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2 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