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THE TOILET.

(Specially from Paris.)

AUTUMN TOILETS.

mantles we mentioned last month are decidedly FIRST FIGURE.-Double skirt of Bismark in fashion. Both velvet and cloth wraps, faye; the first skirt, round and without a train, / whether paletots or sacques (for both are equally is finished with a trimming of loops and ends of in vogue), are very much trimmed with silk. velvet ribbon, set on at short distances round crochet lace, beads, fringe, or passementerie. the bottom; the second skirt, in the Empire Bands of ribbon or velvet, or satin studded style. is cut in dents all round the bottom, and with jet-beads, make a very effective trimming, is trimmed on the front breadth with two vel. and are much worn. The corset-like body, vet loops, and ends to match those on the first fitting tight over the hips, has a very good ef. skirt. Sleeves tight. Bonnet of white Impe- fect on a fine figure; but short waists, with rial velvet, bordered by a broad bias of Bismark belts, are still worn; and the long, loose, flowing velvet. Strings of No. 7 velvet tied behind. / sleeve is in as good taste as the tight-fitting, Figured white barbes edged with blond.

which is, however, in the ascendant: in brief, SECOND FIGURE---Double skirt; the first there never was a time when greater freedom preskirt of dark grey silk, forming a train. Body vailed, without doing violence to the mandates of the same, high, without sleeves. Second of fashion. Everything that is pretty, bizarre, skirt, of the same tissue but lighter in colour, or becoining, is à-la-mode; and it must be a is made in the redingote style. Sleeves tight, woman's own fault if, with this wide latitude in ornamented at top and bottom with bias-pieces style and trimming, she does not dress herself of the same tint as the first skirt, that is to say agreeably. darker than the other. I must not forget to I have just seen a very elegant evening dress mention that the bottom of the first skirt is of arsenic green silk, trimmed at the bottom finished with a broad-plaited ruffle, and that the of the skirt with three puffings of white silk. second is trimmed round the bottom and at the The over-skirt is of white crépe, dotted with sides with two bias-pieces of the darkest shade green and trimmed with quillings of green silk, of the material. The second body, which is and a flounce of white lace. The corsage is open to the waist, is trimmed in a similar way. made with a deep basque, trimmed with a

The Empress is decidedly in favour of short flounce of lace headed by a green quilling. The dresses--a fashion in which she is supported by sleeve is merely a puff of white silk, veiled by all the small-footed, slight-ankled portion of her the lace berthe. The hair is worn in as diverse sex. But for evening or reception-toilets the styles as are the dresses; sometimes simply elegant flowing robes à quene, as they are here turned back off the face in front, and caught up called, with trains oflen five feet in length, are at the back in a puffed chignon, clasped by a the most graceful and stylish dress. These are fancy comb; sometimes waved, and the chignon made plain in front, but are generally laid in surrounded by a heavy plait; at other times plaits behind to admit of the bustle, which is we see the chignon accompanied with a long again in vogue. Two shades of the same colour, curl or curls on one or both sides. the one very much lighter or darker than the Satin continues to be worn both in evening other, is much used in dresses with double, or si- dress and as a trimming. Bodies fitting tight mulated double skirts. Dresses of neutral shades over the hips are greatly in request for evening are also trimmed with some trenchant contrast, toilets : they are usually trimmed at the bottom as grey or stone-colour with magenta. Bismark with a fringe of flowers, grasses, and foliage. in various shades is much worn; and a warm Bodies may be cut as high or as low as taste dark brown is greatly in favour. Short jackets may dictate : when low they are generally continue to be worn as wraps, and the circular | finished with a berthe of flowers.

LE A VES FOR THE LITTLE ONES.

SLATER KNAPP.

beneath, whom he was disposing of in this laco

nic fashion. “ Cut right out after the old man's BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.. pattern, Blood tells !"

With all that is lovable in the man--with all "A great rascal!” said Uncle Kerr, sauntering his noble, genervus qualities of mind and heart, to the window, and looking out on somebody and all his pure and lofty ideals of life and cha

racter, there is a little vein of sharpness, and comparatively undefiled; so, when I look in his severity that often develops into satire, bound young face, and think of all the power for good up in Uncle Kerr's nature.

or evil which bis father's money will confer on His brief, terse sentences cut sometimes clear him, I'cannot help taking courage, and breathing through a deed or a person without much a prayer for the future even of the son of Dennis mercy; and though I know his strong sense of Knapp.” right and justice, to say nothing of the real be- “ Well, Agnes, perhaps your faith is truer nevolence of his heart, would make him revolt than my philosophy," answered Uncle Kerr, in from a conscious wrong, or injustice to the worst a softened tone. “At any rate, your prayer, or weakest of his fellow men, still, as I say, he which is better than my carping, will not be has a summary fashion of disposing of them lost; and perhaps it will bring down some sometimes.

help or blessing on the head of young Knapp. Aunt Agnes is just the opposite of this. II am afraid it will be the first one, poor fellow !” wonder if anybody ever lived for whom she A good, true man to the core, you see, and would not put in her soft voiced plea of charity, \ despite the little native flash of severity, the soft her little excuse, or palliative when it came to the and kindly heart was sure to come out at last. worst!

After this I never met Slater Knapp saunterUncle Kerr's speech took us both to the win- | ing, up and down the old rambling, sleepy dow; and there, on the opposite side of the streets of our country town, but I thought of street, sauntering slowly past the druggist's, we what Aunt Agnes had said, and wondered what saw the subject of these obnoxious remarks, a “salt there was in him;" and I used to look at youth, a little past the middle of his teens, with him, with his young, slight figure, his indolent a slender, well-knit figure, with his hands in his gait, his bands in his pockets, and his great pockets, and a slow, rather indolent gait, as shaggy Newfoundland, like a black cloud of though there was nothing in the world worth fate close behind him, with some new interest hurrying for, and a large Newfoundland dog and curiosity, for I had passed him a thousand following close at his heels; all this at once con- times before in the same way, without a thought. centrated our gaze.

That is just the way in life. Some chord is “Now, Kerr," commenced Aunt Agnes, “ you struck-some sudden revelation is made, and know that remark of yours about blood is to be we wake up to a new thought and interest in received with great limitations on every side. I people towards whom our feelings and thoughts know there is much general truth in it. I know have been locked up in absolute indifference also, that in its practical application we shall before. fall very wide of the mark, if we make this rule One afternoon I came upon him in the old of birth our touchstone of character. The world fashion, and it seemed to me that any one gifted owes some of its largest debts to men who have with a swift penetration into human character bad indifferent fathers and mothers.”

would have comprehended something of this “ Granted, as a general fact, but that doesn't | youth and his antecedents—a coarse, rich man's upset this particular one,” resuming his seat son-nothing in the world to make of life but to and his newspaper.

have a “good time” out of it generally. It was I put in my “small oar" here, as Uncle Kerra November afternoon, bending towards night, playfully calls it, whenever I take part in the a dismal, hopeless sky overhead, the air charged talk.

with mist, full of a raw, pervading chill, and the “What do you know about that young man's beauty and brightness blotted and burrred out of father, Uncle Kerr ?”

everything. “ That he is a bad man, coarse, dissipated, I was hurrying home with a little shiver of vulgar. A man without principle or honour of cold all through me, that would have been a any sort. He's made a large fortune in various sure prophesy of stiffness and rheumatism to speculations, and he's arrogant and purse-proud, older bones than mine, when suddenly I came, as that class of coarse-fibred men usually are as I said, upon Slater Knapp, with his hands over their money.”

in his pockets, his lounging gait, whistling a “But, Uncle Kerr, we all have sense enough tune, and the huge black shadow close behind to perceive that the son isn't the father. He is him. not to blame for another's sin.”

At that moment there came betwixt him and “Rightly and bravely said. But the boy has me, ona sharp run, a small, half breathless figure, his father's face, somewhat plastic and finer be. 'which did not look as though its life had cause of his youth, but the same general pat- stretched into ten years-a boy's figure, with a tern. Then he has that indolent, swaggering thin, meagre, pinched face, and threadbare air, which always stamps one, be he youth or clothes which suited the face, and told their own man. He hangs round the inn, with a cigar in story of poverty, a crop of coarse brown hair his mouth, he rides fast horses, he affects the over his forehead, and crying a loud, dreary, paternal style.”

sobbing cry, that sounds so dismally from a little “The chances are all against him, poor boy," child. said Aunt Agnes, “and yet I have been amazed Slater Knapp stopped, so did I, and the black to find how much pitch one's youth can pass Newfoundland pushed his nose around the bare through and yet leave the man or womanhood feet,

“ What's the matter, I say?" he asked--the “That's a fact," he said, at last, “a face like voice not unkindly.

| that can't lie,” turning to the boy. “ The wind blew my hat into the river, and “Come along with me, little fellow," the tones when I leaned over to catch it, I lost the loaf of smoothed now into a little more softness; though bread mother sent me to get, and we shan't have quick and abrupt still, you could see it was bis any supper to-night.”

habit. Slater Knapp looked at me and I looked at “What for?" the child asked, shrinking back him; then we both looked at the boy.

in a little fear. That's only a fresh dodge to get money. “Don't be afraid, my little man. I wont do Come on, Nero," and he whistled to the dog. you any harm, I promise. Go with me down

There it was--the atmosphere in which Slater the street there, and we'll stop at the first shop, Knapp had been brought up, stifling all generous and you shall have a nice new cap and a pair feeling, all sweet and human sympathies – there of shoes to boot, for those little blue toes, and spoke out the hard, coarse shrewd quality of the then we'll go further on to the baker's, and I father. I thought of all this as I followed the miss my guess if van don't have something youth with my eyes, and then I thought of Aunt better than a loaf of bread for supper to-night! Agnes' prayer, and then I turned towards the Come now, I've got plenty of money, and I've small, shivering figure. It was hard to decide taken a whim to throw away a little of it on what to do. The clouds lowered with angry

you.” threats of rain overhead, bome was a mile off at

He held out bis hand, and the child slipped the nearest-my money was all spení, yet I could not leave the child there, carrying away in

his—the long, soiled, ragged sleeve half covering my thought the dismal, dreary sobbing.

" it-into the youth's, and they went on down the A quick sound of returning footsteps, a dog

street together, and the dog followed. And in

a little while I went on too, but the tears were pushing his nose around the bare feet, and I heard a voice muttering in an undertone, as

thick in my eyes, and I kept thinking “Aunt though unconscious any one could catch it.

Agnes' prayer! Aunt Agnes' prayer !” "You'll just make a fool of yourself, Slater

As soon as I reached home I rushed into the Knapp !"

room where the family was, and related what I I looked up, and there he stood.

had just witnessed. I think my eyes were not "Now, boy," he said. his words going right the only ones which held tears then. When ! to the core of the thing, “I wonder if you've

was silent Uncle Kerr said been telling me the truth?”

“Well, Agnes, you were right. Despite his "I think his face answers for him, sir," I father and his education, there is hope for the said, while the boy looked up in a swift amazement which was partly fright, for the tone, more

And I said, here, “But all the time I couldn't than the words, had some inflection of a threat in helo feeling that Aunt Agnes' prayer might be them.

the one thing that made Slater Knapp turn back I do not think that Slater Knapp had been

n after he had left the little child.” conscious of my presence before ; or, if he haj, he thought I was a mere child, idly watching

And Uncle Kerr answered the scene out of mere curiosity, for every one

“And I am herein taught again that faith and says I am small for my years, and they are only i prayer are deeper than all philosophies and thirteen. He darted now a quick, surprised theories of men.” glance into my face, and then all over me.

boy.”

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Prose received, but not yet read.-" The Village, quest); "An Amateur" will also please to accept this Shop;” “Jetty" (no stamp enclosed as stated); answer. “The Lecturer's Family" (the obscure state of this “C. M., Cork."-We could only find two of the MS. renders it almost impossible for us to form an poems asked for, which were duly posted for her. We opinion of it); “The Fruits and Flowers of Palestine" will endea vour to procure the others. (we have read this interesting paper, but fear we shall MSS. declined, roith thanks.--"The Ambassador's not be able to make use of it). :

Daughter ;' “ The Picture and its Story;" "To be New MUSIC.-"Beautiful England," and "I'll be told in the Dark” (we have an idea that we liave seen all smiles to-night.” These songs, unfortunately de- this tale in print--the title, at all events, is very nicar layed at the oflice till too late for notice this month, a plagiarism); “The Protester, a tale of Booners shall receive due attention in our next number. | days” (unsuited, from its tone, to our pages) ; " Pada

Accepted.--"A Colloquy" (the writer is respect. / more Ileath and its privileges ; " "Miss Cattertoni fully informed that we cannot comply with her re- | Favourite."

PRINTED BY ROGERSON AND TUXFORD, 246, STRAND,

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