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