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PILGRIMS.
•TALES OF TEN TR A VETERS”* SERIES.
By EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
Copyright. 1834.
Ob certain May morning, not many
years ago. under great patriarchal trees
bordering the River Wharfe,which winds
through the Yorkshire vales like a gleam
ing, sinuous ribbon of silver, not further
than a strong man's voice could reach
from the quaint old hamlet of Ilkley, was
a band of Yorkshire gipsies who were
soon to break camp and set sail for
America, the gipsy haven beyond the
sea
Two hearts in this Wharf e-side camp
were well nigh broken.
One was Matthew’s.
Matthew was a gipsy lad, orphaned
poor; a poverty-stricken nawken or
tinker: a poor tinker, too, and despised;
for he was a reader of Gorgio books and
dared to grope on blindly for learning
and light; had shown signs of rhymes be
sides: and had therefore become .an out
cast with this people.
How great an outcast, when an outcast
of outcasts!
It all rested upon him as a curse, save
with a single soul in Yorkshire.
Loretta loved him: loved him for these
despised things in him, which, to just this
one human being, defied him.
Loretta was the pet of the Yorkshire
tribes. She was but a dainty mite of a
thing yet; but so full of jest and wit and
merriment, that her presence had come
into a thousand peasant lives and left
there an ideal dream.
How many had already come, wooing
none knew. The sprite had sent them all
away, no longer her lovers; simply her
valiant knights of honor: and each factory
or hamlet for a score of miles around held
a discarded lover, but always housed a
friend.
Well was Loretta guarded by keen eyes
and strong arms; but she was a gipsy
lass that could out-gipsy them all.
••Loretta, oh, Loretta!”
In the unwonted excitement of the
morning the pride of the camp had disap
peared.
“Loretta!” and “Oh, Loretta!” rang
out shrilly from spae-wife to chauvie
(child), and was taken up and repeated
by vouth and maiden everywhere.
“W’y an' we’re an’ hever is th' racklie?
(dear little girl)” sang out old Lijah Bos
well, grinder, buffoon and merry father
heart of every boy and girl in the band,
as he blustered aud hurried here and
there, and blustered and hurried only.
Matthew was also missing.
Where was the daft nawken,
Matthew?
And where was Loretta, racklie?
The throstles, building their nests in the
hedge which swept down from the high
way until it touched the river Wharfe
below„could have answered.
There, despite the calls from the camp,
the child-lovers were sobbing their
parting.
“Nothing to give, my dearie; nothing
but this to give you!”
“An’ w'at is hit, Matthew?”
“Only some lines I’ve mado to—to you!”
“W’at!—an’made’em all by yourself?
An' for me!”
Then she kissed him impetuously, inno
cently. .
“Read’em Matthew. Oh, do, do! I’ll
alius keep ’em; alius!”
Loretta, her great eyes dancing with
greedy pleasure, nestled her bright,
warm face close, close to Matthew’s, while
her long, glossy hair swept overhis shoul
ders and breast, as the outcast rhmy
ster chokingly began:
“Long we’ve wandered, darling, wandered;
Heath and moor and highway o'er;
Now we part. I here to linger;
Thou to seek a far-off shore.
Out beyond the ocean sroar.
Darling, by our troth plight given,
Darling, by thy hope of heaven,
Oh. be true as I to thee—
Sate the sweetest kiss for me'
“Days will pass with long hours weary,
Nights all sleepless, starless grow,
And thy Nawken lover, dearie.
All the pain of waiting know;
Waiting, longing, with their woe!
Darling, by our troth-plight ghen,
Darling, by thy hope of heaven,
Oh. be true as I to thee—
Save the sweetest kiss for me!”
“Loretta, racklie?— Oh, Ixiretta?”
The whole camp was filled with alarm.
She snatched the verses from the lad’s
hand. She showered them with kisses.
She hid them as some priceless thing
within her bosom. Then she fairly
danced around her bewildered lover, tell
ing him how, when on shipboard, she
would look longingly back, far back
across the dark waters which divided
them, and sing to him, for him. these
lines as the song and the cry of her heart;
would sing them as the song of her lips
and life; and that they should be to them
both a sacred tie until the years and the
tide should resistlessly sweep them again
together.
Then a long embrace; and then:
O“Mi dearie Dubblesky!” (lor the dear
I-ord’s sake!) from the old grinder Lijah
Boswell, as the startled lovers saw his
erst merry, but now angry, eyes peering
through the parted branches of the hedge
above them.
“Mi dearie Dubblesky!” grinder Lijah
repeated in horror ana dismay. “Lor
etta, child! Ye’U break a’ our hearts wi’
this!”
She sprang from Matthew toward the
good old grinder. She thrust her round,
little fist close into his kindly face. Then
she hissed at him, wh.le the clenched
hand trembled.
“Lijah Boswell!—Lijah!—hif ye hever
tells on me, Hi’ll kill ye! So Hi will! Hi
’asn't forgot Hi'm Romany—nor Romany
woman, neither! Go ye back t’ camp.
Hi’il be yon afore ye!”
“Oh, an' wat a Loretta, racklie!" whis
pered kind-hearted Lijah, as he passed
her a few moments later and shook his
shaggy old head, as she demurely re
ceived the anxious questionings and lov
ing greetings of the querulous women of
the camp.
In an hour more the camp was disband
ed and the last partings with gipsy kin
had been said, lip to the highway; down
over the old stone bridge of Ilkley; up
beyond the ancient church of All Saints
among w hose near graves many a gipsy
chauvic (child) was resting; and then
over the breezy Yorkshire hills, and on,
on, to the sea|>ort town, had sped the de
parting tribe.
Back in the deserted camp prone upon
the ground where Loretta’s tent had
stood, his hands clutching his battered
tinker's wheel, lay Matthew.
The throstles sang sweetly in the hedge;
the Wharfe, as for aye. flowed softly on
ward to the sea; but the broken life left
utterly desolate was as one dead to the
radiant sweetness of that fair May
morning, and could jnly moan:
“Loretta, racklie! oh, Loretta!”
Then the weary tramp began. Weary
load and dreary life!
"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!”
A merry tune this from the tinker's
merry bell. But who shall know of the
heartache hid beneath every song that
ever was sung?
“Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!”
Over highway and byway; over stile
and meadow: through village and ham
let -
“Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!”
A sorry looking tinker that indeed.
Move him on blustering English •fepb
bie"’ spurn him one and all! Heart bf a
true heart, soul of a martyr, life of a
saint ina.vbe: but form and face of an
•coursed and outcast race!
“Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!” chiming ever
on the air: but always and ever, while
“Days will pass with long hours dreary.
Nights ail sleepless, starless grow—”
rises the hopelsss cry in the tinker's
heart:
"Loretta, racklie!—oh, Loretta!”
11.
You could not have said whether Prof.
Poppett was old or young. Other per
formers in the theater orchestra where he
literally played “second fiddle” had long
despaired of conclusion whether he
should be despised or revered. What
eVer came, no complaint ever escaped the
lips of Prof. Poppett. He had never been
known to live anywhere. The directory
was silent as to his lodgings. No human
outside of the theater had been seen with
him. The most curious had found no key
to his nature.
He seemed to have but the one object in
life of existing in an atmosphere of music.
Study him asthey might, his fellows dis
covered only this: Sometimes in tender
passages of the play, or when, in opera,
pathos or passion spoke from the speech
less instruments, a tear might be seen
coursing dowu beneath bis glasses. But
this was quickly brushed away with the
end of his bow, no note being lost; for he
was too conscientious for that.
Just this, and a strange, yearning look
in his face when his dog, Mose from un
der his chair, tuged at the frayed ends of
his trousers, and, looking up in his mas
ter's eyes, expressed mute joy in the
melodies were all that were seen and
known of his inner life.
But Mose, the dog, more than human in
this, always understood the professor.
It had even been hinted that they were
both tramps. But, all told, the two lived
only for and with each other, and they
were not an unhappy couple.
Professor Poppett was an interpreterof
music. Mose had a soul for music. Each
in his way, worshipped. Perhaps this is
what held them so closely together.
By and by the curtain rang down for
the last time upon the Grand Star Com
bination theater. Then tho professor and
Mose knew the misery of beggary in a
great city. At last there was nothing
behind: there seemed nothing beyond; so
they took to the road together.
Prof. Poppett’s voice was melancholy
at best. The old violin was tuned to
more and more mournful cadences. By
pleasant Maine farmhouses, at the sooty
doors of musical cross-roads’ smithies,
near groups of sturdy ploughmen, drawn
from the fields to the roadside; in brisk
and pretty hamlets, at busy stage sta
tions, the professor sang and played, while
helpful Mose bravely presented the rag
ged hat. But there had grown to be that
halting in Poppett’s manner, that trem
bling hesitancy in his singing and, more
than all that leusening faith in himself,
which so vioced in ballad and instrument,
that, though all grinningly listened, only
a few rewarded.
One autumn eqening, penniless, supper
less, hopeless, the two had been hooted
out a lovely, leafy Maine village, a few
miles to the north of old Portland by
the sea. Reaching a forest-edge, well
beyond pursuit, poor, simple Poppett fell
among the leaves exhausted and straight
way burst into tears.
Faiteful Mose, true and helpful to tho
last, crept up beside him, pushed his
face against his master’s, kissed it in his
dog fashion and whined comfortingly.
After a little time tho professor petto
the brute tenderly, but could only say.
“Mose, Mose! You miserable, loving
dog! We’re in hard, hard luck! eh,
Mose?”
Mose could not deny it.
Suddenly Mose bristled up. listened a
moment, and then snapped out a quick,
sharp growl of alarm.
The professor quieted him. looked
timorously away through the night to
the fur lights of the distant town, and,
with a bitter sigh of discouragement,
said to his loyal companion:
“God only knows where to, Mose; but
come along!”
Mose seemed to insist that somebody or
something requiring looking into was
near them: but they crossed a near little
stream, followed an unused road up a
hill, and were firesently confronted by an
old rail gate standing half open.
Here Poppett looked in vain for some
sign of human habitation beyond, but
could descry only the dark face of deep
woods, and. above them, the yellow horn
of an autumn moon.
He sank drearily upon a fallen log be
side the gate, succeeding only in bringing
Mose to his side by a sharp word of com
mand—-he seldom spoke to the dog in this
way--and then leaned against the fence,
giving himself up to the direct forebod
ings, which were quickly succeeded by
the stupor of utter exhaustion.
Was he dreaming?
There came to htm in reality, or dream,
the voice of a maiden in song:
“Days will pass with long hours dreary;
Nights all sleepless, starless grow;—”
Tfie old violin fairly flew to the pro
fessor’s shoulder. The bow, poised aloft,
trernhlod in his hand. His head reached
far out and sidewise, as if his whole being
thrilled in anticipation; while the dog's
tail beat a lively tattoo upon the log—
"And thy Nawken lover, dearie.
All the pain of waiting know.
Waiting, longing, with their woe.”
Oh, how that old violin kept accompani
ment! The violin led, rather than fol
lowed. The last line was given by the
singer in a weird, sad minor. When its
final note was hushed, the songstress, who
was certainly nearing the musician,
seemed to listen and wait, as if to tease
and test the performer.
He promptly repeated the melody of
the last three lines, giving it the riohest
and sweetest of coloring.
With a burst of such melody as Poppett
thought he had never heard equaled, the
stanza was now finished:
' Darling, by our troth-plight given,
Darling. by the hope ot heaven.
Oh. te true as 1 to thee--
Save the sweetest kiss for me!”
The professor followed at the conclu
sion with an improvised refrain which
filled and flooded that Maine autumn
evening with rarer music than it had
ever before oknown.
The musician’s head laid so near tohis
loved instrument, and he had closed the
improvisation with such a flourish, that he
was startled when he looked up and dis
covered the mysterious songstress beside
him; but he withdrew his hat with a re
spectful 'Evening, Ma'am!” following
this with a rap of the bow on the dog's
nose and the injunction, ‘ Mind your man
ners. sir!”
Mose arose upon his haunches, ducked
his head to the little lady and awaited
further orders.
The moonlight falling upon the beauti
ful girl showed her standing there with
arms akimbo, intently regarding first the
professor and then the dog.
“You be'nt one o’hus, is ye—a taethi
Romany?” (a genuine gipsy) she asked
curiously.
‘A—a—what, ma’am!” stammered
Poppett. twirling his hat confusedly.
"A pilgrim !” This rather stolidly from
the gin.
‘Yes, lady; I—l rather think you might
call us pilgrims- Mo.se and I."
■Where be .vour—your frionds?”
“Well, lady”—the professor was get
ting into deep water -“well, Mose, there
is my friend; and I’m Mose s friend!"
“Hasn't ye others!”
••No. lady."
“Noton yearth!’*
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, JUNE 24, 1894.
“Not on earth.”
“No friends on yearth!—an’ you a
makin’ that ’eavenly music? W’y, an’
you're in sorry luck, sure!”
"Sorry luck, lady ’ All broke up! Eh,
Mose?”
Mose admitted it as plainly as dog
could.
She walked straight to the woebegone
musician, took his ragged hat from his
hand, placed it kindly upon his head, and
said:
"Might—might I beg ye boldly to make
that music agin?”
“Yes. yes: a thousand times, lady!”
Then the professor put his very soul
into the work; played the melody from
beginning to end, never missing a note;
and lingered lovingly over the improvised
refrain.
When he had finished he saw that her
hands were clasped tightly across her
bosom and that she was weeping bitterly.
“Loretta, racklie! Oh, Loretta!”
called a rough, but kindly voice from
just over the gate. “Oh, Loretta! Ha’ ye
iia better come ’long wi’ Lije? Bring the
fiddler feller, if ye likes.”
“Ay. ay, Lijah Boswell. The’ music
was a puttin’ me back in ol’ Yorkshire
like!” Then turning to Poppett she said:
"Come Tong wi’ your fiddle and dog,
stranger. Anyhows ye’ll sure find a sup
an’ a bite wi’ hus!”
The girl had been to the stream for a
bucket of water. Lijah Boswell took it
up, and chatting merrily enongh, led the
party over the old road through dense
woods for a short distance, when, on
rounding a heavy clump of oaks, they
came suddenly upon a large gipsy camp.
Lijah Boswell, with broad grins aud
much gesture, in a few Romany words
told his gipsy companions all he knew of
the wandering musician and his wonder
ful dog. and then these simple people
crowded around Poppett in scores while
he gave them the best melodies his weary
fingers could invoke, urged on by de
lighted applause and grateful incense of
steaming pots swinging above crackling
fires, while Mose in his happiest vein,
did his finest tricks and passed the hat
so wisely that, amid roars of laughter,
it was fairly filled with copper coin.
Then came a smoking hot supper for
the pilgrims from these ever-hospitable
gipsy pilgrim bands. How that hungry,
foot-sore wanderer ate; how Mose ate:
and how they both felt and lookod grati
tude unutterable; brought both smiles
and mists to the eyes of member after
member of the band, as they caught
stealthy glimpses of their beaming faces
and then as silently stole away to rejoin
their companions and indulge in grotesque
pastime and hilarious laughter.
After the professor and Mose had fin
ished, nothing would satisfy the gipsies
but more music—music wild and heroic,
music roystering and bacchanalian; and
then a dance; ay, a dance such as they
had not had since they left old York
shire ! Old and young joined, and never
in all Poppett’s theatric experience, even
in the grandest spectacular, had he seen
or Imagined anything equaling the wild
abandon of these tawny people, from hag
gish spae-wife to rosy-faced chauvie, as
they sped b.v him in fantastic groupings,
never desisting until utterly exhausted,
long, long into the hours of the starlit,
happy night.
Then with grinder Lijah and Mose for
tent-fellows, the professor gratefully
sank upon a couch of fresh leaves and
aromatic cedar boughs, and endeavored
to drive the face and form of Loretta
from his mind and collect his scattered
senses; but dazedly he saw the flaring
camp-fires grow dim and dimmer, was
conscious of the peaceful quiet and hush
that fell upon the happy spot,-* and in a
trice was pilgrimlng in the land of pleas
ant dreams.
ui.
Loretta, raeklie, the songstress of the
camp, and the professor became insepar
able companions upon the road or in
camp, with the melodies which somehow
grew more and more tender, they were
soon together the loved minstrels' of the
band. Tho passion which had over
whelmed poor Poppett since he had first
heard those grand Maine woods filled
with the echoes of Loretta's song had
been wordless, but the old violin had told
his love; told it pleadingly, eloquently;
and true as truth, love unspoken by
tongue or Den will reach unto the object
of its adoration and make its message
known. This dumb idolatry was pitiful.
Its response was pitying and dumb. If
there had been no wandering nawken,
the old violin had not told its master's
tender prayers in vain.
One evening the two were sitting to
gether in camp among the elms of the
Mystic Lake, over against old Arlington,
not far from still more ancient Boston
town —the winter was approaching, and
the band was fast journeying south
toward winter quarters now—when
Loretta stopped suddenly in her song.
•‘Poppett, which way is England?” she
asked solemnly.
“Over there, l-oretta;” the professor
replied, pointing with his bow; “to the
eastward, thousands of miles beyond the
Boston lights.”
She laid her fair head in the palms of
her hands and sat there, silently weav
ing herself to and fro for a little time.
Perhaps the gipsy girl heard again the
Yorkshiro throstles sweetly singing in
the hedge and listened to the murmurs of
the Wharfe as it softly flowed to the sea.
She finally turned to tho musician and
said, as if her heart could hold it all no
longer: ,
“Poppett, I wants to go w’ere there's
books an’ music an’ all sech bright
things!”
“With me, Loretta.'”
It came in a trembling whisper from
the musician’s lips. It was the most dar
ing thing the professor had ever said.
"No. Poppett, with—with Matthew.”
Something came into the professor’s
eyes which, for a moment, shut ail the
world out and left everything blank to
him. He had heard the story of Matthew
from kindly old Lijah. The violin moaned
a little for its master and Mose grew rest
less, but finally the musician faltered;
"And if Matthew never comes?”
“Then Poppett, with you; sure, sure!”
The dog’s sympathetic and expressive
tail never wagged so boisterously before;
and if dog ever did such a thing, like the
“old man’’ of the plays, he surely said;
“God bless you, my children!” . ,
An hour later there was a pleasant com
motion at the outskirts of the camp. A
party of gipsy friends, who were to ac
company the band on its southward jour
ney, had arrived. Among the vans was
one of beautiful design and decoration,
drawn by a handsome pair of horses.
These are delights to gipsy eyes, and
horses and van were instantly surrounded
by garrulous men, so occupied in their
interest and admiration that its driver
for the time escaped observation.
The latter, a young gipsy of perhaps 20
years of age, heedless of the crowd about
him, sprang from his seat and disap
peared with a bound in the direction of
the tents.
“Is you clial (gipsy fellow) one of your
kin?” asked the leader of the arriving
party of the chief.
"No, brother, not as hus knows.
Thought he wuz kith o’ yourn. Do any
ere know im ?”
There was no answer, but a general air
of concern settled upon the gipsies as
they turned and watched the tawny fel
low who was running headlong in the
open spaces between the tents.
"He fell in wi’ hus jess arter noon. Said
he wuz cornin’ ’ere, an’ we jogged on to
gether. He's a tatchi Romany, sure; but
a bit rang i’ th’ mort (a trifle daft), hus
is thinkin’. He rokkered i talked,chat
tered) o' naught but Loretta, rackle, a’
th' arternoon!”
At that moment there was a bustle and
confussion among the women of the band.
The flying gipsy had aroused them.
Shrill exclamations were heard on every
baud with "Save us!” and“ It's th’
Naw ken’s ghost!”
But the ear of love is true and not
affrighted.
Loretta, leaping from her tent door,
sped like the wind toward the daring
stranger. As he clasped her in his arms
and pointed with unutterable pride to his
matchless gipsy van-home the girl cried
out exultantly:
•He’s come at last! God ’elp hus!—
it’s Matthew!”
Over beside a little tent among the
shadows Prof. Poppett was standing
white and silent. He had seen the rap
turous meeting. Be knew all that it
meant to them and to him. With one
hand he grasped the tent-bow for a
moment s support. The other he raised
as if in benediction. Finally he placed
the old violin in its worn and ragged
sack.
"Come, Mose." he said quietly; “don’Jl
you see the curtain’s down again? Its
time to go!”
And pilgrims still, out into the night
they again took to the road together.
THE WOMAN OF FASHION.
i Copyright 1894.)
New Y'ork. June 34.—It’s too bad that
we are all such creatures of impulse so
easily swayed by feelings. We recog
nize it in each 'other; for when a man
will strike a good bargain he gets his vic
tim into good humor by a dinner and a
little judicious flattery; or when an
evangelist seeks converts, he brings his
audience into softer and more pliable
mood by touching tales of woe and calam
ity. If we feel all right, we are quite
williug to act all right. lam sure the
statistics will reveal that prisons are
fuller in summer than in winter; for it is
then that the uncomfortable, sticky
weather makes people cross and restless.
It isn’t possible to be half so amiable and
sweet-tempered when the sun is pouring
vials of wrath upon our heads : and those
folks that do seem placid under such cir
cumstances are only sources of annoy
ance to the uncomfortable, cross individ
uals.
Yet there are ever so many ways of
keeping cool—according to the wiseacres.
Thin garments, a calm frame of mind, a
sweet smile, and a slow, gracious move
ment, are recommended by some. Others
tell you to imbibe hot drinks at frequent
intervals, and that you will, in the course
of time, feel deliciously t 001. I have
tried this, and feel sure that the slight
coolness which does grow out of the
method, is simplythe contrast to the over
whelming heat one feels immediately af
ter drinking. Others prescribe baths,
the very performance of which is heat
ing. lam convinced that the only way to
preserve one’s peace of mind, and conse
quent coolness, in the humid days, is to
retire to some spot where fashions are an
unknown quantity, dispense with all un
necessary garments; stretch one’s self
on a cool matting or other out
spread hammock, strung under heavy
branches, and there look up through the
leaves and dream the days away. And
even then, if you should make a hasty,
incautious movement, you would .find
yourself growing warm over it.
And yet 1 have a great many materials
to tell you of—warranted to withstand
all the onslaughts of King Sol. I went to
a great shop yesterday', where carriages
stood about the doors, and asked about
the white craze. There is a great de
mand for the pin-head dotted linens, but
that is all. for the most part, except
where the white ducks are made up. The
duck suitings in white, are more of a
favorite than ever. >
Then they showed me some of the Swiss
gowns all simple and and lovelv.One of the
skirts had two ruffles at the bottom, each
edged with Uciicate lacbf and, just ahbve,
a plain band cf the Swiss was edged
top and bottom with the lace.
The bodice was a mass of
pretty, fine ruffles, each lace-edged—
three around the shoulders and bust, and
continuing down each sleeve to the finish.
Yellow ribbons, in the new nacre moire,
encircle the waist, and bands which
started therefrom, at each hip, met in a
point on the skirt, with choux at the
ends.
Another had a dainty, pointed apron
front, failing over the plain skirt; and it
was edged with very deep Valenciennes
lace. Full epaulettes of the lace fell over
the shoulders, with trimming of flying
ends of pink moire ribbon, added.’ A
twist of the ribbon made collar and belt,
and thero were bows on the sleeves.
The bodice was a finely pleated one.
Then I looked at thin materials. There
was Bedouin cloth, of light weight and
much like French cambric, in pretty
stripes, for IT cents a yard.' It is quite
wide, and makes a neat, serviceable
dress, that will laundry well.
There were cotton crepons, sheer and
heat-repelling, one would say, in plain
colors and in soft designs. Orenons are
much cheaper now than they were earlier
in the season. Some beautiful patterns
are only 20 cents a yard, and some of the
very fine ones are 45. Those stitched to
give a tuck effect are popular.
There is also a lappet cloth, which is
only another name ; for dotted Swiss—
called lappet when a delicate flower pat
tern is printed over. These come in
shadowy, dull colors, with the grounds
white, and are very desirable when one
prefers a little color in place of the all
white gown. Swisses and lappets are
from 25 to 50 cents a yard. Other new
dotted muslins have a fine cord- running
through the material, giving a broad
striped effect as well as a dotted one.
These come in pale, plain colors, pink,
blue and heliotrope, and are very fresh
and cool, made over silk of the same tint.
The cotton foulards are so soft and
shining that they deceive you into believ
ing them silk. Both patterns and color
ings are deceptive. Fine diagonal stripes,
shading from pale brick into rich, deep
red, and a suspicion of black to tone it
down, are speckled with a fantastic pat
tern iu light brick tints. Another in
dull blue is covered with a large crescent
design. The cotton foulards cost 20
cents a yard. ,
The organdie of last year is not the
organdie you will be shown this summer,
if you ask for it at any of the shops. You
will notice that this season’s is finely
dotted, like the Swiss. In fact, the dot
is a great feature of many of the summer
materials.
They call the dotted organdie pi umetus,
and charge 45 cents a yard for it, which
is somewhat more than plain organdie
costs. Silk gingnam, if you get a good
quality, costs, 45 cents a yard. Be care
ful, when you buy it, not to get it mixed
with the swiveled silk, as the silk ging
ham is much finer and more closely woven.
The •ginghams, all in one tint, say pale
lily green, with a little flower pattern
over, makes fine, elegant costumes.
In the coarser goods, there are the
galatea suitings for duck suits, and some
pretty shirtings. You can get a very neat
shirting in partly stripe, partly block pat
tern, pink and white, blue and white,
etc., for 25 cents a yard ; and the material
is rather wide.
Yet shirt waists and summer blouses
are now so cheap that it scarcely pays to
bother with their making. The shops
show some very neat ones, in sheer white
lawns or pale stripes for little more than
a dollar. They are finely pleated back
and front, have round, turndown col
lars, lace or embroidery edged, with full
sleeves and plain belt, made very nicely.
In the white blazer suits Bedford cord
is used with good effect, and embroidery
makes an effective trimming. An impor
ted Bedford cord costume in white, has a
perfectly plain skirt, and a blazer that is
short and jaunty, with Eton fronts. The
broad turn-down oollar comes up over the
shoulders to end in revors in front. In
the collar a beautiful wheel insertion has
been set about an inch from the edge.
This wheel pattern is also set in the front
and bottom of the jacket, and lightens
wonderfully the rather heavy effect of the
cording. Then, a thin, white front is in
sertei of lawn with a band of narrow in
sertion down the center, and a scant
ruffle each side.
A pretty costume of cream color, made
of a silky material that is partly crinkled
and partly striped, with a flower pattern
over, has a skirt that is absolutely plain.
Every bit of trimming is on the bodice.
First, wide lace, heavy and deep butter
color, encircles the lower half of the waist
with its deep points standing up. An
other band of the lace encircles the neck,
pointing downward this time, so that the
scallops almost meet. There is room
enough between for a full double ruffle of
snow-white chiffon, to fall from beneath
the upper points. Another chiffon ruffle
fails over the back and hips, stopping at
the sides, however; aud over it fall smaller
points of the butter lace. The sleeve has
a triple puff, with top and bottom sections
of chiffon, and the center of the material
of the dress: then a plain cuff of the yel
low lace. The collar is of snowy chiffon.
The three shades—white, cream and
beurre, blend remarkably well.
Not only is embroidery used to trim, but
it also makes whole dresses for swell
folks, with more than one kind of em
broidery, both coarse and fine, in the
same costume. The drosses shown, illus
trate the possibilities of embroidery as a
trimming.
THE GOSSIP OF GOTHAM.
(Copyright.)
New York, June 33.—For some time
past there have been rumors to the effect
that Mayor Thomas F. Gilroy contem
plated a long sojourn abroad, and when
the departure of Richard Croker for Eu
rope was announced the first impression
was that there had been a mistake of
names. This supposition seemed the
more likely in view of the fact that the
charges brought against Gilroy in connec
tion with alleged corruptions in the city
government of New York have been of a
nature to clear him of any downright
law breaking. For Gilroy is one of the
most acute men in Tammany, and would
hesitate to place himself in a compromis
ing position for very obvious reasons.
It js certain that any investigating com
mittee would find it hard to get him in its
clutches.
Now, however, there come stories bear
ing every semblance of verity, and which
are indorsed by competent authority, to
the effect that for over a year past Mr.
Gilroy has been arranging for a trip to
Europe at the expiration of his term, and
that this trip will olast many months.
This is one reason, according to some, for
the pecular investments the mayor has
been making, and for the care he has
taken to conceal the nature of his prop
erty from everyone. Few persons, for
instance, are aware that Mr. Gilroy is
wealthier that Richard Croker. All his
fortune has been made out of Tammany,
and consists of real estate, stocks, bonds
and gilt edged securities generally. The
real estate is nearly all in the name of
the mayor’s wife, but his investments in
stocks are make through a broker. As
recently as six months ago Mr. Gilroy
made a transfer of some of his invest
ments to new securities, and the amount
thus involved amounted to £(00,000.
In addition to that he took an interest
in two trust companies which managed to
control Fast "Side business in realty
through his efforts and cleared tens of
thousands of dollars. Besides this there
is a water company and a gas concern in
which the mayor has felt a lively interest
for nearly a year. Even the politicians
who surround Mayor Gilroy would be
astonished to learn that his income has
averaged $40,000 a year during the past
six years. His fortune to-day is at least
$1,500,000, in assets which can be traced
very easily as his, but so shrewd has the
mayor been that even those who know
him best can scarcely credit the fact.
The mayor lives like a prince in a quiet
way. His stables are luxurious, ana his
home in the city, while modest outside,
contains splendid evidences of wealth.
His country home is not so elaborate in
teriorly, but it is certainly pretentious.
The mayor is becoming quite literary and
has a fine library. His sons, as is well known
are doing well, or rather one of them is.
His wife wears finer diamonds than any
woman in New York, and on one occasion
showed them so conspicuously in a parlor
car as to arouse the hostility of a Tam
many politician’s wife who was in the
same conveyance, and thus began some
rumors that the gentleman who looks so
brave as grand sachem when he wears
the high hat of his office might have
trouble in explaining where he gets all
his wealth.
GILLAM’S RENOWN EMBARRASSING.
Bernhard Gillam, the cartoonist, is be
coming one of the powers of metropolitan
life, a fact which is perceived by an in
creasing number of New Yorkers, some
what to the artist's own embarrassment.
As the leading pictorial advocate of the
Republican iparty, it is natural that he
should come in contact with his party's
leaders, and through his intimacy with
Whitelaw Reid, Levi P. Morton, Thomas
B. Reed and others as powerful, he is now
a prominent party man. His influence is
so quietly exerted, however, that its ex
istence is not suspected except by the few
who have occasion to discover it.
In addition to his fame in this direction
is the renown his cartoons have non for
him. This renown causes him to bo be
sieged by the fathers and mothers of
aspirants for artistic fame, and they come
to his studio in unpleasantly large num
bers for bis advice in educating a young
man or a young woman who wishes to be
a cartoonist. Gillam’s owu opinion is
that young women are not desirable sub
jects for aid in this way, as they seldom
continue in the artistic career. He ex
plains the fact by their tendency to get
married, and domestic lifa effectively
ends any longings for a career with the
pencil. Thus it follows that he receives
the young women coldly; but as the en
courager of many rising young men in the
art world of New York, ho has won quite
a reputation. To have Gillam for patron
is enough to make a young reputation.
Gillam is one of the few artists in this
country whose pencil has made him a
power in national politics.
THE CONDUCTOR AS A POWER.
The railway conductors whose trains
roll into New York are now another rec
ognized power in the metropolis. This is
owing to their influence with the passen
gers who use their tgains with more or
less regularity, and who invariably are
guided by their advice in such matters as
the selection of a hotel or the purchase of
one thing or another. This fact is well
understood among the tradesmen, and
quite a competition has arisen among
them for the good word of the gentlemen
in uniform. Some of these men are quite
well acquainted with the leading men of
the nation, and have vson for themselves
almost a national reputation.
It is well known that when special
trains are wanted for whole parties it is
always insisted that certain conductors
shall be chosen to run them. Benjamin
Harrison has his ojvn favorite and the
Vanderbilts have one also. James Buck
ley. President Cleveland’s favorite con
ductor, has taken the chief magistrate
out of New York on many occasions, but
he is also in high favor with the Astors,
whose train he runs regularly whenever
they go on a voyage by rail. Sarah Bern
hardt is particularly devoted to one man
in the service in this country, and when
he is sick she requires a recommendation
from him before any man can run her
train. Henry Irving usually left the se
lection of his hotel to his conductor when
our country was new to him. and so on
throughout the train service. One way
in which reputations are thus won by
conductors is the fact that they are never
wrecked or meet with accidents. Buck
ley and his confreres owe their pre-emi
nence in no small degree to this fact.
DAN beard’s imagination.
John Jacob Astor ascribes the success
of his recent book largely to the effective
pictures which Dan Beard made for it.
He has not hesitated to declare, on such
occasions as the unusually graphic style
of the work have brought it commenda
tions, that were it not for the effect these
pictures had upon the fancy of the casual
spectator.the sale of the book in stores and
on stands would not be nearly as great as
it is. His intention is to have some few
of Beard’s pictures framed and hung upon
the walls of his magnificent library.
Beard is still in the prime of life, and is
one of the few American artists to strike
out in a distinctively individual field. His
studio is a quaint storeroom of all that is
unique, and although this observation is
more or less applicable to artists’ studios
in general, it can be applied to his par
excellence. Beard is now at work upon
pictures for a book which, in the fame of
its author and the unique nature of its
subject, will eclipse in popular interest
the now celebrated effort of Mr. Astor.
But Beard is a most discreet artist, and
it would be impossible for anv one to get
from him anything like a notion of what
the coming book is about.
The imaginative faculty is the one
thing which seems most needed to make
a successful artist, but so far it has not
seemed to be a conspicuous endowment of
any artist in New York until Dan Beard's
rise to fame. He is one of the few Amer
ican illustrators with a European reputa
tion.
NEW YORK’S LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER.
The humor connecting the name of
Chauncey M. Depew with the nomination
for the office of governor of New York
state has become widespread, but so far
it has not aroused in the deportment of
the gentleman chiefly concerned any
thing more significant than a broad smile.
Dopew’s habit of passing off everything
concerning which he is unwilling to talk
with this broad smile of his has earned
for him the title of New York's laughing
philosopher. The crowds who wait out
side his office door every day can always
tell whether he is in or not by listening
intently to what may be audible within,
and if the sounds of laughter .come
through the closed portal the assurance
of the young men in the ante-room do not
avail to throw any light on the subject of
his presence or absence. Depew’s laugu
is not a forced affair, but comes from him
heartily and genuinely.
As to whether he will really run for
governor or not there is much specula
tion, but it appears that during the past
week developments in the political arena
have determined the great railroader to
decline the honor of a nomination, for
Mr. Depew feels that his influence would
be greater in the councils of the party if
he continued as at present—a mere par
ticipant in the efforts to carry the party
ticket.
Hence, whatever may seem to be likely
in the next few weeks it may be set down
as a certainty that Depew has concluded
not to let his name go before the conven
tion, in spite of the fact that he was
almost persuaded to run at one time.
A MILLIONAIRE “FRIENB.”
jE- C. Benedict, the man who owes all
his note as a New Yorker to the fact that
he is such a close friend of the President
of the United States, is understood to be
on the eve of receiving an important post
under the administration. He will thus
be in the position of that other Benedict
who so recently became public printer.'
It is no secret that the New York city
Benedict has more than once been offered
government place by Mr. Cleveland, but
as yet he has not availed himself of such
offers. What post he will have no one
now knows, but there can be little doubt
that when the offer of another one is
made—and it will be made by the autumn
—he will accept it.
It was Mr. Benedict who said that it is
not policy for a President to have too
many friends among the millionaires, and
he hus never concealed the fact that he
thinks that such rich men as enjoy the
friendship of the chief magistrate are
only doing him an injury in exploiting the
fact. It would seem to be inconsistent in
him to take office in view of these asser
tions of his. unless he thinks himself the
exception that proves the rule. Unlike
many millionaires, however, Mr. Benedict
enjoys great personal popularity in New
York. David Wechsleb.
Electric Currents of the Skin.
In his last published work, Prof. Yar
chanoff, of St. Petersburg, gives the re
sult of his researches with the electric cur
rents of the skin. As stated, these ex
periments led him to connect the skin of
various parts of the body by means of
non-polarizable clay electrodes with
Meissner’s galvanometer, and at such
times the various stimuli of the skin—
• such as light tickling with a brush, heat,
cold, a needle prick, sound, light, taste
and smell—were noticed, and in all these
cases a strong deflection of the galva
nometer needle was observed. Merely
opening the eyes, after they had been
closed for some time, produced a consider
able reflection; and mental efforts, like
calculation, also had a similar effect.
These currents, if they exist, it is re
marked. must pass off with the moistened
deposits which are being constantly ex
pelled, and anew supply of electricity
would have to be found somewhere; and
such electricity, says Prof. Yarchanolf,
having its source perhaps in the decompo
sition of metals, taken in the food we eat
and the air we breathe, must of necessity
entail upon the organism a continuous
strain in its production—it being from
such causes, perhaps, that the body be
comes fatigued after a comparatively few
hours of exertion, and absolute rest be
comes necessary for recuperation.
Three Little Maids from School.
"Now here are three little maids from
school.” said the old policeman on the Broad
way block at the intersection ef Sixth avenue,
says a New York letter in the Pittsburg Dis
patch, "who will stop on the Thirty-fourth
street corner.”
The "three little maids" were two red
headed girls of possibly 17 and‘l9 respectively
and a fleshy brunette of some 20 odd summers
and some ”uO pound*. All carried school books
and retained marked .traces of the bread and
butter age.
' They will stand on that corner,” continued
the old policeman, "and talk for a solid hour
sometimes two hours, and talk and talk and
talk. Then one of the red headed girls will
look at the big clock and say it isn't possible
and then both the others will look at the big
clock and say no. It can t be. don't you know
and the two red headed girls will kiss the
big brunette, and the big brunette will kiss
each rea headed girl two or three times in the
most dejected way, after which each girl will
start oft in a diflerent direction like a house
afire. They do this regularly every day in the
week except Saturdays and Sundays. Some
times they'll be herefrom 3 till 5, and what
they talk about gets me: ”
A bill pending in the Louisiana legislature
provides that Are insurance companies shall
pay the full amount of the risk for insurance
taken by them, provided the risk is not more
than the value of the property destroyed. An
other feature of the measure compels com
panies to pay. adjust or satisfy all claims ac
cruing against them within fifteen days from
proof of loss and adjustment, with a penalty
of from *SO to *IOO a day for each day of neg
lect fo comply with the law. Another hill
provides that companies shall pay the full
amount of damages or loss not in excess of
the requirements of the policy. These amend
ments are intended to counteract certain pro
visions in policies which some southern
underwriters are said to be enforcing.
Teacher—When water becomes ice
what is the great change that takes
place’ Pupil—The change in price—
Harlem Life.
MEDICAL.
OAD WATS
IB READY RELIEF.
CURES AND PREVENTS
Coughs,Colds, Sore Throat, Influ,
enza, Bronchitis, Pneumonia
Swelling of the Joints.
Lumbago, Inflammations,
RHEUMATISM, NEURALGIA.
Frostbites, Chilblains, Headache
Toothache, Asthma,
DIFFICULT BREATHING.
CURES THE WORST PAINS in from one to
twenty minutes. NOT ONE HOUR after
reading this advertisement need any
SUFFER WITH PAIN. * *
Radway’s Ready Relief is a Sure
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ALL INTERN AL PAINS. Cramps In th
Bowels or Stomach, Spasms, Soar Nt on;-
ach. Nausea, Vomiting, Heartburn, Dlw.
•hoea. Colic, Flatulency, Fainting Spells
are relieved instantly and quickly cared
by taking internally as directed.
There is not a remedial agent in the world
that will cure Fever and Ague and all other
malarious, bilious ond other fevers, aided h
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Fifty cents per bottle. Sold by all Drar.
gists. B
RADWAY & CO, 33 Warren street,
New York.
SPECIALIST.
WHEN OTHERS FAIL
CONSULT
Dr. Broadfoot,
If sick and despondent, the best medical
beip is none too good. Why not consult a
specialist of established reputation and un
questioned reliability, such as Dr. Broadfoot*
Whatever opinion is given by him you caa
rely upon it as being true He is a true genu
ine specialist in all diseases peculiar to me
and women.
teases and all
its attending
ailments of
mlddfe aged
failing mem'
other
s y m p t o ms,
unfitting one for study or business. Blood
and Skin Diseases, Sores, Tumor. Pimples,
Tetter, Eczema,Ulcers,Loss of Hair, Scrofula
and Blood poison of every nature, primary
and secondary, promptly and permanently
eradicated. Unnatural discharges promptly
cured in a few days. Quick, sure and safe.
Mail treatment given by sending for symj>
tom blanks. No 1 for men. No. 2 for women.
No. 3 for skin diseases All correspondent!
answered promptly. Business strictly co*
fldential. Entire treatment sent free from
observntipn to all parts of the country. Adi
dreb! or call on
J. BROADFOOT. M. Il_
no Broughton street (up stairs),
Savannah. Ga,
CillllMlOjßOilfOfCiPi.
SCHEDULE FOR
isle oi Hope, MoniQomenr and All way stations
SUNDAY TIME.
CARS RUN AS FOLLOWS:
Leave Bolton street 9:07 a. m.; leave Isle of
Hope 8:17 a. m.; leave Second avenue for Isle
of nope, i0:15, ll:loa. m., 12:15.1:15.2:15,3:15,
4:15,5:15,6:15. 7:15 and 8:15 p. m.; the 9:07
from Bolton street, and 11:15, 2:15,4:15 7:15
from Second avenue, connect with the steam
cars at Sandfly.
Leave isle of Hope 11:15 a m.. 12:15, 1:15,
2:15.3:15.4:15.5:15.6:15, 7:15,8:15 and 9 p. m.
Cars from Thunderbolt to Isle of Hope every
hour after 2:00 p. m. until 6 p. m.
Leave Montgomery 8:15,11a.m., 2 and 6 p.
m . connect with Electric cars at Sandfly
Leave Isle of Hope for Thunderbolt at2:3o
and hourly afterwards until 6:30 p. m.
CITY AND SUBURBAN R’Y CO.
HARDWARE,
Bar, Band and Hoop Iron,
WAGON MATERIAL,
Navaf Stores Suppfies.
FOR SALK BY
EDWARD LOVELL’S SONS
155 Broughton and 138-140 State Sts.
FEED.
IIAY, GRAIN, FEED~
All Varieties COW ~PEAS, STRAW, Etc.
Sole Agent Wilbur’s Seed Meal
for horses and cows.
Wilbur’s White Rock Hoof
Packing for the cure of all dis*
eases oi the horse’s foot and frog.
X. J. DAVIS,
Grain Dealer and Seedsman,
Telephone 233. 156 Bay street
STEAMBOATS.
The Steamer Alpha,
E. F. DANIELS, Master,
On and after MAY 1 will change hex
Schedule as follows:
Leave Savannah. Wednesday 9am
Leave Beaufort, Thursday. Bam
Leave Savannah, Friday 11am
Leave Beaufort, Saturday Bam
The steamer will stop at Bluflton on both
trips each way. The Alpha can be chartered
for excursions every Monday and Tuesday.
For further information apply to
C. H. WEDLOCK. Agent.
INSURANCE.
CH A RLESFPREN D ERC AST
(Successor to B. H. Footman & Cos.)
Fire. Marine ini Storm Ihir
106 BAY STREET.
[Next West of the Cotton Exchange ]
Telephone call No. 34. SAVANNAH. GA.
CONSUMPTION
SURELY CURED.
To the Editor—Please inform your read
ers that I have a positive remedy for the
above named disease. By its timely use
thousands of hopeless cases have been per
manently cured. I shall be glad to send
t\vo bottles of my remedy free to any of yo |ir
readers who have consumption if they will
send me their express and post office address.
X. A. bloc uni. M.C.. 183 Pearl St.. New l’otk*