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THE JESTER SINGS.
“Love is but a passing passion.
Life of things a foolish fashion.
Death a sound of empty knells;
Take, <) take my cap and bells 1
Take," the jester sang,
Loud his clear voice rang,
"Take my cap and bells'
"What is love oeyond the wooing?
Fame, except its own pursuing?
Beauty, save for what il sIls?
Take, O take my cap and bells!
Take," the jest'-r sang.
Far his mad voice rang,
“Take my cap and bells!
“Fools' who now the wine cup draining
Seem to laugh, but still are feigning.
The spring of death so near you wells!
Take, O take my cap and halls!
Take." the jester sang.
Shrill his hard voice rang,
“Take my cap and bells!
“Know I cure for all your sorrow,
Take it ere a drear to-morrow
Toll, too soon, your passing knells;
Take, O take my cap and bells!
Take," the jester sighed
(Fain himself had died),
"Take my cap and liells!”
—Elizabeth Atherton.
013 Xj I A r l O IST.
A Posthumous Study.
BY MME. GEORGE SAND.
[NKVKR BEFORE PUBLISHED IN ANY LAN
GUAGE.]
Translated by Ixw Vanderpoote.
Nichette, so I think, is the sweetest and
the most delightful woman in nil France;
and that, certainly, is saying a great deal.
lam a sort of a combination of painter,
*culptor, poet and musician, though indo
lence —to say nothing of the lack of genius
—has kept me from accomplishing any
thing in either of any consequence; and you
would not remember me if I told you my
name, In my childhood I was almost en
tirely without playmates, so I took to books
instead of to trinkets, and my elders were
foolish enough to encourage my abnormal
tastes. Consequently, when 1 was a young
man of 15, I was at a loss to understand
why the women I saw in life were so unlike
the* lovely creatures who figured in the books
I had read.
A little later, when my preferences en
forced my drifting into the various and in
viting channels of art, I saw that art wom
en, as well as book women, had hut little in
common with the women of everyday life.
I can scarcely say that I was disappointed—
I was. only puzzled. It seemed to me that
there was something wrong atxrnt both the
real and the ideal women. There was much
in each which appealed to the natural im
pulses and instincts of men; and there was,
also, much in each which men of fine na
tures must necessarily deplore. If women,
the women whom men were to have for
wives, mothers, sisters and friends, could
only have the liest attributes, and none of
the faults, of both real and ideal women,
there, indeed, would be u sufficient reason
for turning one’s l>aok on heaven anil bask
ing in the glory and splendor of woman in
stead. The danger of this is, perliajis, the
reason why women are as they are, and not
as they might be; that is, all women but
Nichette, who. pardon me for saying it,
could not be changed in any way which
would improve her.
I first met her about two years ago when
she was'JO and 130 years, old and, also, when ]
1 was almost driven to the conclusion that the
kind of a woman which 1 have just de
scribed as my idea of the woman a man
could not help taking to his heart was not
to he encountered in this life.
N ichette was all that I had longed for and
expected, and even more. She idealized my
ideal. Of course I fell in love with her at
once. My notions and whims concerning
women in general did not please her at first,
for, like all who are possessed of fine, self
critical natures, she believed herself vastly
inferior to every one else. But she soon set
down my fancies as the honestly meant but
erratic vagaries of a dreaming philosopher,
and so her love and kisses were not long de
nied me.
One day she was sitting on the gnarled
root of a great shade tree and I was lying
in the grass at her feet. It was summer; the
air was warm and full of the voice of birds
and liees, and I was full of love and admi
ration for pretty Nichette, who was making
fun of my frequent and rapturous compli
ments. At last feigning petulance she made
a pretence of kicking me, whereupon I
snatched off one of her dainty little slip
pers and refused to surrender it until she
premised to behave better.
But she would not promise, and so with
mock gravity I lay holding her slipper in
dead silence. She sat watching me for two
or three minutes, and then suddenly bent
over me and asked what I was thinking of
that made me so grave.
“Oblivion,” I answered, sepulchrally. *
"Oblivion,,'” I answered.
Jumping up 6ho rescued her slipper and
put it on.
“Oblivion!” she echoed, trying to croak it
out as dismally as I did. “Ah, me! That
cornea of thinking when you have an empty
stomach. I go this iastant for refresh
ments.”
And then laughing mid kissing her fingers
to mo she darted away.
I watched her out of sight, thinking all
the while that I was the most fortunate man
on earth to have won the love of such a
woman. I wondered if she thought I was
in any sense in earnest when i told her that
I was thinking of oblivion. Even joking
about it seemed like mi insult to her. Ob
livion, indeed, when Nichette was mine!
“Oblivion bestows more than you think
if you have only the sense to rightly employ
it, said a low voice at my side.
I thought I must have toon thinking
aloud and that someone liappenedto be near
enough at hand to overhear me. Turning
my toad, I looked up into such a face as I
hud often seen in classical art-pieces, but
uever before in life.
Sitting on the very root where Nichette
hnd been was an old man with very hainl
tome dui-k eyue and with checks its fresh and
nink as those of a schoolgirl. His hail- and
heard were both snow white and each
w-cur-d at least n yard long. He was
dressed in loose white masses of drapery,
not wholly unlike the ill-ess of the ancient
Greeks. Upon his heal was a Ui-to.u in
which several jewels glistened and his fret
were nandalciL I glanced about me to see if
I was not di-leaning, but the toes were still
humming, tne birds were still siugiug,
everything but my strange visitor was is-r
--fcctly natural ami normal. He understood
my action and smiled.
"No, my win,” he said, “you are not
weeping. I am a reality: us much so as your
■tlf."
“Who are you, and how came you hero
in my garden?” I asked, thoroughly as
tounded.
“I came to talk with you about oblivion,
and to take you where you can fully under
stand '.vhat it really is, he answered.
I looked in the direction whence Nichette
had gone, and again the old man seemed to
guess out my thoughts.
“You can see and hear nil. and can yet re
turn lief ore tier, if you wish to return after
hearing and seeing,” he said, arising.
My curiosity was aroused, and scrambling
to rny feet I bade him make haste and
promised to follow him. I thought him
some harmless lunatic and was wondering
how far he would insist upon my going
when suddenly before we hail gone twenty
paces l saw as I raised my eyes that I was
in the midst of a landscape which until then
I had never seen, though a moment before I
would have solemnly sworn that there was
no part of the country, for at least ten
miles, which I had not many times ex
plores!.
We had entered a hollow flanked on three
sides by high mountains and only accessi
ble at the point where we were passing.
We walked on with great swiftness for a few
moments, and then the hollow widened in a
round, level valley like an amphitheatre.
In the centre of this we paused and my
guide signed for me to look about me. In
utter amazement I did so.
On one side of the valley, pouring ap
parently out of the solid side of the moun
tain, Was a broad sheet of water, of crystal
purity and clearness, which fell with a
strange, weird murmur into untold depths
below. The part of it which was visible
was about 30 feet square, and it looked like
the undulating silver veil which concealed
the beauty and loveliness of some rare
harem.’
Opposite this waterfall was a temple, the
glistening columns, cornice anil stairs of
which seemed mndc of alabaster. Strangely
enough, the greater part of this structure
seemed to retreat hack into the very heart
of the mountain. It was dimly lighted by
tapers within, and its long rows of pillars
went back, hack, back, as fur as the eye
could penetrate.
My guide led me into this temple. Justin
side its first arch we paused.
: Wm
My guide led me into the temple.
“You are surprised, my son,” he said, fac
ing me and smiling. “I doubt if you ever
before realized how close together are the
higher and the lower worlds—how brief is
the stop between them. You have seen
much here, but you have still more to see.
Yonder is the water of oblivion, and this is
the temple of its devotees. I am its high
priest.”
With this we advanced further into the
temple, passing pillar after pillar and under
arch after arch. The lights burned softly,
our fixitstops made hut slight sounds upon
the smooth, polished floor of semi-trans
parent stone, anil in the air there hung faint
odors of delicate perfumes, which changed
and varied constantly.
Having ourselves, the temple seemed de
serted. My guide moved more slowly now
than he did when wo were coming up the
hollow, and, without a sign of imjierious
ness, he had grown majestic.
“Be heard. he suddenly exclaimed, and
instantly soft strains of witching and pas
sionate music stole in upon us from every
where. Still there was no one in sight. The
music continued, but in a strange, indifinite
way, without taking upon itself melodic
shape and character. It seemed like the
accompaniment to a succession of love
songs, it was sweet, impressive harmony,
made of love whispers and love sighs.
My guide noted its effect upon me, and
smiled at my delight.
“Appear!” he exclaimed, presently, in
the same startling, unexpected maimer as
before.
There was n sudden rustling and a tink
ling of little bells, and then, as if they
stepped out of the endless rows of shining pil
lars, the whole place was filled with smiling
maidens. Such of their wondrous beauty
as was net wholly uncovered was height
ened rather than concealed by the fleecy,-
silvery scarfs they wore. Their feet were
in jeweled sandals and jeweled bands held
their loose, streaming hair I sick from their
faces. Upon each of their bare arms, also,
were two jeweled bracelets. Their ages
seemed to run from Hi to 20, and, singly as
well as collectively, it was such a revelation
of womanly perfection and beauty as, I am
sure, no mortal ever dreamed of. Poor
Nichette! How she suffered in comparison
with these splendid,matchless women! Be
side their perfection of form Riul fact-—the
latter 1 now mean from the standpoint of
toauty—there was, u]x>n the brow and in
the eyes of each, the unmistakable impress
of marked and decided intellect. This, to
me, w-as more wonderful and astonishing
than their shapeliness and grace, and I re
marked the same to my guide
“These are my proselytes,” lie said, “and
you tux- the first mortal I have ever deemed
worthy to see them. Do not look sur
prised”: though I am a stranger to you, I
have been watching you for a long while.”
The maidens, still smiling, stood atomt us
at regular intervals, waiting api>aix-ntly for
another signal from him who hail pro
claimed himself master. Taking me by the
hand he led me up half a dozen stairs,
where, side by side, wp paused upon a dias.
My companion then spoke a word in a lan
guage unknown to me, whereupon the
maidens togan something which was neither
a march nor a waltz, but which jiartook of
some of the elements of both.
Finally, I observed that they were grad
ually lea ving the temple and forming a series
of circles in the valley outside, totweeu the
temple and the waterfall. At last my guide
and I were the only ones in the temple.
From where we stood we could see very dis
tinctly their graceful, almost rhythmical
movements. In my heart was the yearning
wish that this might go on forever.
“.Sisin they will return,” said my guide.
“While they arc gone I wish to ten you
something of vast importance. This ilav Is
the turning point of your existence in the
lower world. Before to-day I could not re
veal myself to you. After to-day, if you
reject tin- truths I give you. I can never
speak with you again. Oblivion is a mat
ter of grade and degree. Yonder are its
waters. As it covers you, in greater or
lesser measure, you so assume more or loss of
oblivion. To plunge in yonder waterfall is
to drown memory altogether, and, also,
comprehension. You would not, then,
know at one moment what had taken place
in the previous moment. Oblivion thus is a
punishment, since the kind of existence it
jiermitH is pain and torture at their utmost.
Oblivion as a blessing is what comes to one
upon entering paradise. Then, of course,
though, being only in his spiritual state,
man's sweetest raptures are already past. To
enter the water of oblivion sufficiently that
all your past is wholly dead n;nl forgotten
is to enter paradise in flesh and blood. Then,
with perfect i-ompanioiiH, you go on, for
ever, If you will, in unchanging youth in an
existence of unalloyed bliss, innocence and
perfection. Perfect ns seem these women
who have just left us, you shall have as
your future companion and wife one whose
perfections as compared with these is ns full 1
duylight and sunshine an- to midnight i
blackness. The waters of oblivion can -ivm j
you this, and lame also; fame, too, such as
no man ever hail tofore.^W^^^u^rteki:
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, MAY 8. 1887-TWELVE PAGES.
Tbe music, the perfume, the (lancing
maidens who were now returning,, dazzled,
bewildered, intoxicated me.
“I will iMtrtake," 1 cried out, madly; “I
will partake, I want this promised perfect
life.”
Slowly the maidens danced themselves
back inio the temple. Each bore in one
hand a crystal cup, containing water from
the fall across the valley.
“These maidens,' said the old man, “are
the daughters of women who feared for
their daughter’s virtue and innocence in
their yet untried futures. These mothers
prayed that absolute safety might come to
their beloved daughters, and these prayers
arc mine to answer. The maidens come
here, the waters of oblivion blot out their
past recollections, and here they Live on
forever in sacred purity and peace.”
My guide thou took me down from the
dais, and we stood among the maidens.
“Now, my son,” said the old man. “the
moment for the change in your life has
come. The maidens will empty their cups
on your bowed head. All your life, us they
are pouring, will pass before you. Each in
cident of it will again come up as fresh and
distinct os it was when you wer > living it.
Let the pouring of the water continue until
you are once more in the moment wherein I
promised you new life, new love, great
fame. Then bid them stop, and all is
done. ”
v / / a y\\\ a
©=>* A a '*4* ay.' ,■•'• i
All my life passed before me.
I knelt, as he bade me, and bowed my
head, one of the maidens pillowing it upon
her bosom.
Then the pouring of the water began.
As the old man said, all my life passed be
fore ine. I was once more an infant in my
mother’s arms, and so swiftly the whole of
my ilays came again and went; all clear,
vivid anil distinct. My boyish hopes, my
manly endeavors; my love for art, for Ni
etotto, and. finallv. the moment of the
promise recurred again.
"Eiiuugu! 1 erica, and the pouring of the
water from the crystal cups in the hands of
the dancing maidens ceased. I sprang to
my feet. The old man took my hand and
placed it in that of a woman who stood be
- him. She was covered in a filmy veil,
glistening with jewels from head to foot. Of
her face, save her splendid eyes, I could form
no conception, but the surpassing grace and
exquisiteness of her figure were not wholly
a matter to to guessed at.
“This.” said the old man, “is she with
whom the rest of your life is to to lived.
Her veil you can cast aside presently; but,
first, there is a task before you—the last one
you will ever know.”
Lending the way to the entrance of the
temple, he punted across the valley to the
summit of the mountain above the water
fall, and there, glittering and wonderful,
was the veritable Temple of Fame.
“Take this woman with, vote”, ,to said,
“and do not unloose her luigi'T t -icfiimb with
her to tiie temple yonder mVitonferJt. There
love and fame wifi both Jji; yiuire. for the
asking; greater love andjBWJK wime than
any man has vet iiad. flijf chotoe aright
or you lose both, and life viyth tnegl.”
Led by the woman, I ori>sSo’.rj!Hs! valley,
and together we climbed the mountain,
rough, steep and preeiptouS as it 'Was. We
entered the door of the Temptfe 6f Fame,
hand in hand. The great names of the
world were on its walls, and an angel was
waiting to write my name, highest of all, if
I made no error.
“Whence came you?” asked a voice.
“From the Master,” answered the woman
at my side.
“Man,” said the voice, “you are favored.
Love and fame, both unparalleled, arc
yours if you choose rightly. Which seek
you first!”
I looked at my companion and bade her
east aside her veil.
“As soon ns you choose,” she answered.
Piqued, I loosened her hand and said,
"“Fame iir.t, love afterward.”
“He who chooses fame first and love after
ward is a fool,” said the voice. “I cannot
save you from the fiend?”
There- was a sullen roar, and the fiend,
surely enough, stood before me in alibis hor
ridness. The woman tried to reach my
hand again, but the fiend flung her aside,
Then he struck me full in the face with one
of his hoofs, and the force of the tremen
dous kick sent me out of the temple back
ward. But not until the unveiled beauty of
the woman 1 had lost (las.ieil once before
me. She was lovelier than the wildest,
maddest 1 1 re;mi of artist or poet.
“Why did you unloose my hand?” she
cried out, in bitterest ugony. “But for that
you would have lieen safe.' 1
“Too late! Down, down the mountain
side I went, crashing and rolling, until I
fell, at last, into the waterfall in the valley,
and the watt-re of oblivion sent me down into
endless depths of the pit in which they fell.
Then all was over, anil mind ami memory,
I thought, wore dead. But only for a mo
ment. The next I felt warm kisses on my
lips and heard merry laughter. I opened
ray eyes and looked up into the face of Ni
chette, my wife.
“You bad boy,” she said, gavly; “you
went to sleep and have toon dreaming;
worst of all, you have Ix-en dreaming aloud.
It is lucky for you that 1 am not a jealous
woman, or all your chattering about leaving
me for prettier women would call down
something dire and dreadful upon you.”
WADE HAMPTON'S FAITH CURE.
He Thinks His Life Was Saved Through
Answer to Prayer.
>Vn m the St. }\lld (/lube.
Wade Hampton is a believer in faith
cures, or rather in the efficacy of prayer.
Several yours ago, while hunting in the pine
forests of South Carolina, lie was thrown
from a mule and barely escaped with his life
and the loss of one leg. Speaking of the ac
cident afterward, he said: “I was at the
point of death and had lost all interest in
life, when I received a letter from an old
Methodist minister, telling me of the deep
and devout petitions put up for my restora
to health by the Methodist conference, then
in session at Newberry. The letter closed
by begging mo to exercise my will to live in
response to the supplications of the people of
the whole State, who were praying for me
night and day in every household.’”
"When I heard the letter read,” con
tinued Senator Hampton, “I promised my
sister that I would hoed the kind, loving
words of the man of God, and arouse my
will to live. That night I fell into a deep
sleep and dreamed most vividly that 1 was
ill ft spacious room, in which 1 was moved
to all parts of the State, so that 1 met my
assembled friends everywhere. I saw im
mense assemblages, and as I looked down
upon them a grave pei-simage approached
me and touched moon thcshoulili-ranil said
to mo: 'Live! live! livoi’
"I never realized anything like it before.
It seemed like a vision. T woke the next
morning feeling the life-blood creep through
my veins, and I told my family that the
crisis was passed anil that I should recover.
I am certain tlmt my life was saved bv the
■rveiit prayers of the people of ,’south Caro-
GOTHAM'S HIGH SOCIETY.!
AN ANALYSIS OF THE SO-CALLED
FASHIONABLE CIRCLES.
The Crack Social Factor of the Country
—Characteristics of the English Set—
Will Money Buy a Position in New
York Society?- The Eminent Men of
the Town Are All On the Outside.
New York, May 7.—New York society
is a much discussed subject. The English
set is unquestionably the crack social factor
of the country as far as reputation influence
and wealth go. Every entertainment given
by this particular circle is not only chron
icled at great length in the New York
pnpers, but even its lighter firms of amuse
ment are telegraphed to the papers through •
out the country. This is a distinction that
the “swagger” social circle of no other city
can claim. I use the word “swagger” with
the careless and indifferent bonhomie of
a man who knows the sort of language that
the English set affects, when at its best. It
is but fair to say at the outset that the com
placency of the English set is not ruffled in
the slightest degree by the abject, over
wuelmiug and complete contempt of peo
pie of title ami assured position in other
countries who visit New York. Many for
eigners have spoken of the hospitality of
Philadelphia, the cleverness of Boston and
the amusing contrasts and endless variety of
Washington societv. but compliments ex
tended to the New York set are radiantly
prominent by their absence.
ii i
In an opera box.
Perhaps the most striking thing about the
whole social system of New York is the fact
that all men of eminence in the town are
distinctly outside of society. It makes no
difference how ricli or how brilliant the
man may be, if he has arrived at a position
of distinction his contempt for society is ex
pressed at once. Occasionally men who art
known to the country at large drop into
their wives’ boxes at the opera for an hour
or two, but that is the extent of their social
dissipations. In other cities the prominent
men form the backbone of the tost society.
Here thov are distinctly on the outside.
That this is so from choice is unquestiona
ble, for such mrti as Senator Evarts, ex-
Minister Morton, -Charles A. Dana, White
law Reid, Joseph Choate, E. 0. Stedman,
Roseoe Conkling, Chauncey M. Depew and
James Gordon Bennett are fitted to shine
in any society in the world. They go to the
tost houses when they are in London, am 1
are clever, polished and agreeable compan
ions. It cannot be doubted for a moment
that they would add to the value of any
society that they entered, and any one of
them in a city like Boston or Philadelphia
would move easily and naturally at the
head of social affairs. Yet they refuse ab
solutely to go into New York society, and
are content with professional labors or the
relaxation they find at their clubs after
business hours.
Mr. Bennett and Mr. Allan Thorndike
Rice are the most popular of Americans
abroad. Both are millionaires, unmanned,
reasonably young, members of the best
clubs in London, Paris and New York,
accomplished whips and yachtsmen, good
sportsmen and men of the world. The
Prince and Princess of Wales have enter
tained both of these New Yorkers in the
most pointed and hospitable manner. In
deed, the social honors that have been to
stowed on them place them easily at the
head of New Yorkers as far as society is
concerned. When Mr. Bennett comes to
New York he treats society a good deal as
an average man would treat a stray, per
turbed and dissipated yellow dog that
skulks along the street. Many efforts are
made to induce him to accept invitations,
but they are not successful. Mr. Thorndke
Rice never goes out into general society in
New York, despite his custom when away
from the city. There is no mistaking such
indications as these, but if any one eared to
moke sure of the low intellectual nature of
New York society to-day they could do so
by looking at th“ men who pose as leaders.
They are, first of all and forever, Anglo
maniacs of the most pronounced and pain
ful pattern. To to anything they must to
English. The}’ seem insensible to ridicule in
cvervthftig pertaining to their attire or
habits.
. if
It was raining at home.
Take the rolled up trousers, for instance.
The old story about the Anglomaniac who
wore his trousers rolled up while walking
on Fifth avenue because it happened to to
raining in London at the time lias appar
ently convinced tin* members of the English
set that nothing contributes so much to a
thoroughly Anglicized appearance as trou
sers rolled up at the bottom. It is no more
an English custom than it is American in
point of fact, and any man with a care for
his attire naturally prefers to roll his trou
sers up on a wet day mthor than have
them cake with mud and dirt. The Anglo
maniacs having once decided that it is Eng
lish to roll up their trousers, wear them
that way at all times. I met twenty .sol
emn fops on Fifth avenue yesterday walk
ing along in a howling wind with single
gloss"* held in their eyes and their trousers
rolled half way to the tops of their shoes.
The day was exceedingly clear, cold and
dry. There was not the faintest particle of
mud on tin- streets, nor dust either, for that
matter, yet bis-au.se society believes it is
English to have the trousers rolled up at the
bottom th' .xi was a prextension of mournful
guys walking up and down with their
ankles excised to the northeast wind. At
tiie head of the bund was a pasty-faced
young man with an air of great hauteur,
who is just now enjoying high social pres
tige txsxi.ise he is tin- broth -r of Mias Adele
Grant, who was jilted by Earl Cairns last
season.
The claim that New York society makes
for itself is not that it is exclusive or intel- -
livtual, but that it is "brilliant”—meaning 1
that its entertainments are gorgeous, its
women handsome and its environments pro- i
tentious. Money is the power that mo vest '
th- wheels nowadays. It is only a few '
years ago that the old Knickerbockers were i
the absolute arbiters of society, but now !
they Inve been swept out of sight by the !
brass anil roa** of tofe suddenly rich, who j
practically rdu the town. Thu old Knick- i
orbockers refused to let the ri'-h shopkeepers,
the successful gamblers and the bonanza
crew of .shoving nobodies into the Academy
of Music, and s< > the moneybags got together,
built an opera house and started an opposi
tion show of their own. Up to last season
they had sunk 51,800,000 in their enterprise
in the course of three years, and the boxes
had cost their owners "nearly £IO.OOO apiece.
The expense has been enormous, but the
only circle of New York society that has
ever claimed any respect—the genial and
unpretentious old Knickerbockers —has been
driven from its home and the Academy of
Music has been sold,
i(|
ill
She married the fiend of the house.
It is no longer true that money will not
buy a position in New York society. Four
years ago there was a snubby and insin
uating young woman in the office of a big
mercantile firm down town who astonished
everybody one day by marrying the head of
the "house. She was the daughter of a
boarding house keeper in Twenty-sixth
street. This year she has a box at the
opera, was one of the patronesses of the
charity ball, goes everywhere and is em
phatically and undeniably in the swim.
Money. One of the belles of the Patriarchs’
last ball is the daughter of a shopkeeper on
Eighth avenue. She married the son of a
dry goods millionaire. Money again. A
man who poses as the haughtiest and most
austere of New York society men is the son
of a tailor who made a pot of money through
a deal with the late Tom Scott. I might go
on forever with this category. In one sense,
it means nothing, for the son of a laborer
has as inalienable a right to greatness as the
son of an acknowledged aristocrat in
America, but it all shows that the former
barrier which once existed at the threshold
of New York society has been swept away.
What society is now may be gathered from
the simple statement that it is composed of
men whom no one cares to know, while the
eminent and distinguished m°n of the town
are all on the outside. Blakely Hall.
MAKE YOUR OWN CUPBOARDS.
Some Suggestions on the Matter Worth
Heeding.
There is nothing that appeals to the fem
inine heart more quickly, particularly if the
female has a homo of her own, than a cup
board, which name stands for a nook where
the most delightful art ceramics, glassware,
etc., is kept. It is a more unique name than
cabinet and conveys to the mind a sugges
tion of coziness, tvlinee the days of narrow
houses and economy in space the corner cup
board not only has been a receptacle for all
sorts of things, but an added piece of furni
ture as well. Of course it is the easiest thing
in the world if one has an unlimited bank
account to order at a large furniture manu
facturer’s one of these quaint pieces of fur
niture. Let jne tell you of some home-made
cupboards that cost little but yet are beau
tiful. A friend had a carpenter make for
her a corner cupboard of pine wood at a cost
of $3. Then she oiled it daily until the pine
was of a delightful shade. The cupboard con
sisted of three shelves, with doors and com
partment underneath,also closing with doors
As this cupboard was not intended to show its
contents, the doors were all of wood, and to
ornament them my friend bought some em
bossed leather, in a grape design, and fast
ened into tlie panel of the doors with brass
heaiS-d nails; she also inserted the leather in
the side panels. The elfeot for a closet in
which wines were kept was delightful.
Another cupboard w'as made a little more
expensive by glass being inserted in the doors
so that the glass and silverware could be seen
through them. A pretty way to make a
cupboard fora Japanese room Is to paint the
wood black with jiaint containing much oil,so
that it will shine, then paste into the wooden
panels of the doors and on the sides Japa
nese pictures which come both on paper and
crape; the rice paper pictures are beautiful
for this. On the top of the cupboard place
an odd Curaeoa jug or something equally
effective.
For a bedroom cupboard nothing is pret
tier than one made of pine ]minted white,
with gilt lines here and there, and if one hu.s
any ability witli the brush to paint upon the
panels a pansy or some pink hollyhocks
makes something very odd and attractive.
The least expensive corner cupboard lever
saw wascomposeduf three shelves, one above
the other, fastened directly upon the wall,
while to exclude dust and cover the shelves
were curtains with brass rings; run on a
small brass rod the material was of figured
Japanese silk and the tiny curtain hanging
from each shelf was of a different design.
The bottom shelf, which was about three
fret from the fhxir, had a curtain which ex
tended down to the carpet; tho hem was
filled with shot to keep it in place. A yellow
Japanese ware cat sat upon the shelf. Who
will long for a place in which to put away
small things after this when cupboards so
unique, ormßuental and inexpensive are so
easily obtainable?
I have only given a few illustrations, but
the fancy of the maker may soar into any
numlxir of delights regarding cupboards.
There is nothing prose about them; they are
the poetry of furniture, and as someone lias
Raid of a (light of steps or a staircase of any
kind, is always artistic.
Evelyn Baker Harvif.r.
A Pretty Way to Serve Fruit.
In the rush of the many post-lenten en
tertainments that have followed each other
during the past two weeks, some very charm
ing and original novelties have been ob
served. For instance, at a breakfast of ten
covers given a few days ago by the wife of
a prominent broker of New York, the big,
luscious strawberries were served in tiny
earthenware flowerpots lined with fresh
green leaves. These flower pots, of course,
can lie bought at any florist’s and are ap
propriate for serving all kinds of berries
during the spring and.summer months, and
they nave, besides, a remarkably pretty
effect on a well-appointed table. The fash
ion is quite new here; at least, i have never
seen it before in this country. In Europe,
however, particularly in raris. the first
strawberries of the season are always served
in this manner not only in private houses
but also in the hotels, restaurants and cafes.
Of cojirse the stems are left in the fruit and
powdered sugar is handed at the same time.
Tlu' custom of supplementing the sugar with
cream is unknown on the continent of Eu
rope, and foreigners wiio come to these
shores have often wondered why Americans
fiour a quantity of cream over their fruit.
This being the case and also to obviate the
unpleasant stores—not of the French and
Italian visitors—but of our own countrymen
and women who have lived much ahroud,
the cream jug is now banished on nil cere
monious occasions and reserved solely for
those parties that come under the head of
strictly family affairs. Doubtless there are
many housekeepers who think cream an im
provement to any ripe fruit and who are
likewise independent enough to eat what
they please in whatever way suits them.
Perhaps they will bt stigmatized as eccen
tric old logics, but they will enjoy a com
pensation unknown to the devotee of fash
ion who, in nine oases out of ten, gets her
labor for her pains.
Clara Lanza.
The Legislature of Arkansas ha* passed a bill
compelling railroads which enter the State to
build depots near the bouudury Hue and hold all
trains, incoming and outgoing, thirty minutes.
WOMEN’S DOINGS.
How a Woman Came to be Well Posted
in Detective Cases.
New York. May 7. —Anna Katharine
Green, tho author of “The Leavenworth
Case.’" lives in South Brooklyn in a cosy lit
tle brick house something after tho Queen
Anne style, where, as Mrs. Rohlfs, the name
by which she is known outside her novels
she manages to vibrate between writing
desk and nursery in the same cheery, com
fortable fashion in which most literary
women who are at the same tilde mothers of
families do.
•‘How did you, being a woman, come to be
so well up in "detective cases;” she was asked
the other day.
“I don’t believe I could tell you,” was the
reply. “It may seem a strange confession
to make, coming from a woman who has
written more detective stories than any
thing else, but I was never inside a court
room in my life. I never knew a detective,
and I never had any personal experiences
that would give me knowledge of matters of
that sort.”
“How can you write intelligently than
of the tricks of a trade that you have not
learned?”
“I do not know. It has seemed to me in
stinct always. When I first thought of writ
ting it was the unraveling of the clues that
would lead to the detection of a crime that
seemed the subject that was made for me. I
carried the germ of “The Leavenworth
Case” in my mind from the time I was 14
years old. When the time came to write it
1 cpuldn’t help doing to.”
“You never make any study of the phases
of actual criminal life, then, for the color of
your tales?”
“Not especially, no. When I have wished
to describe the robbery of a bank, I have
gone to look the entrances and exsts over
not to make mistakes that would be absurd
to business men. In writing up a long trial,
as in one of my books, I have studied the
statutes not to be out or the way in my law.
Bug as for studying criminals from the life
I have never done that at all. It was one of
the promises my husband made me before
we were married that he would take me
through the quarters to see something of
low life in New York, but somehow we have
never found time after all. Human na
ture is much the same in everybody; a
criminal is a man or a woman, and as for
the details of detective business I put my
wits at work and let my scouts do exactly
as under the same circumstances I would do
myself.”
‘‘Then dosen’t it happen that your men
do things differently from the officers in real
life?”
“It may be so, of course; but, after all,
the newspaper incidents, supposed to stand
for actual facts, that I have utilized some
times, are the tilings that the critics have
pounced upon as being unreal. I don’t know
that when I have trusted to human nature
and common sense I have ever been accused
of want of life likeness at all. Any writer
will tell you that it is always the truth and
not the products of your imagination that
people won’t believe.”
“Do you write rapidly?”
“Sometimes and sometimes not. It is the
development of the plot that interests me.
A love tale or a society drama ora character
sketch without a strong thread of story I
couldn’t write at all.”
Mrs. Itohefs is fortunate above most
literary woman in having a husband who
plays the part of Cerberus, the watch dog,
shielding her from interruption as then
wives are supposed to guard literary men.
She is young and like most writers who have
made a success in one specialty sets more
value on appreciation in another line. Her
detective stories, tiie .first of which, “The
Leavenworth Case,” gave her a standing
and has been followed by a number of other
since, are not to her of anything like the
consequence of a volume of her poems col
lected this spring.
CLOSED IN THE FACE OF WOMEN.
Columbia College is said to shut its doors
Eretty obstinately it the faces of women,
ut in one department, at least, it is doing
them a great deal of service, after all. The
new School of Library Economy opened in
January affords what women need most,
and for which they owe whoever offers it
them most gratitude, a chance at good train
ing in anew and remunerative bread-win
ning pursuit.
Mr. Meivil Dewey, the Librarian of
Columbia, has a hobby, and it is that
libraiianship, which is growing into a dis
tinct and recognized profession, will offer in
the near future advantages to educated
women hardly to be excelled in any other
field. “You know,” he said yesterday,
“women like library work, and they are
finding their way into it without help. In
Indiana. lowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mich
igan, Mississippi and Tennessee they have
women for their State Librarians, and in
two or three Territories besides. It’s not
nervous work, like the school teacher’s, and
doesn’t push a timid girl into contact with
the rough side of the world such as a business
woman has to endure.
“ ‘Pay?’ Of course the pay is small for
the mechanical work of the library, hand
ing out books, jiasting or copying labels and
the like of that, but that is not the real
librarians’ work at all. For skilled catalogu
ing, work that takes intelligence and the
best education attainable, the demand is al
ways above the supply. In the library of
the future, the free library, the greatest
missionary force of the age, there is going
to be a great opening for women’s work, too.
I don’t mean by the ideal free library a big
central book collection in this city or any
city, but smaller ones, so scattered as to
bring the reading room within half a mile
of every workman’s home. I expect to see
great numbers of them spring up within a
decade, and to find women in them doing
aggressive educational work to fight the
growing illiteracy of the age.”
Mr. Dewey lias lived up to the faith that
is in him, and for some years back has had
from eight to a dozen young women, col
lege girls, most of them, as assistant librari
ans and ca taloguers in charge of the college
library under his care. It was his apprecia
tion of their labors as well as his knowledge
that for young men or women either who
were capable of filling the iiest places open
to the modern librarian, there was no class
ojien where they could loam what they were
required to ltno"w that has led to the estab
lishment of the school of library economy,
where both sexes are admitted as pupils,
and where several Yassar graduates have al
ready entered.
WOMAN SUFFRAGISTS.
A group of New York woman suffragists:
Lillie Devereux Blake, hail - growing white
now, clear pale complexion, big blue gray
eyes, an alert though sometimes a tired
looking fare and a peculiarity in her voice
that in a different woman might have been
a lisp.
Isabella Beecher Hooker; little and a trifle
bent, hair snow white, falling in longish
curls about her face, workbag on arm, your
mental picture of a morsel of a grand
mother, acutely logical at times, eccen
tric with the eccentricity of her family at
others.
Mary Seymour Howoll, who engineered
her hill through the Senate at Albany this
winter only to see it sent to a graveyard in
the Assembly; a slender figure in black
with a bunch of red roses on her
gown, quiet and unobtrusive looking, and
an effective speaker, but with a nervous
trick of spreading out and clasping her
hands.
The Rabbi Gotthcil, the champion of the
women in the Nineteenth Century Club; a
sturdy, stock-looking man, with an equal
mixture of old Hebrew learning and mod
ern common sense in his slow, reflective
speech.
His face framed by that of Annie Jennoss
Miller, jiis opposite in all ways, graceful
vivacious, impetuous, a little more demure
than when she stumped Massacausetts for
Beu Butler, but an enthusiast still anil d< -
voted to dress improvement, which she
stoutly refuses to call dress reform.
Mary F. Eastman, passing through the
city on her way so Massachusetts; smooth
gray hair and strong, k (telly face with
mental power in it, as forceful a speaker as
the movement counts East to West.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, who is said to be
coming home from England before i
now, is a noticeably fine-lookingK? lon
with quantities of white hai? lan
a face and figure that anfl
cempel attention anywhere Sh Would
given much of her perkmal
sons, the youger of whom are asstrii
New York UUS meli “ ° ne
Now and then you come upon a w om ,„
whose carpet doesn t show anvtell-teU ra * #
spot in front of her glass Mre r Woni
Thomas the President of Sorosis, haT?^* 8
heavy, dark hair still, and in her vcJS?
days it was a burden to the comb Thlf 1
read throueht Prescott’s histories and a
share ot Motley, she once told me
book spread open before her in the cotwT.i
her daily wrestles with her braids M
Miss Grace H. Dodge, the School Comm,,
sioner, is in hearty sympathy with??
woman physicians, and is interested in
movement to secure their more frequent
pomtnient as internes in the New Y t
hospitals. It requires some management?
secure admission for women students at tk
climes now, and a more liberal reginto
pressingly in order.
SOMETHING ABOUT LECTURES.
Miss Ida Van Etten’s lectures at the Mas
ison Square Theatre on the industrial con*
tionof women have been somethin*of.
disappointment to those who hoped f Ol *
practical outcome. What do we w'om ell ri ?
when we have to stir our sules for bread „ ?
butter ? Teach, if we know anything S
wear out our nerves; sew if we can’t dot to
and starve out our bodies too. Missis
Etteu lias been giving vivid pictures of th
• distress of the seamstress and the factor?
operative, but any hint of a remedy for
overwork and beggarly pay seems beyond
her power to offer. Everybody who touch*
that subject is baffled. What a stride Z
ward the millennium it will be when
the same talent and application secure
the same return to Mary Smith as to John
Jones.
What is life without a caterer? Weari
ness, vexation of spirit, not worth the Ik.
ing at all. If the caterer became extinct
the greater part of New York social life
would go down with him to the grave. Yoa
receive a party of friends. Not so the
caterer receives them for you. Give to
the number of people and the maximum of
expense and your part in the affair is at at
end. The caterer sends his men to arrana
the flowers and decorate the rooms. It is thi
caterer who puts up the storm awning and
numbers the carriages. The caterer pm
vides the extra chairs and sees to the coat
checks. The supper and the attendance an
directly in the caterer’s line. The caterer
never iorgets the dancing cloth; he hires tin
musicians and has the dancing orders read?
to hand. When you quietly put the lasj
touches to your toilet and trip serenely
down stairs, not a care on your mini
give thanks for the caterer and wish him
well.
Anew rose has been introduced to fay®
this week. Have you ever seen the process,
and do you know what it is? Walking along
Broad way on a bright afternoon, just whea
the crowds are thickest, in the midst of the
shopping agony, you see the flower first®
the corsage of a pretty girl. She is a tall
girl, rather —little women are not in favor
in New York just now—a well-dressed girl
with a dainty bonnet and a gown of simi
quiet dark stuff that sets off the glowing
pinks petals of that wonderful, big unknown
rose. You hardly notice her, perhaps, roset
are plenty and pretty girls, too. Before von
have gone many steps you meet another
striking young " woman, and she, too, a
wearing that magnificent rose. Maybe you
look at it and at her. and maybe you don't
Time is precious, and one can't observe
everything in a New York crowd. In a ten
minutes’ walk, however, the fact is suit to
impress itself on you that you have metni
least twenty-five personable figures bloom
ing with that pink rose. By and bv yon
pass a florist’s window,' and all is plain;
masses of roses, all with that peculiar wair
petal and that new delicate ami yet glowing
hue. The florist has sent out a regiment,
not of sandwich men exactly, but of ros
gilds, which is more, to the point, to take
the town by storm. They will do it, and
next week half the women you meet will
be wearing that rose, The device is anew'
one, but it has been practiced twice at least
once on a pinkish lily of the valley and
once, this week, on a rose this spring.
E. P. H
THE KING HELPED HIM OUT.
A Pittsb urger Relates How Alfonso
Proved Himself a Gentleman.
“When I was in Europe,’’said a prominent
Pittsburger yesterday, to a Dispatch editor,
“I had no such intimate acquaintance with
the crowned heads as Artemus IVari
claimed, yet I can truly says that I founds
least one of them to boa gentleman.
“It was in 1874, and I wasonmyivay
from Btrasburg to Paris. At the front!*
all the passengers had to have their bagga.l
inspected. As I was watching the opera
tion a couple of gens d’anues came up, tal
lied me on the shoulder and one of them tiro
duced a paper from which he read a laij
article. As I didn’t understand French i
was entirely in the dark as to what a
operation meant. I was in a quandary, beinj
almost out of money and obliged to get®
Paris before I could replenish my purse. 9
course, I was very anxious to go on with tl
train.
“Just as I was puzzling my brains as!
what I could do, a spruce-looking youngg
tieman came up and asked me in Engld
what the matter was. I told him I did nd
know, and asked him if he also spola
French. He replied that he did, and thl
he would ascertain what was the char?
against me. After conversing a few me
mento with the officials he informed me tM
1 was under arrest because I answered tin
description of a man whom the police wen
seeking.
“ ‘But I’m an American,’ said I. I knei
that from your looks,’ replied my unknowi
friend, who, at that time I thought must w
a countryman of my own. He advised me
to produce my passport, but on searching
for it ill my hip pocket it was missing. in®
friend who was traveling with me produc*"
his passport, but that would not suffice; they
wanted mine. ~
“At this juncture along came a swell
Englishman. ‘Hello, American!’ said he.
‘Arrested, are you?’ I replied that 1 wa ,
but that I was innocent. ‘Of course,
was the reply; ‘Americans never do any
thing.’ . , -
“ ‘ Another insinuation of that kina a
I’ll hurt you,’ said I, provoked by his
solence. ,
“My little friend who had first addresse'
me in English then came back ana a<b £
searching the car for my passiiort.
found under the seat which I had occl j* •
The officials were profuse in their apojot, •
and I proceeded on my journey, relic™
i <sS£
music, soldiers, etc., at tho station, m .
ing that some great personage was
welcomed. As I stepped out upon the P
form, I saw the little English-speaking 1
oier who had befriended me coming lll ...
the yellow car in front of the train- ,
eyes' were ujxiii him, and it
Hashed upon me that he must lie n j
man. Ho came up to me and said : ,Yj
see you have reached Paris.’ ‘ > <*>
I, ‘hiid many thanks for your assistai
me.’ A few minutes later I Ifljnd'gLJ
hail lieen conversing with Don AUouso,
of Spain.
There appears to be no doubt about tl* J*
tension of gold mining interest* on lllt;
coast within the last year. It has been a‘
growth, laixed pn it mrtre solid J! 'm ;,-u.
the old mining excitement* and J~yr r JS has
Marshall, of Denver, is nil old miner
mode a fortune in mines, fluid n* .“Lining
day: “There is every prospect of a oik
boom of a different type from •*£•{,,„l>iisi;
oountry hue ever seen. It will be base „ will
ness lirineiplea and solid foiindau* .• —ad*
come alsiiit through the milling Of mcer
oros, whose value can be as dennae l y to
taints! oh coal or iron. It Is PP}™*i „ irwon
take out ore (hat yield* 84 to 8* “ 11 , ml ula
tlon in machinery lias done ttiai jtule
mining more like manufacturing. dL,., ll |||t!is
coast will lie worked over ™ Ty mining
quartz of this grade, and it will ni
lively, but the activity will be soUU w*
btantiol in its fouudaUu.lt