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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*. FUBLI8IIBD BT JERNIGAN & SCARBOROUGH. B«toeripti"“ * 1 - 00 P* *««• jT~wT H. WHITAKER DENTIST, Sanderarille, Qa. Terms Cash. Offloe at hi« residence on Harris Street April 3, 1830. THE MERCURY. A. J. JERNIGAN, Proprietor DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. • 1.50 PER ANNU* VOL. I. SANDERSVILLE, GA., OCTOBER 26, 1880. B. D. EVANS, Attorney at Law, April 3, 1880. Sandersville, Qa. DR. WM. RAWLINGS, Physician & Surgeon, SandersTille, Qa. Oflleo at Sandorrvillo Hotel. April 10, 1880. E. A. SULLIVAN, NOTARY PUBLIC, Sandenrille, Ga. Special attention given to collection ol The Supreme Hour. Thero comoa an hour when all lile’s |oys and paina To our raiaed viaion acem But as the flickering phantom that romaina 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. OMoe in the Court-Honse. 0. H. ROGERS, Attorney at Law, Sandersville, Ga. Trompt attention given to all buainesa. Oflleo in northwest room ol Court-House. May ♦, 1880. C. C. BROWN, Attorney at Law, Sandersville, Ga. Will practice in the State and United State, Courts. Offloe in Court-House. H. N. H0LLIFIELD, Physician & Surgeon, Sandenrille, Go. Offloe next door to Mrs. Bayne's millinery store on Hariia Street. DR. J. B. ROBERTS, Physician & Surgeon, Sawdenville, Qa. May be waited at hie offloe on Haynes street, in the Maaonio Lodge baiidiag, irom 9 into 1 p m, and irom 1 to ipm; daring other hoars at his residence, on Church street, when not proleaeionally engaged. April 8. 1880. Watches, Clocks AHS JEWELRY UTAIIXD BT JERNIGAN. POSTOFFICE HOURS. 7:00 to 11:30 a. m, 1:30 to 6:00 p. ra. E. A. Sullivan, P. M. Subscribe for the MERCURY, Only yl.60 per annum. rUBUSBED BY JERNIGAN & SCARBOROUGH. BUY YOUR Spectacles, Spectacles FROM JERNIGAN. KP“None genuine without our Trade Mark On hand and for sale, Spectades, Nose Glasses, Etc Music, Music JERNIGAN FOB VIOLINS, ACCORDEONS, BOWS, STRINGS ROSIN BOXES, ETC. Machine Needles OIL aid SHUTTLES for all kinds of Machines, ior sale. I will also order parts ol Machines that get broke, and new pieoes are wanted. 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.