The morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, May 29, 1887, Image 1

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. KSTVBLfSHED 18SO. ) ) J. H. ESTILL, Editor aud Proprietor. ( BHE PLAYED AT BALL. She wore a simple gown of blue - With dew-dipped rose adorning Her silken locks of nut-brown hue— * That sunny summer morning. Her shapely fingers, tinted pink, Bright butter-balls were patting; While to her own sweet self, I think, So glibly she wus chatting. The ribbon round her dimpled neck Her apron matched prec.isely™ A dainty tiling, with tiny check, Of colors chosen wisely. Now as this country maiden fair Made golden balls of butter, And built bright castles in the air. Her heart beat with a flutter: - For yesternight a letter came From one who called her “sister!” But. he bad penned a fonder name. And told her how he'd missed Her! 'Twas just a year ago that (lay. When she was making butter: He came to this old farmhouse gray, bight, words of love to utter. That eve, he left her with a jest, Aud decked her hair with clover— Fair reader, you can guess the rest— She thought their bail games over! But he has learned 'tis useless all This maid to think of scorning. And owns she captured him at ball. One sunny summer morning. But if you can a secret keep. Perhaps it might be better. When this young maiden falls asleep, To read more close his letter. So come with me. Ah! here it lies, Under the siren's pillows, Just brimming o'er with lover's sighs. As mournful as Tit-Willow's. And see! he vows 'tis truthful, quite, That these gold balls of butter Have put his senses all to flight And made his pulses flutter, He winds it up with lights and shades About his "sis and mother. Who spurn al! butter-making maids,” Then adds: "I'll wed none other." We'll v ish ium luck, but truth to tell, I'm sure bis haughty mother . Will say ho has not chosen well. And "sis" will scorn her brother. Evelyn Kimball Johnson, iALFB BOSTWICK’S ILL-LUCK. BY H. A. FREEMAN. Poor Caleb was in despair. The most per sistent and relentless sort of ill-luck had pursued this meek and exemplary little man for so long that he had grown quite ac customed to having things go more or less awry with him, and he ordinarily accepted Fate's small spitefulness quite as a matter of course. But this last misfortune seampd too much for even Caleb Bostwick’s admirable pati ence and forbearance. For a brief space he wavered between tai-s and profanity over his crowing ill-for time; then, at last, his manhood asserted it self and he mildly swore. He said: “Well, it's too dent'd had It really was too bad. For a score of long end weary yeai's Caleb had risen early and wrought late for the very moderate stipend chat he reoeivod weekly from the great com raerieal house which had just failed—failed incompletely and thoroughly that there would not be enough left to pay 10c. on each dollar of its obligation. It was a terribly severe blow to Caleb. He had grown from boyhood into a man—now neither young nor old—in the uninterrupted enjoyment of his one bit of unvarying good fortune, the little pay envelope every Satur day night with his week’s wages to take home to his patient little wife and his four •hubby little boy s. • '. qici cue 1 |lg] j| fM “It's too dcrn’d bad." It had often been hard work to keep the J'olf from breaking in at the door, and the ftve pairs of small shoes from luvaklug out the toes. Yet Caleb, despite his trials, ™d lsc.ii able to go wlustling merrily to the ‘store’ of inoruiugs. and his wife would chirrup a cheery song as she wiped the breakfast, dishes m the cozy kitchen that always looked as if its face was newly washed. There had l*<en long weeks of hooping cough, mumps and measles, that kept the diminutive savings bank jvcount from ever reaching three figures, however, and there was but little to stand "‘tween their humble happiness and cruel Annt. And now the snow was la-ginning to mnlte "s approach ffflt, in the air, and only that V, T> morning the cheej-y little woman had mid as she kissed hint good-by for the day: t"u ko<hl little Poppy, you must begin to B H t rieh oou, or els ' you'll have to have foul" one f ij,, ml j j env „ y ()u a IIOW overcoat, ni 'd you must bring home the money' for the rent !o-m K ut." I he new overcoat was a thing that be also J p ; he ought to have, hut the rent was nil unnerntive demand that would not be put -Ad now the coat was entirely out of •mf T^estioii, and the savings bank account r. -t dwindle for the landlord's potent sake. 11 wa s really too bod—too “dern’d ’ JJ®* not, extravagantly strong, all things ‘•tsulen'd, and Caleb knew it. He lelt that, ell? ' e *-?tneiice of expression waafully justl- circumatances. “-‘‘•aus*- for the fuilure of Bongs, Bigga & jiv, CO i ln ™ > ' though an overwbhnitig caiatn ti,ilo uln ‘ wafi "°t his only provocation to .i s emphatic protest, for. as lie turned from e dofied door* to which the Hheriff s de >liinii* "?} rt F ll,! keys he discovoi'od that the l.vf 1 , ‘°[l of money remaining over from talk? l iL* "Aiges after the modest weekly im,,. 1,1 1” 111 * **ail in some mysterious l,j„ ,MPr J-scnped from the snug protection of ~ i , pocket. Possibly the suave and 9 "V' Hnel ' "ho apologized so gracefully In, v' T kun at tne ferry landing could - told what liecamo of the money. But WswMonlv surmise. The fact itself was • l '<M'jecture; the money wasgono. ®{je JHofning Irtie, it was only a few paltry one and two dollars bills—only “aces and deuces,” as the defunct fil m's dashing traveler, Harry Slim ton, would have said, but its loss was more crushing to poor Caleb, coming upon the heels of.the other disaster, than the unsuc cessful opening of the richest kind of a jack- S>t would have been to the gay and brilliant arty, aud Caleb remarked (this time pri vately and to his inner self), “Well, dash it all anyway!” But whatever there was of comfort and relief in these ’scape-valve emis sions from an overcharged heart, they did not, furnish the curative solace of resource or expedient. What to do was the immedi ate problem. A week before Caleb’s uncle had said to him that if ho, Caleb, could lay his hand upon twelve or fifteen hundred dollars there was a chance for him and the cash in the old gentleman’s factory, together with a sure income of more than double the wages the little man hail been receiving. \V good, however, was such an offer to Caleb! He was as far from having $1,500 as from the moon. IgplffL “ You must begin to get rich." Moodily he turned toward the bank to draw the sum necessary to pay the rent, and, passing in, after a tedious wait for the doors to open, he saw the little savings that stood between him and dire distress shrink into still more alarming insignifi cance. He left the bank with a heavy heart, and, fearful lest he might again become the vic tim of cruel fortune, he kept the iimpsev little book, with its modest fringe of ends of bank notes, tightly clasped in hishand. Turn ing the corner of the nearest “short cut,” he found himself among a throng of men— some interested, some idly curious, all at tentive to the words of a dapper gentleman, who was volubly soliciting bids on some thing which Caleb was too much occupied with other matters to notice; for, back of the dapper and verbose gentleman stood the polite and suave stranger who had apologized at the ferry landing tor jostling Caleb and who might have taken the roll of money. Hoping against despair, Caleb pressed for ward through the crowd, and. bank book in hand, waved a frantic signal toward the stranger. “Ah, yes! thank you, sir,” chattered on the dapiier auctioneer. “Thirty-one did you say? Going at tbirtv-one, ’rty-one,’rty-one; will no one say thirty-two? Last call, gentlemen! Going, going, gone! This gen tleman gets it at £(1.000. and might cheap, too. Name, please?” and he smiled blandly at Caleb. The poor little man was utterly confound ed. He saw that he had unwittingly bid off some valuable piece of property, and a feel ing of horror came over him as he felt that he must publicly disavow his intention and explain that he only wanted to arrest the attention of a well-dressed gentleman whom bo suspected of being a thief. He stammered out: “My name is Bostwick!” and as the crowd parted to enable him to advance he felt that it would be a merciful dispensation to be permitted to sink through the earth to—even China. Clutching his bank book more firmly, he sought to make a whispered ex planation to the auctioneer who stood in bland and smiling expectation As this critical moment, a hand on his shoulder— the bank book shoulder—caused him to turn and face the intruder who hindered the cul mination of his day’s misery.' “One mo ment, Mr. Bostwick, said a voice in his ear, “don’t settle yet, if you please. Will you take a thousand for your bargain?” “No, no,” stammered poor Caleb, anxious to explain. “I don’t want”— “Fifteen hun dred then, say fifteen hundred and I’ll give you a check right here.” “Really,” gasped Caleb —“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” persisted the stranger. “I’ll give you $3,000 to turn the liargain over to me. My old man wants the bouse, but I’m blessed if I’ll give a pen ny over sß3,ooofor it. Will you take itz You or no! Quick I” Caleb's eyes began to bulge. He realized that bo was being offered two thousand dollars to back out of his blunder. With one supreme effort be refrained from fall ing dead at the feet of his persistent stranger, and with strange proci'astinatiou asked: “Is it a trade J” “But whv didn’t you bid it off yourself?” “Didn’t get, here till after you'd gotyouQ work in; i thought tho old duffer wouldn't begin the sale so early. Is it a trade?” “It is,” gasped Caleb, as he saw the stronger draw out from his wallet a handful of certi fied checks and select two of a thousand dollars each from the goodly fellowship of the greater ones. The stranger drew a-fountain pen from its ease and fitted it to its holder. “You see.” he remarked as he indorsed the checks, "I like to get things all settled up tight and fast while I am about it, so there won’t be any backing out.” “Bo do I,” said Caleb, 'simply. A Rockland newspaper man was wild last week, and when last heard from was hunt ing with a gun for tho ty[**ettor who upset his finest sentence, "tho well trained and cultured voices of tho choir showed to the liest advantage in the anthem ‘When morn ing purples all the sky.’” Tho choir were horrified on tho appearance of the jiaper to find the title of their star piece to be “When mounting puppies fill th * sky.”— Bangor (Me.) Commercial. SAVANNAH, GA„ SUNDAY, MAY 29, 1887—TWELVE PAGES. THE CANVASSER AS AN ACTOR. Some of the Analogies Between Their Respective Occupations. New York, May 38.--The plac ards in the halls of office build ings are no more regarded by “beggars, peddlat-s and book agents” in New York than elsewhere. The man with a patented device will get there just the same. There is a strong analogy between the occupation of the actor and that of the canvasser. Each ha* for his object the communication of an interest which is entirely fictitious so far as lie himself is concerned. The canvasser is often a genuine artist. He lias his exits and his entrance; his good lines and his striking situations. Ho knows where his audience of one or two will applaud just as Booth knows when hjs audience of one or two thousand will be moved to express it self. Each lias done the same thing time aud time again. The actor says: "To bo or not to be:" the canvasser says? “To buy or not to buy;” tlay after day with the same expression; and Booth has as lunch idea of committing suicide when be says his line as the canvasser has that his wares are valua ble when lie tolls vou life isn’t worth living without them. They may lie exceptions now and then, but they do not include the best artists. The actor sometimes blunts his dagger that he may not really strike it into his heart, when things get blue about the end of the third act; and the canvasser has been known to buy his own trouser-stretcher; but such deeds are rare. Once you take this view of the subject and you are safe against canvassers. It is the novice at the theatre who thinks the hero must enjoy squeezing the heroine’s hand. The old-timer lias attended a rehearsal or two, and has seen the venerable Indy with out her war paint. Even thus am i proof against the canvasser. No more shall he persudo me that his trousers-streUTier is a suitable Christmas present for my grand mother, for 1 recognize the method in liis his madness when he tells me with a trem bling voice ho .v much the deal - old lady necds one, aud how uandy it would be to poke the tire with. How carelessly the canvasser points out the defects in rival machines, as if they were beneath his notice. Ah this is the re suit of hard work. Ho has looked up all his competitors and lias visited them as a pros pective buyer. His experience has enabled him to picK out the weak points. An in stance of this shrewd business policy came to my notice the other day and it was very funny. It gave my friend, Franklin Ringer, a nickname and cost him a bottle of wine. A number of us were sitting in his office when a stranger, having something the aii- of a rustic, entered aud at once saluted the assembled company with the words: “I want to look at this ’ere iw)ringer o’ yourn.” Everybody said “What?” in a way that ought to have abashed the visitor, but it didn’t. “I want ter see Frankin W. Ringer,” he continued. Mr. Ringer looked up with a glance like a double-barreled shotgun loaded with shin gle nails. “I behave I’m the only Fraakliug Ringer there is about these premises, 'said he. “Yeou!" shouted the countryman, “why, I thought it was a machine! Yeou don’t tell me it’s a man.” “To the best of my knowledge and be lief, it is.” “Well, I'll be darned! I beg your par don, I’m sure. Yer see I’m selling the patent Ligliuiiii Clo’s Wringer up’u our sec tion, and seein’ Franlin Ringer printed on your door, I thought I’d come in an’ get some points on it. "You’d bettor get a point from the spell ing book to begin witn,” said Ringer, but the fiend was gone. We suggested that Ringer go out and get a patent on himself, and made various other remarks tending to sooth his ruffled tem per, but he has not been quite himself since. Charles W. Hooke. THE VERY LATEST FAD. A Professor of “Rope-Tying” Relates the Secrets of His Calling. From Ike Xew York Mail and Express. Society’s latest fashionable l'ad is rope tying. Since the days when Foster, Slade, the Davenports and the Eddy brothers per formed their marvelous rope-tyiug tricks the secrets of splices, knots aud hitches has never been more faithfully practiced than now. Young girls who have just been initiated into the mysteries of tennis hoys about to staik out ujxin fheir first fishing tour, young Corinthian tars, amateur yachts men of both sexes, till have the fever, and it is not iniprotiuble that the craze will ex .tend to those in many of the graver walks of life. Those devoted to t.he art—if art it can tie called —insist that life cannot l>e a success unless one be versed in rope tying. “Rope tyin’,” said a professor of the art, “is the most usefulest of all the ’ooropiisb ments. I’ve seen men 'fore now as 'ud give the world ter know some things about ropes. A boy may want ter lengthen his Muhin’ line or make a swing; he may want tor make a kittle out o' a jug or a pickle jar when he goes plckuiekin’: r he may want ter anchor his boat,' fasten his kite string or make a sinker lev his crab line, an’ less he under stand rope tyin’ he'll lose his fish er kite, drop his picket Jar er find his boat carried away by the tide. The fiis* think he must do is ter learn ter -tie a square knot. Wc sailors call it a reef-knot . It is the one used by surgeons itt tyin’ up blood vessels, ’cause ’twont slip. Now, folks nil on ’em think a squat' knot is the simp lent thing in the world to tie; but 'taint. Most on 'em make a granny, which most alius slips, and if it don t it caws the rope, as ther strain is at right angles. A sonar knot is made by takiii' two rojie* an (Tensin' the ends, ther left hand rojie under ther right. Carry t.he right-hand one through the loop once, then tic again, only carry right-hand end under the ieft and draw tight. If y’ carry the left, himd under the right one the second time y’il ha ve what we calls agranny knot, an’ u granny habit tor lie depended on nohow. The more y’ pull on tor n reef knot the tighter it gets. Sometimes y’ want er longer line, but y' hni.ii got two i'ojies of a size. Then’s when a becket-hitoh comes in. Y’ make this by I tendin' the end of the big gest rope so it looks like the letter 11, then y’ put the end o’ the little rope or twine up from the bottom behind the bend between the two sides, carry it ’round liehind the two sides, then 'cross the front and under the )Kirt that comes up from lielowand there you are. When th’ keleg-line of yer boat is too short on’ y" l.alnt' nothin’ hut n piece o' hemp twine or fishin’ line ter bend onto it nothin’ answers like the Ixioket hitch. Then there's the bowline, which let v' have a loop onto the end of a rots* os'li not draw up. Its easy ter make, and is good when y’ want ter tie yer horse or dog with a rope and don’t want tor ohake ’em. Y’ make it by turnin’ a rope on itself near the end ami makin' a bight. Hold th’ turn or bight with t lie ii It huml. ; ind of the nil's* t hrough tho bight from bottom up’ards, then around die main rope and down through the bight again. Draw it tight an’ y’ll get a Usui as’ll never slip. Storekeeper* make a bowline when they does up big bundles, ’cause by pullin’ the string through tho loop they gets a sli|skuot on which they can de pond. A knot that puzzles most people, nowsomer, is the sheepslinnk. It’s useful in gatherin' up the slack of u rope and makin’ it shorter. It is made by doublin’ a rope on itaelf twice aud pausin''a 1000 over each end,” WOMEN MEAN BUSINESS. FEMININITY ASSERTING ITSELF IN NEW YORK. The Commercial Instinct of Women —An Omniscient Creature Who "Bossed Things’ 1 - The Giggling Typewriter Who Married a Million aire. New York, May 28.—There is a con stantly widening field for woman’s work in New York. Instances of their adroitness, push, business sagacity and strong com mercial instinct are attracting attention everywhere among business men, I recall at the moment a charming and interesting episode in the life of a young woman with whom I had a slight business acquaintance. There are a number of offices in New York equipped with typewriters, steno graphers and copyists, where tin* vast- busi ness of reproducing the law papers and tho documentary history of every day in New York city is transacted. Allot' these offices are in the hands of women, and their work has done much to facilitate business. I went iuto the largest of them one day about- t hroe years ago to dictate an article in haste, and while at work ray attention was attracted to a strikingly handsome girl, who entered with a business-like air, Hpproached the gen eral manager of tin* establishment aud an nounced that she had come to sek employ ment. "What can you doF’ asked the manager, who was a lady of austere manner and ad vanced years, iis she looked nt tho blooming face of the lb-year-old applicant for em ployment. “I can do a lot of things,” said the girl, composedly. “I know bookkeeping, type writing and stenography, aud have a gins! commercial education. I liaven’t, the faint est doubt in the world that you will find me valuable if you give me an opportunity to show what I can do. My business methods are correct-, and I am industrious.” The woman of system. There wu something so droll about the placid recital of her ac complishments and abilities that the manager and nearly everybody else within hearing smiled. But the girl did not. I have always had a mysterious and grewsotne awe of the woman who never smiles. 1 have only met two or three in my life, and my observat ion has taught me that the smilcless woman is invariably a woman of poise, self-judgment and retqionsibility. In other words, she gets there. The young woman who did not smile was engaged on the spot. I had no reason to visit that office agaiu for several months until iny own stenographer, a gentleman of distinguished Irish family, a graduate of Dublin University, the master of adozen lan guages, and admirable pianist and the most genial and amusing of Bohemians, received a legacy from a rich uncle in county Keith, wrote me a touching letter more or less suffused with tears, aud sailed at an hour’s notice for Ireland. I (lid not mind the fact that he had left me with a salary overdrawn several necks in advance so much as I felt the misfortune of being left suddenly in the lurch. I chanced to think of tho typewriting office across the way. I went over there and found that an extraor dinary metamorphosis had token place. The austere aud aged manager had l>een rele gated to the ranks and was pegging away in sullen misery in a far corner of the big room, while the blooming, big-eyed and smileless girl sat at a monstrous desk with ruler in one hand and a pen in the other, the abso lute mistress of all she surveyed. Sixteen or eighteen young women sat about the room, writing busily and sitting in evident awe of the big black eve of the new RU]ieriutendent. Rules forbidding peo pie to smoke cigarettes, talk above n whis per, receive visitors, cat pie or do anything else except breathe were posted conspicuous ly, aud a sort of cneck system had beou es tablished for men who came in to dictate. 1 ■went- up to the big desk aud c.x plumed my position to the small and handsome mon arch, while she regard'd me with cold and distant aversion from the corner of her eye. Then she touched a brass spring, caught a metal check adroitly, the check to me, nodded toward one of the numerous ma chines, and turned to another man who had just arrived. 1 went on a voyage of dis covery round the room, found a young ladv whose number agreed with that on my check, and sat down and l>egan to dictate. I found that every detail of the office was ar ranged with similar clock-work regularity. It was more or less amusing at first, but it was afterward discovered that it was of value, because business was facilitated to a really extraordinary extent. I went to the office every day for a week uutii I succeed ed in getting another stenographer, and be came quite w-ell acquainted with the young superintendent. One day a few weeks later l met her in an elevated railroad oar, quite loaded down with sachels and hand hogs. Hue was quite affable, very much to my amazement, and commenced talking üboui, liorself at once. Jp, ljll “Forever," she answered, quietly. “I sluill not be in New York again for a year,” she said, decidedly. "You have not left the typewriting busi ness, ha vo you f” “Forever,” she answered, quietly, “there is no future in it and one is foolish to waste time over a thing that affords so little prom ise.” “Are you going on the stage or do you ex pect to write for the newspapers?” “Neither. I've saved a lot of money and I’m going to Philadelphia to speud a solid year in studying dentistry. When I have graduated I shall come bo New York and be gin to practice." 1 looked at her closely. Every man in the car was staring at tier, and so were tho women, for that matter. She was, as 1 have said before, a girl of more than noticable beauty. She hail a stunning figure, a ivnrm tiuted face, and her eyes wore alive with ex pression. It struck ino that the horrors of deu stry would be vastly mitigated by such a favored torturer. Hlie detailed her plan with great force and energy. That is the last 1 knew of her until about a week ago, when the Now York papers came out With glowing accounts of the beautiful young dentist who hiul established herself on Madison avenue. I iwognized the name of the smilcless young woman whom 1 hod met on tho train. Hue is already es tablished here and her future is assured. A dentist of my acquaintance who had lx*en to see her, and who has had the privilege of looking at her books, says that her engage ments are numerous, and that she bids fair to tiecome the rage. She lives iu a hand some house and 1 have come to the conclu sion that she is about as clever a woman us 1 have ever met S’ | gWlJnlk? jiP/r The, beautiful young dentist. Sometimes I fancy that typewriting in New York deservos to lie classed with the Frenchman’s idea of journalism; that is, that iL serves admirably a* a stopping stone to something better. I knew a typewriter once who married a millionaire. She was the most extrabrdi nary creature I ever met Her azo might, have been anywhere from 15 to 25 years, and her nationality was as inscrutable ti mystery as the interstate commerce bill. Blie was queer, baffling, inert and sinuous, and was apt to excuse herself at short in tervals aud retire to u corner, where she would giggle for a time with tumultuous but genteel enthusiasm into the northeast corner of her small pocket handkerchief, and then return to her work with a visage of solemnity and woe. Her fits of mysterious hi larity always attacked her when I was dic tating something of a touching or pathetic nature, and it wore more or less upon my emotions; hence I introduced her to a mil lionaire carpet manufacturer who was laid up with the gout at his house and desired to dictate his letters iu the morning. He used to sit and store at his mysterious type writer by the hour with a look of absolute wonder on his face, while she absented her self at short intervals fir the purpose of buying him small presents. Sometimes she would give him a large red apple for break fast decorated with an American flag, while she occasionally varied it with highly colored and utterly unpalatable .sticks of eandj'. Ho would munch tho apple and make vigorous onslaughts on the candy sub ject to her approval. One duy ho married her, and I haven’t the faintest doubt in the world that hs did so for the purpose of solv ing her mysterious personality. The executive capacity of women is every where recognized. They are notaries pub lic, schools commissioners, cashiers, busi ness managers, confidential clerks and pri vate secretaries iu the most important bank ing and commercial houses of New York. Everywhere their worth is recognized and t heir refining and elevating influence is ap parent wherever they go. A small Ameri can girl in an office full of howling, snort ing and profane men bash hex tobacco, hats, ■ltislmess add ill planners,an hour after her arrival, and adds a refinement to business life which acts in every way to its advan tnge. Tlu'oa cheers for the American girl. She has invaded a field that was formerly man's own and won her way to the front without sacrificing an iota of refinement, womanli ness or modesty. Blakely Hall. LAURA BRIDGMAN. The Blind, Deaf and Dumb Woman’s Visit to a Watch Factory. From the Waltham (Mom.) Timet, Miss Laura Bridgman’s second visit to the city of Waltham and her insjiection, in her way, of tho watchmaking process, if not quite as notable as that of the Queen of the Handwlch islands, yet created a deal of interest among our people, who have so long felt a pitiful sympathy for the girl, blind and deaf from 'so early a jieriod in her existence as to have no memory of sight, speech, or sound. Mr. Hal E. Hartford escorted this queen of the dark and silent realm, with her attendant, Miss Daisy Monroe, through the busy rooms of the factory, where enough was understood, through the sense of touch and the mysti cal hand language of her friend, to fill" the susceptible mind of fhe visitor with delight during the two hours jiassed, as she expresed it, “in surveying the works.” Mr. Hnirley put into her iiands the several disconnected li.'irts of a watch, and, by guiding her lingers, she was made to understand ho*, they wore put together. Miss Bridgman received many calls during her brief stay with Mrs. Monroe, all of which were welcome; but to Mrs. George H. .Shirley she took a special liking, mid iijkiii lciiruing that she attended the Baptist Church, expressed a desire to accorapa ly her on Hittulay morning, which she accordingly did. Detecting the .Mior of flowers, sir- in quired if there were bouquet* on tins altar, n;i.l Mrs. 0. C. Hills, who furnished the floral decoration* for the day, presented to ht a bountiful bouquet, at which tier de light wa < ardently expreswd. Among her accomplishment*—^wonderful for hands unguirled by the slightest glimmer of sight—Miss Bridgman makes a beautiml kind of lace, almost like cobweb in its deli cacy. Tliis is made in squares of varying sizes and is sold for a trifle, which, however, is of material aid to the maker. Consider ing her peculiar life it is not strange that Mis.* Bridgman should remain just a little childish in tier tastes, feeing* and pleasures. )jS*t Christmas she was presented by a lady friend with a little doll and a complete out fit iff clothing. These various costume* she soon learned to put, on. take off, button and unbutton, pack and uniiack, and many a happy hour ha* this childish occupation of taking care of her “baby,” ns she rolls it, afforded her. In iiuinoiial appealwnce Miss Bridgman is of medium height, very slight, pale, eom iketolv closed eyes, very delicate bands, and dark hair, .just touched with gray. CHAT WITH MARIETTA HOLLEY. Notes About a Woll-known Writer- Other Matters. New York, May S3. —One of the guests at the Park Avenue Hotel is a quiet, busy woman, with a cheery face that seems al ways to look on the bright side of the world. Everybody knows “Josiah Allen's Wife,” “Sweet Cicely,"and their kin, and if friends count whom one has never seen, but who have Its I you, for the merry hours, the kindly common sense and the pleasant thoughts you have brought into their lives, past the outer gateway or their hearts, past the formal ro coption room whore they entertain the writers of most of the books on their library shelves uml into the very livin, room, to the cosiest nook b\ the fireside, along with Miss Aleot nnd Dickens and their own especial clique of literary neighbors and friends, then Miss Marietta Holley has as many intimates us a human being could desire. The author of the immortal “Samantha” is a woman of —well, the public has no espe cial concern with her years and the present writer doesn't know them. She has the best |iart of her life before her certainly, and lias won success and a comfortable fortune at an age when most, writers count themselves fortunate if they have made n fair start. She is of medium height, with regular fea tures, dark hair and large, expressive gruy eyes. She has a fresh color, very pleasant to look on in these days when pallid, hot house women are not wholly a thing of the past, and n face that lightsupand brightens wonderfully when she speaks. “1 have been hard at work during my stay In New York,” she said the other day, “though 1 have taken a holiday trip this stain;. u> Washington and Fortran Monroe, luy new book, 'Samantha at Saratoga"'— the manuscript brought her the neat sum of f lI.CKH), by tuo way “will lie out, I sup pose, early in the summer. Then I have two other books by mo that I am working on.” “How do you write? Do those stories of yours come easily to the pen and have you any favorite hours for work?” “To the last question, yes. I write in the morning, sitting down to my desk pretty regularly when I have work by me, and let ting notnlug short of an earthquake, or one of those domestic catastrophe* that all women have to yield to interrupt .me till my day’s task is done. At 1 o’clock, when I have mode the last penstroke, I have done with writing for the day. Ido not let ink iutnide into my afternoon or evening." “Do you dictate your books to a stenog rapher or typewriter as so many authors are coming to do t" “No, I don’t think I could compose a line unless Iliad the pen in my own baud. .Some times I write so rapidly 'that 1 fall into a sort of original shot thond and often my manuscript is so illegible that I am glad to have a copyist at hand.” “Your books are put together quickly, then r "Yes. and no, both. Tbe fln-t draught is written very rapidly. Then comes the drudgery. Finishing a volume till I am ready to let it go from my hands may take more months than the original composition called for weeks. I never wish to publish anything unless lam sure it is as well as I can do.” "Your last book, ‘Miss Jones’Quilting,’ that came out in February, seems to be in a different style from the rest.” “My last hook? That is not mine at all nnd it lias caused me some perturbation of spirit that it should be issued in such shape us to seem to tie under my name. The titlo story, a v ery short one, is mine. It was one of trio first things I ever wrote and was liqught from my publishers, I suppose, and put with the rest of the volume whose author or authors I do not know. The matter of which the book is made up is so totally dif ferent from anything of mine tnat it has lieeu the occasion or no little trouble .Ad vexation that my friends should attribute it to me.” Miss Holley will leave New York about the Hint, of June to summer in her country home in Jefferson county. She may buy a house in the city in the autumn or she may east in her lot with Washington. Hbeisa farmer's daughter and for years Ims clung closely to the life of the country, but being one of those happy tempered mortals who biok for pleasant things and always find them wherever they go, sho appreciates, especially in winter, the town. Hhe began her literary work some twenty years ago anil her history has boon much like that of ot her writers, except that success has come to her more quickly and more easily than to some. She ls u modest woman, given to blushing when asked about her Ismks. but thoroughly enjoying the appreciative letters that come to hen- from east and west with almost every mail. The good words of “Jo siaii Allen’s wife, daughter of J. Mmith, Esq.,” are as plentiful as her witty ones uml may all literary women be aa charming as she. MRS. THL’RBER AND OPERA. What pluck and perseverance Mrs. Thur ber shows. In spite of the disastrous season of the National Opera Onn|iany, and in spite of the absence of any symptom of the rallying of the general public to its sup port, she is already deep in preiiarations for the autumn, in some resjieets on a larger scale than before. “Things are not so bad as they look,” she said to a friend the other day. lt if I did not believe that we had fairly jmsseil the crisis, it might lie better to stop where we are. Hut every organization on such a scale and in so novel a matter must expect to loam by cx|ierience, and though we Imugiit ours near, it may in the end be worth wbat it cost, if we had known on the start what we liave found out painfully and by slow degrees since, we might have lost money, but 1 think not. I hope, at any rate, we shall not sink much more.” “And you propose to see it through?" “Most certainly; I exjieet to go on. It is not possible to lielievo that In too long run we ran fail. Think of the millions this country spends annually on her colleges, her art. museums and all sorts of educational enterprises, and then toll me that it. will not sometime find out thul it hasa littletnspare tor music. 1 hope the worst Is Hlroady past but. if not, the music lovers will some dav come to our help, and meanwhile we shall correct the mistakes of our ignorance, try to get equally good singers for more mode rate salaries and do the lust we can." There is probably no more popular move that, Mrs. Thurljer coui 1 moke nor one that would turn move dollars into the needful guarantes fund than too|ien her next season with an exhibition of the proficiency that Mrne. Kiirscli-Madi’s pupils have obtained. The sehisil of opera, or the National Con servatory. as It prefers In call itself, was to many people the most important feature Of Mrs. Thin lier's scheme, anil they f-el that i ■ ;i, \>iieric.tii o|s-ra iv .ItiMTu ii lute dropped altogether in the Imckground, while tl’ic money lias gone for a Ixtllet and a German accent. The school has done some gissl work in spite of these complaints, however, and there arc some American girls in it that will yet give good account of them selves. Miss Mabel Evelyn is talked of a>. a coming prinia donna Miss Sophie Krauli iriau, who lias lieen heard at private con certs. has a voice of unusual power and compass. Miss Ellen Ksten hus marked dramatic warmth and expression, ami Miss Ethel Claire. Mmith has no little talent,that ought not to be hid under a bushel. Let the public hear the singers that are in training and It may smooth out its frowns aud smile its approclatiou of one feature of the work that has been done I PRICK fclO A YEAR. I '( I KVlfc A COPY, f oral, GRADUATES. Mummer is coming and the annual flood of girl graduates is about ready to deluge the land. Commencement day with u* w hite gowns, its lio-ribboued essay and its touching sense of the high aspirations to he reached after in life is n charming occasion. But after graduation what then! Boast ns much as you like about the pro gress of the girl, she is ufufl- all rather a helpless being still, ami however satisfac tory helplessness in woman may lie in poetry or in theory, in actual life it is far from lining the happiest lot in the world. Some thing more than two-thirds, it is sometime* put as high as four-fifths, of all the adult women in New York arc wage earners, but what docs their meed of dollars amount to? A majority of them average less than # l a du.i. and if 10 or sls a week marks the limit of the ambition of theordinary salary work er. Women may Is- self-supporting, but very few, comparatively speaking, have readied that point where they look iieyond subsistence to a comfortable competency, as men reckon such matters or to getting rick, It is true enough in a way that the range of woiueu’u industries is broadening. Busi ness circles, in the city at least, rocognia* very little distinction nowaiiays iietwoen wbat is properly women's work and men 1 * work, except the all-iniportant dividing line of pay. Go into any large manufactory, whether of wearing apparel, household fur nishings nr articles connected ilistinctly with men’s labor and somewhere aliout the build ing, working with noodle or brush, tending a machine, keeping imoks or manipulating a typewriter, you will find a woman at woik. On the other hand, start any new industry, I care not how s|iecially niluptod to woman’s nimble lingers or keen eyesight or insight, and if there is “money in it” the woman comes into immediate competition with a man. The art of earning a living for man or woman cither is one that involves a good deal of thought and study, more of each vvitli every year that goes by. With the higher class of industries to which women aspire the case is much the same as with the lower. Teaching is mise rably overcrowded, and except under un usual circumstances is the most unsatisfac tory of staffs to lean on. Journalism is uncertniu and not, an easy profession to get a start in Literature, without the highest order of talent., is hopeless. Lecturing haa passed its prime. Public reading is going the same way. In music, vocal and instru mental, except for the one rarely gifted in a hundred thousand, there is an absolute glut of the market. To be a third-rate musician is to fail outright. To paint daubs and call them pictures is a Sin. To murder the mod ern languages by false accent hath not for giveness in this world. Taken collectively, the difference between men and womeu—and it is an infinite differ ence—U comprehended in five syllables, or ganization. What, is a nation, a Htate, a city, a church, the public school system, any modern institution whatever) A corpom tiou of men in which women are discon nected units. What are business firms and industrial concerus of every description? Organizations of two or more men with rarely a woman partner among them. Women have done much, but it is as well not to exploit their successes too loudly till they have done more. They need a business education in business principles, regular hours of work, the same thoroughness that a New England housekeejier puts into bak ing and cleaning, that a society girl devote* to dressing anil her mother throws into keeping up tlie round of calls. They need above everything else faith iri themselve* and liusiiiP!* courage. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, the editor of St. Nicholas, is one of the most go nial of the women writera to meet. Hhe is pleasant-faced, and brown haired, just plump enough to become a woiimu who haa made a place for hei-self, anil is not fretting aliout jxwslbilities of fu ture success or failure; vivacious, an excel lent talker mid always—a criterion of a lit erary woman’s rnudence still—well dressed. People who know, estimate Dr. Mary Fiitna m Jacobi’s medical practice at aliout #2S,OCX) a year, which is probably as large an income as is enjoyed by any physician of the other sex in New York. Dr Jacobi's theories witii regard to the objective method in the education of children, which she has put forth in several magazine article*, ars put to practical test In the training of her daughter, the children of her servants all other little folks within her influeno*. The results arc said to be phenomenally suo cessfui. E. P- H. Hla Impressive Name. Front the, Boston Transcript. A Court street lawyer has hail under hlu eye of late, in the case of his office boy, an interesting instance of the influence upon the rising generation of the reading of ro mantic literature. Not long ago the lawyer advertised for an office boy, and employed a bright-looking youth of U solely on his own recommendation, rwrtly because he liked the boys looks and partly In-cause he was impressed by his name, which was Arthur Hamilton Montague, The l*oy turned out wdl. in spite of a propensity for reading rainbow-covered literature in his spare mo ments, anil the lawyer found it an unalloyed pleasure to la* able to summon an Arthur Hamilton Montague and send him trotting off on an errand. One day, after the boy had been in the office a)suit a month, the outer door opened one ofteruoou at on hour when Arthur Hamilton Montague happened to be out, and a sturdy and elderly Irish woman in a faded shawl and a struw bonnet came peep ing furtively through the door of the lnuer office. “I ax yer pardon, soir,” she said, when she saw the lawyer, “but is this L’y’ar Fay warthy’s office?'’ “It is.” "Mure, an’ I thought so. And can ye tell me, son-' (glancing under the table and then up toward the top of the bookcase), "if me boy Mickey is annywhere about, sonT’ "Your boy Mickey? There’s no boy Mickey here, madam.” “Mure, he s the office boy of L’y’ar Fay warlhy, sorr.” "You've made u mistake, madam. Our office Uiy is named Arthur Hamilton Mon tague.” The woman looked aghast for an instant, and then burst into convulsive laughter. "Arthur Hamilton Montague, is it, in dado!” she exclaimed, between her sjiosms of laughter. "Mure, then, the b’y's me own choild, all' his name is Mickey Hailigan non* the lees, sorr.” Confronted on his return with the visit of the inquiring woman, Arthur Hamilton Montague was compelled to lulmit tlie rela tionship. lie said he hail got his offi-.ial name, so to speak, out of no loss than three novels, and felt that he was fairly entitled to it. . "A nice fellow and a good actor,” said one gentleman to another as u third left them and made his exit from the club. “W* ii <\l to lie very intimate in N* w York when lie was a mcmls-r of Waliavk’s stock. Charming home and charming wife—one at the prettiest women I ever knew. I’d havs liked to ask him aliout her.” “Well, why didn't yonf "Oh, I felt*tt certain delicacy, you know.* 1 •‘But I don’t know.” “Why, it’s nearly u vear since I left Nr* York."' “ What difference does that make?" “Oh, he's an actor, you see, nod three pin fossilmal people are - -are—or —different iron, others. There may have Is-cn a divorce for ail l know. Mho was his fifth."— San Fran risen t 'htunirU-