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How to Bring Up & By Kate Thorn. tifttl child a pom tfco fheo at tho Mrtlit' Look apo* Us eighth woofer at tk? woridl T?U everybody so. Kwp tefflig tk?s oo until he. to bis wmigt to hoar tad understand, for ho *wM not ho salmi to (row np In ifcnornnoe of his own 1? portanoo. Mm with sugar plums when lie ertea. II will tsach hta V sore eucar plum. It wUl give him ? homUm , k wenlte. H# outfit to cry. Hecvlthy children ?hrtyi Is healthy to listen to them. Crying develops (he lUf tiih cf ??. imptkm. ? Always let him here kkm way. If yon do not. It wltt break his spirit tmd What h t boy good tor ^hoee epirit has been broken? monm'i heed was not level when he said: **8pare the rod and spoil the fchlld. Probably his brain was Softening- Never command him to do any fc> Ash him to do It if he pleeaes; but If bo doeent please, never oblige to. It might rouse his temper, and give him an attack of colic or tndt* If he ebould become disobedient or impudent, as perhaps he nay children are liable to?consult a doctor at once. If yon fee this gentleman well, be will tell yon that the child has "too much brain; large mtntol smthrity; a mind of nausea, precocity," etc.. all of which will be plsasaat for you to hear, since it will giveyou the Idea that you hare brought a genius to to the world. He will tell you that the child mustn't be crossed. . Ton most be careful how you deny him what he wants. Must not let him get ?ngry. Let htm have hie way. After he gets older, he will be likely to learn the manly science of pro fanity and the gentlemanly accomplishments of drinking and gambling. Well, youthful spirits must be run off In some .way?must have oome outlet. Say, as thousands have said before you, that you would rather have twio knaves than one fool in the family. Thst is a very nice way of putting It, and e>n*cllng, too. . ? Make much of his bright sayings. Repeat them to your friends. If they don't see wit In them. It Is because they haven't brains enough to see wit In anything. Let them begin young to order the servant, so as "to get his hand in." Qhre him all the money he wants to spend. Let him go cut etenlngs. Don't tie him to his mother's apron strings and make a milksop of him. If he calls you "governor," and hie mother, "the old gal," don't reprove film. It Is only young America cropping out and isn't America "the land of the free and the home of the brave?" Get him a revolver by the time he is ten. *o that he may be ready for emergencies?a watoh, and a revolver, by all means. At eighteen he will need a fast horse and a betting bock. Persevere in this course, and by <the time he is twenty-five the world will have heard from him at the end of a rope, cr In Congress?nobody can foresee which. x In this domestic country who can predict results??New York Weekly. The Folly of Being Born Poor By Addison Fox, Jr. AN ta guilty of much that is Incompetent and stupid and in bad taste. He to miserably unskilful in places where it would be reasonable to expect from him a certain measure of acutenees and prescience. But there is, perhaps, nothing in which he dls* plays Ills folly to a greater extent than in being born poor. He is apt to excuse himself from this lamentable weakness by asserting that it is not his fault, and by various axicmB which are used to bolster up his vanity. Poverty, he asserts, is no disgrace. The love of mpney is the root of all evil, and he assumes a respectful attitude to ward the horny-handed son of toil, as if that individual were the most exalted of beings. Inwardly, however, he despises him. He longs for luxury, for that careless abandon that comes with moneyed ease and there are moments when he hates himself for his own lack of forethought. The worst of the matter is that those who permit Ihemselves to be born poor are the very cnes fitted by nature to enjoy wealth. They invariably fcave kind hearts and generous dispositions. They have self-oontrol in an eminent degree. They deprecate money for its own Bake, and only care for It foi what it will bring. Undoubtedly they possess extraordinary qualifica tions In Its proper dissemination. There is never 'a snob among them, a one who, under any circumstance, could ever go back un his former friends. On the contrary, one of the principal uses they would make of their money?If they only had ft?mould be to have their friends enjoy it. It certainly seems a cruel perverse ness of Fate that all these people should be cut off from what they are most em inently fitted. On the ether hand, with respect to thoso who are horn wealthy, there can be no doubt that they are generally unfit, incapable beings, extremely undeserving of their let. It would seem as if, having expanded all their genius upon being born rich, there was none left to help them make a proper ?ise of their possessions. They are very likely to be snobish; selfishness la with them more or less an art in itself?an art in which it is necessary to ?aainftain the illusion that one is interested in others, when, in reality, one's own personal gratification Is the only thing one is striving for. They are also likely to be dissapated, and somewhat cruel, and to betray a strange lack of sympathy. These are the miscreants, who having s*en to it that they were born rich, now rest upon thoir oars, while we, the real people toil op, the galley slaves of injustice or our own folly. We have made a fatal error, and we are now paying for it. And so, to theso yet to come, we would give fair warning. See to it that the family you are born into, no matter what their natural unlntelligence ?aay be. is more than comfortably off. Only in this way can the race ever feope to reach its highest ideala.?Life. The Guest in the Orient. By J. R.8. Sterrett. T HE villagers who entertain the stranger in their houseg natur ally enough expect lilm to talk to them, for thus only can he give them the return they anticipate for their hospitality. As a general rule they will accept no remuneration for the food and shelter they give, but they do expect payment for the feed vf 'the animals. The conversation one has to carry ton with thp host and the other villagers who drop In to see and pay their respects to the stranger is entertaining and even amusing as long as one is a novice in the country, because It is unsophisticated prattle, such as one must have heard in Europe in the Middle Ages. One unfailing topic is the rotundity of the world, the negative side of the question being always defended. They cannot believe that the sun remains stationary?for why should they disregard the evidence of their own eyoa, which shows them that it does move across the vauH cf Iheaven? They ask you how much tribute your countrymen pay to their Padishah (whom we wrongly call Sultan), whose fact is upon the neck of all nations, as they firmly believe. They inquire minutely Into your business at bome and your reasons for travel in their country, &c. They handle with childlike Joy and amazement your rifle and revolver, your knife, pen, pencils, jour helmet and clothing and the women can never have enough of feeling and fondling your socks which are more evenly and closely knit than their backwoods, home-made article. One must submit to an examination of this kind wherever one. stops, often several times a day. Finally it palls on the traveller, unless he ta Klfted with the patience of Job, and from that moment he tries to avoid village hospitality. A further reason for such avoidance is the fact that the ?oceptance of the hospitality of villagers makes it impossible for the traveller to put into durable form his road notes of the day while matters are still fresh in his mind. For the scientific traveller or the archeeologist this is cf the utmost moment. Now, among Turks writing in the house of your enter tainer would simply be impolite and a boorish return for the hospitality, but the Arabs regard the man who writes or draws as a spy, and will not permit It at all?Harper's Magazine. Robbed of His Root. "There!" As th? doorbell rang t#ice In succession, Von Blumer Jumped up from bis scat with a torfk of Intense annoyance, and turned ?round awlftly to face hi* wife. "Have jrou been shopping again?" he inquir ed, anxiously. "No, dear," said Mrs. Von Blumer, "I haven't been out of tho house to day." "Then," (said Von Blumer, throwing down his paper with a gesture of Im patience, "It's a caller. No sooner do?B a man como homo from his work At the office, worn out with the day's ?trucglo and prepared to nettle down to a quiet evening, than his peace Is disturbed by some confounde'd bore. Socloty Is all very well In its way, but whet do these people care for us, and we for them? Hero I was Just congratulating myself that I would be able to get a good night's rest; and now tho dr^un is over. I 're got to sit up and exert myself to be pleasnnt to a lot of idiots that I wish were in Halifax. It's Just my lurk?tired cut, all broken?Halloa! what's this; A note! Umph!?Ah, yet?. of course! Where are my boots? Not a moment to lose. Show him into tho parlcr, Di nah. Where " "Who is it, dear?" ashed Mrs. Von Blumer. "Who is it?" repeated hor husband, as he rushed by her?"who is it? Hoo ray! It's Dlmploton, with two tickttft for the theatrot" Single Seed Wat Prolific. A tlnglo mesqulte seed. imported from tho southwest and planted In Honolulu In 1873 has propagated and aproad until in tho Hawaiian inlands to-day there ar? 50,000 acres of tho famous plant of tho alkali plains of Arizona and Now Mcxico. Tho most remarkable feature of tho manner in which tho desert growth has taken root on foreign and tropical soil lies in tho fact that the mesqulto has com pletely changed Its character and Is ?Mtly different from tho parent tree l>f the west AT HICK REST. Harry?Evidently you am far gon? ?n Miss Checkworthy; but It l>ratn mo why. I saw her the other evening dressed In her finest, and I roust way I couldn't hp c anythl'ng beautiful about her. Dick?Ah. but you xhottid havo seen her as I did ono day last week, with her hair In papers and with only a calico wrapper for a gown, sitting In her own room, clipping coupons frofti a great pllo of securities.?Dos* Ion Transcript. A Bluestocking,; ROMANCE REALITY. 1 L> By Miss Annie Edwards. CHAPTER VL Continued. Children scarcely bigger than little fti?' are among the groups of fan eures, stalwart grandsires are working *rlth will and arm as hearty as their And everybody, old snd young. must say his word of compliment to Severne, upon whom the Victoria Cross ius al ready been lavishly bestowed by Quer nec imagination. When the last load had left the field, and a parting glass of something livelier than tea Is being liberally served out by Jesn Marie and Murgot, the health of Mussieu Sir John" is.proposed and drank with an honest English Houras! that makes the surrounding orchard ring again. Fi nally it Is settled for him that he shall spend the remainder of the evening at Flef-de-Ia-Relne. "You hove been cheated nut of your dinner/* Bays Aunt Hosie. In her hearty North-country voice, and resting her band on the young man's arm. "So you must make a virtue of necessity and eat a bit of eight o'clock supper with us at the farm." "And as you care for art," adds Miss Theodora, with pretty consciousness? Theodora actually on the liay field, and in a costume, uplooped, Watteauish; a blue-ribboned straw hat shading her face, a la Gainsborough. "As you care for art, Mrs. Chester and myself will show you some of our small attempts in water color. I had the very best ad vantages In my youth." says Theodora, plalutively retrospective. "Indeed, a Slgnor Plnutl, or Plncelll, or some such name, has been known to regret our dear papa's social position. 'If the Sig liorlna Theodora had but to work for money,' poor Pinutl used to say " "But, unfortunately, we have no Sig nor Pinutl to praise us now." interrupts Daphne, hot with confusion "And nothing we do can possibly be worth showing to a stranger; I?I mean to any one who has traveled so much and must have seen so many fine pictures as Sir John Severne." "I accept the apology," says Severne. with a look that brings the color to her cheeks. "If you had not retracted that obnoxious word 'stranger.' I should have walked straight away to the har bor. Mrs. Chester. A steamer atarts for New Haven to-night, and " "And before to-morrow morning Sir John Severne would have forgotteu that such a place as Quernec exists," cries Daphne. By this time they bad fallen a little behind the others, and ure walking slowly, side by side, along the narrow lane. Sir John well laden with rakes and forks, she with her sun bonnet hanging on her arm, an empty water jar poised on her shoulder Just like a lady and gentleman of the cup aud saucer school of comedy, pre paring for a telling bit of sylvan flir tation. "Don't you think it might be as well for you to make a note of our exist ence, sir? We shall remember you," she goes on a little sadly, "those of us who live long enough?well, for about the next thirty or forty years. Don't you think you might write a couple of words about us In your pocketbook? Only the words Flcf-dc-la-Iteine and the date of yesterday would be enough." "If you wish truly and honestly that I should remember Fief-de-la-Keine aud every one belonging to it. Mrs. Chester; if you wish thnt I should re member everything connected with Quernec just one degree more vividly than I am certain to do already, you must let me make a sketch of you and little Paul. 1 should like to get au outdoor portrait of you. looking as you look at tills moment " "In a cotton gown and sun bonnet, my cheeks well baked by eight hours' haymaking, a water jar on my shoul der. You don't want me to hide my plctnresqueness under Sunday best, as the country people do when they go to town to L<e taken by the photograph ers V" "1 want you to look precisely as you did when I first met you yesterday in the fields." "A certain letter in ray hand. Ah. Sir .lohn, if you had never dropped your letter " "Mrs. Chester would not have direct ed nie to the Martello tower in Quer nec Hay. some other fellow would have carried Paul safe to shore, and at this moment?no, It would not do to push these kind of suppositions too far. My own correspondent little known the happy results that letter was fated to bring about." ? ????? The distinct white light of day has melted Into the teuderest shifting hues of pearl aud opal. Severne and Mrs. Chester, after I know not how ninny hours spent in each other's society, arc watching the stars rise, as they have watched the sun set. (run the Quernec shore. Paul had been forcibly carried off to bed in the strong arms of Mar got. the Misses Vanslttart, mindful of damp, and rheumatism, have already lit tlvir parlor hi nips. Only these two are (i broad. "Yes. we talk like old acquain tances." li is Diiphne who speaks:, her calm face lifted, with the after glow or ;ill tiie west .ipon it. to Sevcnic's. ?'Yim. in reality, the extent of our ae on.I'ntance Is?a knowledge of each oltii-r's names. who dwell in plr <???>?. like Qrcrncc have so siepped ofT the stage or life n* to l:.i\e no history to sneak of. 1 hav*? bee.: nineteen yaara at Flef-4*U-Kelne. and each year the ictd tlae. and potato plant* Ing. and harvaat bar* been pretty tnuch the same. Neve.* more different than between a tret season and a dry one. But yon. at your age " "At my age, >meb Is four or fire years more advanced than your's. Mrs. Cheater!*' "Age is not dependant upon-the num ber of one's birthdays,'* she anawera him, gravely "I waa two-and-twenty 4he fifteenth of laat April." "Two months ago! Like (.11 immense ly old people, you make the most of your longevity.** "And I seem to have done with life Juat aa effectually a a though I were fifty. You are merely a- schoolboy." Her eyes traveling over his face with a kind of soft compassion. "Your life is beginning." "With a tolerable accumulation of experience to start from." says 8e rerne. "Nine yea re ago. when I first went to Woolwich. 1 looked upon my self. 1 can assure you. as a finished Chesterfield in mattera of worldly wis dom. and now. after spending the .three lust yenrK In India, too. to be told coolly that I am only a schoolboy still!" "After spending the three last yeara in India." repeats Daphne, stooping down and with one linger tracing out u kind of Chinese pngodn upou the sand. "You must have beeu young enough, in all conscience, when you went away! And you have never re turned to England slncc?" ? "Never. I am In the act of return ing at this moment." "Not very hurriedly?" "Well. no. I wanted lo look up an eld school friend who has married and buried himself in Briltauy. That de layed me a fortnight between Paris and St. Malo." "Then?" "Then 'Murray* reminded me of my duty. The traveler is here at n con venient point for visiting the Channel Islands. You know the rest." "And the lady who wrote that letter has not seen you for three years, then?" cries Daphne, sweeping out the pagoda with a touch, and raisiug her eyes abruptly to Severne's. "She will find you altered. Though you ex changed photographs every week, you could not keep a face fresh and living before you through the changes of three years." It is a home thrust, the like of which can only be given under ono or two conditions: absolute knowledge or ab solute Ignorance of the conventionali ties. Sir John throws a quick look at Daphne's face. at the serious, truth telling eyes, the Hps from which no word of "chaff" or other wit of the period has ever flowed, and comes to the sudden resolution, then and there, of enlightening her ns to his engage ment. "Yes. we shall tind each other changed. .Mrs. Chester, in things, per haps. that don't come within the scope or photography." He takes up a handful of Kinall pebbles, nud, as he talks, aims one after another at some imaginary target on the inargiu of the water. "You see. we hud known each other just six weeks, and we were children?Miss Ilardeastle, at least, was a child?when?when I was ordered to India. We spoke in our haste, and I ^suppose filial I have the interest now of tinding out how far our speaking led us wrong." And for one long minute Daphne Chester is silent. Her heart Is dead, no doubt, on that point; her belief in personal happiness shattered. The only feeling she can possibly entertain toward Sir John Se verue is gratitude-just what she felt for gouty old Dr. de Uariot. when he had brought Paul safely through the meusles. "I shall have more faith in my own cleverness for the future." so at length she speaks, in her matter-of fact. quiet voice. "When first 1 picked up that letter 1 thought to myself it was from your sweet?from some one you cared more than common for. You must be longing to get back to Eng land. Sir John. After three years of separation, tl?" hours must pass heav ily that keep you apart." "Well," answers Severne. discharg ing his last ivot with vigor at the Im aginary targ? . "we are not romantic people, either of us; that Is the fact. Miss Harden .-lie Is?I suppose If I had to sum up In / characteristics in one word I should be forced to say?pre pare yourself. Mrs. Chester, a cold shock Is In store for you?that Miss Hardcastle i the least bit in the world a blue-stocking.'' "A blue-storking!" exclaims Daphne, with a bitf? <?. sharp seuse of her own detlclencles. and with u vision, grand, epic, homic' la I. rising before her. "The tcri.i is old-fashioned," says Sir John. -And still with feminine learning increasing at its present rate. I don't know that we can well afford to do without it." "It Is a very awful term." cries Daphne. "I have heard my aunts speak of Mrs. Trimmer. Miss Por ter " "And Vrs. Hannah More! Ah. the modern ' ue-xlocking is cast upon a (UfTr/e'.v -lattern, exhibits diverging ntauifr. ions, as she would say, In lli?' lav -tc of llie tribe. The modern bltic-s.uci.ing acknowledges few things Wwt cannot weighed in tho balance or observed In tin* spectroscope." "I think," said Daphne, forgetting The labors of the Irish Antl-Emlgra tlon Society, an organization formed Inst year, do not appear to have been nttended with much success. The emi gration from tho south and west of Ireland, from which tho outflow chiefly takes place, has shown no slpn of di minishing. In 1000 the emigration through the port of Cork to the United States amounted to 27,103; In 1901, 22, 430; In 1902, 23,440. and 1903. 24,412. For the eight month of the present year the figures are 18,512, while (or the cor responding eight montjh* of last year jth? return was 17,769. * ^ .. cannibalism appears to be unknown among the lower animals In a state of nature. In India some Instances of bnakcs^ devouring one another have been collected, but it has been pointed out that in every case cited the snakes were of different species. This, it Is e'edared, is no more an act of cannibal* l*m than the devouring of a field mouse | by a rat. Unquestionable cannibalism was noted some years ago In a London menagerie, when a python ate another of Its own kind, but this was under the unnatural condition* tmflQfled by U/e '0 captivity. te tho plafltuds otWfUt cwrlty. "that I ??ril much rather not tha Mdtra blue-stock . "Miss Hardcastle will iBarltabir com* across m" returns Severn*, looking iBUMd. -In t couple of days, to-morrow, porhsps, Miss Hanlcsstle and a party of her Mends will arrive In Jersey on n yachting expedition." "Keep her away?keep . her away (Tom FIef<de4a-Belne! Never let my Ignorance be placed side by tide with the.science or such a paragon!** This was Daphne's first thought, perbsps I should ssy the first rush of wordless emotion from which thought springs. One second later. "And Is Miss Hard castle tall or short?" she asks, her voice so excellently schooled that her companion's dull msscullne perceptions detect In It no constraint. "Has she blsck eyes or blue, dsrk hair or blonde?** "After the lapse of three years It Is dUBcult to speak accurately about shades of color," he remarks, watching ?not the faded photograph of the wo man he Is to wed?but the flushed snd living face of this daughter of Hetli. this acquaintance cf yesterday, with whom already he Is more than half lu love, "Miss Hardcastle, I have a fan cy. was called fair?but no, you are fair, in the true painter's acceptation of the word. She was?I am certain' I could get a likeness of you at this moment, if there were light enough to draw. One llttie line more In profile." With an artist's privilege. 8everne's hand rests for a second's space upon her coils of silken hair. "You will give me. a first sitting to-morrow, will you not*" "And her eyes are dark, for certain. Sir John, I like the face of 'your own correspondent.' There is something one could rely upon about that mouth, lu spite of all tue terrible things you have said about blue-stockings. I don't think I shall be very frightened to make the acquaintance of?of?" out came the words with an effort?"Miss Hardcastle, your sweetheart.*' CHAPTER VII. i Romance. "Yes, his maternal great-aunt must have been a Miss Clavering. of Logan," says Isabella Vansittart, with decision: "co-heiress to the Logan estates, and u noted beauty. The Marquis de Val uiont was her first lover. He got killed in a duel with the celebrated Colonel Bullcr, and six months later she mar ried Henry Vanslttart, a first cousin of our father's. \ou understand me, Theodora; you are following what 1 sny? A great-aunt of tills young man Severne married our father's cousin, Henry Vansittart." Notwithstanding the beauty of the June night, the lamps in the farm par lor are lit, curtains closely drawn, and the two elder sisters are in the thick of the backgammon contest with which, summer and winter alike, their eventless days come to a close. Aunt Hosie sits at .ier knitting; a shade more of gravity than is vsual round I her lips. "There. Daphne! You hear." cries i Miss Theodora, as .Jar hue Chester en- I ters. "According to Isabella's chron- j ology, we may claim a kind of kinship with your Hero. Handsome is that handsome does," continues Theodora. "Sir John Severne Is one of the very ugliest men it has been my luck to meet. Still, there can be no doubt he behaved with presence of mind as re gards the child. Presence of uiind. simply. As to thinking there could have been any danger with Paul act ually under my own eyes, it is ridicu lous." "Ugly!" exclaims Daphne, indignant ly. Aunt Hosie chiming in a deep toned second, "Sir .lohu Severne ug ly*" ? ? ;> < i "To a remarkable and unusual ex tent." answers Miss Theodora. "I I might, indeed, sny of his face that it j has no line of feature at all. A fapc, | as onr poor father used to remark, i without a profile. When I saw him | at work in the Imyiiehl this afternoon, J I could not help feeling how well the | employment sat upon him. But. of ! course, youth, animal spirits, ami a ; sunburnt skin have always a certain j charm for some fastes!" "Sir John Severne has a great heart. Who could cavil a1>out the profile of a , man who has been your salvation, res- | cued that which is dearer to you than j your own life? Sir John Severne is"? | her voice trembles?"Is everything to ine that one human being cau be to ; another." "Ahem! Sister," cries Miss Theo- j dora, not without a shade of moaning i .in her voice. "It Is your turn to play. I have thrown cinq-ace again, and do I not enter." "Aye, aye," muses Miss Vansittart, holding the dice box loosely between her well-formed, withered old hands. "Bnt what renders the coming of this young man really extraordinary is that two nights ago I had a dream. You hear, all of you, a dream! "I saw lilni,' as plainly as I see either of you, dripping with water, supporting Paul in his arms, and with his right hand holding out a wedding ring.' Not altogether such a dream as could be wished. 1 am aware, but we must receive such things." says Miss Vansittart, solemnly: "we must re ceive such things for good or for evil as they are sent to us. That dream portends innrrlnge." "Marriage!"' exclaims Aunt Hosie, letting go her knitting with mi abrupt ness Vhat causes :it Uast a quarter of a row of stitches to drop from the pins, and with an acerbity very un usual In her voice. "I wish the word were expunged from the Kitglish lan guage. Marriage! Here--at Flcf-de? la-Uelne!" To he continued. Tf you meet a woman who strongiy suspects that she Is u beauty, a*k her earnestly if all her family are beau tiful.?Baltimore American. Will Keep Clergyman Busy. A Manchester, N. 11.. clergyman who returned after a month's absence on vacation found ?uch a- Inr^o mall awaiting him nt the postofllcc that ho had to take a large dress suit ease to carry it home in. ArtlesftneKR la held to bo the pre rogative of childhood. But why should ?o valuable a Jewel bo denied older people? is there any virtue that la really unbecoming an adult? asks the Burlington Hawkey^ . New York City.?Full waists that are ?birred and draped to form soft and graceful folds are among the latest features of fashion aud are exceeding!j r>HApni> waist. attractive in the many pliable mate rials of the reason. This one is pe culiarly stnart and includes a point at the front and the new sleeve*, shirred to forni two lengthwise miffs above tho elbows. The inr terlal chosen for the model is willow ?,reen inessa line sutln with cream colored lace for chemisette ami cuffs. banding and Itows of darker velvet, but there are mauy wool as well as silk materials that can be treated in the same manner with eqwa' success. am'., when liked. shade ?nvfpa over the right sidew More loop* of the rlbbou ure uuder the brim at the right side. This upward tilt to the right seems Tfry unnatural, and It's a question If the mode be widely adopted. It was not last year, though a number of models were displayed. That N?w Htukd* ?T Stead. Tucking and smocklug, not alone In Riunll sections, but In whole pieces, large euough to make a waist, or at least a girdle effect, are being shown In gowns for reception and evening wear this season. Another kind of ornament is the blond lace, which him ply detles description. It's neither cream, nor pure white, nor yellow, nor any particular shade, but blond, and the most popular trimming shown for the fall season. Without a broad girdle no reception gown is complete. These may be of the same material and shade as the go>vn or of bright rlbltons. with long streamers, or bows at the back.?New York Tress. The Knotted Stock. A pretty stock of white crepe has the long front tal> tied up into little Itows down its lci'gth. Itlounr or Stilrt Waiat. Plain shirt waists always are in de mand and always till t need. 'I'bis one shows the new sleeves, that are full at the shoulders, atul includes a wide box pleat at the centre front. The model is made of Uussian blue Sicilian molialr. stitched with corticelli. silk, and is worn with a belt and tie of black taffeta. All waist lug male rials are. however, equally appropriate, the many mercerized cottons as well as wool and silk. A LATE DESIGN BY MAY MANTON. the dorp cuffs can Ito omitted ami the sleeves made in three-quarter length. The waist in made with the fitted lining, on which the full front* and backs are arranged, and is duelled at the neck with a roll-over collar under which the chemisette Is attaehed. The sleeves are made over lifted lining*, which are faced to form cuffs, and art full above the elbows, finished with circular frills below which fall over the gathered ones of the lace. The closing .? made Invisibly at the centre front. The quantity of uviterinl required for the medium size is four and three* fourth yards twenty-one inches wide, four mid one-halt yards tuenty-#jveu Inches wide, or two and three-fourth yards forty four inches wide, with seven-eighth yard of all-over lace, three-fourth yards of hiits velvet and two and one-half yards of lace to make as Illustrated. Very Fiwiiuitinff. Thin. Absolutely fascinating is a big hat of the time of the Restoration. To say that it is fascinating i? also to say that it is of the second period of the Restoration, about JMIJO. At the right the brim is very broad and flaring. At the left it is less s-?. At the front it is yet narrower, while at the back it is quite narrow. It is beautifully colored with a delicately rosy fawn silk, the brim being faced with a rosy castor miroir velvet. This velvet shades almost to golden brown, and will iro beautifully with the beaver fur which is to be revived. At the? left side of the crown Is a bunch of loops in satiny apricot rlblion, tiie ribbon be ing drawn through a cut steel buckle at the centre, from which a magnifi cent paradise plume in tbe brownish Tlio wuiat consist! o- tli? titInl lin ing, which Ih optional, fronts and buck. Tlu? hack Is plain t cross the shoulders, drawn down In K'lthcrs at I ho waist lino, but the fronts are pit her ed nt their upper edfcs, also, so forming becoming folds. Tho sImovos are In slilrt style, gathered Into atraiKht cuffs, and at the neck is a regulation stock. The quantity of material required lor the medium size is three and thrcc fourlh yards tw>nty-one inches wide. MLOt'HK "It AHir.T WAIHT. Ilirrc and oiH'-lialf .vurd* twciity-wveit Indies wide, or two yards forty-foul lut-lics wide.