Does Anyone Know!
Do« anyone know what’s in your heart and
mine,
The sorrow and song,
The demon of sin and the angel divine—
The right and the wrong,
Tbi dread of th– darkness, the love of the
day,
The ebb and the flow
Of 1»P 3 and doubt forever and aye,
Does anyone know?
Dees anyone dream of the love that is yours,
The heart that is mine;
The depth and the width of the cup that
each pours
Of rich red wine;
Of hate that is dark as the midnight of grief
The anguish and woe,
The dark clouds ot halting and blind unbe
lief,
Does anyone know?
Does anyone see what we have in the heart
To love and to hate;
Of life's every motive an intricate part
Of chance and of fate;
The mem’ry of kisses, of starlight, of songs,
Of roses and snow,
Of women’s sweet eyes, of prayers and
wrongs,
Does anyone know?
Does anyone hearken to music of bells.
And the sigh of the sea,
And the whisper of woodlands that murmurs
and swells
For you and for me;
The sound of fond voices that ever respond,
In tones soft and low,
To the prayer we are breathing into the be
yond,
Does anyone know?
UNDER A CLOUD.
“Dear me!’’ said Mrs. Pell, “what is
the matter with Carry? Ain’t sick, is
she?”
Mrs. Pell had come up to her lodger’s
room to borrow a dust-pan. Life among
the poor—tenement-house life, at least
—is all give and take; and Mrs. Pell
borrowed dust-pans and egg-beaters,
just as Mrs. De Rifter of Upper Fifth
avenue would borrow a piece of music,
or Miss Waldegrave the last new novel.
The Beltons had only lately come to
the house. They were very poor, yet
Mrs. Pell somehow respected an intan
gible essence of ladyhood that hovered
about them. They had no carpet on
their flood, yet it was always clean; the
curtains were made of “cheese-cloth” at
four cents a yard; the bed on which
mothers and daughters slept assumed
the similitude of a stained pier-wardrobe
by day. The cooking was done on a
kerosene stove in the corner; and Mrs.
Pdl had discovered that Sirs. Belton
did floss-silk embroidery on flannel for
infants' wardrobes, while Carry was one
of the attendants in Muller – Co.’s
gTeat dry-goods -store on Broadway.
“I knowed they was genteel,” said
Mrs. Pell, “the minute I set eyes on
’em. Mrs. Belton’s dress is shabby;
and Mrs. Hourie, the grocer’s wife <s>u
the first-floor, wears a brand new silk,
but Mrs. Belton wears hers somehow
different; and Carry’s bonnet is plain
black straw, with loops o’ green ribbon,
but it’s – great deal more lady txd than
Susan Jane Hawley’s pink crape, with
the red feathers and the Rhine-stone
Aggers stuck in it.”
But to-day Carry was crying, and
Mrs. Belton, with her floss-silk em
broidery pushed to one aide, was trying
tu comfort her as best she could.
“No, ’ said Mrs. Belton, “she isn’t
sick, but—”
“Iam discharged 1” said Carry, sud
detily straightening herself up. “I ve
lost my place, One of the customers
brought a point-lace handkerchief to
the store to match it in flounces, and
she couldn’t find it afterward, .and—”
“1 know,” said Mrs. Pell. “I had a
n !eec once in one o’ them big stores, and
y°u can t teach me much about ’em.
bo gal 3 i 3 sacrificed right straight
a '°ng to the customers’ whims. It was
laid to you, of course.”
“And I may consider myself lucky,
bo they tell me,” cried out indignant
Car T, “that I not arrested and
t^wn am
into prison! Only ‘previous
N°od conduct’ has saved me! But I
°n t consider myself lucky! I consider
I have been insulted and aggrieved.
j
(arr y, Carry!” gently toothed the
mother.
Ild Carry’s passionate words died
–Yay in a flood of tears.
“Uui what are we to do?” she
wailed. “How are wc to live? No
° De ^ke in, after this.
mo It
Would be useless for me to try to get a
mtuation.”
God will provide, Carry,” whispered
Mrs. Belton.
At that moment there sharp
fcp came a
a t the door.
Is the young woman ready for the
We out in Orange County?” asked a
SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS.
gruff voice. * ‘Mr. Jessup’s wagon is at
the door. That s me. And lie’s a-wait
in’.”
‘ La, me!” said Mrs. Pell, starting
up. “I clean forgot all about it. Name
of Jessup? Louisa Olcott, she’s dread
ful sorry, but her uncle ain’t willin’,
on sober second thoughts, to let her go
out of the city. They’ve gone to Coney
Island today, and—”
“Ain’t that the young woman?” said
Mr. Jessup, nodding his head toward
Carry Belton as he stood in the door
way.
‘Certainly not,” said Mrs. Pell,
bristling up. “This is a floor above the
Oicott rooms. ”
“No offense, no offense!” said Mr.
Jessup. “But what be I goin’ to do?
My wife she calculated on my bringin’
home a hired help, and I dunno nothin’
about your intelligence offices. And
the train goes at eleven.”
“What sort of a place is it?” asked
Carry, suddenly turning around.
“Gineral house work,” said the old
farmer, leaning against the side of the
door. “A little of everything. Sort o’
handy woman about the place, Jest
ezactly the sort o’ work our darter
would have done if she’d lived to grow
up. Ten dollars a week and a good
home. I dunno what you thing of it,
but it seems to me a pretty fair offer.”
“Mother,” said Carry, breathlessly,
“I have a great mind to go, if—if Mr.
Jessup will take me.”
“And glad of the chance,” said the
old farmer, cheeifuily.
“I don’t know much about house
work,” went on Carry.
“My woman’ll teach you,” said the
farmer. “She’d be doin’it herself if
it wasn’t for ‘the rheumatism in her back.
And you look like one who would be
quick and handy to learn.”
“And I know all about her,” said Mrs.
Pell, “and I tell you, Mr. Jessup,
she’s a good, trustworthy girl as ever
lived.”
‘ 'I coulfi jedge as much as that by
her looks/’ said Mr. Jessup, shrewdly.
So Carry Belton steered her little life
bark into this new current.
She had not been a week at Jessup
Farm before she wrote home to
mother:
“Peat; Mother: I am the happiest girl in
all the world. This Is a lovely place-all ap
ple orchards and meadows knee-deep in red
clover and timothy grass. I help to milk
the cows every night, and the lambs and
chickens know me already. Mrs. Jessup is
the kindest old lady you ever knew; all she
is afraid of is that I shall do too much.
Frank.—that is her nephew who lives here,
an! helps Mr. Jessup with the farm—brings
in all the wood and water, and is always ask
ing what he can do to help me. I suppose
I ought not to call him ‘Frank,’ but every
one else does, and it seems so perfectly nat
ural. All that troubles me, mother, is being
separated from you, and I have such a de
lightful plau. It was Frank that first
thought of it, and Mr. and Mrs. Jessup do
not object. -There is one wing of the old
farna-hous> that is only used for a store
place—two delightful rooms, with a great
fire-place big enough for a whole colony, and
■windows looking out on the river. They are
a little out of repair, to be sure, but I can
easily whitewash and repaper them, with
Frank’s help, and you are to come and live
there. And all the rent kind Mrs. Jessup
will aoeept is a little dressmaking now and
then, such as you are handy with, for her
poor old finger-joints are all stiffened with
rheumatism, and she cannot hold a needle.
And you can go into the city with your em
broidery every we :k or two—the fare is not
so very great—and you can breathe in the
smell of the new-mown hay, and gather wild
flowers and sweetbrier, and oh, mother dar
ling, we shall be so happy I"
Mrs. Belton read the letter through
tears of delight
“It will be like heaven?” she said to
herself. 4 ‘My dear, thoughtful child!
But I wonder who this ‘Frank’ is? I
wonder whether she knows how often
her though.s and her pen turn to him?
He must be good if he is with these
kind people!”
She went out to the old farm. Carry
met her at the station in a wagon, with
with a handsome, sun-burned young
man holding the reins.
“This is Frank Jessup, mother!” said
she, with a radiant face.
Thc two rooms were in perfect order.
A bunch of roses stood on thc bureau,
and summer evening though it was, a
fire of logs burned within tho deep,
smoke- blackened chasms of the ancient
chimney, casting red reflections on the
newly- papered wads—“lest it should be
damp,” said Carry.
And the first real home feeling which
they had known for years came, like
the brooding wings of a dove, over tho
hearts of mother and daughter as they
side by side on thc door-step, under
the green apple-boughs, with a great
shining in tho west, and the sound
of a brooklet gurgling along beneath
the wiliows beyond.
The blackberries on the hedge were
ripening; the roses had blown away;
drifts of pink and the early apples were
beginning to gleam like spheres of gold
through the leaves—when Carry came
into the wing-room, one evening, with
a pale face.
– t Mother,” said she, “the hour has
cornel I must go away from here. You
must go with met”
“Carry!”
“Frank Jessup has asked me to bo his
wife!”
“I thought he would, Carry. I knew
that he loved you,” said Mrs. Belton,
with innocent pride. “And no wonder 1”
“I told him about the silk handker
chief, mother—the handkerchief that
they accused me of stealing!” whispered
the girl.
“What did he say, Carry?”
“Hc said he did not care—he wanted
me to be his wife all the same.”
“And you?”
“Mother, I told him that could never
be. I never could let the cloud which
has darkened my own life overshadow
his.’ ’
“But, Carry, if he loves you—■”
“All the more reason that X should
save him this humiliation,” said the
girl.
And when Mrs. Belton looked at her
set face, she knew that all remonstrance
was in vain.
“We must go away,” said Carry. “It
will be like tearing the heart out of my
breast; but there is only the one thing
to do.”
And she burst into sobs and tears on
her mother’s shoulder.
“Hush!” said Mrs. Belton—“hush,
my darling! Some one is coming up the
walk. It is a woman, with a red shawl
and a green parasol, and an ecru dress
trimmed with garnet bands. Why,
Carry, it is Mrs. Pell, our old land
ladyl”
“Ye?, it’s me,” said the landlady of
Judith Street tenement-house. “How
de , do? , , Surprised ~ to see ain’t ve? ,
1 me,
Well, if this’ere , aim fc a pretty place! , ,
But , I T sort , o’ , felt , as if I had to come.
„ Tuller ,, , s shop-w’alker, „ , he to , the
t was
, house yesterday. The firm „ sent , . him. .
They re short o Hands, ’ and they want „
Carry _ to , come . back , to , the lace counter
again. And , . the . , lace handkerchief , ,, ,, , that .
made all the trouble is found.
dressmaker . found it down . the , folds , .,
in
of , the lady’s , , , overskirt, , . ,
young apron /
when , she , ripped . it ■ apart, last , week. , T It ,
had , . slipped , down , into . . the , .... linm and ,
,
there ,, it ... lay. The , lady , , dread- , ,
young s
ful sorry about it, too!”
„ Carry , s face , , had . grown , bright. . , .
“Found, is it?’’ said she. “And I
am exonerated from all blame? Mother,
give Mrs. Pell a cup of tea. Don’t you
see how tired she looks? And I will go
back to where Frank is waiting for me.
I—I think this will be good news for
him!’ ’
Mrs. Pell stayed all night and went
back to thc city with a monster bunch
of pinks and roses next day.
But Miss Belton did not go back to
the lace counter at Muller – Co. ’s.
Mrs. Pell drily informed the shop
walker that she believed the young lady
had accepted another engagement.
Happy Carry! The cloud had rolled
away from her life. The sunshine lay
before her now .—Saturday Night.
A Marvelous Walking Stick.
A walking stick for tourists and bot
anists, recently patented in Germany by
Herr Herb, of Pulsnitz, is furnished
with the following articles: One side
of the handle is a signal call, and on the
other side can be fixed a knife (which is
above the ferrule). In the middle of
the handle is a compass. The handle
itself can be screwed off, and within is
a small microscope with six object glass
es. In the stick, under thc handle, is a
vessel containing ether or chloroform.
Outside thc stick there is inserted on
one side a thermometer, and on the
other side a sand or minute glass. Above
the ferrule is the knife already referred
to, and to the ferrule can be screwed a
botanist’s spatula, or an icc point for
glacier parties. Lastly, a meter measure
is adapted to the stick. A. small ham
mer and a blowpipe are needed to make
it suitable for geologists as well as natu
ralists .—Mail and Express.
IIo Was Prepared.
Jones—Why don’t you lay by some
thing for a rainy day?
Brown—I have done so. I’m keeping
the umbrella Smith loaned me a week
ago.
A QUEEN’S LIFE.
Inner Scenes in the Household
of Victoria of England.
The Domestic Routine and the
Servitors who Attend Her.
The inner life of the court, says Mrs.
Alexander in the Philadelphia Times ,
has little in it to tempt a Sybarite—sim
plicity, doubtfulness, conscientious per
formancc of work are its characteristics.
At 9 Her Majesty breakfasts alone, un
less some of her children, grandchildren
or personal friends are staying in the
palace, and she is rarely without them.
In Summer, at Osborne, Windsor or
Balmoral, this meal is generally served
out of doors, in some alcove, tent or
Summer-house, after which the Queen
drives in a small pony carriage, nccom
panied by one of the Princesses, or she
walks attended by a lady-in-waiting or
maid of honor, with whom she con
verses with friendly ease, and followed
by two Highland servants and some
favorite
Luncheon is served at 2, the convives
being her majesty’s family or royal
guests. Until this hour, from her short
after-breakfast exercise, the queen is
diligently occupied with official corre
spondence and business of various kinds.
Long training has made her a politician
of no mean ability and breadth of view,
her natural common sense forming an
admirable basis for such a superstruc
ture. It assists, too, iu enabling her to
choose her friends well and wisely,
though the court surroundings are not
calculated to help royal personages in
forming a just judgment of character.
Human nature puts on a somewhat too
angelic guise, where everything may be
won By amiability and nothing by the
reverse.
In the morning the maids of honor
(they are nine in all) in waiting for the
time are with the Princesses, reading or
P rac ^ s ^ n g on the piano, singing or play
ing lawn ternm with them, as any young
ladies, , companions together, might. * ,
The lady-in-waiting accompanies . the
Queen . . , her afternoon , drives , . and , visits, . .
in
which ... most frequently to the
are poor
and , to the , humale , , workers, often to
simple . gentry ... trouble.
or any one in
Afterward this lady reads aloud to Her
Majesty . . her sitting
' m private ° room.
The royal , dinner hour is 8 30, ’ and
that , meal , . shared , by those of the royal
is
family , then residing . with . , the , Queen, _ by
*
distinguished visitors . . and , of the ,
f some
household in rotation, ’ viz., ’ lord and
ladies in waiting, maids of honor,
equerries 1 and grooms-in-waiting, ° b ’ this
latter official a considerably
lower P ositiou than the C( l uerr *’ thou h
-
to thc un ^tructed it sounds like a dis
txnction wlthout a difference *
The Queen is a woman of strict busi
ness habits and steady application. The
amount of correspondence she gets
through is enormous. In the private
portion of this correspondence Her
Majesty is assisted by her private secre
tary, a lady-in-waiting, and a maid of
honor, especially the Dowager Mar
chioness of Ely, one of the ladies, who
is a valued friend.
When the court is at Windsor the
members of the household in attend
ance are ono lady-in-waiting (these la
dies are always peeresses), two maids of
honor, a lord-in-waiting, two equerries,
one groom-in-waiting, also the keeper
of the privy purse, the private secre
tary, assistants iu both departments and
the master of the household. The at
tendance is the same at Osborne and
Balmoral, with the exception of the
lord-in-wait in
To attend to Her Majesty’s toilet and
wardrobe there are five maids, viz.,
throe dressers and two wardrobe women.
Thc senior dresser, who has been many
years with Her Majisty, is specially
charged with thc task of conveying
orders to different tradespeople—jewel
ers, drapers, dressmakers, etc.; one
dresser and one wordrobe woman are in
constant attendance on the Queen, tak
ing alternate days.
Dress is a matter in which even in her
young days, her majesty does not ap
p Car ] la ve taken much interest. At
present her perpetual mourning allows
of no crude color combinations. Come
of us elders have a pleasant, if vague,
recollection of Victoria Regina a good
many years ago, say forty or forty-three,
in a very simple and becoming bonnet
tied beneath thc chin, a wreath of wild
roses under the brim framing a sweet,
kindly young face. Ah, me! sorrow
and experience have writ their cruel
marks on hers and ours sine* then.
False bold atnl Diamonds.
There are in New York a number of
men—actually peddlers, though they
repudiate that designation—whose busi
ness is almost wholly confined to the
police force. They sell jewelry, watches,
clothing, household goods and other
things upon “the instalment plan” to
members of the “finest.” The business
is a good one, collections are sure when
the monthly pay-day3 come around, and
the expenses cl trade are, to those en
gaged in this line, much smaller than
are borne by dealers who have store-rent
and clerk-hire to pay. Consequently
the merchant who is his own salesman
and clerk, and whose pockets are his
store, or who, dealing in bulkier goods
than those he can carry, sells on large
commissions from manufacturers, is very
anxious, when he has made a profitable
line of acquaint ances and patrons in the
force, to retain their good opinion and
confidence. Hence, by reason of a lit
tle expose last week, one of these gentry
is at present on the verge of distraction.
His business is in jewelry, gold -watch
chains and watches mainly. During a
month or two past he has been selling a
great many large and heavy watch chains
which were represented as “solid four
teen-karat gold,” in several of the up
town station houses. One night an
officer in the course of an agitated con
versation with a tough citizen got one of
these big chains broken, and the next
day took it into a jeweler’s on his beat
to be repaired. While doing the little
job the jeweler innocently remarked:
“This is the heaviest filled chain X
ever saw.”
“Filled nothin’ I” ejaculated the
officer, with a snort of contempt;
“that’s solid gold.”
“Oh, no,” persisted the jeweler, “it
is filled with silver.”
Eventually the indignant policeman
was convinced, much against his will,
that the gold of his chain was really
hardly as thick as an ordinary business
card and that all the solid interior was
silver. Much more than half of the
entire weight of the chain was of the
baser metal.
voluntary Slaves. -in
There has not been a more degraded
class in this country since the days of
Columbus than the “Huns.” They are
hired out in gangs and receive whatever
pay the labor broker sees fit to give
them for their work. Even their iden
tity becomes lost. Their names are
known only to themselves aacl to the
padrone, who makes a good livelihood
by securing such gangs for those who
want them on short notice. The
laborers themselves are numbered
identification, and the employer or the
boss takes no notice whatever of their
names. If he wants No. 1 he calls the
number, and thc man who figures under
this name responds. No. 100 docs
likewise wlica he is called by his figure
name, and so it goes. When a railroad
is to bo built or a piece of labor of any
considerable magnitude is to be done,
the contractors communicate with the
labor broker, who is generally a cunning
Italian, and m mages to squeeze a com
mission out of both sides for his ser
vices. The contractor says he wants a
hundred laborers at the same price as
the last lot, or he may want five hun
dred. Dealing wholesale in this way he
gets them much cheaper than if he
engaged them iu “blocks of five” or
undertook to organize the gang him
self. Thc labormonger communicates
with the gang master as soon as he re
ceives the order, and in a short time the
pick-and-sliovel brigade reports for
duty. The labormonger gets his com
mission from the contractor at once, and
he exacts his money from the men for
whom he thus obtained employment
when they get their first month’s pay.
The gang master attends to that matter.
Indeed, this is one of the principal
duties for which he was selected.
In a Nutshell.
Lawyer, to Irish sailor who has been
called in to testify to the character of a
companion brought to justice for some
misdemeanor, “Can you tell me any
thing about the character of the pris
oner?”
Pat—scratching his bead—“Faith,
and I can, sure. He’s a good feller,
Michael is, cheerful loike, and of an
aisy disposition; but, plaise your honor,
lie’s a feller that’s in everybody’s mess
and nobody’s watch.”
"Work on the astronomical observatory
to be erected at the Vatican is to be
begun at once. The estimated co»t is
$ 200 , 000 .
