HIRED WEDDING GARMENTS.

BY JEANIE DRAKE.

OVE rules the court, the camp, the grove; or so
says a minstrel whose harp notes, less grand
perhaps than those of Tara, have yet a pretty,
old-fashioned melody of their own.
And, pos-

sibly, this wide-reaching sovereignty may have helped sweeten the atmosphere of No. 91 Ridge Street for the fastidious Norman Keith-pacing the filthy pavements for as short a space either way as would permit him to turn. Some wariness even then was necessary to avoid stepping on various mud-encrusted children who wandered between the doorsteps of M. Schneider, "Ladies' Tailor," and the gutter; or being jostled by sallow women passing with shawls over their heads, or unclean, foreign-looking men in long beards and coats and shabby, tall hats.

He had been waiting now nearly an hour for the re-appearance of his wife-upstairs with M. Schneider; and had been frustrated in an attempt to seclude himself from embarrassing public attention in a lower room, found out to be full to reeking of Polish and Hungarian workmen, the steam from ironing woolen, and the racket of sewing machines. With the pavement his only alternative, the average man can understand the gloomy disgust with which he surveyed the variegated, dingy beddings hung out on fire escapes; the malodorous handcarts, around which collected noisy, chaffering groups; the piles of refuse; the dirty shop-windows, with signs in unfamiliar Hebrew characters.

"Ah, dere! Mister Dude!" said a grimy urchin, purposely running against him; and strong words rose to his lips. But just then a tall young lady, brown-eyed and rosy-cheeked, came quickly down the steps. She smiled, and he straightway brightened; for they had been married but a few months, and it was an undemonstrative belief of his that the sun, moon, and stars shone in her smiles.

"Here, take my arm. We must force a way through this mob. What a beastly place! Even to hang on to the plat

form of a Grand Street car will be bliss after this. For heaven's sake, Isabel, is there no dressmaker uptown, that you come to this man in such a quarter? How did you ever hear of him?"

"Oh, it was Mrs. Hatton found him from something she saw in the paper; and lost her way the first time; but has all her dresses made there now. My dear, his price is absurdly low, and such a beautiful fit."

"It would give me a beautiful fit, I know, to attend his proceedings again. As it is a tailor, however, you will all find his gowns better-fashioned, more quaint, more pleasing, more commendable' than some industrious woman's work. What a crowd in that little den when we went up-and a surly brute he looks."

"He is a little rough," Isabel admitted; "twists and twirls you about like a dummy, when he is measuring.'

"He does!"-lightning gathering.

"I wish you would not scowl like that. With glasses it makes you resemble Emin Bey; and you know, dearest-like Ben Bolt's sweet Alice-I tremble with fear at your frown."

Her laughing coquetry did not wholly dissipate the cloud. "Oh, see here," she said, pressing his arm a little closer, "is it not delightfully ridiculous ?" In a small shop window, near Grand Street, was an inscription: "Wedding Outfits to Hire." A draggled white satin gown hung side by side with a rusty dress coat; and on a cushion in front lay a pair of soiled white slippers, and a crushed and tawdry orange flower wreath.

"To Hire'!" Isabel repeated, with her pretty low laugh. "Imagine hiring one's wedding suit, and returning it next day."

"It is droll," he assented, peering at the things, and forgetting his irritation.

Just then their car came along, and they made a little rush for it and succeeded in getting on. But, by ill-chance, she was squeezed into a corner in a decidedly rough-looking crowd of passengers; and he, near the door, could see but the top of her little toque, and stood next a man whose breath was violently suggestive of the cup which cheers and also inebri

ates.

So his grievance had a chance to reassert itself; and

when, at the end of a lengthy ride, they were walking the short distance to their apartment, he said, a trifle peremptorily: "Now, Isabel, I hope this is the last trip to that den. I cannot spare another afternoon to go with you, and of course you cannot go without escort. But, as you have been there twice to be measured, he can send you home the gown now, and if he doesn't-you are not quite a Flora McFlimsy." "How do you know that?" saucily. Supposing that my wedding outfit was hired,' and I am trying to accumulate a few gowns, gradually."

"Try to accumulate a few ideas, instead," he replied, with impertinence. . And having, with latch-key, let themselves inside the friendly shelter of their door, he stooped to kiss her by way of stimulus.

It was high time they should hasten to dress and dine, as it was their evening for receiving a few friends, men who came to them every Thursday, a select detachment from Norman Keith's bachelor club, "The Night-blooming Cereus."

The rules of the club forced him to resign, on marriage. "But I don't mean to give you to give you all up," he declared, "and Adams, you and Clay, and some of the others, must come to my rooms once a week."

"I don't know," demurred Adams, a journalist, who thought women a bore and a check to rational conversation; and whose attraction at the "Cereus," besides its choice spirits in both senses, was that they had no "Ladies' Day."

"How would Mrs. Keith like the noise of all of us talking at once, and spoiling her wedding presents with tobacco smoke ?"

"Mrs. Keith," placidly, "does not smoke herself, but can endure it in others; and she likes to talk and to listen, and I want her to hear you, so come."

And the very first Thursday, when the name of their little party was under discussion, Isabel suggested that it was at least the handle of a club. "Why not," said she, "call ourselves The Chafing Dish Club' ?-figuratively-we need not rub each other the wrong way, but I can make it appropriate otherwise, if you will all help me to cook; for our hornyhanded slavey retires early; and I have invested in a delightful chafing dish, and a little book with fifty recipes for it."

"It has I suppose it has-the best one for a Welsh rare

bit?" asked Adams with interest, drawing nearer.

mix yours with a little ale ?"

"Do you

"Oh, with ale, certainly," said Isabel; and they plunged into a culinary discussion; from which moment his heart clove to her. And now, a gay little supper, with many cooks who did not spoil the broth, was an understood ending to informal talks and occasional music. The journalist having been to a "first night," did not make his appearance on this occasion until the alcohol lamp was already lighted.

"I sniffed the omelette from afar, and said 'Ha, ha!' he declared, entering; "it is 'aux fines herbes' and has a suspicion of ham in it. But why should we work so conscientiously through the 'Fifty Recipes,' Mrs. Keith? That last kidney stew 'au Madère' was just perfection."

"We must not repeat ourselves," Isabel pronounced, inexorably, "until we have tried each of the Fifty' in turn."

She had tied an apron over her gray and silver, and tucked up her sleeves daintily.

"Oh, come, come!" cried Clay, with impatience, "the play's the thing!' Restrain your greediness for awhile, Adams, and tell us about it."

"Fairly good; some effective situations; Miss Dean does very well; but a trite plot, which always vexes me. Young couple passionately attached; some trifle light as air-coolness-suspicion-estrangement-outsider's meddling—and a general wrongheadedness and careful avoidance of saying or doing the obvious thing, which makes you long to shake them all. True to life, perhaps-I'm a bachelor, myself-but seems impossible-with sanity."

"You count too assuredly," said Clay, "on an invariable mens sana in corpore sano; and don't allow for indisposition, mood, circumstances, and the thousand and one gusts which whip humanity about."

"I do," said Adams obstinately; "but I call it all wrongheadedness. If I have the wit-or, what it takes-to acquire a treasure, I might have the sense to keep it. Murchison, you lazy animal, stop sketching Mrs. Keith as 'la belle chocolatière!' and get up and hand the cups around."

The boyish-looking artist laughed and blushed. His admiration of Mrs. Keith's poses was an open secret.

"Speaking of marriage," said her husband-"take care, IsaVOL. LXXXII.- 43

bel, that's hot-Mrs. Keith and I saw something odd to-day." He described the "Wedding Outfit" window. "Suggestive idea, is it not? A humble couple returning the festal garb— donned for a day only-and going back to patched and dingy attire. Speaking broadly, and as in unregenerate bachelor days, I think the analogy might be pursued."

"Just so," said Adams, "a wedding outfit consists surely of other matters than 'ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things.' A man can hardly remodel himself, though it would be a good job sometimes; but he generally has a reserve fund of strength and gentleness and humility, which he would do well to bring out for permanent use then. Among other unconsidered things are faith, hope, and charity; and the greatest of these is charity. What are you smiling at, Mrs. Keith ?" "Was I smiling? You have not mentioned a woman's outfit, Mr. Adams."

"Well, the things which most worthily charmed him should be her lasting property, and not hired for the occasion. Beauty may fade; but grace and brightness and sweetness need not; not even such homely gifts as good sense and good temper." "Did you write How to be Happy though Married,' Adams?" Clay asked languidly.

"Good sense and good temper,'" echoed Norman Keith; yes, those are excellent gifts for both, and, if I should add a qualification, it would be good fellowship. What sage was it said to choose as mate the man or woman who as friend would be an unending pleasure? How can the wedding of a pretty toy or mere housewife compare with the pure delight of harmony in tastes, and bright, responsive good-comradeship?"

His wife, under screen of the chocolate-pot, gave him a swift, lovely smile-which Adams divined.

"Lucky dog!" he thought, but said aloud: "I shall begin fitting myself at once-with unselfishness-for a wedding which might possibly take place in a better world, only there is no marrying there. Which means-good-night, Mrs. Keith, since it is one o'clock."

Isabel would hardly have asked her husband in any case to give up a third whole afternoon from his work, impatiently to tramp Ridge Street at M. Schneider's pleasure. Though all with them had been smooth sailing over a summer sea, she had an instinct that that way breakers lay. For Norman seri