Newspaper Page Text
8
LLtwr, r he cews.
I don't know why. I don't know how
But suroly. ’twu n<* harm at all
T» atop n minute «t ibo
And listen t<> h«*r milking t ill
“Co Bosk
It sounded **>
Alrosa th«* vallow-t«s**led eorn !
Hureljr, th«* n. *n w.v» u**ver born
Who would not tatva his team an l roato
To h**!f> b**r drive th** '•■ittle home.
The old folk lived across th** hill.
But snr*dy, 'tw is no harm at all
To kiss h**r. whil«* the holds sth still
A list'nlng to her milking call;
"Co Bow f’o!”
It aounde i so,
It mad** the tardy rolun start.
The squirrel bent the leave apart
To see ua a-walklng down
Toward tho sleepy little town.
I don't know how, I ilon't why,
Bnl surely, 'twas no harm at all
Th<* stars w**r*> in th** summer s’<y
IWora th<- cuttle ranched lh<*ir stall.
“Cc Boss Co!”
Ii rings on so. '
Tho moon, from off his groat wnito shield,
Has tossed It back into tho Held,
And still the whisp ring e**hot>« come
And follow me, a-walklng home.
- Herman Have, in Bongs mi l Ballads,
KITTY’S MISTAKE.
V TTTY
• ever menu
.
marry ?”
V The speaker was
M C\ pretty N a o m i
Stearns. She was
& m A . Preston’s seated in Kitty
/ pretty
.rj rWM T / . morning room
yffi-polf just the pine** for
l girlish confidence
» N,////c “There, now,
-j m Naum i! Y o u
. needn’t begin (hat
sort of question
just, because you
■*' are engaged and
I am not?" Kitty laughed as she spoke.
“But seriously, now, Kitty”—
“Seriously, Naomi, 1 have not as
vet, found one I care for!”. As
Kitty spoke her cheeks flushed, aud
she questioned herself if she were
tolling the truth.
“How about Philip Merton?” asked
JNinomi.
“.Nonsense! Phil hasn’t stability
of character. He would never cling
to anything or any place. I’d be
afraid to trust myself with Phil.”
“You may lie rigid,” assented Na¬
omi. “I have heard father say that
Phil was ‘a rolling stone;’ but there's
Harry Brooks; not much roll to him.”
*• “No Harry is lazy. No girl ought
ho marry Harry until 1 m gives evi¬
dence of some energy of character.”
“Well, then, there is Howard
Graves. ”
“He thinks too much of his money
aud position, and, after all, he isn't
any better than many a poorer man.
That is, I don’t want any of them. It’s
•ot that l think l am too good for
them, but I don't want to marry.”
Kitty gave her hairbrush an impatient
little toss.
“Well, don't wait too long, Kitty
Yon may main a mistake in that," said
Naomi, with a warning shake of her
browu. fluffy hair.
“Bu ms to me l had better wail for¬
ever than to make l he mistake so many
girls make, replied Kitty, soberly.
Naomi ran lightly down stairs and
home, to glance shyly at the new ring
sparkling upon her finger, while Kitty
strolled out into tho rose-scented gar¬
den.
She began to think of what she had
said, when she was interrupted by
Aunt Margaret. She was a dear old
lady, whom Kittv had invited to make
her homo.with her. Kitty’s father,
Dr. Preston, had died four }*ears ago,
and two years later her mother fol¬
lowed him. Kitty meant to take up
the duties of life bravely, but she felt
it so lonely ! Then she thought of
Aunt Margaret away up among the
Vermont hills, who was lonely alsy.
Why shouldn’t they live together? So
Kitty wrote for her to try for one
winter. They grew to love each other
so dearly they lmd not separated.
“Do you want to be alone, Kitty?”
“No, l only felt a‘little sober.
Naomi has been talking to me about
getting married. Think what dread¬
ful times some of the girls have had
since they married. I’d rather stay
with you, auntie.”
Aunt Margaret knew Kitty might
have added “and be like yoif,” for this
quiet, gentle woman was a maiden lady.
Something in Kitty's face had touched
her heartstrings, and she passed quiet¬
ly into the house, leaving Kitty to her
reflections, which oddly enough, were
turned upon Ernest Seabrook just as
that gentleman opened the gate aud
walked toward her. Mr. Seabrook
was a tall, dark nun of irreproachable
reputation tm.l kimlly impulse.
was forty-three years old, but Kittv
always forgot his ege. She liked him.
... fact, much better than am- ' of her
young lover,
She was startled as this thought
thrust itself upon her. Was he her
lover? She had driven w,th him.
had walked and sailed with him; he
had frequently been her escort ou pic
lover eouhl ~ B „ "in;;? tag
1 ;s’-»: , ,rioS , v
-
o
her father or an eld-rlv friend. Kit
ty felt there were other thoughts to be
analyzed, but there was no time now ;
she must attend to her caller.
“Good morning, Katherine.” He
addressed her familiarly, because he
had known her from her childhood,
nut he had never called her *‘Kitty
since he came home from a long ab
sence abroad.
“Good morning, but why don't you
call me -kitty?’ Other people do,”
she excUnned. “You used to call me
chikt. h -h D \v l hen ’ I i* came WAS WljeD home yOU and TVere found R
my Kitty had grown— ’
“Into a cat! interrupted Kitty,
g y ‘
“neaven lorbul . ’ Not into an ugly,
scratching cat but a demure young
you - V ’.K-^r juity. ? Ql -iliss. at J 1 reston lberk -7 kerned to eail
too formal, so I decide ! upon ‘Kath
enne. besides, 1 don't want to call
you by the name everybody else calls
you, and ‘Kitty seems really too
babyish for one of your earnest nj
tar «*”. ..........— ------
THE MONROE ADVERTISER, FORSYTH, GA., TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2 t , 1894.- EIGHT FAGES
“How do you know I am earnest?
I'm always joking when with yon.’* j
“True, but I know underneath it all j
is an earnest nature.’* |
Mi Heabrook looked down into
Kitty's face with an expression which really j
half-convinced her that she was J
a very sedate young lady.
“But »f we get to moralizing I may
forget the exact words of my sister s
merge. It is a request that yon
should come over to tea with us, row
aft‘-r ward, then a little music, and so ;
on before home.
h.tty knew what these delightful ;
afternoons meaut. She was always
happy at the Seabrooks'. It was Mar
tin,Sea,brook wb< > hved ,n this de
lightful place with a lovely wife. This
ha 1M |y couple made a home for Ernest
and his sou Ellis. Ellis was twenty
two, Lruest and had at been present widower was for traveling. fifteen |
a
years. Humor said he had not mar- j
ried happily, but lie never mentioned
his wife’s name to Kitty.
“Of course I will go,” said Kitty. j
“Then I will call for you at three,” j
and he bowed himself away. j
“Isn't it the usual time for Mr. j
Seabrook s vacation?” asked Aunt •
Margaret when kitt; entered. |
• les, but his brother is not well
this summer, end so Mr. Ernest has
giv.-n up his vacation to assist lmn •
about his business, and contents him
self with such outings as he can get oc
casionallv.”
“Very kind in him, I’m sure.”
“Yes -Mr. Ernest is a kind man,”
and Kitty ran upstairs to array herself
in some white fluffiness that made her
look like an angel. Afterward she
rode away.
The tea-drinking was like all
at that house—enjoyable. The river
was as placid ns a river could be. An
old time boat song blended sweetly in
their united voices, for Ernest insisted
upon Mrs. Martin joining them. Was
it merely Kitty’s fancy? Ernest’s
hand seemed to take a stronger pres
sure than usual as they floated down
the bright pathway cut by the nioon
beams. Kitty did not mean to be
prudish, but she suddenly drew her
hank away and then discovered Mr.
Seabrook scowling under his hat.
Kitt}* felt disturbed. The thoughts
which shs meant, shouldli&quietly tin
til she got read}* to attend to them
were forcing themselves upon her.
She felt frightened at herself and iimo
cently wondered why.
But at last the evening was over.
The little boat was safely moored and
Kitty found herself at her own door.
There was still a bit of constraint on
Kitty’s part, but none on his. He
touched her hand with the same old
time good-night pressure and left her
t.o dream over it all.
“If he does really care for me why
doesn’t ho say so?” queried Kitty,
walking with an impatient tap of her
little bootheels aeross the hall floor.
“Did you speak, Kitty?” asked Aunt
Margaret.
“No, auntie, I was only thinking. ”
“Then 1 heard your thought, Kitty
Katharine.” This was what Aunt Mar¬
garet called her when she was very
much in earnest. “And I can tell you
j cm 0 thing,” curious she continued, “lovers
are very creatures. When yon
think they are going to say something,
they don’t; and when you least expect
it, they say a great deal.”
“But Mr. Ernest isn’t mv lover,”
protested Kitty, for the sake of hear¬
ing what her aunt would say.
“Oh, he isn’t ! Then I have not
divined correctly!”
“But, auntie, lie is old enough to
be my father. He is forty-three and
I am twenty-three.”
“Makes no difference, and to my
mind he is worth all the young lovers
{tut together, ”
“That may be, but he is only an
old time friend after all,” and Kitty
made her way slowly upstairs.
Was that all? And why should she
care? Kitty began to be conscious of
a new. strange feeling in her heart,
am! determined to settle the matter
then and there.
She locked her door and sat down by
the open window. The moon was shiii
ing brightly, and her thoughts went
back to its bi ight path as they floated
in the “Siren,” and to the hand pr-es
sure Ernest had given her. She sat a
long time and when she had classified
her thoughts they rau in this way.
“Yes—after all, I do care for Ernest
Seabrook very much. Can’t help it if
he is old enough to be my father—I
like him.” Kitty dared not say, “I
love him.”
She awoke iu the morning feeling e
little dissatisfied with herself, but war;
taken out of her thought for herself
by a telegram which summoned Aunt
Margaret to a distant, city. After the
bustle of her hurried departure had
subsided Kitty’s thoughts returned.
She scolded herself mentally. “This
won’t do,” she thought. “I will go
| over to Longwood for a day and
!
The Osbornes lived nt LongivooJ.
Tliov wore her friends and relatives glidlv wS- of
the Seabrook,. Kitty was ° 7
corned '
bv all.
, ••Ton find us in quite a hurried
preparation for a wedding Kittv bnt
vouTl help advise us 1 know vou
taste is evqnisite.” 1
so
‘-How line vou will all be!” e*.
claimed Kittv, glancing nt the piles p of
srs “r- b:;; - - —
t no!
. my nephew-. Strange you have
1 : had vour invitation!”
Mrs. Osborne was suddenly called
1 from the Kitty thankful
room. was
She had turned white and faint. “Of
course she meaus Ernest Seabrook.
He is her only nephew. Aud to think
—to think —Kitty did not know what
to think. She had flushed and paled
by turns. “After all, he has not said
one word. 1 must have been siUv to
imagine it,” she moaned. Kitty had
not recovered her composure before
^ Irs - Osborne returned.
“You see, it's all quite sudden. It
is simply making up of an old-time
lovers’ quarrel,and now that it is peace
they are anxious to have the wedding
as soon as possible, aud I told Ernest I
guessed it would be the better way.”
Kitty paled again at the sound of the
aame -
“Why—what ails you, dear? Are
you suddenly sick ? Here, lie down
here and try to sleep a bit!’’
Kitty turned her face to the wall
that she might not have to talk. She
tried to school herself to composure,
but Mrs, Ouborae kept bits of inf
mation chipping about and Kitty ;
listened listlessly, feeling as if she
would never care for anything again,
Hhpn Mrs. Osborne remarked, How
nice it will be to have them settled in
Lakewood,” Kitty feebly repeated:
“Lakewood.”
eM » *y nPS ^ ~
Parsons estate and , they are to t i- livo
there.
Kitty knew the place very well It
was next to her own. How could she
ever bear it. She wanted to go home
where she could think and learn
ho w to bear this unexpected trouble, i
it lacked still an hour of train time.
“I must go. Indeed, dear Mrs. Os- :
borne, “Then I shall take be care better of yourself, at home. now, J (
was the parting admonition as Kitty,
ro< l e away. !
Kitty was thankful Aunt Murgret
Wfts ftW ay. “J wonder what she will
think about his being my lover now
thought Kitty, bitterly. “Seems she
was mistaken this time.”
Kitty sat again in the moonlight
and came to another decision. , ^
“I must go away for a time. I can- {
no t stay here through it all. I will j
send Nancy home for a visit to her !
mother and take Mary with me and go ;
-where? Anywhe/e— up among the (
mountains, where 1 can hide myself
until I can command my foolish self.
Two days later found the house
closed and Ernest Seabrook, calling
there, found all doors r.ud shutters
closed and everything wearing a look
of desertion. He returned and ques¬
tioned liis sister.
“Gone!” she echoed iu surprise.
“Kitty never said a word about it.
She generally tells me her plans.”
“Perhaps she was suddenly called
away.”
“Yes, but even then she has sent me
notes on several occasions, but I’ll go
over and call on Mrs. Sanderson. Per
Imps she will know something about
it.”
“I feel as if something is wrong,”
said Ernest.
“So do I and I’ll try to find out
about it.”
Mrs. Sanderson was Kitty's nearest
neighbor, and Mrs. Martin Seabrook
Side over at once, and in the course
ot her conversation casually inquired
for the Prestons.
haven't “They all went idea off suddenly. I
the least where they
went,” said Mrs. Sanderson. “Nancy
went first, then Mary aud Kitty. She
! went over to Longwood a couv>le of
days before. Looked sick when she
came home, at least she walked as if
she were sick when she went into the
house.”
Mrs. Martin returned homo per¬
plexed.
“I feel positively worried, Ernest.
Suppose you run over to Longwood
to-morrow?”
Ernest looked at his watch.
“Time enough to go and get back
to-night,” he said, and rushed out for
the station.
Arriving, he was eagerly questioned
as to whether he had seen anything of
Kitty Preston.
“She was here three days ago and
was really sick when she went home.”
“She has gone somewhere—house
all shut up. We feel a little troubled
about her. For some reason or other
Martin’s wife has the feeling that
something is wrong. What did she
talk about here?”
“Not much. I did the talking. She
was surprised to hear of the wedding.”
“Well, we hadn’t* mentioned it.
Fact is, Ellis got rather sweet on
Kitty, but she passed him over, so
when he made up in that quarrel with
Marie ho felt foolish about it and
wrote us not to mention the affair to
her until it was over, We never
thought to tell you uot to mention
! it,”
“It can’t be Kitty cared for Ellis?”
j said Mrs. Osborne.
I ‘Of course not, else why didn't she
marry Ernest. ^him when he asked her?” re¬
Ernest returned, feeling troubled.
<< ^ ve think of some way to find
I ^ e1 '’ Q U0 enie. ’
Queenie, was Mrs. Martin s pet
name *
“Now, let me think, she said,
“M rs - Sanderson said Nancy went
* ir& 'E shouldn’t wonder if Nancy
to visit her mother in Globe
v *^ e -
“Then, I shall follow Nancy to mor¬
row,” said Ernest, decidedlv, and he
did.
He found Nancy without trouble,
antl ' nas 8' iven Kitty’s address—a little
towu U P among the mountains. Next
morning he started for the same place,
Arriving, after due inquiries at the
h°tel, he learned that Kitty had
been there, but had left the day be
^ oro - ^hc had left her address, how
ever > aEul thither Ernest quickly fol¬
lowed.
Kitty had found her accommodations
1 too limited and noisy and had secured
three apartments in an old nalilmg
farm-house a couple of miles from the
Allege. Here the sun peeped In from
, sunrise to sunset, but its shining 8
brought no gladness to poor Kitty
1 ^he was losing color and strength. All
the while she alternately pitied and
, blamed herself. Sometimes she al
; lowed herself to blame Ernest.
: 0n this particular morning she was
art, i&jz r-a
\ *.h»*>w Ml sm““
across her folded arm,
bhe , looked up to see Ernest Seabrook.
Kitt v s P run g to her feet with a sudden
*
andgladevclamationof welcome,which
me ^ te ^ away all her determined re
serve * Then, remembering, she di
• re< * t5 ? froze fS* in *
^ as ^iien a sudden enange of man
R 0r that Ernest wondered. Kitty was
as kmg hurried questions about the
wedding and tendered her congratula
tlons effusively. Ernest wondered
a 8‘ ai »
“But I am not the happy man,” he
protested. Kitty looked astonished,
“It is my sou Ellis.” Kitty remained
speechless with astonishment.
“Hid you think she meant me?
What, after all our sails and drives and
—well—well! You must have thought
me a precious scamp!” He took her
hands in his own.
“Katherine, I have come up here to
find you—to tell you how dear you are
to this particular old man.” A sudden
* thought and hope to him, he
time as
looked on her blushing face.
“Katherine, did you run away from
me?” -— v ^
“N—no—” stammered Kitty, “I ran
away from your son !”
And the rest of the story was told
under the apple tree.—Chicago News.
Courting by Music,
Conrting by means of the flute it
very popular l among the Sioux Indians.
Xbo flat e h made of w Ulow, or some
other wood that has a bark easily de¬
tached. and is usually about one foot
iu i ength . It has several perforations
through the barkj eftoh of wh ich repre-
6ent8 ft musical note . The gound pro
duced though somewhat shrill and
i* nn * uunleasant to the ear
The youth who desires a wife
first mentally fixes his choice upon
‘ r,
gom o{ his trib ‘
Then> gQme leftSaut evening) he
takes his flute and strolls through the
village in the airection of the tepee of
tho maiden s fftther . He stations him
self in a convenient spot, about fifty
or sixty }*ards from her abode, aud
then drawing the reed from beneath
his blanket begins to play a plaintive
strain.
While the young man fj
fTtheYs‘lodge,"list- .ZJ
q U i e tlv within her
’
ening to the seren ade with character
istic Indiau composu ^. When it be
comes perfectly apparent to the father
that llis daughtev is the object of this
masical attraction, he steps to the
edge of the wigwam, glances in the
direction of the player, and, if it is
dark, issues forth and cautiously creeps
behind the youth and ascertains who
he is.
Then he returns to his daughter and
makes known his wishes in words
somewhat like these:
“Go, my child ; he is a worthy Da¬
kota, and will make you a good mas¬
ter or “Remain, my daughter, he is
not a desirable person.”
The maiden, in obedience to hei
parent’s wish, advances timidly toward
her lover if he is favored; or, if the
paternal judgment condemns him,
withdraws into the dark recess of the
tepee. In case the suit is favored,
and the maiden had gone out to meet
the warrior, the young man, upon see¬
ing- her approach, gives a triumphant
“toot” upon his flute, and then, throw¬
ing down the instrument, rushes for*
ward to greet her whom he has so
easily won.—Million.
A Migratory Statue.
Startling as it . may seeni, it ... is a fact
the equestrian statue of General
^Cott has been recently in some mys
If. 110118 moved out of position.
The matter was brought to the atten¬
tion of Colonel William Wilson^ Com¬
missioner of Public Buildings and
Grounds, a few days ago, in an anony¬
mous communication. He went out
and looked at the statue and didn’t
notice anything wrong with it. The
matter worried him, nevertheless, and
he ordered a careful examination to be
made, The result was unmistakable
evidence that the mass of bronze,
weighing 12,000 pounds, had moved
on its pedestal, five inches to the north
and one inch to the west of its original
position. The change had not affected
its equilibrium in the least, and the
statue was in no danger of falling, un¬
less the mo vement should continue. It
was decided best, however, to put it
back where it belonged. This was
successfully accomplished this week by
a large force of men, with the aid of
jacks. Massive bronze bolts were
utilized in securing the statue to its
granite pedestal, and nothing short of
an earthquake will move it again. It
is impossible to explain the action of
the statue. There are all sorts of
theories, but the one to obtain the
most credence is that the statue was
forced out of position by the fierce
hurricane that visited the city in No¬
vember, 1891 . The statue is very much
exposed and undoubtedly felt the full
force of the wind on that occasion.
Colonel Wilson said to a Star reporter
to-day that he felt very grateful to his
anonymous correspondent for calling
his attention to the matter and added
that he would like to thank him in
person if he would make known his
identity—Washington Star.
A Dog’s Suicide.
Half a dozen boys amused them¬
selves for an hour to-day violently
chasing a dog owned by Ellis Hughes.
The animal was first routed out of a
warm bed in a sunny nook and driven
into tKe road. Then the howling
urchins started in pursuit of the yelp¬
ing canine. It leaped fences and
found itself finally in a strange back
yard. Three minutes later two of the
boys found the panting cur and shied
a handful of stones at it. With a wist¬
ful and weary look the dog trotted
away, crept out of the yard and was
met by the other four boys with shinny
clubs.
... blow hind leg made him
on one
* ia3 P* ^crushed do** n an alley and
| '“"J 1 ‘ “," 4 ,“ 1 “
j ? ,7 ? f t p
hot and breathless dog was
! ( w.th pa.n
' u NT
„ He tens driven . then through alleys,
stt f‘ s “ J W* h«t tntn clt.be
and stones, and at the end of an bonr
tte *‘ re>1 ,r ate 10Ib *' Ll ‘
. .
i‘F<ri“ “Vltop KfetaT d
° limp .M and liieies, Wy ,: ■ He 0
! , hiVl f 1 101 ' 6 to eSca P e tlleir
cruelty.-Philadelphia , - Record.
i
j j A Fairy Tale ot Science.
Sir Robert Ball, in one of his popu
j i ar addresses, described the diamonds
; as consisting* of an enormous number
of separate molecules, swinging to and
: f ro among themselves at a rate of some
m iiu ons of vibrat i 0 ns a second, all in
'action together, and quivering with
the shocks of impact. If we had a mi
croscope which would magnify «v mil
lion times, we might be able to see
this action ; all we can do at present is
. to believe it. The cause of the dia
mond’s extreme hardness and impene
pressed' trability is that, when a steel point is
agRinst it, the active njole
C ules bafter that point with such
vehemence and rapiditv that it cannot
get beneath the crystaliae surface. In
! catting glass the molecules of the
diamond drive the molecules of the
i glass Fike before them, or mow them down
a mitrailleuse.— London Pall Mail
Gazette,
WOMAN’S WORLEY
PLEASANT LITER ATI'KK POE
FEMININE READERS. !
A TYPICAL AMERICAN WOMAN.
The W orld s Fair portrait of Mrs.
Annie Jenness Miller, whom Mr. Jml
son, an English artist, is said to have
selected as one of the typical American
women, is now at her home, in W ash
ington. The gown in which she was
painted is a marvel. It was made iu
Constantinople, the front being of
black Brussels net. embroidered by
hand in dull green, pink and gold,
while the train is of gold-green bro
cade. Courier-Journal.
RICHEST GIRL IN WASHINGTON.
Miss Helen Carroll is probably the
richest girl in her own right in Wash
ington. She is a sister of Royal Phelps
Carroll, the owner of the yacht Nava
lioe, and has inherited an income of
$ 40,000 a year from her grandfather,
Royal Phelps. She inherited from her
mother, w*ho was half Spanish, a dark,
serene beauty, and she seems to pos¬
sess ever}* gift of nature and fortune,
as well as a sympathetic, kiudly heart. 1
She is the intimate friend of Miss
Sibyl Pauncefote, Sir Julian's second j
daughter, with whom she passed one
summer at the musical festival at Biar- j
ritz. On this occasion Miss Carroll
took her own piano across the oceau
with her, because she was accustomed
to its tone.—New York Advertiser,
HIGH-NECKED GOWNS.
At the last White House reception
all the ladies of the receiving party
wore high-necked gowns by order of
Mrs. Cleveland. Aud the autocrats of
society are asking: “Are the women |
of our Cabinet families going in for j
high-necked simplicity at any and
every cost just because Mrs. Cleveland
says so?”
Every woman in the Cabinet circle,
everj* woman invited to receive with
her, began at once to consult her dress¬
maker as to how best to “fill in” the
full dress reception gown decollete.
All Saturday last the dressmakers were
snowed under recession gowns that
must be done in time for tho White
House reception on Monday. The ef¬
fect was not charming, but Mrs. Cleve¬
land is a young mother and fears tak¬
ing cold.—New York Commercial Ad¬
vertiser,
A CHINESE WOMAN NURSE.
Probably the first Chinese woman
in this country to try to qualify her¬
self as a nurse and doctor is Cy Yoko,
of San Francisco. When a baby she
was sold by her parents in China to
highbinders, and by them brought to
the United States. She was early
taken charge of by the Methodist
Mission, was raised and educated at a
mission home, aud for the past three
years supported herself by nursing
among the Chinese. She feels so keen¬
ly her lack of knowledge in her chosen
work that she is desirous of striding
first in a nurses’ training-school and
afterwards at a medical college. The
chief difficulty in her way is the oppo¬
sition of the other pupils in the
nurses’ school, some of whom object
to having a Chinese girl room with
them, eat with them, and meet them
on a plane of equality. The final de¬
cision in the matter rests w*ith the
Board of Lady Managers.—Harper’s
Bazar.
END OF A PATHETIC CHAPTER.
The English-speaking world will ex¬
perience a strange thrill at the news
of the death of Mrs. Thackeray. Last
Christmas her husband had been dead
thirty years, She herself had been
unconscious of his existence or his
love, had been ignorant of his genius
or what the world thought of it since
early in their married life, upward of
fifty years. The insanity which was
to separate her from him fell upon her
during the Frazer days, and she proba¬
bly never knew of “Vanity Fair,” or
for once realized its author’s fame.
There is a touching story to the effect
that her only pleasure was, when
Thackeray came to see her, to beat
him with her poor, harmless hands;
and it seems to be fairly well authen¬
ticated that once, at least, when a
scandalous story was told of his dis¬
appearance from London'he had been
on a visit to the Lancashire village
where she lived. She dies at seventy
five, a link with the past, indeed, but
such a link; so mute, so sad and af¬
fecting ! Her death is, too, a theme
above all others that the great novel¬
ist would have felt appealing to his
own melancholy, To have outlived
him so long, to be the only silenced
echo of the days of his poverty and
disappointment, during thirty years
to have known to be alive but by few
of his old friends—it seems as if one
might says that the news finished the
chapter of Thackeray’s pathos.—Phila¬
delphia Times.
COUXTRY GIRLS AND CITY LIFE.
There should be a special act of
Congress passed providing that this
letter should be printed, framed and
hung in every country school-house,
every village seminary, every small
city high school. The woman’s name
is Martha Everts Holden, and the am¬
bitious girl of whom she writes had
written to her:
“I felt like posting an immediate
answer and saying, ‘Stay where you
are.’ I didn’t do it, though, for I
knew it would be useless. The girl is
bound to come, and come she will. She
will drift into a third-rate boarding
house, than which if there is anything
meaner—let us pray. And if she is
pretty she will have to carry hei’self
like snow on high hills to avoid con
lamination. If she is confiding and
innocent, the fate of that highly per
secuted heroine of old-fashioned ro¬
mance, Clarissa Harlowe, is before
her. If she is homely, the doors of
opportunity are firmly closed against
her. If she is smart, she will perhaps
succeed in earning enough money to
pay her board bill and have sufficient
left over to indulge in the maddening
extravagance of an occasional paper of
pins or a ball of tape. What if, after
hard labor and repeated failure, she
does secure something like success?
No sooner w*ill she do so than up will
step some dapper youth who will
beckon her over the border into the
land where troubles just begin. She
won't know* how to sew, or bake, or
make good coffee, for sueh arts are
liable to be overlooked when a girl
makes a career for herself; and so
love will gallop away over the hills like
a riderless steed and happiness will
fin re like a light in a windy night.
“Oh, no, my little country maid,
stay where 3*011 are if you have a home
and friends. Be content with fishing
f or trout in the brook rather than
cruising a stormy sea for whales. A
great city is a cruel place for voting
lives. It takes them as the eider press
takes juicy apples, sun-kissed and
flavored with the breath of the hills,
aud crushes them into pulp. There is
fl eider spoonful is of juice The in each whose apple, but
cheap. girl of mc
eess you read is, in niue cases out of
ten, the girl with a friend at court
who gives her the opportunity to show
what she eau do. Without such a
friend the path of the lone girl iu a
great city is a briery, unhill track.”—
Detroit Free Press,
FASHION NOTES.
The newest in prayer books is a
small green lizard skin with gold bind
iug.
Many tight coats of black cloth with
revers of fine “baby astrakhan” are
woi u.
Black satin and cloth dresses art
mucb worn by elderly ladies with loose
ve ^ ve t coats or astrakhan oloaks.
Accordion-plaited materials are still
highly fashionable for dress skirts,
blouse fronts, bretelles aud epau
lettes.
Sable and mink capes are worn for
carriage and walking as well, as they
are readily thrown off when iu
church,
An occasional long seal coat to the
bottom of the skirt is seen, but they
are not much worn for walking and are
difficult to remove in the pew.
Plaids, checks and fancy mixtures,
in which dark red, green, old rose,
blue or brown predominate, are sold
in remnants of three to five yards foi
children’s school dresses.
A collarette of sable tails is consid¬
ered the most elegant for "neck wear.
A half dozen full tails and claws and
heads dangle around the throat, ap¬
pearing like several animals.
Gloves for wear with tailor-made
gowns are of heavy skin, like those
used for men’s gloves, They are dark
red in color and are closed with four
pearl buttons or have two patented
clasps.
A very charming little bonnet h
made with a wreath of delicate blush
roses for a brim ; for a crown a bow of
black velvet ribbons fastened with
large pearl pins, and to complete all
the inevitable velvet strings.
Accordion-pleated flounces, blouse
fronts, and sleeve puff's and frills are
much used on evening toilets of silk,
crepon aud crepe de Chine, and the
rage for accordion-pleated gowns and
trimmings is to last indefinitely.
Braid has been treated in a new way,
which has found especial favor for
mantles and capes. A collar of gradu¬
ated rows of braid, United by herring¬
bone stitches of black silk, is supple¬
mented by a plaited flounce of the
same style, used for edging the cajie
and the skirt of the cloak.
Some of the dainty head dresses
worn this season, called bonnets by
courtesy, are intended exclusively for
theatre wear. They are composed
chiefly of a coronal of velvet, jets or
flowers, to which are added an aigrette
or perky little bow, a few* jeweled pins
and strip of ribbon velvet.
The tendency of the winter fashions
is toward the broadening of the figure;
the wide revers, the-flariug collars, the
big ruffs, the drooping sleeves and the
lengthened shoulder seams counter¬
balancing the full flaring skirts, and
the new overdresses which, while grace¬
ful, add bulk to the figure.
Coats, capes and jackets look besl
fashioned with the very popular larg(
Worth collar cut in one, that is, with¬
out any neck seRm. ThiB method gives
a certain grace, and an appearance of
a length where it does not exist. As
the spring season advances it will be
made of lighter cloth, velvet or silk,
and on warm days it will be used to
complete the tailor costume without
any other wrap.
The latest novelty in neck gear is a
long scarf of black ribbon about two
fingers wide, finished on each end with
a deep ruffle of cream white lace. This
scarf is put around the neck from the
front toward the back, crossed there,
and brought back in front to tie again
in a big bow with ends that come to
the bottom of the waist, and it is in¬
tended to be worn around the throat
under the coat. When the coat is un¬
fastened the effect is very jaunty.
A Ring’s Own Story.
Picking up from the sidewalk the
other morning what appeared to be a
gold ring, with empty claws showing
the removal of a stone, the finder took
it to a jeweler in Eleventh street for
inspection, He examined it for a few
minutes under a magnifying glass and
said:
“Yes, this is a gold ring of fourteen
carats. The stone it contained was a
three-carat diamond. It was worn a
number of years on a slender woman’s
third finger. Then it changed hands
and was enlarged by the insertion of a
piece of gold of inferior alloy, and
may have been worn on the third finger
of a stout woman or the little finger ol
a man. The diamond was removed by
a clumsy hand, probably by a thief,
, who either accidentally dropped the
ring or threw it away where you found
] it. I never saw the ring before, but
plainly read its history by the same
process of observation, analysis and
deduction that an Indian unconscious¬
ly employs in detecting the testimony
of a forest trail.”—Philadelphia Rec*
ord.
Water Charged by Lightning. .
During the prevalence of a thunder¬
storm in the neighborhood of Seis, iD
the Tyrol, the lightning struck a
heap of old wood which was piled on
a rock, splitting the latter and setting
fire to the former. When the flames
had beer, extinguished it was noticed
that a stream of water flowed from
amid the rubbish. ^ urther examina
den showed that tne stream pre
seeded from the iightning-c-reaten
deft in the rock, and chemical
analysis demonstrated that the water
was impregnated with iron and mag
[ nensrn iu the form of sulphates.—New
York Telegram.
HOUSEHOLD MATTERS.
MABBLF.D CHICKEN.
Take a fat, full-grown chicken, and,
after dressing it in tho usual manner,
wash and boil until very* tender, using
only a small quantity of wnter, and
season with pepper, salt and butter.
Cut all tdie meat from the bones, kecj
ing the breast and dark-colored ment
separate. With n sharp knife chop
the meat moderately fine and press in
a large bowl, putting the white and
dark meat in alternate layers. Strain
the liquor in which the fowl was
cooked and pour it over the meat.
Set on the ice until thoroughly cold ;
turn from the bowl, cut in thin slices
and serve with sliced lemon,—Home
and Farm.
CORNED BEEP HASH.
Thomas J. Murray, the well-known
luthority aud writer on culinary mat¬
ters, makes hash as follows: Boil a
three-pound brisket of corned beef
three hours, changing the water twice ;
set aside in the pot to cool. The next
day remove the fat and gently press
the beef. Mince small a medium
sized ouion aud fry in a little butter ;
cut small a sweet Spanish green pep¬
per and add this to the onion; eoolj^
two or three minutes, add a greeninj^p
apple cut in cubes, a lump of sugar
and a gill of clear stock, together with
a heaping tablespoonful of chopped
celery; cook ten minutes aud add
three medium-sized raw potatoes cut
iu small dice, with another gill of
broth. Cook twelve minutes and add
as much minced beef as 3*011 have in
bulk of the above mixture ; season to
taste and stir until very hot, but not
browned. —American Agriculturist.
POUND CAKE.
“They don’t make pound cake
‘pound for pound’ in these days,” said
one of the pound-cake makers for the
Woman’s Exchange, “but tho formula
is about as easy to remember if one
says to herself: ‘Six ounces of butter,
seven ounces of flour (after it is sifted),
eight ounces of sugar and half the lat¬
ter number in eggs—that is, four.’
To this add a pinch of ground mace,
or two pinches if }*ou like, or n quar¬
ter of a nutmeg and the grated rind of
a half lemon and the juice. No bilking
powder or soda. Depend oh the
beaten whites of the eggs for the light¬
ness. I know it is the custom it mak¬
ing this cake to beat, the flour and but¬
ter together first, but I never havo
bad luck, and I bent my butter and
sugar together first,; then I add tho
beaten yokes of the eggs; tlfen the
flour with the mneo and the grated
lemon rind, and when my papered
pans are greased and oven ready the
beaten whites of eggs are added to tho
cake and stirred in hurriedly. When
the eggs are beaten to a stiff frfith I
add the lemon juice to them ami use
the egg-beater vigorousl}*.
“You do not want too hot an oven
to start with. I sometimes open niY
oven-door for several minutes before
putting iu the cake. Cook books will
tell you the exact number of minutes
required to bake your loaf—but don’t
be mislead; your minutes will vary
with your style of oven and your kind
of fire. Don’t always pin your faith
to a brown splinter either. When
your cake stops ‘singing’ it is done
every time.”—New York Tribune.*
HOUSEHOLD HINTS.
To keep oranges and lemons in per*
fection, hang them in a wire net iu a
cool and airy place.
Cut-glass should be washed with hot
suds and a brush to cleanse all the
small divisions of the pattern.
When ink has been spilt on a carpet
wash at once with tepid water and
soap, or ammonia, greatly diluted.
China trays are popular for handing
tea from a teakettle. They should
match the color scheme of cups and
saucers.
Potatoes should be kept in barrels,
while other vegetables should be placed
ou hanging shelves in a cellar that is
cool and airy.
Pittgs, when in need of shaking,
should be hung on a line in the open
air and carefully beaten with a whip
per bought for the purpose.
Silk underwear should be washed in
tepid water with ammonia, thoroughly
rinsed and hung up to dry with per¬
fectly clean clothespins.
To sweep carpet thoroughly, wet a
pint of corn meal slightly with water.
Sprinkle it over the carpet and Bweep.
It lays the dust and is a good cleanser.
Crude oil is an excellent polish and
cleanser for both floors and furniture
of all sorts, except highly finished
wood, such as mahogany or bird’s-eye
maple.
Windows which have broad sills can
be utilized as book-shelves, places for
the family work-basket or for writing
materials, and in small rooms they
prove useful spaces.
For an evening entertainment the
Vienna method of serving coffee is a
new departure, The coffee is sweet
ened and creamed to taste and left to
cool. Before serving, a heaping table¬
spoonful of ice-cream is put into each
cup. Small glasses can be used for tho
purpose.
For a party of fifty little boys and
girls there should be 100 chicken and
tongue sandwiches, cake of all kinds,
cut in thin slices, and small cakes,
iced and plain. About three gallons
of strawberry and vanilla ice-cream
will be sufficient. There should also
be eight pounds of assorted candies, a
few dozen mottoes and plenty of fruit.
To make good sardine sandwiches
remove the skin and all traces of bone
from a sufficient number of sardines.
Then cut to a paste with an equal
quantity of the yolks of hard-boiled
eggs. Season with salt, pepper and
lemon juice. Spread on thin slices of
bread from which all crust has been
cut, and fold in triangles. Wrap in
battered paper until ready to serve.
The glaze on a laundered shirt front
is more the result of knack and prac¬
tice than of any particular secret,
though many persons think there is
some way of preparing the starch that
ijill give the required glaze. Wax,
turpentine or borax can be added to
the starch with good effect. A good
plan when the shirt front has been
: ironed is to rub it ^all over w*ith a
piece of damp white castile soap and
iron it over again. It is to the pres¬
sure of the iron that the gloss is in 4
gteat measure due.