Newspaper Page Text
The tendency in modern building in
England is toward the abolition of
stairs in favor of inclined planes.
Milwaukee contains 21J square miles
of territory—probably the smallest
area of any city in the United States
of equal size.
The spread of the bicycle fever has
had a marked effect on the rubber
trade. A well known rubber dealer
states that in the past eighteen months
$5,000,000 worth of crude rubber has
teen purchased by tire makers.
Here are some of the little things,
enumerated by the New York Com¬
mercial Advertiser, that Great Britain
has on her hands at present: Turkey,
China, Ashantee, South Africa, Vene¬
zuela, the Alaskan border question and
Ireland. These are enough to make
every day a working day for the new
Prime Minister.
Bays the Baltimore American: Wo¬
men reformers have their partisans,
hut there is generally a party against
them. But there is one woman refor¬
mer in New York who will not have a
dissenting voice raised against her
crusade from Maine to Mexico. She
is trying to teach the women of the
land how to make good, digestible
pie.
Harold Frederic, who isn’t given to
circulating reports of a purely sensa¬
tional character, cables over to the
New York Times that “Queen Victoria
is passing again through one of those
phases of semi-insanity which recall
that she is George Ill’s grand-daughter.
Bumors began to circulate in London
a week ago that things were wrong,
and a modified form of them has been
printed in Dublin, but nowhere else,
although private letters from Scotland
show that it is a common knowledge
there. It seems to have had its origin
in the death of a young nephew of
John Brown, who had some obscure
post about Balmoral, but for whom
the Queen burst forth in a vehement
mourning which took all by surprise.
Since then she has been going to his
grave and to Brown’s in all weathers,
and doing other extraordinary things,
which it is impossible any longer to
ignore. ”_
The Macon (Ga.) Telegraph is
credited with the story, now going
tho rounds, that a terrapin about the
size of a silver dollar came down in a
rainstorm at Valdosta, the other day;
and since that curious occurrence the
people in that section believe firmly
all tho reports they have heard relat¬
ing to showers of frogs and fish. In a
land so justly noted as this for mis¬
cellaneous weather and climatic freaks,
the most credulous person may come
to believe firmly in the gastronomic
and epicurean conditions of the ele¬
ments. Pink snow is not unknown,
and it is quite possible that hailstorms
of two-grain quinine pills will shortly
break our parlor glass, and play a
weird tattoo upon the roof, When
such things come to pass, the com -
munity will demand a new kind of
weather prophet, that economic
householders may not be put to the
expense ot laying in a cube of corned
beef on the approach of a terrapin
shower, or a fish cyclone, which would
be rare blessings during the season of
Lent. A weather report of the future
would then read something like this:
Scallops fell yesterday on the Atlantic
coast from South Carolina northward,
in whioh region they were greatly
needed. Frogs are falling in Michi¬
gan and tho Lake regions; a trifle
over three inches are reported from
Marquette. A cold wave of fresh
mackerel is moving . rapidly ... eastward . ,
from the Dakotas. Then tho weather
forecast will be: For New England,
N„. York, Eastern Peneejlv.aia Jl
New Kpit Jersey, Twsnr fair weather, with oeca
sional showers of oysters and clams in
the afternoon. Then will the French
man hie him forth to gather the hin¬
der members of the batraohia so dear
to his heart. Umbrellas will be used
to protect heads against the descend¬
ing porgie or soft-crab. During a
drought farmers will pray for showers
of fish to fertilize their land, and re¬
plenish their depleted larders. When
that time shall arrive, people who are
now sceptical on the subject of plain
frog and fish falls, will only look with
grave doubt upon the report that
makes known to the world a shower of
canned salmon or a hailstorm of
•iiicken croquettes.
THE SINGING IN GOC'3 ACRE.
Dut yonder in the moonlight, wherein God's
Acre lies,
do angels walking to and fro, singing their
lullabies.
Their radiant wings are folded, and their
eyes are bendiDg low,
its they sing among the beds wherein the
flowers delight to grow—
“Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd guardeth His sheep.
Fast speedeth the night away,
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones, while ye may—
Sleep, oh, sleep!”
The flowers within God’s Acre see that fair
and wondrous sight.
And hear the angels singing to the sleepers
through the night;
And, lo! throughout the hours of day those
gentle flowers prolong
The music of the angels in that tender slum¬
ber song—
“Sleep, oh, sleep!
The ShephetJ loveth His sheep.
He that guardeth His flock best
Hath them to His loving breast,
So sleep ye now, and take your rest—
Sleep, oh, sleep!”
From angel and from flower the years have
learned that soothing song,
And with its heavenly music speed the days
and nights along;
So through all time, whose flight the Shep¬
herd’s vigils glorify,
God’s Acre slumbereth in the grace of that
sweet lullaby—
“Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd loveth His sheep.
Fast speedeth the night away,'
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones, while ye may—.
Sleep, oh, sleep!”
—Eugene Field.
THE WANDERING HEIR.
Vfii 7/J\ Hai Wrn a rose ' 8 haded
corner off the
i§l, fwa r ball-room ^’‘P* Lady
ow reclined
~ and twittered. It
was such an ad
WrnmP (f sssri £fi
M “ u rose-shaded cor
ner.
“Yes, we leave to-morrow—leave
thiB wicked London, with its arti¬
ficialities and its weary treadmill, and
yield ourselves to complete rest,
to a life more approved by nature,
surrounded by innocent pleasures.”
Lady Tiplow sighed a fluttering lit¬
tle sigh, and languidly leaned her
scheming little head, the curls of
which had no right to be amber-tint¬
ed, against the velvet curtains, smil¬
ing archly up at Sidney Fielding with
a thin-lipped mouth, and tapping in a
caressing but cautious manner her
rosy cheek, which was a protest
against the mellow tinting of her
throat. But she mentioned no ad¬
dress.
It was at this moment that Helen
Seaton came in sight, and, dismissing
her partner with a friendly smile,
came to join the group in the shaded
c or ner. Lady Tiplow waved her im
periously to a vacant half yard of
cushion.
“Ah, Mr. Fielding,” she continued,
“I am serious when I call this London
a wicked city.”
“I fear you may be right,” hazarded
Mr. Fielding.
“What is society? A fraud! Per¬
haps for the very rich and tor the—
the really common classes it is easy to
be sincere and good; easy for th^se
who are able to keep up appearances,
and for those who have none to keep
up. But for the others!” • •
“You were ever candid, dear
mamma,” remarked the frigid Miss
Tiplow, with a curl of her lip.
“Ah, Alicia, you are one of the fav
ored; it is easy for you to be good.”
The Honorable Alicia Tiplow’s small
fortune was tightly secured to her,
thanks to the foresight of an old aunt
of saving tastes and Philistinish no
tions; a fact which inconveniences
Lady Tiplow not a little.
Miss Alicia curled her lip yet more
scornfully.
“Poor society seems fairly happy in
spite ot its sins,” she remarked, with
a scarcely perceptible wave of her fan
towards the ballroom.
Fielding followed her eyes to the
scene of light and color, beautiful wo
men and comely men, rich gowns,
sa » hn 3 «- ves au l f “ der
§. la nce! h ^ Uea hl *'own eyes ell on
“2 . U P n e of '
“Yes, they , look , happy enough, , „ , he
said, with a sigh, “perhaps they are ail
of the first class named by Lady
low ’ *
“Perhaps so,” assented the Honor
able Alicia, carelessly. “That would
be the most sensible way of settling
matters—let the rich enjoy their their
riches, and let the poor keep away.”
Miss Tiplow knew of her own moth¬
er's struggles—as a paid chaperone—
to keep pace in any way with the so¬
ciety whi 'h was very life to her; she
bad also decide t that poverty was the
lot of Sidney Fielding, her would-be
admirer, as she ueerned him. But
Miss Tiplow, being somewhat inde¬
pendent and insolent, spoke as she
chose.
“Then you do not approve of a di¬
vision of benefits,” Fielding inquired.
“of the meeting of the poor and the
rich, that love may give them a chance
of leveling matters?”
He questioned Miss Tiplow, but it
was at Miss Seaton he glanced the
while; and he noted that her attention
had returned to the conversation, and
that her usually merry face was grave.
“I do not recognize such leveling,”
retorted Miss Tiplow, “it is impos¬
sible.”
“You would not approve if a poor
man should ask for the hand of a rich
girl?” He pursued the subject with a
smile upon his lips, but his eyes still
rested anxiously upon Helen Seaton.
Alicia turned her cold eyes on him
slowly. contempti¬
“Such a man would be
ble !” she replied. Tiplow,
“Spare my feelings, Miss
he pleaded ; “I may be such a man.
“You?” she drawled in careless in¬
terrogation, as if Sidney Fielding,
barrister, must be quite beyond the
pale.
“Yes, I. But of course I ought not
to have come to such a rich and lofty
sphere as this.” come?”
“Then, why did you
“The lowly are ever anxious to'gaze
upon the lofty.”
“You are lowly?” indifferently.
“Oh, very.” A smile lay about his
lips as he answered.
“ ‘Lowly born’ is the term one
would use, I suppose.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “My par¬
ents were quite countrified people,
what one may term ‘honest and re¬
spectable;’ they went in for horses
and cows and such like, living, as
Lady Tiplow would express it, ‘a life
approved by nature, surrounded by
innocent pleasures.’”
“Indeed,” she remarked, languidly,
scarcely repressing a yawn, “How
extremely interesting for them and
you.”
The merry expression returned to
Helen’s face, and she smiled at Field¬
ing with a daring smile. ^
“Our dance, I think,” he said soft¬
ly, holding his arm to her. it was no
such thing, but Helen rose and went
with him.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked,
as they walked away from the rosy
shade..
“Not a bit,” she answered.
“That’s all right. Now I want to
know why you are so grave to-night. ”
“Was I grave? Yes, I know I was.
It is so odd,” frankly, “tofeel grave.”
“Did my lowly origin surprise
you ?”
“I had never thought of yon as low¬
ly. But the passage at arms amused
me. Alicia is so grand.”
“Fielding laughed softly.
“Yes; but before that you were
grave. I think I had never seen you
so before. Is it—are you—may I ask,
are you sickening?”
“For what?”
“Love.”
Helen’s laugh answered him.
“Not in the least. It was not the
grande passion which sobered me.”
“That which has been sobering
Lady Tiplow and myself is ‘money,’
or the lack of it,” he ventured.
“Yes,” she exclaimed, “that is it.
Shall X tell you a secret?”
“I wish you would tell me one I
very much want to know.”
“What is it?”
“Where aie you going when von
leave town to morrow? Lady Tiplow
hinted at Arcadia, but was careful to
mention no fixed point. ”
“Ah, I may not answer that. I’ve
been commanded.”
Fielding whistled long ' and low.
Then he apologized.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” declared Helen.
“So I’m an ineligible.”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Helen, struck
by the remark; “then that’s it. You
are supposed to admire Alicia.”
“Oh, am I? Well, what is your se¬
cret?”
She c i aspe d her hands in tragic
f a8 hion to her breast.
,« My gecret is that this night ia my
last in tbe gay WO rld. I have come to
the end of my pleasuring. When
t bese lights go out they will go out on
my magnificence. To-morrow I shall
be Cinderella at home. ”
“What do you mean?”
They had reached a little balcony
-
by tbl s time> and were looking into
t be high-walled garden below. Helen’s
wbite arms were i yiug bare upoD the
dingy stucco.
ttJ hay0 beeQ hollow sbftm for one
I am /Tiplow poor,” she said, solemn
j ^ .. and Lad is mad with
f„ r the chances I have missed, and
befiau6e j am 0Q ber handB till my ship
So I » to
children after to-morrow, and live
thfl sehoolroom . and i C8n ’ t teach,
knQw l doa > t know how .»
„ Bat sure ; y) Lady Tiplow did
not-”
“No,” laughed Helen, “she certain
lydid ....... not. It was godmother . ,. who ,
my
said: ‘I will give her one season in
town; let her have everything she
wants, go where she will and get a
rich husband.’ ”
The girl’s unaffected frankness
startled even Fielding.
“And you—”
“And I—have not done it.”
“What does that entail?”
“My transmission to an unknown
uncle’s in India, who is not enchanted
thereby.”
“I imagined you a tremendous heir¬
ess, to whom the offer of a moderate
income in thousands and a plain name
would be an insult. Bat why did you
not secure the rich husband?”
“I couldn't bear the ones who came
my way; they were horrid.” After a
pause, “I beiieve I liked you better
than any of them.”
“Then marry me,” suggested Field¬
ing, quietly.
Miss Seaton laughed whole-hearted
at the joke, which she considered too
trivial to require an answer.
“So now you know why I was
grave,” she said, after a few momont’s
silence, during which she had contem¬
plated a white cat on the garden wail
and Fielding had contemplated her.
“But couldn’t you love any of them?”
he asked.
“No; I think if I had even liked
one I would have said ‘yes,’ fer I al¬
ways thought I should rather like to
marry first and fall in love afterwards. ”
“Bisky, rather! but in that case do
as I said before; marry me. You said
yon liked me.”
She looked at him this time with
real interest. His voice was perfectly
calm.
“It’s awfully good of you to offer to
help me out,” she began, hesitatingly,
“and it really does sound better than
India”—Fielding did not even wince
— “but somehow, you’ve always been
so jolly to me—I should feel a brute,
a perfect brute, to take advantage of
such an offer.”
“But, really, you know,” said Field¬
ing pleasantly, “I should rather like
it. I love you.”
She Iookad at him steadily, and he
looked at her ; then he laid his hand
on her arm as it lay on the balcony.
“I want you to dot, truly I do.”
“How odd you are,” she said; “not
a bit like the others.”
“You are odd,” he answered, smil¬
ing; “not a bit like the others.”
She placed her other hand on his as
it lay there, and patted it in a friendly
fashion.
“I’ll think of it,” she promised;
“give me time.” Then she turned to
walk back to her chaperon.
“And where is it?” he asked, per¬
emptorily.
“Broadelms.”
He colored swiftly and looked at
her; but her face was frank as usual.
“Coincidence!” he decided to him¬
self, as he escorted her to Lady Tip
low’s corner.
“It’s to be a masked ball.”
Miss Seaton jumped from the stile
as if she had been shot, and blushed
scarlet.
“Goodness! Mr. Fielding! Wher¬
ever did you come from?”
“From Lady Tiplow; and it’s to be
a masked ball.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she has promised me.”
“Oh, do explain. How did you
come to Broadelms? What do you
mean by it all?”
“If you continue asking questions,
and I promptly answer, we shall soon
get it straight.”
“Well, what made you face Lady
Tiplow?”
“I had a message from my aunt for
her. ”
“Who is your auut?”
“Mrs. Darrell, at the Ccurt.
“Then you are!—”
“Yes, I am the long-lost heir, or
rather, the wandering heir.”
Miss Seaton gave a long, soft
whistle.
“When I did that,” remarked
Fielding, calmly, “I apologized to
you.”
Miss Seaton laughed.
“Well!” she exclaimed. “Well!
How astounding! And you are going
to the ball?”
“Yes; and what are you to wear?
That is the right question to ask, isn’t
it?”
“I am not going.”
“Not going?”
“Of course not, I have not been in¬
vited. No one here knows me; I’ve
been in the school-room, you know;
and my ship sails the day after?”
“For where?”
“India.”
“Ah I But you’re coming to the
ball?”
“I cannot. I have no dress. Lady
Tiplow does not want me—”
“Nonsense; I’m going!”
“Yes, of course; you have been
anxiously expected.” Helen’s eyes
twinkled. “What did Lady Tiplow
say?”
“At first she would not believe in
me ; but when I had proved my iden¬
tity, she playfully reproached me for
my ‘tricks.’ But she did not seem
angry, and even Miss Tiplow curved
her lips and smiled upon me icily.”
“You are a pleasant surprise, you
know.”
“Oh, ami? But you are coming to
the ball?”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Silence,
“A costume of my great-grand¬
mother would look rather well,”
meditatively.
Miss Seaton paid no heed.
“With a short waist, and sandalled
shoes.”
Miss Seaton grew mildly interested.
“And to walk up under Lady Tip
low’s very nose! —”
Miss Seaton tittered—and suc
combed.
“Will it do?”
The question came from a slim Old*
World maiden, as she stepped from
the oioak-room, clad in a narrow^
silk gown.short-sleeved and
beau waited. of a contemporary The answer was given by t
drew her away down the period,
softly lighted corridor r u to »
recess.
“No,” he answered, slowly = %
great-grandmother’ wedding ring. ” alwav CG \ s
The maid CD n b: e
“What nonsense ! As if I had
“If you undertake one.”
should be complete,” a costume it
beau. protested the
“I have.”
She looked, and from his waists
pocket he drew a tiny gold ring sef
witn dazzling diamonds.
“Oh!” she her^nf
impulsively. Then he took
tened hand in his and slipped the rinJ
over her finger.
“Turn the diamonds inward ” t
commanded. let to make “Put on bows.” your mask Ja
us go our
himself out waiting to protest, he inad-J
and led the way.
In the ballroom ?f ere ^gkts and I
music, wonderful , . . x toilets and merry
laughter; and by the door stood Lady
Tiplow, the only unmasked person
smiling and twittering at her m y 8 ’
tenons guests. With stately tread
the man and the maiden advanced to
the hostess, and Lady Tiplow, smllm*
still, bade them welcome, noting as
she guises, did but so failing the details to of their°dis.
masks. Miss Beaton, penetrate their
with trembling
fingers and an hysterical flutter at her
throat, passed on into the ballroom
Mr. Fielding following her. With
eyes twinkling with merriment through
her mask she looked at him and he
placed his arm round her and drew
her into the dance.
“Under her very nose," laughed
Helen, softly.
“Her very nose,” he repeated, with
something strangely like a chuckle.
But when the dance was done fcfca
Old-World beau led the white-gowned
maiden through an open window to
the lawn outside, where the air was
cool, and the lanterns mimicked fairy,
land. And then, as he removed hi,r
mask, she saw his face was grave, an$
he halted beneath a swaying light ami
stood facing her.
“And now,” he began, “1 want hr
know why you have served me so?"
“What have I done?” she asked,,
trembling.
“You have treated me badly. When
I parted from you in London I asked
you to marry me. When I meet yon
here you tell me the date of your
ship’s departure. Was that eveit
civil?"
The blood rushed to her face; she
tried to speak, but no words wef{>
ready.
“Am I not better than India, ait«
all?” he pleaded.
“You—you did—not come,” sh*
faltered.
“You asked m$ to give you time, K
he declared. “That is why I did not
come. I did as you bade me, and,
meanwhile you made plans to escape
from me.”
“No, no,” she cried, “You did not
come. I thought you had been laugh¬
ing at me. I was ashamed—”
“Oh, Helen, Helen. Won’t you be¬
lieve that I love you, my darling?’'
Helen was silent.
“Once,” he pleaded, “you said that
if you but liked a man yon would an¬
swer ‘yes;’ that you would marry him
first and fall in love with him after¬
wards. Won’t you do even that for
me?” Helen hid her face in her hands,
but he saw that she shook her head.
“Helen,” he drew her hands from
her face, “my darling; say you will do
that much for me.”
“I cannot,” she whispered, “I can
not.”
“Why not?” he aaked, and his face
was white with his eagerness.
“Because—because”—she looked up
suddenly, and he saw that though her
lashes were wet her lips were smiling
“Oh, Sidney, I had fallen in love with
you already before.” with
And the lantern looked down a
winking eye on the little scene that
followed. After a while the strains
of the band came stealing across tbe
lawn.
“The old ‘Blue Danube,’ Helen; we
must not miss that. Turn the ring
round, my darling; who cares now
—W oman.
Three-Compartment Bicycle lire.
A Chicago inventor has devised a
three compartment pneumatic bicycle
tire which, while not unpuncturable.
still reduces the liability of injury
a minimum, because if the rubber m
one of tne compartments is sufficient puncture o >
the other two are still
carry the rider and keep the tire in
cylindrical form. The partitions are
arranged spirally. The tire is inna e
through three separate tubes, eacn
pnmping' .
chamber requiring separate
—Scientific American.
An Operation ot a Great Financier.
One of the stories told of Bussell
Sage is that when a thief one da?
dropped a bill near him in order o
draw his attention from counting so 1 ? 3
he had drawn at the bank, - r '
money bill, than
Sage put his foot on the
his informant, finished bis couD ’
stowed his own money securely away,
apd then smilingly put the thief s
also in his pocket.—Detroit *
Press.