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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Advocate, 1897-2-25, Page 2A Dart malts wort By Paul Ingelow. (CONTIZIED.) A. light; showed near by—the only one visible on the dreary landscape. Le Britta hurried toward it, leading the horse. He rapidly directed the humble occupant of the house to care for the steed until the morrow, inquired his way, and started on foot for Ms destination, which he learned, was five miles straight ahead. He was sorxy that he had undertaken the difficult task, less than a mile ou his course. The storm had redoubled its fury, the wind now blew a perfect hurricane, and the rain came down in sheets. In doubt he groped his way forward. " 'Straight ahead,' he said," mur- mured Le Britta, grimly, at last, as, wearied and breathless,lhe sbrank to a tree for shelter. "It strikes me that I am going decidedly orooked. Hello! I see my mistake now. This is no road, it is not even a path—I have strayed from the highway—I am lost!" Ruefully Le Britta surveyed his sur- roundings. Not a light glowed in the vloinity. He was entirely at sea as to the distance, location toed even direotion. The country was moderately thickly settled in portions, however, and he felt assured. that forward progress would eventually bring him to Emilie habitaeion. On he plodded. Knee-deep he stumbled into a bog. He struggled out of it to fall into A pit. He clambered out of that to dash into a lot of briers. Wet, dismayed, harassed, the photog- rapher almost despaired of reaching his friend Dootor Milton before midnight. With a g]ow of hope, he suddenly hurried ft:award, howeVer. "A light!" he ejaculated. "It seems quite near at hand, too. If I can find some farmer to hitch up and drive me to the town where Dick is, I shall be all right." It took Le Britta fully an hour to gain the light that was less than half a mile distant. A more desolate tract of land. he had never traversed. At one place quarry excavations showed, at another felled timber almost obstructed his progress; but finally, soaked and panting from his arduous exertions, Le Britta came out upon a barren open space, with about as miserable an apol- ogy for a human habitation as he had ever seen, a few reds beyond him. It was a hut that the poorest of the poor might consent to call home, and then only under prat, st. It had but one window, and that held only one whole pane of glass. Through it, from a candle set on a rude deal table within a sparingly furnished room, emanated the glow that had. been to him, a beacon to safety and shelter. The dripping eaves and the sides of the hut were, however, a shield from the driving wind, and Le Britta paused there and glanced- eurieusly in at the window. et. little wood fire blazed in the fire- place. Near it, her head held in one hand in a thoughtful, wearied pose, was a little girl of about eleven years. Her attire was of the coarsest and commonest fabrics, threadbare and in places frayed and tattered, but wonder- fully clean. Abject poverty surrounded her. It spoke in the bare walls, the broken fragment of food on the table, the pinched wan face of the child. That face, however, bad something so pathetic in it, something so strange and pleading, that Le Britta's heart stirred and thrilled as he gazed at its pure clear - out profile, as if he was surveying some artlstio portrait He went around to the door and. knocked. The next minute it was opened. "Who is it?" spoke the child, in a sweet, gentle tone of voice, "A strauger," responded Le Britta, '•I have lost my way in the storm. Are you all alone here, iny child? Can I get no one to guide me to Sayville?" Something- in she sweet, loving face turned toward. him, puzzled him. The girl seemed to look at him, and yet beyond him with a blank, far -away expression in ber strange eyes. "There is no one who could do that but myself," she said. "It is only a quartet' of a mile to the road, and a mile down that to Bayville." "Ah" exclaimed. Lo Britta, "so near? Thank you. I can find my way." "I fear not, if you are a stranger," responded the girl in the same soft, well - modulated tones. "'There are deep pits to pass, and to a stranger on such a night it would be dangerous. Wait sir, till I get my cloak and hood, and I will lead. you as far as the road." "Oh, thank you" Le Britta stepped inside the hut. The ohild walked like one in a dream, so slow and yet gliding were her move- ments. She proceeded to a cupboard, and took out a well-worn hood and cloak. "I am ready," she said. Le Britta retreated through the open doorway. The little girl followed him, softly closed the door, sighed anxiously, and then seemed to grope out toward. him. "Let me take your hand," she said, sweetly. "That is it," as he grasped the little band within his own • "Now, only keep by my side, and be careful not to stumble. Only, let n e guide you." "If you had a lantern," suggested Le Bride, somehow deeply interested in the gentle and, careful movements of his strange guide. "A lantern?" repeated the child, soft - lye "We have one, but it would be of no Use to me." "No use—why?" "No, for—I am blind" CHAPTER XXXI—THE BLIND GIRL. Blind 1 Jera Le Britta stopped suddenly. For the moment he was rendered speechless with, the surprise the simple, pathetic announcement caused hire. "Blind," he ejaculated, finally. "Oh, Day child." "You fear to trust me to guide you?" smiled the little girl. "You need not. Why, I know every foot of the way, with no eyes at all, better than those who have two of them. Keep tight hold of zny hand, only trust to me. I will not let you fall into any of the pits, or fall myself, never fear!" Jere, Le Britta confessed to mingled, emotions the strangest he had ever experienced. The situation was thrilling. He sheddered, as even in the blackness of the night he could see deep excavations yawning at the sides of the narrow path they pursued His guide advanced slowly, but unhesitatingly. Sure-footed, • possessed of some rare instinctive gift of perception, she at last led her startled ompaniea to a point where a broad highway ran, and, down its far leugth gleamed the lights of the town be had sought so vainly. For the present, however, Jera Le Britta's thoughts *ere not on Doctor Milton or his mission of the night. Ho forgot storm and discomfort amid the deepest, tenderest interest in the little child before him. Els heart was touched at bee misfortune, something in the sweet, pure face brought the tears of pity and love to his eyes, and made his heart beat the faster with sympathy. "1 do not know how to thank you," he said, pressing a bank note in her palm. "This is money, is it not?" she asked simply. 4iyes.” "And you can spare It—I have earners it honestly?" "Ten times over!" cried Le Britta, deeply touched at the earnest probitynf his little guide. "I thank you very much, then," she said pathetically, "for I need it." "You do not live in that lonely place alone, surely?" spoke Le Britta. "Ahnose," was the answer. "My aunt, who is old, and poorly, comes over once a week from a farm on the ridge, where she works, to stay all night, and mend my clothes, and do things I cannot about the house. She brings me food, too, but I earn quite a little, carrying water to the quarry-workers,daytimes." "But your father—your mother!" "My mother died two years ago," was the answer, with a slight sob. "My father has not been here since her funeral. He took to drink, but I am keeping the house for him. They wanted to send me to the poor -house, but I wouldn't go. I promised my angel mother to keep a shelter fax poor father's head, and I stay at the old hut, He will come some day—oh, yes!" And the little matronly creature sighed wisely, like a guardian over a wayward oharge. "Some day he will get tired of the cruel drink, and will come home to nursing, and comfort, and love!" "Poor, afflicted child!" Murmuring the words, Jere Le Britta stood gazing after her as she bade him good -by, and started back the way she had come. He trembled for her safety, but, as the darkness swallowed her up, he realized how futile would be his blind gropings along that narrow path; he recalled her confident assurances that she knew every foot of the way, and had traversed it a thousand times. "I shall not lose sight of the poor child," he told himself, as he started down the road. "How wicked for humanity blessed with sight and reason to complain at trifles, when that little waif is deprived of the gift of seeing, of friends, of even a decent shelter, and yet patiently, almost cheerfully, assumes her cross! She interests me, she appeals to ray sympathy. 1 shall try and brighten her condition in some way." Le Britta pursued his way. He little dreamed that ho was indeed to see the little child again, and that, too, sooner than he expected; that her influence was to Casa a singular glow over his life, and to become strangely mingled with the plots that had affected his recent interest ie the great Vernon case, "The town at last," sighed Le Britta, as wearied and wet to the skin he reached a tavern. Brief inquiries located the doctor and his patient. Dr. Richard Milton greeted Le Britta warmly, gratefully, when he beard his narrative of the night's adven- tures He explained the importance of the medicine he had brought. "I shall be with my patient most of the night," be said. "You had better go to the hotel, and get dry and keep warm after the terrible exposure of the night." "Can I not help you in any way?" "No, thanks. I will call for you in the morning." "And we will return home together." • "Exactly." This was agreed on. Le Britta left the doctor with his patient in a gloomy old mansion and was soon tucked in a com- fortable bed, and in the land. of dreams. Doctor Milton appeared at dawn to report his patient past the crisis and on the road to recovery, thanks to the potent medicine that the photographer had brought, and they had breakfast together. Le Britta had not forgotten the little blind girl. As they strolled toward the railroad depot he related the details of his meeting with the child. "We have time to spare. Shall we go and see her?" he asked. "I don't care," replied Doctor Milton. "It is two hours to train time yet." "I think I can find the hut," spoke Le Britta. "Yes, it was in that direction, and—look, Dick, look!" Le Britta excitedly seized his compan- ion's arm and pointed down the road. "Eh? What is it Jere?" "The very child!" "The blind girl?" "Yes'' An advancing figure enchained their mutual attention. It was that of the blind child, and she was hurrying toward the town as fast as she could walk. Le Britta advanced to intercept her. "Wait, wait, my child!" he said; seiz- ing her arm. The blind girl lifted her face to that of the speaker with a quick, pleased smile. "I know you—Iremember your voice!" she cried. "Indeed?" murmured Le Britta. "Yes, you are the gentleman who gave me the money last night. Oh, sir! do not detain me just now. Oh, sir! I have such news!" Her face was aglow with emotion and excitement as she spoke, "Why are you going to the village— what is your hurry?" queried Le Britta. "I will tell you," the half -whispered, her features scintillaitng with joy—"oh, sirl he has come back!" " CHAPTER XXXII.—CLUE OR MISTAKE? "He has come beak!" The illuminated face of the little child, 'the accents of pride, delight and affection in her gentle -voice, were indescribable as she uttered the fervent words. Deeply interested, Le Britta asked:— "You mean your father?" "Yes, poor father I I knew it, I 'told you so. He come back, but, oh!" and the face felt to sadness and anxiety, "he's come back so worn, so ill, may be dying!",, She concluded, in a tone sunk to a whisper of terror. The two friends exchanged glances of interest and sympathy. "And where were you going?" asked Le Beitta. "TO the village. I must get a doctor. The money you gave inc last night will pay for one, will it not?" "My friend here with ine is a physi- clan," interrupted the photographer. "Oh! I atn so glad." "And he will charge you nothing. Come, doctor, we may be of use to the child's father." "Oh! how kind you are," murmured the girl, fervently, She led the way from the tewn, the others following, Her accuracy of stop engrossed the doctor. She seemed to feel her way with her feet, and never stumb- led or made a misstep. Into the wretched hut Edna—for she had told them that was her name— ushered thein. "Where is your father?" asked, Le Britta. Edna pointed to the next room. "He is in there. You will try and mate him wen, won't you?" "We will, indeed!" Dootor Milton removed his hat, and advanced to the door of the little apart- ment. He entered it. Le Britta, watching tho girl, was startled by a sudden ejacu- lation a minute later. Immediately there- after, Doctor Milton, with a startled face reappeared. "Le Brittal" he almost gasped, "come here." "What i; it, Dick?" Doctor Milton pointed to a low cot on which lay the figure of a man. "Do you know him?" he queried. "How should I, a stranger?" "Look closer," "Marcy: Dick, it is"— "The tramp!" Staring in unfeigned amazement, the two friends stood regarding the figure on the couch. It was the tremp—the beneficiary of Dr. Richard Milton's kindness in the past—the homeless wanderer who had imparted to them the secret of the hidden treasure in the ravine at Haw - theme villa. Thinner, paler, weaker than ever, there he lay. The man they had sought for so arduously and unsuccessfuly, the man who had ovidenty secured the Vernon fortune, was before them, Satisfaction athis discovery was obscured by the profound surprise expert enced by both Le Britta and the dootoi, as they marveled at the strange workings of providence that had brought the man hither, that had led there te his side. "Dick, it's fate!" gasped Le Britta. "It is a marvelous ocourenoe," assented the doctor. "Evidently, he is little Edna's father. His condition shows that he was forced to And shelter, to seek rest and nursing, or die." "Is he eery ill?" "Give me time to ascertain." For over an lush Dr. Richard Milton worked over the invalid. Finally he returned to the larger room, where little Edna sat, a prey to vivid emotions that showed plainly on her impressionable face. Light as was his footstep, she caught its sound and glided to his side. "Is he very ill, doctor?" the queried, solicitously, it-y.0s. /1 "Will he—will he—die?" "I think not. We shall do all we can for him, at least." Tho doctor beckoned to Le Britta, and both went outside the hut. "Well?" queried the latter, eagerly. "The final reaction has conse," announced the doctor. "You mean?" "Collapse." "He is conscious " "No—fever! I can only theorize as to how he has passed the days since his escapeefrom us. The stimulant phial has probably kept up an artificial strength. Ile secured the treasure—wandered here and—it will be days, it may be weeks, before be knows another lucid moment. Le Britta looked. anxious. "And the money—the fortune—the hundred thousand dollars?" he began. The doctor shook his head dubiously. "I have taken the precaution of searching him," he said, "He had not so much as a single dollar about him." "Then he must have hidden it some- where." "It looks so." "Where, I wonder?" "That we must find out." "You shall see. We must be patien and cautious this time. This man's secret is an important one to Gladys Vernon. I must return to my patients, and you need not neglect your business. Leave it all to me.", At noon that day the two friends left for home by rail. Doctor Milton had secured the services of a young medical student. The later was a warm friend of the doctor, and he intrusted him with just sufficient knowl- edge of the circumstances of the case, to be sure he would act with promptness and fidelity in his interests. He introduced the young man as a nurse for the invalid, and little Edna thanked them sobbingly for the comforts with wbich they surrounded herself and her suffering father. "And now we must wait patiently," announced Doctor Milton, as they reached home. "For what?" queried Le Britta. "For word from the man in charge of the tramp." "Concerning the treasure?" "Concerning everything about the tramp of interest to us, yes. He will not allow his patient to escape again. As soon as he recovers or becomes conscious, he is to telegraph for us." Several days passed by with only a formal report as to the condition of the tramp. Toward the latter part of the week, however, Doctor Milton received a letter, the contents of which excited him strangely. He hastened to Le Britta's studio, and was soon closeted with the photographer. "News?" queried the latter, eager'-. "Yes; important news. Read that." It was a letter from the young medical student. It detailed the course of the tramp's fever, and it ended with the words:— "You gave me just an inkling of the fact that your main anxiety outside of the man's recovery, was to learn where he had hidden certain moneys. "This fat I have net positively ascer- tained, but from words spoken by the invalid. I can give you a clue. "Years ago, he was quite a successful business man, and. had a partner. His child verifies this. "Of this partner he has raved consider- ably, and I am satisfied that be has recently seen Min, "Marc than that, I am satisfied that be visited this man, and intrusted to him a large amount of money—possibly the money you are so anxious about "Later, he again visited him and 'demanded his money back. The men denied ever receiving it. "This roan lives in the city. His name is"— Le Britta started incredulously at he road the words that followed. For they constituted it name belonging to one of the greatest social lights, one of the wealthiest merchants of the:pity where the conolave had just been held -- Darius Meredith. A clue or—a mistake! Which? (TO BE CONTINUED.) TETUAN OF IRISH LINEAGE, Charles O'Donnell. smiles Minister of Foreign Affairs. Few persons know that the sternest enemy of American interference in Span- ish colonial affairs—the man who dic- tates to Minister Dupuy de Lome at Washington his bitterly anti -Cuban pol- icy—in short, the preseut powerful holder of the Spanish portfolio of foreign affairs in an Irish chieftain in his own right and the owner of a name famous in the history of Ireland. His grace the Duke of Tetuan, Spanish minister of foreign affairs, claims to be Lord of Donegal, in Ireland, and rejoices in the Milesittei patronymic of Charles O'Donnell.. Senor Alejandro Ribera, licentiate of the University of Salamanca and now a resident of New York city, claims kin- ship with the Hibernian -Spanish grandee. Indeed Senor Ribera accompanied the duke to Vienna as secretary in 1877. Speaking of his former chief, he says:— "The Duke of Tetuan was born in 1834 and is therefore 63 years of age. In ap- pearance he is the typical Castilian noble- man, of stately presence, fine face and dignified manners. Age has somewhat robbed him of his once soldierly port, and his hair and mustache are almost white. But his eyes are as bright as they were 20 years ago in Vienna, when he laid the foundations of the present queen of Spain's sovereignty. The duke Is very proud of his name and Irish descent, but apart from this the distinguithed serv- ices which his ancestors have rendered to Spain since their exile from the mother country might well give him cause for gratification." In the reign of James I, Niall Gaery O'Donnell was Princes of Tyrconnell, lord of the mountainous County Donegal and chief of his name and race. He warred valiantly against the English, but at length was taken prisoner. He died in the Tower of London. From the brother of this chief, Charles Oge O'Donnell, descended the two young exiles, Henry and .Toseph O'Donnell, younger brothers of Manus O'Donnell of Wilford Lodge, County Mayo. Healy entered the Austrian seryice and rose to be a baron and a major general. Joseph settled. in Spain about 1750 and became a lieutenant general. There was no need to ennoble him, as in Spain all the Irish exiles were recognized as nobles ready made, This lieutenant general, Don Joseph, left four sons, all disting- uished in the army of their adopted coun- try. The eldest, Don Jose O'Donnell, was captain general of Castile, and the young- est, Don Enrique, was a famous lieuten- ant general, O'Donnell,00nnt of Abisbad, regent of Spain in 1812 and captain gen- eral of Andalusia. The second of the four, Don Carlos, also a lieutenant gen- eral and a knight of St. Ferdinand, died in 1830, leaving two ohildrers, of whom the elder, DOD. Carlos O'Donnell, was father of the present Duke of Tetuan, while the second was Field Marshal Don Leopoldo O'Donnell, first duke of that mune. Tho Duke of Tetuan was married in 1863 and has three sons—Don Juan Patricio O'Donnell, born 1564; Don Carlos Alfonso O'Donnell, born 1869, and Don Leopoldo Patricio O'Donn.oll, born 1874. One of those young mon is aid-de-camp to General Weyler in Cuba. The journal of the Royal Irish Society of .Antiquaries, on Oct. 6, 1890, published the following letter from the Duke of Tetuan "My ancestor, Niall Gary O'Donnell, was the last recognized Prince of Tyrcon- nell and chief of his name. As his lineal male representative I claim the heirship of those honors. If I am proud of being a Spaniard by birth, I am quite as proud of being an Irishman by descent, and sign myself 'Carlos O'Donnell of Tyrcon- nell' with as much heartfelt exaltation as Ido Tetuan." The duke is an honorary member of the learned Irish body to which he wrote this letter. It is said of him, in circles diplomatic, that for years he constantly refused the embassadorship to England because of the wrongs which he declared had been inflicted upon his ancestors by England and her sovereigns.—New York Sun. A Cuban "Van Bibber." Audacity is the character note struck in the most recent Cuban exploits, and, almost as a matter of cdurse, the man in question is very young. Nestor Arangur- en y Martinez was born. in Havana Feb. 11, 1873. Now the important and most welcome fact is that no violent episodes of the war have made more for peace than have these. And before we come to them it will do no harm to characterize the young man 4n a single short paragraph, the briefer 'the better, embodying the information that he belong to one of the well known families in Havana; that before the war he was just one of the tacos de la Acera —dandy, or dude, of the Havana Tend- erloin—an ornamental rather than an impressive figure in the cafe called El Louvie. But it is related that when two Spanish officers, sitting. at an adjoining table in the cafe, generalized rather im- politely the characters of Cubans and Cuban women Aranugren took one of the officers in his hands and threw him from the window to the pavement, or terrace, or whatever there happened to be below that particular window. An appreciable product of the century's end—a Cuban "Van }libber." The town of Guanabacoa, jut a little toward the east from Havana and separ- ated from it only by the impure waters of the bay, is a suburb, a place of resi- dence for many persons whose occupa- tions take them daily to the capital city. The place was supposed to be securely held by its Spanish garrison under the command. of Don Naroiso Fonsdeviela, but during the night of Jan. 6 Arang- uren led about 20 young men of his own class, together with about 80 bonaberos, through its southern outskirts and to the center of the town, in Palo Blanco street, so thoroughly demoralizing the garrison by' the audacity of it all—and a Spanish paper confesses that it was a case of total derrota—that he was able to pass the night there, sacking and burning almost as many buildings as he had followers.-- Harper's Weekly. England possesses of centenarians, 146; Ireland, 578; Scotland, 46; Denmark, 2; Belgium, 5; Sweden, 10; Norway, with 2,000,000 luhabitants, 29. • THE EVENING- GOWN S. HANDSOME CREATIONS FOR SWELL SOCIAL FUNCTIONS. Costumes That Only the Most Extravagaul Purses Can Secure—A, Problem Result. ing From the Fall of the Big Sleeve, Some Popular Colors. [Copyright, 1897, by the Author.] The number of social functions that are now following each other with diz- zying rapidity calls for many new and beautiful evening gowns. Nearly all the women who can dance all night and sleep all day profess to be very econom- ical in, the number of their gowns, and indeed they would have to be unless they had an inexhaustible purse, for the dresses are unusually extravagant in material and trimming. The evening silks, except such as are used for the very young, are extremely heavy and rich, and some of them would almost stand alone, which is an ancient but crucial test of a fine silk. The stiff bro- EVENING GOWN. oades are by common accord given to the young married ladies, though, to be sure, in these days the term of years stretches up to the forties at least before one begins to be called middle aged. There is a superb peau de soie in a soft tint like old, yellow ivory. The silk is so rich that it cannot be creased, even by the magic of the dressmaker, and a skirt of that hangs out full and free at the bottom, waving into round, heavy folds like the curl of the calla lily. This material was used in ono dress of the economical kind, which means that it is worn fast at a dinner, then at the opera and later at some grand ball. This serves as three gowns in one. It is noth- ing that the silk costs $10 a yard, or that the bodice is made of old rose point lace, banded with jewel trimming, the jewels often being genuine diamonds, emeralds or pearls. A bodice of this sort had a narrow ivory ostrich feather trimming, with a string composed of real diamonds and emeralds alternating sewed along its center. Tho sleeves wore only double caps of very ram old point, as yellowed by age as the gown was by the dyer's art. Across the lace front of the bodice were crossed bars of ribbon of the same ivory tint in satin, studded with small diamond and emerald buttons. There was a pointed girdle of emerald green corded silk. This bodice had a slight blouse effect. This is a fancy grown out of the new health movement. Women have come to see that they imperil their very lives by tight lacing, and there never was a time when men did not ad- mire trim little waists. So, to have the appearance of a small waist while still having plenty of room to breathe, these blouses are made. The reason of this is that the blouse .hangs out loosely, and then the real belt by contrast looks smaller, particularly if it is brought to a point in the front. A belt made straight around is very trying to any figure, and none but the very slender should adopt such a plan. With the fall of the big sleeve the modistes have been"almost in despair to achieve the effect which they gave—viz, of broad shoulders and slim waists, The wide berthas answer somewhat of the demand on low bodices, but those made high are very difficult to manage. There was one very beautiful dress made like the others for the triple re- quirements. This had a plain skirt made stiff around the bottom. It was of the new egyptian gray corded silk, which is nearer a delicate drab than any other color I can call to mind. The bodice was of directeur green satin over- laid with lace in close imitation of honiton point. There was a wide sash of the silk of which the whole dress was made: This widened to a swiss EVENING COSTUMES. girdle in front, and was held by an im- mense buckle made of stress and imita tion emeralds Emeralds are very fash- ionable this season, in genuine stones as well as imitations. A smaller buckle held a double looped bow in the back. This had long ends edged with a frill of lace The bodice of lace had a bertha stied° of pure white crepe lisse, held in puffs by narrow straps of directeur green velvet. There was a raffle of fine lace below the puffs. In front the lisse form- ed a stomacher of puffs and these were formed by laced strands of beads repre- smiting diamonds and emeralds, tele whole edged with lace. The pointed and. laced and bejeweled stomachers are very much liked this season, it appears. FcNN of these rich silk gowns have long trains. Some have none at all, but the most of them have demitrains, which are not only easier to manage and less costly, but quite as stately'. Tho princess form of evening gowns is very popular this season, particularly when it is developed in the very mag- nificent silks mentioned above. The princess, in its long, curved and flowing lines, shows off sonic figures as nothing else can. I saw one made of pale water green satin duchesse in the most superb quality. The back was untrimmed, but cut so that the throe center seams wid- ened out into magnificent folds below the waist. There was a clemitrain. The front had the side scams „defined by a line of jeweled trimmings imitating diamonds and topazes, the golden lights bringing out the latent beauty of the pale green. Across the bottom there was a light but graceful design of embroid- ery wrought of beads to represent topazes end diamonds. The sleeves were of the dress material. The caps were of white crepe de chine wrought with the beads. On one side were three yellow roses, with their foliage. It may seem curious that so many gowns should all be green in part or whole, but, really, green and yellow, or green and some other combination, seems to be the' most fashionable of all colors worn just now. The new blues are seemingly relegated to a warmer season of the year. There is comparative- ly little pink worn this season, white, yellow in its various shades and green taking the lead. The deep carmine known as snagenta, and the still cruder one called solferino, are both quite pret- ty for evening wear, where the gaslight softens it, but it is painful to behold them in day -light. All the nasturtium colors are seen among the velvet rib- bons and as embroideries on gauze and mull gowns for young ladies. They are extremely rich, but one may truthfully say that, in spite of the brilliant pur- ples, greens, yellows and reds, the pre- vailinc, tones for next season will be soft and artistically blended. The blues are all of the delft shades. These have always the suggestion of the gray clay about them. The rich, dark enamel blue is not unpleasing, as it melts off into the groundwork softly and without the decided line of contrast so much to be deplored.. Delft blue moire, with silvery reflections, is used to develop one beau- tiful evening dress. This, with its dain- ty white lace bodice, with its garnishing of jeweled bands and delicate pink roses, was one color scheme, and an artistic One The light foulard. silks, with their carefully designed and printed figures, are going to make up lovely spring and summer gowns. Foulard is the most useful of all light silks. It is easily ,a cleaned, but it must have all seams taken in deep, as it frays so badly when cut. HENGIETTE ROUSSEAU. DECORATIONS. ... , How to Beautify Transoms and. Ugly Doors. Most houses and. apartments large or small have transoms, and as a rule they aro unsightly objects unless properly treated. If opened. they can be turned down and by the aid of a low-,t'French nail be made steady. A piece of paste- board can bo placed over the glass, which can be draped by a scarf whose colors match the room. On tho shelf can bo put a jug, vase or any bric-a-brac of harmonious effects. There is still an- other method. An etching, a sketch in water colors or a picture in oil can be placed in a standing position on the transom facing the inside of the room, while on the outside an open silk Jap- anese umbrella can be Janne, whose han- dle is laid on the glass to make it steady. Large wooden bowls of lacquer ware of gay tints with drapings of oriental stuff are capital decorations. If for any pur- pose the transom is closed, a picture tastefully framed whose proportions are the same can be hung over it. If drapery is desired, place over the top and sides a bit of india silk, rich in color. It will make a setting strong and effective. A plaque does excellent duty when a tran- som is awkward and ugly. Drape it eu- tirewith a scarf or silk covering. Fas- ten it closely 011 top, letting the lower ends hang down in graceful line's. In the middle place your bit of color, and you give to the room a focus. As f)1 doors, decorations are endless. In room where a bookcase is required 0 shut off the door, and if above it a tran- som, an artistic effect can be produced , by first selecting materials whose tents are rich in tone and soft in color. A scarf and curtain are all that is nec- essary for the purpose, and there are beauties in india silks and Japanese draperies without number. If apiano has its place against a door, a piece of tapestry whose tones are of grays and white hung above it is an ad- mirable scheme. But it should be fram- ed with a molding only, or, better still, each corner can be securely tacked by gilt tacks. For a closet door plate in the center a large Japanese fan, then row after row of smaller fans in circles, increasing in . ire as the space lessens. This treatment is immensely good if colors are rightly chosen. ' Clocks -.-cuckoo, heart shaped, or any of those hanging varieties—if placed on the middle of the door will produce charming effects. Then there are banners on whieh flowers, spider' webs, birds or quaint little men or women are painted, embroidered or etched. All are acceptable as door adornments. Mottoes have been revived, and, with brass or wood carving, give abundant play. For a motto on a sitting room door what can be better than "East or West, Home's the Best," ot for a ,closet door, "Past Bind, Fast Find?" Doors and transoms niay be ugly fey, tures, but thought and study will make them a Success. MRS. OLIVER BELL BUNCIE.