Original in Good Housekeeping.

I

RENOVATING MEN'S CLOTHING.

How Many Useful Articles May Get a New Lease of Life. N the first place there are the neckties. Take them out of doors and fill a bowl half full of naphtha or gasoline. Dip the upper soiled portion of each tie quickly in the gasoline; then place the lightest colored tie on a folded cloth and rub it lightly with a soft, white cloth, which must be dipped frequently in the gasoline. When this tie is clean, take the next lightest, and so on until they are all cleaned. Now fasten them by the bands to the clothes line, and leave them there until all scent has left them. Never use gasoline near a fire or a lighted lamp. After gathering the neckties from the line take any needful stitches in them and place them in their drawer.

Men's fine shirts frequently give out in the neckband while the remainder of the garment is in good condition. To remedy this, wash the garment to remove as much starch as possible. When dry, carefully rip off the old band. If this is too worn to cut a pattern by, get the right length by another shirt band or by one of the collars. Make the band of linen, interlined with cotton, and stitch on the machine; then make the necessary buttonholes. Make other repairs on the garment if they are needed, then it is ready for the laundry.

The suit of clothes take out to the clothes line. Shake each garment well, with the pockets turned wrong side out, then lay it across the line to air. Now take the vest and carefully brush off every remaining speck of dust with the whisk broom, which may be dampened; next lay the vest on a work table. Have at hand a bowl of warm soft water, in which are a few drops of ammonia; have also a bowl of clear soft water; have soap, some made for the purpose or laundry soap; two soft cloths near the color of the clothes, and a hard little hand brush. Dip the brush in the ammonia water, rub it on the soap lightly, then with it scrub all the spots from the vest. If there are spots of jelly, honey, or such food, scrape them off with a knife after they have soaked for a little time, then scrub vigorously with the brush. Now wring one of the cloths from the ammonia water and wipe all the soapsuds from the vest. Shake the brush from the ammonia water and scrub the whole front of the vest. This is to prevent the spotted appearance cleaned garments often have. Now take the dry cloth, dampen slightly in the clear water and rub the vest well, then hang it on the line to dry.

Brush the coat thoroughly with a dry whisk broom, then with a damp one. As often as the damp whisk broom looks dirty rinse it in a pail of water and shake off all the water possible. Brush the pantaloons in the same way, then clean the garments on the work table as the vest was cleaned, being careful to scrub especially hard along all seams where dust may have collected. After the garments are partially

dry, place them, one at a time, on the ironing board, cover with a thin cloth and press them carefully with an iron which must not be too hot.

Now look the garments over to see what stitches must be taken. Vest buttons may be bought at dry goods stores or at tailor shops to replace those too much worn. If there are places to be darned, place a piece like the garment underneath, or if you have nothing like it, something much the same color and the same or lighter weight. This piece first baste in place, then catch it down firmly with cross stitches to prevent the edges raveling. Use a coarse sewing silk for this work. On the right side, darn back and forth over the broken threads onto the patch until you are sure it is well done. Afterwards place a damp cloth over the place and press with a hot iron.

Men's summer hats, when made of straw or kindred substance, may be cleaned by being thoroughly brushed with a small, dry, hand brush; then rubbed well with vaseline or sweet oil. A muddy hat may be cleaned with coal oil, then left in the open air until the scent has gone. It will then be found in nearly as good condition as before the accident. -Carrie B. Sanborn.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

IT

THE ART OF DARNING.

T is surprising, when one considers the abundant opportunities for exercising the accomplishment, that so few girls are able to lay a really neat darn. In many cases this is not the fault of the girls themselves. The mending is usually done in a hurry, and there seems no time for special lessons in neatness. It is just as easy, however, to do the work neatly, and many expert needlewomen find it quite as fascinating as embroidery.

Take stockings first, because they are always at hand. Have a darning ball if possible. The smallsized wooden dumb-bells do nicely, and this kind of exercise will be a pleasant change from the fancy drill. Always work with the right side of the garment towards you, no matter what it is. Begin your darning well below the hole at the left; take long, even stitches on the under side, short ones on the upper, and do not allow the edge of the material to show on the right side. Lay the threads side by side across the hole, leaving them neither tight nor loose, simply smooth. In the second half of the darn, cross these threads at right angles, weaving in and out without an error, and making the whole as close and firm as possible. Even stitches, and no ragged edges on the right side, are the things to bear in mind.

For darning woolen dress goods, it is absolutely necessary to use threads ravelled from the cloth itself. This is not half so hard as it sounds, and the stitches made this way are quite invisible. Lay a piece of the cloth under the rent, and fasten the edges in place by basting. Then run your needle back and forth

across the tear, long stitches underneath, short ones on the right side, and always straight with the thread of the goods, either lengthwise or crosswise. Never attempt to darn anything on the bias. Press your work carefully when it is finished, and you will find that, after all, it is not such a dreadful thing to have torn your gown.

These directions apply equally to the darning of cotton goods, with this addition: The work must be done while the tear is fresh, before the edges are stretched out of shape. Above all, do not wait till the garment has been laundered; starch is a sworn foe to beautiful darning.

-Agnes Noyes Wiltberger.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

I

KID GLOVES.

N order to appear well dressed it is necessary to wear neat gloves, neat both in fit and general appearance. It is economy also in this, as in other things, to buy a good article, a glove that will reward one for the giving of proper care. A cheap glove, when it begins to rip, will very often rip all over, while if a stitch breaks in a well-made glove, as they will sometimes in the best, it may be mended on the wrong side with cotton thread of the same color and be "good as new."

To remove a glove from the hand, take hold at the wrist and turn it wrong side out; then turn it right side out, smooth, and air well before putting away.

When black kid gloves become soiled, or worn in spots or turned white from wear, good authority says to "wet the spots with black ink." A good way is to apply it by means of a bit of flannel on the end of a small stick, then mix a few drops with a teaspoonful of sweet oil and with a flannel rub the mixture all over the gloves and dry them in the sun. When dry, put them on to stretch them smooth, and polish with a soft flannel.

Light-colored gloves which seem to be soiled all over, may be much improved by putting them on and "make believe washing hands" in a pan of white corn meal. They should be washed carefully ten or fifteen minutes, then folded for awhile in a towel with a weight on them. Spots on light gloves may be remedied by dipping a piece of soft flannel in a little ammonia and then rubbing it over a cake of Ivory soap (yellow soap will not do), after which rub the spots diligently, but gently, till they disappear. As the flannel becomes the least bit soiled, change to a clean place or a new piece.

Wash gloves, which are still fashionable, may be, I am told, washed very satisfactorily in hot water in which is put one teaspoonful of salad oil, or sweet oil, to every quart of water used, first rubbing all the soiled spots with pure white soap. They should be squeezed, not wrung, shaken out and dried-slowly by a fire, rubbing them occasionally between the hands to soften them.

-M. I. McGregor.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

THE APPLE.

Of all the rare fruits which our planet has grown,
The apple by right stands supremely alone;
For were 't not for it and our good Mother Eve,
The world I believe, had less reason to grieve;
And Satan knew what was the best thing I'm sure,
When he started, long ages ago, to allure

Our friendly relations, though we wish for the while
They had eaten of fruit that was freer from guile.

But you'll find just the same, that the schoolboy to-day
Athirst for his knowledge, will pause by the way,
And fearful that some one less robust than he
Might eat the green fruit, will belabor the tree;
The fruit in his jacket, and some deeper yet,
He partakes of a feeling he ne'er can forget;
For the bright shining apple when not fully grown,
Like the cucumber, does its best work when its down.

The apple pie, homemade and juicy and rich,
The smell of whose cooking makes the appetite twitch;
With cheese served "ad lib" causes one to lament,
That the size of the oven circumscribed its extent;
On an often baked platter the crust falleth o'er
And crimped at the edge to attract us the more,
And a hole in the middle-a true nickel slot-
From whose aperture rises a vapor most hot,
An odor all tempting, till you wish 'mid your sighs
"Your stomach as hungry by half as your eyes."

There's many a one in this orchard of life,
With an estimate small of the worry and strife,
Who grows, as he thinks, the choicest of fruit,
To find his crop knurly and crabbed to boot;
For the apple, like all of humanity, bears
The sweetest of fruit in the freshest of airs;
With a soil and a graft that are both of the best,
The Lord and the sunshine ensure us the rest.

But with some, as with us, there's a singular way
How the apples in barrels, in the light of the day,
Look as if all the prime ones had climbed to the top,
And the nubbins and rotten had taken a drop;
For a very mean apple, whether ruddy or green,
On the top of a barrel has never been seen.

There's a beauty in May time, as every one knows ;
The sky drops its snowflakes of sweet apple blows;
A shower of pink and of white, and an air
That's full of the perfume of chemists most rare;
O, where in the world could you find such a treat
When an orchard in fruit you happen to meet?
There are some that I know, which bend nigh the ground,
Where Greening and Pippins and Russets abound,
And Baldwins and Astrakhans-many another,-
Dispute the rare mèrits of taste with each other.

There are Apples of Sodom; of ashes and smoke;
Love apples-tomatoes-so christened in joke;
Of discord, for which as mythology shows
Juno, Minerva, and Venus 'most came to blows.
Apple butter, not butter at all, I'm afraid,
Which serves to fill up all the chinks in the bread;
And as for the moment we leave you again
In the juice of the apple we pledge you; 'tis plain
That no other fruit has such wonderful powers,
As this Heaven-born, sin-born, rare apple of ours.
-Edwin H. Shannon.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

THE DEN.

Its Opportunity, Condition and Purpose. F there be a man in the house and a room to spare, set it apart for his den. Let it be as far removed as possible from noise and the numberless unintentional but nevertheless disturbing interruptions of members of the household and others, coming and going, for quiet is a prime requisite of the den. Aside from this, if located "upstairs" and out of the way of callers, its possible disorder is kept in a measure under cover, to the greater peace of mind of the tidy housewife.

The furnishing of the den may be made a simple or an elaborate matter, as taste, inclination and bank account dictate. Speaking broadly, the less display the more solid comfort, and from a man's point of view, the more comfort the better he is pleased. Very often furnishings prized for the associations that cling to them, but voted undesirable for other rooms because they are old-fashioned or not in keeping with other furnishings, will answer admirably for the den. To begin with there should be a long, low couch, aheap with soft, inviting pillows-birthday or Christmas gifts, perhaps-where "John," "Will" or "Bob," as the case may be, can fling himself at full length (boots and all) without dread of consequences should he muss everything up," as he is very apt to do. Then a writing desk with the necessary paraphernalia, where one may write undisturbed and where personal papers, household memoranda and accounts can be safely kept for private reference and attention. A table of some sort is also essential for papers, magazines and pamphlets that may be taken up and thrown about in careless fashion without a thought as to appearances, and which, finding an abiding place in the den, are not cast about to litter up other rooms into which callers are apt to go.

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In the matter of chairs the supply should be equal to the demand, but there should be at least one really "easy" chair among the number. A set of book shelves is desirable for favorite authors and other literary matter of purely personal interest; if space, taste and purse admit, a bookcase standing from the floor would be of course more ornamental and roomy. Put a covering of matting upon the floor (it is easy to sweep and can be got in ornamental patterns), with a rug here and there; hang a dainty curtain or two to the window or windows, and the den, for all practical purposes, is ready for occupancy. Further furnishings are mere matters of detail and may safely be left to the workings of time and the personal fancy of the monarch of all he surveys. If perchance "John" be of an artistic temperament he may add lanterns, decorative fans, rare prints, hangings, trophies of rod and gun and bric-a-brac galore, and soon the room will reflect his character most pleasingly.

To the manly man the den offers a room in which he can be as thoughtless of appearance as he pleases, answerable to no one but himself for the consequences; where he may conduct himself as best suits

Twenty-five clams chopped fine, six potatoes chopped fine, two onions chopped fine and a piece of salt pork, also chopped, and butter about the size of an egg; salt and pepper to taste; the clam juice and one pint of milk and the same of water; six crackers rolled and one nutmeg grated. Boil these slowly for at least four hours, adding water if it becomes too thick. Half an hour before serv

ing add a coffee cupful of tomato catchup and two tablespoonfuls of Worcestershire sauce. When ready for the table add a tumblerful of sherry, and serve with a lemon cut in slices.

Clam Fritters.

Take twelve large or twenty-five small clams from their shells; if the clams are large divide them. Mix two gills of wheat flour with one gill of milk, as much of the clam

liquor, and one egg well beaten. Make the batter smooth, spoonful into boiling lard; let the fritters fry gently, and then stir in the clams. Drop the batter by the tableturning them when done on one side. Many people prefer to have the clams chopped, rather than in the larger pieces.

Baked Clams.

Wash well, and put in pot with just enough water to keep them from burning. Cook until shells open; then take out and stir them up with some of the clam broth; season with salt and pepper and add butter. A couple of slices of buttered toast put into the dish before pouring in the clams is very good.

Clams Cooked with Cream.

Chop fifty clams and season with pepper and salt; put into a stew pan, butter the size of an egg, and when it bubbles up add a teaspoonful of flour; cook a few minutes; stir gradually into it the clam liquor; stew three minutes; add a cupful of boiling cream, and serve. Clam Soup.

Twenty-five clams, open raw and chop fine; add three quarts of water; boil them one-half hour, then add a pint of milk, one onion chopped fine; thicken with butter and flour; beat three eggs in the tureen and pour your broth over them boiling hot.

The clambake has long since won popularity for its name, and those who are fond of its various dishes, will doubtless be glad of the above recipes, which have been carefully selected.

-Emma Louise Hauck.

PLEASURES

The Deadly Drug.

Forest Lake.

O, little lake among the hills How beautiful thou art! The memory of thy delights Still lingers in my heart.

I love thy dancing wavelets bright,
Thy wind-tossed, troubled breast,
I love thee, too, when thou art still
With all thy waves at rest.

I see the swift-winged swallows,
Skimming thy bosom o'er,

I hear the plaintiff whip-poor-will
Calling from shore to shore.

I think of thee when night lets fall
Her mantle dark and still,

And countless solemn stars look down
Upon each vale and hill.

On darkening woods and shaded cove, And peaceful shore beyond, Changed by the magic of the night Like touch of fairy's wand.

O, little lake among the hills,

I love thee as thou art; And never from my memory, Thy image shall depart.

THE WHOLESALE ABUSE of the human system through promiscuous drugging is well understood, yet the more publicity is given to the danger, the greater seems to be the desire to extend the experimentation. Much is said regarding the employment of drugs in the bar room, but, says a leading paper, the drugs which are dispensed in bar rooms in the shape of palatable drinks are few and harmless in comparison with the nostrums which are sold by druggists to people who are entirely ignorant of the properties or the effects of what they buy and take. "The coal-tar products invented or discovered by German chemists within the last ten or twelve years," said a physician in speaking of the matter, seem to be the most popular. Among them are acetanilid, phenacetine, antikamnia, antifebrifuge and antipyrin. Some of

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these give almost instant relief from all sorts of nervous headaches, and it is nothing unusual to hear people say when they know that an ache or a pain is giving a friend uneasiness: Why don't you send for some phenacetine or antipyrin? It is the best thing in the world to take.' The person gives the advice in good faith, not knowing that some of these remedies, if taken by people who have heart trouble or who are otherwise not strong, will have a most injurious effect. They do not know that distorted vision may result, and that besides having a decided hypnotic effect some of these remedies have been known to produce vertigo and other disorders. The sufferer goes to the nearest drug store and asks for 'a dose' of phenacetine, takes it, is possibly relieved and becomes at once an advocate of the remedy. It will probably be taken by the average person more often than is necessary, the doses will have to be increased in size, and sooner or later bad effects must result. The headache cure habit is not confined to men and women; it embraces children, and any physician will tell you that he knows of cases where mothers have dosed their children with coal-tar remedies rather than send for a physician. We cannot invade the family circle and lecture the parents who play with the health of their children, but we have a right to call druggists to account for assisting in the work. Without the co-operation of the druggist the abuse of drugs would be impossible, but despite the efforts of the medical societies and notwithstanding the prohibitive legislation on the subject, druggists continue to supply people with poisonous mixtures without receiving authority to do so in the form of a physician's prescription. This does not apply to the headache remedies, but only to draughts, balms, salves and lotions for every ill that flesh is heir to. The physician knows the weakness of his patients, and he knows also the shortcomings. of the druggist, and for these reasons the words 'no repetition' are written on many prescriptions. This is done to guard against a fond mother giving 'Tom' what was intended for 'Dick' or 'Harry' and to

Work
is

Health.

"IT IS WORRY THAT KILLS," says the proverb; and truer words were never written. And it might be added that it is the wear of monotony that kills at the most rapid rate. No man of his years has a stronger hold upon life than Chauncey M. Depew, and this genial gentleman gives away his secret of health and strength in this manner: I see every little while men break down who are ten, twenty or thirty years younger than myself because of concentration and anxiety, because of work and worry upon one line, in one way, on one thing. Work is health; worry is death. Life is an enjoyment of the work by which you live, and then a larger enjoyment of the work by which you contribute, as best you may, no matter under what discouragements or what criticsms, to the living, the enjoyment and the health of others. "Variety is the spice of life," is an old adage. Variety is generous living and longevity.

AN ALABAMA WOMAN is said to have two tongues. There is no mention of her husband, and the probability is that she has not married; but how she must be envied by her less fortunate "sisters!"

A Bicycle Peril.

THE BICYCLE has come to stay-there is no doubt of that fact—and probably no one would vote to have the wheel as an institution abolished. But there are some abuses connected with its use which might well be reformed, and we must continue to hope that the good sense of riders will gradually do away with them. One of the most dangerous, absurd, and unjustifiable of these is the practice of mounting small children-no more than infants, in many cases-in front of an adult rider, and thus accustoming them from their earliest. days to the rapid and dangerous pastime. It is because of its danger that this custom should be tabooed. These little lives are priceless, and the man or woman, even though a parent, who needlessly puts them in peril, in even a remote degree, should be held strictly answerable. That such peril is in no degree imaginary is sufficiently attested by the distressing fatalities already recorded in this connection.

We are prepared to indorse the remarks of an earnest woman, who thus points out some of the elements of danger: Then there is the much smaller rider who is no rider at all, but is ridden on his father's wheel. I'm sure to his discomfort—the baby's-for he doesn't like the dust nor the wind nor the noise, and to the great horror of the lookers-on. Carrying infants on the insecure little baskets of a wheel should be prohibited by law as well as "scorching." To argue that the baby is as safe as it's father is no argument at all, for no one is safe on a wheel, either on the city streets with the electric car track or on the country roads with their treacherous sand heaps, and wagon ruts. And an upset, to which every rider is liable, while rarely hurting a man might injure the little creature for life. I am wretched every time I see a foolhardy man risking a little life so recklessly, and long for the power to put a stop to his so doing.

"ARE YOU IN PAIN, my little man?" asked the kind old gentleman.

"No," answered the boy. "The pain's in me."

As Others See Us.

THE STUDY OF physiognomy has many interesting features, and there is no doubt that many persons are born with the instinctive power of reading character from faces, while many others educate themselves to do this with considerable accuracy. But it is a curious fact that while one may become an expert in reading his fellow-man, his own physiognomy remains a sealed book. A medical journal discusses some phases of the matter in this interesting way in its editorial columns: It has been said by one who ought to know that no man has any clear conception of how he himself looks. The expression of the face is continually changing. No artist, no camera, can catch this changing, fleeting, evanescent expression. When you look in the glass, the very intent to find out how you look is depicted on your face. The more you strive, the more the intent is intensified, and such an expression is not natural to your face. How often do we look at a photograph and find only disappointment in it? Why is this? The camera depicts the sitter just as he is at the moment the picture is taken, but very seldom can the instrument catch and record that subtle thing called "natural expression," because few persons are natural when seated before the camera. Well, what of all this? Simply this: If you are noble, loving and true, such virtues will light up your face; if you are sordid, mean and selfish, your face proclaims it to the world. Anything in your life that is active for either good or evil will impress itself upon your personal appearance. Pride, scorn, hate and lust write themselves indelibly in the physiognomy. When such ignoble qualities rule the life and have become habitual, they are impressed on the face and finally themselves become habitual to the countenance, and the features themselves become permanently changed to accord with such expres