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XXII. s:-n? A V.D THE ECIJ1. ‘'Love -,Tie, love me,’ 1 s'ill he cried, “Ever love, forever!” Onptd, laughing, turned aside; Echo from the bill replied, “Never, never, never.” “Love me, for I love but thee, Ever, love, forever. Heart to heart for thee and me.” Echo sighed, “It may not be, Never, never, never” “Love me now in life and death, Ever, love,forever.” Sadly, in nu under breath, Sobbing Echo answereth, “Never, never, never ” “Loveme, I shall worthy prove, Ever, love, forever.” “Till a fairer face shall move!” Mocking Echo answers, “Love? Never, never, never.” ‘‘Love me,”still the lover sings, “Ever, love, forever.” * iipid plumes for flight his wings As the last faint echo rings— “Never, never, never.” -Clara B St George, in Inter Ocean THE DEWS BEVEHSE. t first met tho deacon under rather odd circumstances A persistent touch of rheumatism under my left shoulder, which defied liniments and plasters, sent me to the celebrated Hot Springs, seven miles north of Boomopol i •'S Southern California. The mud baths at these springs are justly celebrated for killing or curing all the ills that flesh inherits. The long, low, narrow bath-house was not an inviting place . It smelled too much like an Inferno, and it was not clean . But rheumatism will take a man almost anywhere, and I do! not shrink when 1 entered those dingy portals. The place was full of steam, through which i caught glimpses of muscular men in their shirt-sieves, the sweat pouring from their faces and their brawny arms as thej' handled long shovels. They were preparing the mud baths for the victims A long trough ran the whole length of the building, filled with black, silky mud, over which steaming water, which emitted a sulphurous odor, was running. When I stooped and put my finger into the uncanny liquid, I quickly lifted if out again and said “ouch.” At right angles with this main trough aro smaller ones. At the head of each of these is a tub for a water bath, and beyond that is a dressing room. These divisions ure separated by half partitions A quantity of mud is taken from the big trough and stirred up in one of tho little ones. When it has reached a proper consistency and tempera- lure, the patient, who in the mean- time has prepared himself for the ordeal in the adjoining dressing room, stretches himself at length upon tho steaming mass and is covered by an attendant with more of the same ma- terial. \ few gunny sacks, neatly arranged on the top to confine the heat, make an artistic finish, and the patient s head alone protrudes. The mineral waters, heated by nature, come constantly boiling and bubiing through the ground, and the baths can be made seven times hotter than Nebuchadnezzar's furnace, if desired If the patient survives, fire get the glory ; if he dies, his case was hopeless from the start. Deacon llardwicke would remain in one of these baths an hour, enduring an ex- perieme which might have killed a mnn of less phh gmatie temperament, Then he would try to persuade ers to fellow his example, greatly to the disgust of the managers, who were afraid that somebody wotild die in a bath, and so ruin the reputation of their establishment-. For similar reasons he was unpopular w ith the attendants. Thus it happened that the deacon seemed to be deserted, when, balanc- ing myself on the plunk that edged the steaming pool, 1 halted at the foot of his grave and gazed, half in alarm, at his closed eyes and heavy immobile features, down which trickled little rivulets of perspira- tion. “Will you kindly tell me what time it is?” he asked, in a sepulchral tone, which added to the horrors of the situation. "Ten o’clock” I said. “Want to get out? I ll call the attendant.’’ ‘ 4'ime isn’t up for fifteen minutes vet, " replied the deacon. 1 picked up a sponge that was at band, in a basin of cool water, and for the next fifteen minutes l bathed the deaeon’s perspiring forehead with the grateful fluid Then the at ten- dant came, prepared to lift the little gate at the deacon's feet, to slide the slippery coverlet of mud off from him and back into the trough from which it had come, and to help him out of the tenacious, plastic east that he had made in his sticky bed into the water-bath, and thence into the dressing room, w.sere he would puTlo a bed °bc!wee nT 1 ’couple of bankets, there to doze a nd sweat fo- an hour or two longer. At this sta-e of the proceeding I fled the scene The spectacle of the deacon's Ion- lank loose-jointed tmure clothed onlv in a thin, clineinff coat of jet-black mud, would have been too horribly ludicrous. “Don't want a mud bath ? They are great things, ” asked the deacon as I turned to go. “Not to-day,” I replied. “To- morrow, maybe, or next day, per- haps I’ll indulge. ” “Take them about a hundred and ten and stay in three quarters of an hour, and they will cure vour rhea- matism,” responded the deacon. r>- assuringly. The Toccoa News. Two hours later the deacon joined the other guest- at the hotel, pro¬ fessing to be greatly refreshed by his bath. His appearance was striking He was tall, awkward and angular, yet dignified. His upper lip was smooth shaven, but on his chin was a heavy, grizzled growth of beard. His way of speech was so slow and solemn as to seem afflicted. I was told he was a ’49er" ; that his title of deacon was only honorary, having as^ originally been bestowed by hi? sociates in the mines and clingin^ to him through and'that many changes of for- tune • his businss was real estate. He was said to be very clever in working of! acreages of cacUis bed sage brush and hillside upon new comers His ungainly °him honest ap- npjirancc Z favorfd 1 ' pSrehLE? nrtfl lm crmid look prospective in the eye and weave the most remark- able romances without a quiver of his clerical features. We became fast friends, and I found him an interesting study. It was the deacon’s custom to make frequent trips to Boomopolis on busi¬ ness, returning to the hotel for more of his beloved baths. To reach the Hot Springs the traveler crosses five miles of desert country, where the cactus flourishes like the green bay- tree and the coyote shrills at night his peculiar lay. Then he climbs “the grade,” a rise of a thousand feet in two miles. This part of the way is over a mountain road which skirts precipices and winds in and out among canons in a way that makes timid people dizzy. At this time the great boom in Southern California hud just col- lapsed and numbers of men who had lost all their money found themselves in a strange land, penniless and friendless. As a result crime, par¬ ticularly robbery, was rampant. One bright, beautiful winter after- noon, Deacon Hardwieke started for i the hotel . That morning he had pro- j cured and driver, at Boomopolis had been a livery taken team a and to j different looking points lands which about the valley, offered at were for sale. Having completed his in- spection he was driven to the foot of the grade, and there he dismissed tho team. No one else would have done this after a hard day’s ride; but tho deacon thought that the horses were tired, and also that the exercise of climbing the grade afoot would do him good. Ho had in his hands a little black leather wallet containing deeds, and, as he walked along, in his slow and dignified fashion, his eyes bent on the ground, he looked like a gentleman of leisure, perhaps a wealthy Eastern tourist out for an airing. At the foot of the grade is a little ranch house, and, just beyond, the road makes a turn almost at right angles and skirts the edge of a canon, where the traveler is hidden from view from either direction. In this angle of the way a man was waiting for the afternoon stage, which was about due. It carried the mail for the hotel, and sometimes consider- able express matter, to say nothing of the passengers. But the deacon happened to come first, and, as he turned the corner, plodding slowly along, he heard a smooth,clear, firm, but not impatient, voice say ; i “Wait a moment, sir. And kindly hand over that gripsack and your ! money.” Glancing up, the deacon beheld a big revolver pointed at his head. Deacon llardwicke was surprised j and grieved. He was not a coward, He had come across the plains in 49. He had lived in many a lawless com- j inanity, had seen men lynched, had himself been a target for bullets more than once. If he had been armed he would have fought as he ! afterward assured me. But the ap- I palling fact flashed over him that he had no “gun,” and that the gentle- manly stranger “had the drop” on him. The politeness of the latter’s address was not a balm for his wounded feelings. “Come,” said the highwayman, in a more threatening tone, 1 mean business. Drop your wallet Give me your money, or I'll let daylight through you.” The deacon halted and shook his fist at the man. What he said i 3 not material to this recital. Then he turned and ran down the grade. His hat bobbed off and his long coat-tails fluttered out behind. It wasan undig- nified and risky proceeding, but there seemed no help for it, except to give up Lis money and the deacon did not consider that fora moment. The highwayman fired twice, and the deacon afterward stated that the balls whistled in close proximity to his head. The shots flustered him He stumbled, tripped and fell, lie bruised his shins and tore the skin from his wrists. The wallet flew from his hand and he lay in the road, howling with rage and pain. The marauder advanced leisurely and picked up the wallet. Just then the stage, which was was a trifle late, as usual, rolled slowly The' around the turn in the road. deacon’s as- sailant leaped down the steep bank of the canon and rolled headlong among ^ossed^h^rockvVed ofthe 5 of"'the"stream at the bottom canon, and dis- appeared among the bushes on the other side. The deacon lifted his long, bleeding arms toward heaven as he watched his foe depart bevond * the reach of effective pursuit. and fairly screamed with impotent fury The remarks of the passengers on the stage which picked him up and brought him to the hotel,did not tend to make him better natured. “Guess it was all a fake.” “I didn’t hear any shots.” “.More scared than hurt.” These were some of the whispered comments that came to the deacon s ears. But lie sat glum,indignant and silent until they reached the house, Then he drew me aside, and I helped him put court plaster on his TOCCOA, GA.. THURSDAY, AUGUST 22, 1893, wounded wrists. “If I only bad 4 gun that fellow would never have got out of there alive, I don’t mind the pain. It’s the disgrace that hurts. I don't see how I was care- i ' e33 enough to leave my gun at home, I these times,” he said, with tears in \ his eyes. j "Still,” I suggested, “as I under- i stand it, he had the drop on you be- h>re you saw him. Perhaps it is just as well you did not have your gun. hie might have killed you. “Possibly,’ said the deacon; “but l would have fired as long as I could have crooked a finger. Now I shall ! ,je R laughingstock as long as I live. The boys will think it rich—simply r * c h- “Do you think you would know the fellow should you see him again?” I asked. “I should know him anywhere. He is short and wiry, dark hair, mus- tache, no beard, black eyes. And there is a great, red, flaming scar across rec kon. | 1,s cheek knife wound, I “I’ll tell you what we ..... 11 do, I said. “Let us go to Boomopolis and find him. He will soon see that D iere is no pursuit and will certainly j ^ iere ;, Perhaps we can arrest ■ 1 he deacon grasped my hand in both of his, and wrung it until it ac " ec ‘ • How can I thank you? he ex- claimed. “We 11 go to-night. And if we catch him you will see the prettiest light of your life, 1 prepared myself for the expedi- tion by donning an old suit of clothes and leaving my valuables at home, 1 l iad a perpetual winding \\ ater- bury watch which I used when on hunting expeditions, and took it with me, also $10 in silver and a small, plain, but serviceable revolver. Wo procured horses at the hotel stables and rode into town in the early even¬ ing. Boomopolis at that time was only an infant among the cities of South- | ern * alifornia. there were huge | 8 a P s among its business houses, now filled with stately edifices. There were no pavements, and tvhere a hundred globes of electric fire now ! S^ are night upon the passerby, j there ful S leam was of then lamps only from the the dim windows and fit- of the scattered stores . After an elaborate supper at the Transcontinental, prepared by a French chef from Dublin and served by retired cowboys from Arizona, we sallied forth to visit the saloons and gambling places in search of our rob¬ ber. We made three or four circuits of the town without success, and finally found ourselves in the “Mag¬ nolia Club Booms.” The establish¬ ment was really only a single room, on the ground floor back of a cigar store, arranged for faro and other games of chance. It was lighted by a solitary, mammoth lamp, which was suspended from the ceiling over which a \ on S* green scattered covered cards table, and upon gold were coins. Around it were perhaps a dozen men, of various sorts and con- ditions, all intent upon “the game.’ As many more, including ourselves, were interested onlookers. The room was blue with tobacco smoke, and the door at the farther end, which af- forded communication with an ad- joining t> ar > was perpetually on the swing. ^ was enjoying the character of a detective hugely. So far there was a pleasant tinge of excitement—or rather, an expectation of excitement and very little danger. But as we scanned the faces of the company without seeing our man, the deacon’s ^ row S re ' v black with disappoint- nient, It was now after midnight. 1 he cigar store was closed, but the ! jar was kept open all night, Disap- pointed in our search, we became absorbed in watching the game, there was something of the gambler in every man, and, as I looked upon Die tense excited faces of the players, the contagion of their example seized me - and I felt in tny pocket for a coin. Finding nothing but silver, which 1 did not like to stake, as there was none on the table, I was on the point of borrowing a double eagle from the deacon, when I heard > quiet but distinct voice, afc the end of the room, say: “Hands up, gentlemen, if you please, Glancing around, I saw a man standing at the door leading to the b ar . with a revolver in each hand! pointed at us. He was a short, slight j man, with dark hair and a flaming scar across his face. There xvas no confusion. One of j t-he ’oungers quietly placed his back against the door leading- to the which! cigar store and drew two revolvers, he pointed along the table. Two others, evidently confederates also, j : stood at ease awaiting the next order, resfc of us lifted our hands sim- ultaneously. Any one could see that d was the only thing to do. The deacon’s face was white as snow and his jaws were set like a steel trap. “The gents that are seated will kindly rise,’ said the voice near the ti,a ram hi«n oennA man j Now then. Everybodv will,’'was right about and face the the next command. We faced about. j “March,” said the cool, emphatic voice. “Two feet from the wall stop.” We advanced in two rows to the opposite sides of the room and stood, as directed, ranged against the walls. ! ; Then the two confederates stepped leisurely to the table, and scooped the gold into a couple of little sacks which they produced from their pockets. j Keep your hands up, everybody, ; came a quick and sharp warning from the door, as some one inadvert- ently lowered his arms a trifle. , “We’re not through with you yet,” voice added. Having secured the money on the tabic, the brigands pro eede l to rob our persons. W ith a great show df politeness they requested us to give up our watches, money and weapons l was one of the fir-t to comply. The fellow tossed my revolver and my few silver dollars into his sack, and grabbed at my watch, Just then there was a crashing, explosive sound, deafening in tho narrow coniines of the room-then another—another and another. Then came darkness, a quick ru»h of feet, a tumult of shouts and groans, It was the deacon, of course, 1 knew it before the welcome, hurried arrival of men from outside, with lanterns, lie had turned loose at the leader. They had exchanged three or four shots before the light went out, quickly and mysteriously, The men with the sacks and the money were gone, but the deacon was bending over a form that was stretched upon the floor. There was an eager wolf light in his eye; one hand still held the revolver, and tho fingers of the other worked spasmod¬ ically backward and forward, as if be longed to clutch the fallen man by the throat. The fellow tried to lift himself upon his elbow . “I know you, pard,” he said. “You’re the man I stood up this af¬ ternoon. You’ve held over me this time. I’m gone. The deacon’s eye softened. He dropped his revolver, put his long arm under the other’s head, and tried to turn him into a more comfortable position. “I am sorry for you,” lie said,' slowly and simply. “Oh—it’s — all — right,” gasped the wounded man, evidently speak¬ ing with great difficulty. “I came —into—the—game—on—a bluff, but you’ve—called—me—s ure. ’ ’ “Is there anything that I can do for you?” asked the deacon. “Any message—any-” “Bend down here,” said the man. The deacon lowered his head, and the other whispered something to him. “I'll do it,” said the deacon, “I’ll do it, so help me, God ! That was all. The crowd of people, attracted by the firing and the news of the robbery, gradually went away. The physicians -oi’i^ned to attend the wounded out;. ,v explained that nothing could be done for him, ex¬ cept to make him a trifle easier foi an hour or two. The hours of the night passed quickly, but long before morning the useless, crime stained life was at an end. The next day in the afternoon, the deacon and 1 sat on the veranda of the hotel at the Hot Springs en¬ joying a sunbath and admiring the diversified landscape before us. “Nature is a lavish giver, a profli¬ gate,” said the deacon, in his solemn way. “See what an immense ex¬ panse of useless mountain f>s before us,what a small area, comparatively, of cultivated land. It's a great waste. Don’t you think so?” “ I suppose it is,” I replied,“from the point of view of real estate. But it makes magnificent scenery.” “It’s the same with human life,” resumed the deacon. “ For one who makes life a brilliant success there are millions who make a failure.” I know that the deacon was moral¬ izing upon our recent adventure. t « Now thero was that young fel¬ low yesterday.” he said. “Had he told me who lie was I would have lent him a hundred to go East, and there he might have amounted to some¬ thing. He simply threw his life away.” “He wasn’t much of a marksman,” I said, “or lie might have succeeded better here.” “ No,” replied the deacon,“he was no good with a gun. That chap with him, though, was very clever in shooting out tlie light. Now if he had been at the other door, the thing might have been different.” “What did that young fellow say to you?” I asked. “Told me his name. You would know the family if I should mention it. Wanted me to see that lie was decently buried, and to write to his father and mother. “And you will do it, of course,” 1 said. “I have given orders for the fune¬ ral. That’s easy enough, But to write to the old folks is quite another thing.’’—Argonaut. An Old Soldier’s Experience. Spea.cing of grewsome things, . an old soldier told me yesterday of the most affecting parting he ever had in * 1! * 1 e " as a Parting wit i inn- self, or rather a part of himself. He was in an engagement before I eters- burg, and had the misfortune to ? on J 0 )[ i contact with a piece of broken shell, which exploded near ilim an ‘‘ wl,ic!l succeeded in shatter- ; mg his ] leg. Amputation was neces-| saiy. and shortij after he was lying ; in Distent. As he looked up he saw a wagon piled up wiUi legs and j arms of others who had been unfor- ^TlefognTze^lfis "own leg was a sad parting,” he said, j “to see a part of you going away never to be returned again. I can never tell you what-strange feelings came over me and to this day I can see that fine black horse hauling my leg away to its last resting place. Wounded in an Odd Way. - A farmer of East Monmouth. Me. is suffering from a serious pistol wouud which he received in an odd way. He was leading a frolicsome colt and the animal whirled round and kicked, striking him over his hip pocket, in which was a loaded re- zolver. The pistol was discharged t*nd (lie bullet lodged in the calf of (he farmer’s leg, inflicting a severe wound. WOMANS WORLD. ys \NT LITERATURE FUR 55*12311 NINE READERS; RAIXV DAY COSTTMES, Many women in Lewiston and Auburn ■ are, and have been for some time, : wearing “rainy day costumes with j skirts uhuM reach only to the tcps of thesr shoes. The townsfolk have he- ! come accustomed to the innovation | and V i dress does not now attract any attention, except in the wav of recom¬ mendation for the common sedsC feat¬ ures of the costume, — New Turk Sum girls mm; their ears. There seems to be a tendency ori the part of mafiy girls nowadays to hide ■ heir ears, This they do by snippin t their hair at the sides and then, after fluffing and crimping it to the last de¬ gree, they brush the mass forwar d un¬ til there is no vestige of ear to be seen. The oilect is somewhat Donatello like, as though the modern maiden, like the modern faun, had something to con¬ ceal. The observer can’t help but wonder to himself if, under those flatly masses, there are not furry, lit¬ tle, leaf-like points instea 1 of the regulation human ears. FRECKLE CURES. Do fhe early summer freckles prove stubborn? There is Usually a clamor for “freckle cures’* about this time of the year and the very best thing that proves reliable year alter year is sim¬ ply common buttermilk. Secure it as fresh as possible; it will be found that nothing can equal this fresh butter¬ milk lor removing tan, freckles, sun¬ burn, or moth spots. It has the great advantage that it does not injure the skin, but makes it soft and white. Take a soft sponge and bathe the face, neck, and arms before retiring for the night; then, wipe off the drops lightly, la the morniug wush it off thoroughly and wipe dry with a crash towel. Two or three such baths each week during the summer mouths will take off and keep off the tan and freckles and keep the skill soft and smooth.—Philadel¬ phia Times. LONE WOMEN. The cheery single woman has her work in her home as long as that blessing is spared to her, and when she is left without near and dear ones slie finds that she cun be a comfort to others and do good service in various belieful ways, social, person il and charitable. Mothers soon learn that she is one of their faithful aids, and proud of the title of Parents’ Assistant. Little children love her, as she enters into their amusements and sympathizes with their small griefs, frolicking as merrily as the gayest sprite among them, and always ready to bind up the wounded heart or the cut finger. Young men and maidens confide their pretty secrets to her discretion, and older people enjoy the delicate atten¬ tions which she delights to bestow. Should work be a stern necessity of this spinster’s life, she must often find herself overweighted with cares and anxieties; but, to her credit be it said, there is almost never the inclination to indulge in vain and useless repin¬ ing?. Thus the real lone woman is not the one who persistently an 1 cheerfully conquers the difficulties of a solitary life, meeting its trials with a disarming smile, and guarding her¬ self rgainst falling into that ineffably dreary state which is meant by the designation; nor is it she who, de¬ barred from all activity by ill health, possesses in perfection the rare art of self-effacement, and who trammiillv and deftly fits herself to her “per¬ petual maidenhood.” -Harper’sBazar. FAIR ONES COLLECT THE FARES. The women of Rome, Ga., have just gone through xvith an experience that has been of unprecedented beauty, says the Philadelphia Press. Some time ago Superintendent Marvin, of the Electric Railway Comjiany, of¬ fered them the electric cars for one day, the net proceeds to go to the St. Peter’s Church building fund. They accepted and they have just completed the task. The leading so¬ ciety women of tne city got together aud divided up the time into turns of two hours each, and one married and two single ladies took the different turns. The girls put on their most attrae- summer garments, sewed ban Is of ribbon on them with “Conductor” in large letters on the front, and they just took the town by storm. The city was full of visiting Masons, and when they caught on to the scheme they filled the cars, and the women conductors swung around on the foot- boards and roped in the riches m a hurry. Tne day was a splendid sue- ces?, and while the weather was warm j they didn’t seem to mind it, aud worked faithfully till 11 o’clock a k i uigbt, when the cars were taken off. There were some of the most armia- ing episodes connected with the day XaThe yonn- 11 women w^ald^ap- nroach Ibeir them and timidlv tie hold oiR hands, would take proffered hand and shake it gingerly with a winning glance up into the bright j ace above, which was quickly changed to consternation xvheu they beheld the insignia of office on the summer bat and heard the cast iron “fare, please, from the curling lips, j- widow s mourning. A widow who wishes to be proper! v ' gowned chooses the material known as Endora cloth, which is really the finest brand of Henrietta, aud as it can be gotten in different weights is adapted tu all seasons. Of course the “jet black” when trimmed with crape looks almost like navy blue. A suitable toi- let to be worn daring the summer shows a skirt of Eudora cloth made after the revived flaring style, and having set in at each side of the front width two side plaits of Crape that ex* tend from the waist to the edge df the skirt. The bodice is a round draped one with a high Collar of crape an l a plait of Crape coming just down in the centre of the' front loop fashion* its cn q being conderitfkt Under a crape ),,qp The sleeves are of the cloth and shape into the arms and have for a Dnisli three narrow folds of crape, while on the outer edge of each are set six small crape buttons. The bon¬ net is a modified Marie Stuart, made of crape, with dull black »triugs rath¬ er bfoad and rt white widow’s cap showing front udder the edge. The Veil is of the best English crape. Which is really the first only kin l worth buying, and for the throe mouths it is worn over the face and reaches almost to the edge of the skirt in front and within two inches of it at the back. At the end of three months the front portion is thrown back and carefully draped so that the two portions fall over in the back in a very artistic manner. Over the face there is worn n round net veil bordered with crape, and this round veil with the crape veil thrown back are proper for the next nine months. When traveling one is permitted to lay aside one’s veil and simply wear the ordinary black silk one, such as is liked by all women. Perfectly plain crepon is chosen for indoor wear and makes very beautiful house gowns, as it fa ls gracefully and is particularly obliging in lending it¬ self to most artistic curves. —Ladies’ Home Journal. FASHION’ NOTES. Powder-blue is the latest shade of blue-gray to be designated. Scotch plaid accessories appear upon the round or slightly pointed bodices of dark silk gowns. Panama ami manilia hats are well recommended for use at the seashore in all kinds of weather. Sleeves on expensive imported gowns are lined with the thinnest of taffeta silk, usually white. One of the very prettiest fads of tho hour is the wearing of colored waists, with skirts of white pique. Lawn and organdie gowns are elabo¬ rately decorated with both wide and narrow patterns of this lace. The French zephyr ginghams aro really beautiful and make charming beach or mountain costumes. The very quaint model chameleon silk has a full go let skii i and a gath ered bodice, with a full basque. The thin, silky crenous are very well liked. They are exquisite in white, made over a colored founda¬ tion. The popularity of skirts distinct in color and material from the bodices they accompany is still largely main¬ tained. As grass linen of any shade is very frying to the complexion, a wide sailor tie of some becoming shade is usually added. Young boys wear on showy occx- sions Tuxedo coats as correctly made as their fathers’, with waistcoat an 1 shirt front. One variety of the modern fichu show's a jabot of lace down either si le of tho front, and a large bow at tho neck in the back. Among the latest novelties are the pink, blue, gray and black mottled lawn shirt waists with white launlere 1 collars and cuffs. Immense sailor collars of white em¬ broidered muslin or pique are oldly worn as the sole decoration of black mohair or alpaca gowns. Batiste gowns are trimmol elabo¬ rately with linen passementerie, which comes for the purpose, or with open- work linen embroidery. ■Some attractive gowns are male of (he popular ecru linen, which was used so extensively on crepoas and silks during the spring. Some of the most elegant parasols are lined as well as trimmed with chif¬ fon, and real Chantilly lace decorates others of black watered silk. Ribbon is often drawn loosely around the bottom of a skirt, an 1 caught at regular intervals with ro¬ settes or knots of the same. Tiny turned doxvn collars and cuffh of linen oi lawn, hem-ititched or edged prettily, with narrow yellow lace, brightens up dark gowns wonderfully. Although it is asserted now and then that the reign of the large sleeve will soon be over, all of the newest French dresses have immense sleeves. Black and white veilings are being shown in some new effects. White chiffon and white tulle veilings, with open work figures in black, are novel- ties. xbere were hrirns°heavilv a great many hats with the broad trimmed bv wile full ru^hin^a or scarfs of "I'u* and lace, and with masses of flowers f a ]jj no * . against ? the hair * aeveraf'xvidths s d _ atin _ ibl arp shown in white and black, with gold, silver, jet or colored pail- ! ettes Jis l >osed m rin ? s , wheels, ara- ™ e3 aQ(1 othe ^ Pompadour silks, in both light and dark shales, make exceedingly pretty and serviceable parasols, and the handles are of white or naturalco orea wood suitable to the tint of the silk. The majority of the new bodices peeQ h * ye opening under the e fa f l lneMofthematerial pleateu into the waist m front—a most becoming fashion to a sleuder figure, White parasols of plain silk and no trimming are the prevailing fashion for general use with light gowas, and in addition to these are the change- able silks for grtater service, and some that are covered with large Scotch plaids, very conspicuous but rare in the procession, NO. 44. RAM'S HORN BLASTS. Warning Note* Calling the Wicked to Repentance. OTto be a Chris¬ tian everywhere i is where. to be one no¬ It tires an eagle I less to fly than it does a goose to walk. The trouble \' With culture is that it has to stop at the sur¬ face. Sins that shine are sins that kill. Sorrowed troubles are the heaviest. A He Is the blackest thing outside of the pit. Whoever leads a child to Christ gives God an army. Do the will of God and he will take care of the result. If there were no difficulties there would be no met!, A good man will hate a Me, no matter flow white it may look. A blow at the saloon always lilts the devil square in the face. There is more heat in a burning match than in a painted sunset When a wise man steps on a banana skin he learns something. The man who would lead others must first learn liow to stand alone. If your life is lonely, remember that your Father can see in secret. God has no need of great instruments, but lie does want willing ones. We obtain favor with God when we are willing to give up the favor of men. So live that men who reject the Bible will have to admit that there is a God. The devil could not take Jesus high enough to show him anything he wanted. No man is in a hurry for the devil to go, who is willing for a sin of any kind to remain. Some people are ns much afraid of letting their light shine as a stingy man is of burning gas. There is a fashion in prayers as well as in coats, and those who follow it do it at spiritual cost. A one-talent man who Is wholly the Lord’s outweighs the man with ten who keeps one back. The Christian's hands should both be kept so busy for the Lord that they will have no time to gossip. When the devil don't know’ wliat to do in a church, he generally raises a disturbance in the choir. Take your religion with you when you travel, and don’t leave it at the gate when you go home. A marked difference between a hypo¬ crite and a child of God is that the hypocrite has no closet for prayer. When some people smile they do it in a way that makes you think it hurts them, and you feel better when they quit. Find a man like Job anywhere in this world, and you will have found one spot where the powers of darkness cannot sleep. “To love God and keep His command¬ ments” should mean something more than going through the motions of be¬ ing religious. Every improvement in the telescope opens the gates of the heavens wider, and shows us that the arm of God is longer than we thought. The life of more than one girl has been blighted because she had a mother who made her go to church in a faded gown and a last year's bonnet. How quick there would be war among the birds, if the owls and pelicans should insist that the robins and blue- jays should behave as they did. A Curious 31o<Iern Sale. One of the most curious sales of mod¬ ern times is that which is to take place to-day (Thursday) at the Paris Mart, the Hotel <les Yentes, in the Rue Drou- ot. The Heraldic College of France is to l»e put up at auction, together with all its archives. It is true that the in¬ stitution was never anything hut a pri¬ vate enterprise, but it has had an unin¬ terrupted existence of more than half a century, and it has amassed a great Gore of documents relating to the titled families of France. The Marquis de ! Magny, (he compiler of the “Livre d'Or ! <*<• la Noblesse de France,” founded it in JS41, professedly in order to continue 1 -io wol 'k B ,e genealogists cf the eighteenth century. But the new gen¬ eration of French men care little for i tables of precedence, and what Car- j ]y?e called “Tom Fool tilles,” so that j the whole concern is going for what it j will fetch. and Upward 4<J0.009 of 40,000 original genealog¬ docu- ical trees i incuts upon parchment or paper will be submitted at the sale.—London t*ally News. The Lookout Press, j j TenD., The Lookout has just issued Press, of special Chattanooga, edition a of 50.000 copies that is of especial in- teres t. Cuts of Lookout Mountain, Chattanooga, National Cemetery and a i Chickamauga Park monument and ob¬ j servation tower also a good map of all the battlefields about Chattanooga ™™ | f^ooLvatioaalMmtervParkand * c ; “ printed ® t her “ er J“^ ltjt re8ti e « , ^ 8ubi BU ^ ects‘are ect8 “ r ®P"“*«J* special edition pffiHnn iree fr uy i v addressing nddrinaino- tk me tL a Tnnknnt J p r()W ° ® Tenn It is likely that a macadamized road, 100 feet wide, running along the lake shore from Chicago to Milwaukee, Wis., will be begun soon,