Newspaper Page Text
8
The Male Flirt.
Concluded from front page.
would evade bis questions she knew not bow
to do it. So her answer was given in that
calm and candid tone and manner that the
listener never dares to doubt. And never
were two hearts happier than -were theirs at
that moment.
Maud Vinton had said positively that she
would have no bridesmaids or groomsmen,
but such a handsome picture as Harry and
Addie presented when standing side by side,
quite turned her head and changed her notion.
And thus it was arranged that Addie and
Harry were their attendants, and Thursday
they were to start on their bridal tour to the
West and stop on the way at Merton Cottage
until they could lie joined by Mr. and Mrs.
Harry Wentworth. And it was not until the
day after the wedding and all were at Went
worth’s home, ready to lie off, that Harry's
mother insisted that he should tell her whether
or not the gypsies had told him his fortune
aright. Harry replied that the little priestess
had^given him a lesson that had done him
great good, but that the liest of prophets
were sometimes mistaken. But when he was
shown the will that made his wife an heiress
his faith in the veiled gypsy suddenly awak
ened, and would have remained strong until
this day had not Addie loosened it with a
word.
One quiet evening when they were riding
by the old camp ground. Harry pointed to a
tree near which the little tent had stood, anil
said:
“You should have seen me standing there,
Addie, and heard the unsatisfactory words of
the dusk}’ maid who told me truly what had
been and what would lie.”
“I did see you," said Addie, and there was
a look in her face that sent the truth of the
whole affair through his soul like a Hash of
light. She had played gypsy and he had hud
his fortune told.
Carmine’s Triumph.
BY ANNABEL BARKER WHITE.
CHAPTER i.
“My wife an authoress! Ha! ha!” and
Stay lor Rowan laid back his curly head and
laughed in the merry, stinging way that gra
ted on his sensitive wife.
She stood near with downcast eyes and
burning cheeks, her slender fingers clasping
the unfortunate magazine that contained a
short story from her jien.
“Comenere!” The trembling culprit aji-
proache I her lord and master, who drew her
to his side. “Carmine. I am not going to re
proach you for your folly, nor shall I get an
gry with you if you continue it, but if you
love me, you will write no more. This thing,”
touching the mrgazine lightly, “is but just
started in the world, and cannot aff ord to
bring out embryonic authors. It must have
well-known authors to push it up. How-
much did you get for your story?” he sud
denly asked.
“Nothing,” she faltered: “it is the first 1
ever had published, and—” but she stopped,
checked by his cynical smile.
“ Nothing! Then the editor thought it was
worth nothing. Was there no way you could
have used your time with better results?” he
went on. “It is folly to attempt anything in
this line, Carmine. It takes talent, sense, in
fluence, experience, thought and cultivation
to succeed. These you have not got, my
good little wifey.’
“But I have studied and thought and
written in secret more than you think.” she
said, eagerly, “and I am resolved ”
“To set the world a fire,” he said, with
another musical, ga % laugh. “ No, my
Carmine, don’t aspu lie amuse: be con
tent to lie a nice houneKeeiier and a graceful
entertainer. Dress the outside of that- pret
ty head with crimps, but don't twist up the
inside with brain efforts that will never re
sult in anything but efforts. I don’t want
any slatterrly, would-be authoress, up to her
nose in ink anil foolscap, with her house and
kitchen at sixes and sevens. 1 want a wife
of whom 1 can lie proud: a wife who is al
ways prepared for com j iany, with an immac
ulate house, golden butter, and—and—in fact,
1 want a woman for a wife like my mother,
a woman of whom any man might be proud,”
energetically.
“And cannot a woman be a good house
keeper and yet use the gift of expressing her
thoughts through her pen. if God has given
her such a gift?”
“No,”he interrupted, almost roughly, “it
is no use to talk of it any more, for it is a
subject ujkiu which ire will never arjree.
And. I repeat, if you love me, you will think
no more of such a foolish thing as ‘writing
for the papers.’ ” Saying which, he went out
of the door with a wooden oath if. e., slam
ming the door loudlyi. and hurried off to the
“dejiot,” the inevitable refuge in that part
of the country for men when out of humor.
Carmine cried heartily when he was gone,
and she was strongly tempted to give up her
hope of becoming a writer—one who should
lie able to amuse, if n< it instruct and elevate,
her fellow-beings; but the hope was too
strongly rooted—it was too deeply founded
in a need of her soul. Thoughts and feelings
within her called for expression through her
pen. This was the one way in which she
could utter them. If she could express her
self in music or in painting, that might have
pleased Stay lor better, she thought, but one
must take the gifts of the gods as they come.
And she had a gifi—she felt it in her inmost
consciousness. “And he shall yet acknowl
edge it,” she said, her eyes shining through
her tears with the glow of a sudden, proud
resolve.
CHAPTER II.
Three years have passed. It is night, and
Carmine Rowan sits in her tasteful little
parlor, buried deep in thought, and an easy
chair. Her dainty figure is arrayed in a
warm colored cashmere, while the filmy lace
collar encircling her white throat, is caught
together with a ruby pin. Her little feet are
neatly clad, and her hands are white and
shapely, as they rest on the elbows of her
chair. A smile now plays around her lijis,
losing itself in a faint hint of dimples. Surely
her thoughts are pleasant. A step sounds in
the hall, and she rises to her feet, the color
deepening in her cheeks.
“Ha! Carmine, this is comfortable,” said
Staylor, as he received his usual welcoming
kiss, then sank down into the vacant arm
chair, standing cosily near the fire. She
smiled half sadly as he drew her down to his
knee.
“Why so thoughtful, little one ?” tapping
her cheek with his finger. She turned sud
denly.
“Staylor, what day is this?”
“Why, the anniversary of the day that
gave me the sweetest wife in America,” he
cried.
“Flatterer !”
“You little witch, you know it's so. But
for doubting me I shall not show you what
is here,” putting his hand in the breast pocket
of his coat.
“Ah! do,” she cried coaxinglv, attempting
to put her own hand in the mysterious recep-
ticaL He appeared reluctantly to yield, and
she drew forth a small round box. wrapped
in tissue paper.
“What is itf” she asked, undoing its wrap
pers. “For Carmine,” she read, then opened
the box. A cry of delight escajied her. A
tiny gold watch and pretty chain glittered
on the white velvet cushion. She kissed him
gratefully twice, the foolish tears springing
to her eyes.
“My generous husband! But are you sure
you could afford this dear?”
“Very sure, thanks to your careful man
agement my household fairy.”
“Is that said from the heart Stay lor?” she
asked looking at him wistfully.
For answer he put her taper little finger
lie tween his teeth and bit it, while he s'owly
nodded his head.
4 ‘Oh! but my husband answer me seriously,”
she said, “have I been a help mete to you in
these five years we have been united!”
“None more truly so in the whole world,”
he answered tenderly putting his arm over
her shoulder and looking wonderingly at her ,
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
eyes that seemed to hold some important
secret.
“Thank you. Have I been a tidy wife, a
neat housekeeper a pleasant entertainer of
my husband’s friends ?”
“You have been all these in very truth.
What are you driving at little wife!”
“Thanks again; one more question: have
you a wife of whom you can be proud?”
“More catechism? Half the city envies me
my wife, and I am justly proud of her.”
A happy smile trembled round Carmine’s
lips and she dropped the white lids over her
brown eyes, lest their mischievous twinkle
should be seen. She leaned closer to him fs
she softly asked.
“Do you love me as well jus your mother!”
“A thousand, thousand times lietter,” he
cried, straining her to.his heart.
“Release me!” she pantingly cried.
When he had done so, she smoothed her
hair and collar, and reproaehingly said:
“How many times must I beg you to re
member your promise not to interrupt. But
we now come to question last. Staylor," liave
I any sense?”
Hi* stared, and said:
“ I’ll be hanged if 1 see any sense in that
question!”
“I am answered,” she said turning away.
“iStay,” and he drew her back. “To be
sure, you are the most sensible woman of my
acquaintance. Will that answer please you?”
“That dej lends on the number of your ac
quaint inee,” smiling. “Well, your catechism
lesson is ended and here is your reward, for
I toil remembered it was the aaniversary of
our marriage, and have my humble gift for
your acceptance.”
She took a brown parcel from the table,
and unwrapping it. disclosed a handsome
volume bound in brown cloth with elegant
designs in gold. He took it and read the
title.
“By George! the very liook I meant to get
for you to day, but they told me the last copy
at the bookstore had lieen sold this morning.
It is the book that lias caused such a furore
in the reading world. I was delighted with
the extracts from it I read in the different
reviews.”
“Do you think those extracts evinced expe
rience. cultivation, sense.’" asked Carmine,
mischief and eagerness dancing in her eyes.
“Why of course, child! Did I not tell you
the liest critics had praised the book, and that
it had set the reading world afire with enthu
siasm f’
“1 am afraid it is over-rated,” Carmine
said, shaking her head.
“Suppose you read it before passing judg
ment,’ he answered, a little piqued.
“I have read it," she replied quietly. He
looked surprised.
“What, already?”
“I read it before it was published." she said
demurely, but with throbbing heart.
“How—why "lie cried perplexedly, “do
you know the author, Carmine!”
“Intimately.”
“Who is he? The public is on its head to
know him.”
Carmine laughed merrily.
“The poor public! It is a pity that it must
be left in that uncomfortable position, for uo
one but her husband will know her.”
“Her! The author is a woman then?”
“Yes.”
“But, Carmine, I can’t understand. "Who
is she, where is she, and what is she?”
“You are as competent to answer all those
questions propounded in a breath as I am."
“I?” A world of astonishment in the in
terrogation.
“Yes; why not, you have the honor to call
her wife.”
“Wife! 1! Carmine!”-—his astonished face
was a study. Carmine burst into a laugh
ringing as a chorus of mocking birds.
“Revenge is sweet,” she cried as she danced
out of the room.
"She has triumphed," he said with a comi
cal look as he stooped to pick up the shower
of newspaper notices that had fallen on the
fleor from the book in which Carmine had
placed them. “God bless her! She’s a noble
woman, and her book wi'l do gooe, h'.uch
good,” and his face glowed with love and sat
isfaction as he perused the notices of Car
mine’s book.
The secret was too good for the fond hus
band to keep, and soon the little world of
readers was in possession of the full name of
the author of the volume that had created
such a stir.
“ My husband’s approbation is more
precious, than the world’s praise." said the
young authoress, with shining eyes.
And this was Carmine's triumph.
A Ileuioralile Indian Figlit.
A sharp Indian fight, one of the most
closely-contested that ever took place in
Texas, was fought on the riyth of January,
1851. Lieutenant Ed. Burleson, with a de-
tachment of cavalry, was on his way from
San Antonio to Camp Los Ojuelos.
When near the Nuces river, lie saw three
Comanche Indians on horseback. Taking
eight men. and ordering the rest of the party
to keep the road and move on, he pursued
them.
After running for two or three miles the
Indians came up w ith eleven of their band
on foot, and prepared for battle.
Burleson's men. w ho were old Texan ran
gers, moved up within fifty or sixty yards of
the Comancue line, and ojiened the fight. By
some mistake they dismounted. The Indians
charged, and a terrible hand-to-hand fight
ensued. Shots were fired at the distance of
a foot or two.
The field was an open prairie, on which
there was not even a bush for cover. It was
atrial of strength, skill and courage. The
rangers fought behind their horses, shooting
under them or ov> r the saddles.
Bed men and white men, Colt’s six-shoot
ing carbines and Ikiws and arrows, revolvers
and lances were mingled in a general melee.
There was no shouting, no maneuvering, but
each man fought on his own “hook,” and for
life.
Many of the incidents of personal prowess
would, if they had occurred in a battle be
tween mediaeval knights, have lieen celebra
ted in song and chronicle.
A Comanche singled out Jem Carr, a coo],
brave ranger, and charged upon him with
bow and lance. Jem, with steady aim, fired
at and shot him: then fired again, with the
same effect. The Indian still advanced,
shooting arrow’ after arrow. The arrows
came with less and less force, until the last
one hardly left the bow, as the plucky, de
termined warrior fell dead a few feet from
his white foe.
Jem received four severe wounds. “ It was
like clock-work,” he said: “every time I
ratsed my carbine they stuck an arrow in
me.”
He had bis carbine to his face, ready to fire,
when an arrow, pasring through the last joint
of his right forefinger pierced the breech of
the gun. Luckily, the wood splintered and
released his hand.
Baker Barton, one of those indomitable
spirits who are game unto the last, received
three mortal wounds. He died on his feet,
holding to the horn of his saddlfe.
One of the coolest of the rangers was a
man named Leach, His self-possession was
wonderful. Burleson, seeing an Indian aim
ing a pistol at Leach, raised his revolver to
shoot.
“ Don’t shoot at him, Lieutenant,” called
out Leach; “he’s only bluffing. I’ve been
watching him; there is no load in his pistol.”
Finally the Indians fled, having eight
wounded and leaving four dead on the field.
They w’ere so thoroughly whipped that, con
trary to their custom, they did not take their
dead with them. Two of the rangers were
killed and several were wounded. A gentle
man who visited the field thirty days after
the fight found it covered with arrows. Over
two hundred were picked up on a space of
less than one-fourth of an acre.
A gentleman gives the following advice in
relation to dogs: “Ifyouentera lot where
there is a vicious dog, be careful to remove
your hat or cap as the animal approaches
you, hold the same down by vour side, be
tween yourself and the dog. When you have
done this you have secured jierfect immunity
from an attack. The dog will not attack you
if this advice is followed. Such is my faith
in this policy that I will pay all doctor bills
from dog bites, and funeral expenses for
deaths from hydrophobia.”
Single Man—Dear mef ileur me, I
contented.
.Married Man.— Well, yon go and get
think it impossible for a sing’e man to be
married, and hen you'll see what’s what.
An Asteiishing Dinner Party.
The ‘’American Queen” describes an event
which shows how thoroughly undemocratic
is the present fashionable ideal of woman’s
position. With such a social standard as is
here descrilied, the days of the Great Repnb-
lic would sin in lie numbered:
Answer ie I orrespondenls
Celia says: I did something last night that
I know I shall lie sorry for all my life. I let
a man beg and frighten me into promising to
marry him, when I do nof respect him and
know that he will not make me happy. He
has lieen coming to see me for more than a
“ Recently Mrs. Lawrence Turnure gave a I year. I have tried to dixcour-ge him, but he
nner for twenty-two, which those who at- would not lie rebuffed. He is the most ardent
and persistent lover I ever saw. He is very
WAS CAPTAIA KIDD A PI-
RATL ?
I.ei'lure llefore (lie Sit. Aicholns
Society Showing that kidd
W as Aol a Criminal. lint
a Poor Vw York Sail*
or Hoy.
The monthly meeting of the St. Nicholas
Club last night at No. 12 ivt-t Twenty-eighth
street was largely attended, and the members
duly celebrated Shrove Tuesday by partak
ing liberally of pancakes and listening to an
interesting paper by Mr. Douglass Campbell,
entitled “Was Captain Kidd a Pirate !”
Mr. Frederic De l’eyxter presided, and in
troduced the speaker. Mr. Complied said:
Few names are so widely known, and there
are few whose real history is so little under
stood as that of Captain Kidd. For nearly
200 years he has been held up to execration
in song and ballads as a pirate. A history
of New York would be incomplete without
his life, fur although he was tried at the Old
Bailey, in London, for murder, a id hung in
chains, and his name consigned to infamy,
he was a New Yorker, and a prominent man
in those days.
About the year 1O90 bands of pirates in
fested the seas along the American coasts
anti caused much trouble to both the English
government and the colonies. Lord Belle-
mont was appointed governor of the colonies
for the purpose of suppressing piracy, and at
the time of his appointment there were two
prominent New Yorkers then in London—
one Mr. Livingstone and the other Captain
William Kidd. The latter had married here
and lived in Liberty street, nwir Nasseau
street. He was a ship-owner and.a tiosCskill-
ful commander, as was shown bj the fact
that in 16U1 the Massachusetts ; iny pro
posed that he should take char jjf ^n.j x?'e-
dition which was fitted ciA to j impfree
booters. The naval apjiifripriatYw in Eng
land having been diverted to otherpurposes,
it was proposed by Bishop Burnett that a
vessel should be fitted by a private subscrip
tion for the purpose of pursuing axil cruising
against the pirates in colonial waters, and to
put Captain Kidd in charge of is. Dukes,
earls and lords among them, Shrewsbury,
Oxford. Bellemout and Somers, all.subscrib
ed to it, and King William 111. agreed to sub
scribe, but failed to give iiis money.
Kidd at first declined to take command,
but finally consented, and the nobility pro
cured for him a commission to capture the
King’s enemies and to be rover oa the high
seas. He sailed from London or. April 16,
io'.io. but in the Thames he encountered the
Royal press gang, who took aw .*’ many of
his men. Then he came to New York, and
shipped here one hundred and fifty men.
They shipped under the contract. “No busi
ness" no pay," and they were ns tantiuuous a
set of scoundrels as ever walked 11 deck. He
then sailed for tne Indian Ocean, and soon
discovered that he could do nothing with his
crew. They were more in sympathy with
the pirates and freebooters than opposed to
them, and ou more than one occasion they
threatened to kill him if he did not turn pi
rate. It was on an occasion of this sort that
Kidd became so angered by the threats of his
men that he hit one of them, a William
Moore, on the head with a bucket, and the
man died from the affects of the blow. This
was the crime for which Captain Kidd was
tried and hanged as a pirate.
The East India Company sent home bitter
complaints against Kidd, as they feared his
vigorous effoits to break up the free-booters
might involve them in trouble with the set
tlers and natives, many of whom were in full
sympathy with the piratical crew. A11 order
for Kidd's arrest was issued by the Home
Government, and hearing of it he at once
sailed for Boston to vindicate himself of the
charges. He landed there on July 16, 161*9,
and at once laid his papers before Eurl Belle-
mont. justifying all his captures, These pa-
i iers he never saw again, although Governor
lellemont suid he sent them ! _> .he House of
Commons. With these papers in hi* posses
sion Kidd could never have been charged
with, not to say convicted of, piracy. In the
meantime a revolution had occurred in Eng
lish politics, and the Tories came into power.
They never liked their Dutch monarch, and
one by one Kidd’s friends lost pouter, until
only Lord Chancellor Somers was left. The
great Chancellor's enemies determined upon
his ruin, and iu Novemlier, 161*9, a resolution
of censure was offered in the House of Com
mons for aflixing the great seal to Captain
Kidd's commissions. Again the resolution
was pres-ed to a vote, and again lost by a
small majority. Then the}- determined to
bring Kidd to England, try him and convict
him as a means of accomplishing the down
fall of the great Chancellor, Jon. Lord Somers.
They brought Kidd from a Boston prison
to London, and on May 8, 1701, court was
0[ieiied in the Old Baily,and Kidd was prompt
ly indicted for the murder of William Moore,
and also on four charges of piracy. Counsel
was refused: for in those days the law of
England prohibited any one accused of felo
ny from having attorneys except to consult
011 legal points. It was 1836 lielore this infa
mous law was taken from the statute books.
Promptly the trial went on, if it could be
called one; but it was more of a political in
vestigation to hang Kidd, so that Somers
could be impeached. Two of his crew who
had mutinied and joined the pirates were the
witnesses against him. As Captain Kidd re
marked at the trial, “It is vain for me to ask
any questions when snch men are taken as
witnesses.”
He called many witnesses who proved that
he was loyal and brave, and never commit
ted an act cf piracy. The jury retired on the
murder trial, and while they were absent he
was tried for piracy. They made quick work
of it, and found him guilty of murder and pi
racy. The trial began on May 8, ended on
May 9, and on May 15, 1701, Captain Kidd,
the loyal and brave sailor, was hung in chains
in London.
Then Lord Somers’ accusers presented their
articles of impeachment against him for com
missioning a man tried, convicted and execu
ted for piracy. They failed in their object,
however, and Somers was acquitted; but in
order to screen their actions, and keep their
names from infamy, history has seen fit to
blacken the memory of William Kidd who
was only a poor New York sailor.—N. Y.Star
FANHIOAAKLi: 4111 i.AESK I,A>
DIEM.
Itiiliiig on the Hacks of Their
Aiuithsi—Their Itieh tl on ru
in " Dresses, Ete.
Mrs. Grey’s hook, “ Fourteen Months in
Canton,” thus gossips about the helpless
Chinese ladies of fashion :
I was quietly watching ull the movements
1 around me, and I saw an amah take a little
j sponge cup pudding into her hand, break it
! into pieces a d feed her mistress with it. The
j same thing also happened with the fruit. A
j Chinese lady is most dependent upon her
amali, she does nothing for herself: and they
! say that her garments are taken off by the
amah at night, anil that she is lifted up and
put into bed like an infant,
j Chinese ladies cannot understand us Euro-
pean ladies; they say, “You ail same as
men.” They certainly do not admire us,
neither our manners, nor our dress, nor our
indejieiideiiee. They ask me why I do not
| dress like them, why I do not rouge, etc. The
I ladies were very abstemious, only'tasting the
! champagne and sherry. The tea was evi-
i dently a great comfort to them, as it was
served in their own fashion. When our din
ner wusover. the ladies propose. 1 that 1 should
take them to the Shameen gardens, which are
at ten minutes distance from the chaplaincy.
You would have lieen diverted if you could
have seen our party start from the house.
The ladies wore lieautifully embroidered
rolies; the underskirt was in dark blue silk,
with raised embroidery of shaded light blue
flowers. The skirt sets extremely close, and
is. in fact, very narrow; the front piece of it
is laid on, and is stiff with embroidery. At
the sides and backs it is folded into tiny plaits,
and the embroidery is worked on the outside
of each’plait. There was a border of pale
blue shaded flowers round the edge of the
ladies’ skirts. The trousers were made in
plain dark bine silk, and the tunic, in the
same color and material, made with white
flowing sleeves. The throat and sleeves were
edged with the shaded pale blue embroidery
The ladies, on arriving, apologized that
they had not on their best red costumes, say
ing that they could not wear them 011 account
of their mourning. The two Miss Howqua's
dresses were plainer in style than the dresses
of the elder ladies. Their shining long hair
was worn in long plaits, tied at the eml with
a blue ribbon. All my visitors (I mean the
ladies) were su all-looted excepting Mrs.
Howqua.
On leaving our house I gave my hand to
the latter 111 true Chinese style, and we start
ed on our walk. 1 felt a little shy of step
ping on to the public promenade with my
Chinese friends.
The young ladies hobbled on a few steps,
but they soon became tired and mounted
the backs of their amahs. The young mar
ried lady was carried in this manner all the
way. 1 must say it is a most inelegant way
of being carried. The lady passes her hand
around the amah’s neck, and places her knees
in the hand sof the servant, which are held
out behind her. Our progress was very slow,
and 1 believe the distance sjeined immense to
the ladies, who are wholly unaccustomed to
walk outside their gardens. Mrs. Howqua
rested on each bench by the way, and we
took half an hour or more to walk the short
distance.
We returned home in the same style; and
when we reached the chaplaincy the amahs
handed the ladies long pipes, from which they
took a whiff or two. The attendant stands
behind and prepares the pipe. When it is
ready, she puts the end of the long tube to
the lady’s lips, who takes one or two whiffs
only. The ladies now enjoyed a quiet gossip
with each other. I have not yet told you
that the three young children belonging to
the widower were dressed in strict mourning.
The little girls wore plain cotton tunics and
trowsers, and had no flowers in their hair.
Their shoes were plain white, bound with
blue. The little boy wore plain blue silk
trowsers, tied round the ankle with blue
ribbon; he wore also white shoes, and bisque
was tied with blue. The gentlemen express
ed much satisfaction with the dinner, and
also with the wines, to which I heard they
had done ample justice. Mr. Howqua can e
up to me and said, “Thank you, No. 1 good
dinner.”
All were now in the veranda, and tea was
again banded. The ladies sat apart from the
gentlemen, not addressing them, only speak
ing to each other. They at last rose to take
leave, and we ordered their chairs to be
brought into the hall.
With many bendings, mds and chin chins,
they now entered their chairs, taking the
children with them, and were carried off.
The gentlemen left soon after, about seven
o'clock. They sent their visiting cards, which
are made of broad strips of red paper, hav
ing the name written 011 the right hand side,
to us on reaching their house. This is an
Eastern custom, signifying that the guests
have arrived home in safety.
dinner
tended it say was perhaps the most stately,
gorgeous and perfect dinner ever seen iu New
York. Tho table-cloth was of three layers.
First, red broadcloth, then openwork napery;
then a velvet spread, embroidered with pea
cock’s eyes, and edged with gold, on which
stood a large mirror bound with silver.
From this sprang a high basket of flowers,
and at its base swam Dresden swans, the
most lovely aerial flower vrses, and the usual
ornaments of a fashionable dinner-table.
Splendid ruby glass fagons bound with gold,
and with gold handles, held the claret.
“ The silver dishes for the candied fruits
were of exquisite design, and the Dresden
faience, Sevres, Japanese anil China plutes,
which succeeded each other, were of marked
value and beauty. The dinner-cards were
models of taste and intricate design. The
candles and lamps which lighted the table
were carefully shaded with rose color. The
gastronomic excellence of such a dinner was,
of course, equal to the feast of t'ie eye—the
wines priceless, and the Madeira, answering
to ‘Romeo’s’ inquiry of ‘Juliet,’ ‘IVhat is
thine age,’ with 11 round ‘ fifty.’ Each lady
was presented with a pretty reticule, painted
by hand, in flowers of figures, and filled with
bold ions. After the dinner some trained
singers, the Mi.-ses Couron, added their de
lightful voices to the treat, and sang for an
hour in the drawing-room.
“ During dinner Stub’s band played softly
in an ante-chamlier. Truly a feast worthy
of a most honorable mention. Few noble
men in England could give a better one: the
liest part of it being that there was thought,
intelligence and refinement behind it, so the
guests say. The ladies were mostly dressed
in white, that being the fashionable festal
garb of the period, in satin, silver brocade
and lace, embroidered with pearls. Among
the guests were Admiral LeRov, David Dud
ley Field, Ex-Lieutenant Dorxheimer, Mr.
Bailey Meyers, William H. Vanderbilt, and
others of distinction, with an equal number
of ladies. The flowers, always tne best part
of ornamentation, were white lilacs, jacque
minot roses, lilies-of-the-valley, etc.
4’liililmi in Prisons :in«l Poor.
ll<IIIS«‘S.
Gov. Cornell, in his message to the legisla
ture, said of many of the county jails and
poor-houses in New York that, “instead of
serving their legitimate purposes, they are
said to appear more like nurseries of immor
ality, squalor, and crime.” This had become
so evident, a few years since, that in 1873 the
State Board of Charities was directed to ex-
amino into the causes of the increase of crime,
pauperism and insanity in the State, and its
tenth annual report shows that one of the
most important and prolific causes of this in
crease is tin* unrestrained liberty allowed to
vagrant and degraded women. A melan
choly list of instances, drawn from poor-
houses in every part of the State, attested the
the truth of the statement, and established
the dismal fact that, by the public negl igeuce
to insist upon remedial measures, pan perism
and crime are permitted to perpetuate them
selves. One such measure was wisely adop
ted by the legislature of 1875, prohibiting the
committal to poor-houses of any chil l over
three years of age, and requiring the remov
al from them of all children between the
ages of three and sixteen. This is a most
salutary law. We know in a suburban
county the case of a boy who was removed
from the poor house, and properly placed in
a family, who is now worth £2:1,000. Had
he remained, every chance favored liis
growth into a stalwart beggar or criminal.
violent in his feelings, and he dissipates occa
sionally. When he is drinking, he is perfectly
reckless. He declares he will throw- himself
entirely away if Ido not marry him. His
mother and his sister, who is my most inti
mate friend, tell me that he will “go to the
bad” if I drive him to desperation by refus
ing him. Lately he got into a little spree,
and I refused to see him. His sister wrote
to me that she believed he would kill himself
if I held out against him. I consented at last
tose* hiin. He came, looking pale and bad.
i don't know what all he did: liegged and
threatened, and knelt down by me—and it
ended in my promising to marrv him. But
1 know that it was wrong, and now that I am
cool and uninfluenced, I shudder at what I
have bound myself to do. But how can it
lie remedied now? 1 must keep my promise—
must I not? I cannot go back on my word,
and what would his mother and sister think
of me! * * * What you have done was
wrong and weak, but you must not follow it
up with more wrong and weakness. To
marry a man you do not respect and know
to be unsuited to you, is worse than breaking
a promise that was given, as it were, under
compulsion." To swear a falsehood at the altar
is a more serious sin than to “go back on
your word,” given under such circumstances
as you describe. I would leave home imme
diately, if possible—go to some relative or
friend at a distance, away from the influence
of the young man and his family—when
there, write him exactly how you feel about
thejpromise you gave, and withdraw it firmly
and unconditionally. You can write, also, a
letter of explanation to his sister—make it as
kind as you please, but leave no room for
doubt as to your feelings and intentions. It
is not likely that a suicide will be the result:
if it is, there will not lie much loss to the
world. As for the declaration that you could
save him. it is a trap to catch a tender heart.
If his own seif-respect will not keep him from
degredation, neither will your sacrifice in his
behalf.
Mrs. J. M. Vincent, of Brunswick. Georgia,
sends the following answer: The picture
about which C. Reheboth, Wilkes county,
asks, i- called “The Neapolitan Boy." and
was painted by Gustav Richter. Prof. Rich
ter thought so little of it that he allowed it
to remain a sketch for some time. The world
has pronounced it a “success,” for it has been
presented in all classes of photography, lith
ography and engraving. *
J. H. L. Wesley, of Lithonia, Ga., savs:
I think I con give your Gainesville corres
pondent Franklin’s toast to the Englishman
and Frenchman, but will have to write en
tirely from memory. The three being to
gether, sitting at a table, they agreed that
each should propose a toHst. "The English
man's turn came first, and he rose and said,
in the haughty tone of a Briton bold: “Here’s
to Great Britain, the Sun that gives light to
all the nations of thp earth,” etc. This rather
took back the Frenchman, but he proposed:
“Here's to France, the Moon that sheds her
gentle rays of light,” etc. Ben arose, and
in a very solemn manner said: “ Here's to
George AYashington. the Joshua of America,
who commanded the Sun and t.10 Moon
to stand still, and they stood still.”
A 8.'ngnlar Mtory «f :i II 11 :ti f.
... , „ . . „ j Dixon wishes to know what is Queen's Vie-
A\ heii Christina of Spam was m Rome toria’s salary? * * * The subjects
about twenty years ago. a dwarf named j J
Giorgia Leill was presented to her. He was of her majesty empty their pockets to fill
full of wit and intelligence, and pleased the i the royal purse at the rate of £300.000 per
jueen so much that she attached him to her | month—nearly two and a half millions of
service. Thanks to her liberality, the dwarf
was able to accumulate a small fortune,
which he left when he died, recently, to two
sisters, married and living in Aquila. The
heirs sent two persons to Paris to receive the
gold pieces and bank bills which the lillipu- .
tian relative had left them, and these inno- | me!1 t- state lianquets,ete.,—upon the Prince
cent countrymen, on their return to Rome, | of AA'ales, her subjects were obliged to pav
Row-travelers with three persons who | him a handsome increase on his vearlv in-
dollars annually. Yet Victoria calls upon
the people to dower her daughters whenev
er they marry: and lately when she shifted
the task of diplomatic- and social entertain-
liecame very friendly with them,
feigned travelers were going, they said, to
Alexandria, for business of the greatest im
portance, and were delighted to have found
such agreeable companions.
When the men of Aquila told them that
they carried the heritage of £b>.oooin a small
valise, one of them said they also had a large
sum of money with them, and proposed put
ting it together. The countrymen agreed to
this novel arrangement, and one of the three
travelers took charge of their united treasure
until arriving at Turin. There the pretend
ed friends left the train, giving the precious
valise into the hands of the Aquilinesi, and
promising soon to return. But they never
did, and the deluded countrymen found, on
examining the valise, that the treasure had
been replaced by some lumps of lead.
come. Royalty is expensive, and the Ameri
cans who sigh for the luxury, do not reflect
what it will cost.
In Paris, a young and pretty woman pre
sented herself at the gallery of a celebrated
Paris photographer, and expressed a wish to
have her picture taken. As the artist was
adjusting the camera, the lady proceeded to
pose herself by drawing a pistol -and placing
it to her temple. “What are you doing, mad
am ?” cried the astonished photographer, “I
really cannot jiermit you to blow your brains
out here; it would ruin my business; liesides
it is a shame to spoil so pretty a face.” “I
don’t intend to do anything of the sort,” an
swered the young lady, “my lover has left
me, and I wish to send my photograph taken
iu this position, with word that if he does not
soon return to my feet this will be the result.’
The photographer bowed, and executed the
portrait, which, it may be hoped, reached its
destination.
There is no moment like the present—there
is no moment at all, that is, no instant force
and energy, but the present. The man who
will not execute his resolutions when they
are fresh upon him cannot hope for them af
terwards. They will be dissipated, lost and
smothered in the hurry and scurry of the
world, or sunk in indolence.
Wbo Was Min* I
A Paris letter writer, describing Madam
Grevys recent ball, says:
“The finest figure that I saw the whole eve
ning was dressed in cream-colored faille and
satin. It was robust in chest and shoulders,
delicate in the neck, flexile at the waist, finely
rounded at the hips, somewhat above the
middle height, and neatly finished at the
hands and arms. A load of jet-black,
lustrous hair was fastened up with a
tortoise-shell comb on the top of the head. In
the loosely held braids crimson and purple
flowers were stuck carelessly. AY hen the wear-
erofthis matchless toilet burst upon my vision
I was sitting with a group of generals and
generates. The warriors were at once on the
alert, their wives all curiosity to see the face
of the beautifully formed creature. She
turned it around. Astonishment at it chased
away polightness. There was a movement of
consternation. We had expecte l to see the
head of a Caucasian Venus. AVe discovered
a feminine gorilla with a sickly yellow com
plexion. The mouth and chin 'formed a muz
zle, the lips, thick and luscious, stretched from
eartoear.tlie nose was merely nostrils,the eyes
were close together and restless in their or
bits. and the line of tile forehead sloped rap
idly to the crown of the head. A diamond
locket, brooch and bracelets of extraordinary
brilliancy told of wealth. This lady seemed
a stranger and aware of the peculiar outline
of her profile. She often hid her face behind
her fan, on which there was a portrait of a
mail, set in diamonds. An officer of Gen.
Pitte's staff had heard she was a Russian.
1 should have thought she was a Brazillian or
a Portuguese. She kept aloof from the ball
room, and without anyone to speak to her,
haunted the quiet lioudoirs up stairs, as if
watching for someone who did not come. At
a bal masque she would have attracted uni
versal admiration 1 never saw a more per
fectly lovely figure and incomparable head of
hair with a "more thoroughly unlovely face.”
The steamship City of Atlanta cleared from
Charleston, on Saturday, for New York. She
had among her cargo 2,ioo packages, vegeta
bles and 20,000 quarts of strawlterries. These
heavy shipments of such articles at the end
of the first week in March are most unusual
and an indication of the mildness of the tem
perature, which has not existed before, it is
said, for half a century.
They were talking of shooting, when the
minister, after some pretty tall stories had
been told, remaiked:
“Once I had a trial; out of fifteen shots 1
missed one.” He waited until the crowd had
exhausted its compliments on his superior
markmanship, when he gravely added, “My
brother shot fourteen times, and I shot once—
and missed.” Aiul he smiled just as inno
cently as if he had not accomplished any
thing particularly worth speaking of.
A". T. AY. writes: I have been teaching for
the past two years and at the same time trans
lating stories from the French for a literarv
pajier and compiling a work on mathematics
for press. Lately 1 have been unable to con
tinue my labors. 1 am suffering from ex
haustion of nervous force, and wish to take
something to restore vitality to my brain.
AA'hat do you think of the “Ox Brain and
AVheat Germ” which I see advertised as a
nerve and brain food.” * * * *
AYe know nothing of the medicine named,
but do not believe that anything of the kind
! can recuperate the brain. Rest and sleep and
j good nourishing food are the only restora-
j fives we have faith in. And for the food,
| coarse oatmeal or grits, soaked overnight
and cooked by being set on the stove in a pan
of boiling water, gives most nourishment with
least effort on the part of the digestive organs
of any food we have tried. Sleep is the great
recuperator. The brain substance which has
been consumed—burned up by the act of
thinking—must be re-supplied by nutritive
particles in the blood, which have been ob
tained from food previously eaten. And this
process of supply and reception goes o:i best
during sleejj.
A'irgil says: I read something to davabout
a party of New Englanders setting out to ex
plore the Staked I’lains with a view to set
tling there. AVill you tell me where are the
Staked Plains, and why they are so called?
Are they not a liarren desert ? * * *
Tiie Staked Plains are table lands in Mexico,
and received that name from the fact that a
party of Mexicans traveled from Santa Fe to
San Antonio many years ago and set stakes
on the way to guide them back. They are
not a barren desert: grass is abundant, espe
cially the mesquite, and travelers have found
wild plum-trees loaded with fruit. Buffaloes
graze upi in these plains and of course there
must lie springs of water here and there.
Stockmen are said to have an eye upon this
portion of the globe, hitherto supposed to be
of little worth to producers.
Mrs. M. C. says: Our dancing master will
give a child's fancy dress party just after
Easter. Can you not tell me of some pretty
new costume iu which to dress my Leila—my
only daughter, twelve years old." I am tired
of the flower girl and the Indian maid and
the French peasant dress—can vou suggest
something novel ?"’ * *" *
If you do not mind expense, you could dress
her as a Thistle. AA'e have heard of but one
such dress and it excited the greatest admira
tion from its lieauty and uniqueness. It was
of white satin embroidered with silver this
tles; the overskirt of thin silver gauze (which
is not very costly) was looped with silver
thistles and the same graceful and beautiful
flowers were worn in the hair. White shoes
spangled with silver, completed the dress.
Since the death of “My Grandfather's
Clock, - ' and the serious illness of the Turkish
Patrol, the No. 15 puzzle is the boss fool
thing on the tapis.