ as greatly
as do tho fur beavers and tho glossy
smooth beavers. In combining ma
terials tho only rule is that one color
must bu preserved, though various
shades of that color mny be used; the
contrasts of color are found in tho trim*
mings. The novelty of tho season is the
striped plush, which has the pile in
dented to form ridges, nnd sometimes a
lino of gilt is between each plush stripe;
this is especially pretty in white, black
and red plush. The striped plushes nre
used for crowns when tho brim is
smooth plush, or vico versa; it is also
very becoming for lining brims, und is
used for binding tho edges of brims, and
also of strings of satin ribbon.
Feathers are the trimn; ings more U9ed
than all others; indeed, soarcely a bon
net can be found without somo kind of
plumage, while flowers are not used or
more than one bonnet among twenty.
Tho feathers surround the crown, or
else pass down one side of it, and fall
below tho back to droop on the low
braided coitture that now rests on tho
nape of tho neck When brenst feathers
arc mounted for this purpose, small
wing feathers are added at each end,
and both wings fall below the crown;
when tho thick long ostrich plumes are
used, ono end is sufficient to lie on the
coiffuio. 8hort ostrich tips droop over
the front of the brims, and somo fall low
on tbe ears. Crowns are made up en
tirely of feathers, and there are pheasant
feathers of natural and artitieial shad
ings. The moro carelessly the ostrich
tillers aro posed, the moro stylish they
are; heads of birds and bro ist feathers
admit of stiffor arrangements, and are
made to cling to the seam that joins the
brim to the crown.
When plush is used for trimming it Is
cut in a wide scarf, and laid in flute I
folds around tho crown, with sometimes
a largo bow on top, or loops on the sides.
Ribbons are used in broad widths simi
larly to the arrangement of tho plushes,
and the strings muy bo either ribbon or
plush. Sometimes satin ribbon is
widely bound down one side with plush
as thick as a roll, and this is pirtioularly
effective when the ribbed plush is used.
The strings are a yard long, and are tied
either in front or behind, but it is con
sidered most dressy to arrange them in
one long looped bow low on the back
hair. The beaded trimmings in tho way
of crowns and laecs for brims are in
greater favor than ever. Jet, gold,
amber and purple beads are very much
used, but the novelties are tbe large
faceted beads in cashmere colors lor
dark bonnets, while silver and pearl
beads cut in facets like diamonds, and
of largo size, are used in rows on white
and black plush bonnets. Among other
new ornaments are serpentine coils of
gilt like tho bracelets now worn; those
nfold scarfs of Surah or plush. Large
flies and bees of gilt, jet, amber and ruby
seem to be more used than any other
ornament. Another novelty is the
tiger’s claw, with natural-looking fur,
and gilt or silver claws. Large hair
pins of gilt are stuck about, and there
are clusters of smaller pins of gilt, silver
or pearl, with oval heads, thrust as if at
random in the loops and knots of the
trimming. The laces most used are
either plain Brussels net beaded or
stitched in vermicelli patterns witli gilt,
or else Spanish lace is used in thick and
rich designs.
Beaver bonnets take the place of fel
bonnets for general wear, and are not
more expensive than fine French felts
have always been. Very few black vel
vet bonnets are seen, and, indeed, few
entirely black bonnets are made. A
black velvet bonnet with soft pile-plush
inside the brim is one of the most con
servative arrangements, and even this
must be lightened with gilded flies, or
many faceted beads. To wear with
various costumes black remains the
safest choice, but it is then combined
with a color that is decided by the range
of colors in the various suits of tho
wearer; thus a black beaver bonnet with
red plush lining and red plumes may be
worn with any of the dresses that are
now completed by red balayeuse plait-
ings. Amber plush linings and plum
age will also make a black bonnet ap
propriate for nearly all the dresses a
brunette will find becoming. Very dark
pheasant brown, and the red-brown
Bhades, like seal fur, are useful bonnets
for blondes, and may be trimmed with
the new Spanish yellows, or with the
green-blue shades, or else with maroon
red. The dark garnet bonnets aro worn
by both blondes and brunettes. For
combination dresses, and especially for
tiie plaid suits worn by young ladies,
bonnets with many breast feathers are
chosen, as these in their natural hues
are made up of the quaint combinations
of blue, green, purple, red and yellow
that are seen in the stylish Madras
plaids. . ,
The new round hats rival pokes in
their quaint shapes, and must be eon
fined to very young ladies, as they are
worn back on the liead, and no longer
shade the forehead and protect the eyes
in the way formerly so comfortable to
older ladies. Young ladles just returned
from a summer in Europe are wearing
the Abbe hat—a flat broad shovel-shnpea
hat, with low round crown, and brim
rolled up all around, but higher on the
sides, and not close enough to the crown
to interfere with the scarf and plumes
that serve for trimming. This is a
modification of the English walking hat,
but is worn back on the head instead of
low on the forehead. Another pretty
hat for young ladles 1b in the shape of a
pastry’s cook’s cap, and is called by some
the Polish cap, by others the Scotch
cap, and again the Leonardo da Vinci.
Very small Gainsborough hats are
shown, nnd these now have the plumes
on the right side instead of near the left
side, which is turned up. Most coquet
tish of all is a flaring hat that has a sin
gle indentation in the brim a trifle to
ward the left side This is mndo up in the
new tigre plush, nnd in shaded plush,
with the entire bonnet of one fabric,
even to the mammoth bow on tho top.
The dark rough fur beaver hats with
brim rolled up all around are vory be
coming, and those with tho small feather
turbans complete the variety in round
hats —Harper’s Bazar.
Htwi and Notea for Women.
Buttonhole boquets support two
thousand girl sellers in the streets of
London.
Women physicians are to be admitted
as members of the Massachusetts medi
cal society.
Miss Marian Wright, a young lady of
Boston, not yet quite twenty, had plo-
tures this year in the Paris salon.
A blind woman at Sioux City, Iowa,
puts a needle nnd thread betwen her
teeth, and with a dexterous movement
of the tongue passes the thread through
tho oyo.
French ladios nre now amusing them
selves by shooting frogs with a steel
crossbow. A silken cord fastened to
tho arrow nnd the breeoh of the bow
sorves for the retrelver.
Four young women have entered the
freshman olass of Colby university, iu
Maine—three in the regular course nnd
ono in a special course. This makes the
lotnl number of female students ten in
tho regular course nnd two in speoial
courses.
The last English census shows that
nearly 37,000 women are employed in
England in the metal trades alone, rang
ing all the way from pin, needle,waton,
jewel and gun makers to anchor makors
and blacksmiths, thero lioing of these
last (olacksmiths) between 300 and 400.
The Mkln.
Tho skin is wonderful boyond concep
tion in tho multiplicity of Us parts, and
u its diverse offices and relations. Mil
lions of nerves connect it with the brain.
Thousands of arteries bring to it nour
ishment, and almost as many veins benr
awny the waste. Millions of ducts
empty out tho perspiration upon it. In
numerable glands anoint it with a lub
ricating oil, and countless little scales
ate constantly thrown from its surface.
So intimate and powerful is its con
nection with the nervous centers, that
lie kind of emotions instantly blanches
it, and another kind mantles it with a
burning blush—the first contracting its
vessels, tho oilier dilating them.
The skin 1ms its peculiar diseases, but
many of its ailments como from its readi
ness to help other organs which are dis
eased or torpid, for it exceeds all others
in this “ vicarious" power.
Tho skin is double. The outer—epi
dermis—protects the nerves and vessels
of the inner from rude contact with, and
from the absorption of, poisonous or
harmful substances. To vaccinate we
have to break through the epidermis.
So, too, wiien tills is sound, it is safer to
handle morbid matter; but to do so with
tho slightest scratch, or chafe, is some
times to incur death in its most frightful
form.
Warmth applied to the surface dilates
the blood vessels of the skin, and cold
contracts them. Hence, a warm bath
soothes and refreshes, by drawing the
blood to the surface; local fomentations
over an inflamed spot within relieve the
pain by drawing away the blood. A
counter-irritant acts on essentially the
same principle.
Cold applied to the surface for a brief
time contracts the vessels, and crowds
the blood back, which then returns with
accumulated force, producing a health
ful glow. If the vitality is low, this re
action does not tako place, and the cold
only harms.
Generally only the purestsoap (castile)
should be used in washing the Hands, as
the alkali of most soaps tends to destroy
the epidermis.
No bathing of the whole body should
he protracted beyond a few minutes, else
the good effect of it is lost, even if seri
ous harm is not done. Sea bathing is
additionally beneficial from the stimula
ting effect of its salts.- Youth's Compan
ion.
Keep Ahead.
One of the grand secrets of success in
life is to keep ahead in all ways possible.
If you once fall behind, it may be very
difficult to make up the headway which
is lost. One who begius with putting
aside some part of his earnings, how
ever small, and keeps it up for a num
ber of yeats, is likely to become rich be
fore he dies. One who inherits prop
erty, and goes on year by year spending
a little more than hi< income, will be
come poor if he lives long enough.
Living beyond their means has brought
multitudes of persons to ruin in our
generation. It is the cause of nine
tenths of all the defalcations which
have disgraced the ago. Bankers and
business men in general do not often
help themselves to other people’s money
until their own funds begin to fall off,
and their expenditures exceed| their re
ceipts. A man who is in debt walks in
the midst of perils. It cannot but im
pair a man’s self-respeot to know that
he is living at the expense of others. It
is also very desirable tiiat we should
keep somewhat ahead in our work.
This may not be possible in all cases;
as, for instance, when a man’s work is
assigned to certain fixed hours, like that
of the operatives in a mill. But there
are certain classes of people who can
boose their time for tbe work which
they are called to do, and amongst them
there are some who invariably put off
the task assigned them as long as possi
ble, and then come to its performance
hurried, perplexed, anxious, confused—
in such a state of mind as certaialy un
fits them for doing their best work.
Get ahead and keep ahead, and your
sure ss is tolerably sure.