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THE NATIONAL TBIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. 0., JUNE 17, 1882.
T-VT" OlT'-
THE SUNSET KOUR.
When through the jjilewny of tlio west
A flood of golden light is prct"cl,
Ami lirillinnt colon hlciiflmsr lyc
The jylowiisjj nrches of the sity :
"When 'ihoc stealing on th- ir
Awnkc' my soul U silent prayer:
At tliis loved hour pi-ccdm;; even,
31 y heart villi rapture turns to heaven.
There is a Foothing, holy spell
In this sweet hour, I love to well;
It tpoalcsof rest beyond the tomb,
In fairer cliino, whose fadeless bloom
2Co breath of time can ever blight
With noxious winds or damps of night ;
Wheie. like the radiant sunlight streaming,
Ajc rays of glory ever beaming.
At sunset time, when cloud of gold
Like banners bright, their ftirla unfold;
"When gorgeous hues dissolve ami blend,
And soft shades to the landscape lend,
"Tis then my spirit owns the power
Breathed o'er it by the quiet hour.
And fancies through the western portal
II gains a glimpse of realms immortal.
A VERY PRETTY SKETCH.
"We had just finished breakfast. Tom
laid down the egg-spoon he had been play
ing with, and looked across at mother.
"Aunt Anne, I think I'll take a wife." he
said, exactly like he might have said, "I
think I'll take another cup of coffee."
"Take a -wife?" repeated mother, by no
means receiving the information as tran
quilly as it had been given. ""What for?"
""Well, I don't know," answered Tom
thoughtfully. "It's a notion I've got in my
head somehow."
"All nonsense!" said mother sharply.
"Do yon think so? " said Tcm, apparently
doubtful, but not in the least put out.
"Think so? I know it. What in the
world can you -want of a wife ? After all
these years we have lived so comfortably
together, to bring home somebody to turn
the house upside down ! And, then, what
is to become of that poor child ? "
The " poor child " that was I reddening
at being brought into the argument in this
way, was about to speak for herself, when
Tom interposed, warmly.
"I'm snre May knows I would never
have any wife who would make it less a
home for her don't you, May ? "
" Of course," said I.
" And I'm sure she knows nothing of the
sort," persisted mother, "nor you either,
Tom Dean. How can you answer for what
a wife may take it into her head to do, once
you get her fixed here? You can't expect
her tc forget, as you do, that May has no
real claim on you."
"That I have no real claim on her, I sup
pose you mean, ma'am," Tom put in for the
second time, just as I was getting thoroughly
uncomfortable. " But, for all that, I intend
to keep her that is," added Tom, with one
of his shortsighted blinks sideways at me, "as
long as she'll slay with me, eh, May ? And
whoever has anything to say against that
arrangement will have to go out of my
house to say it not that I'm afraid of any
such result in this case and, on the whole,
Aunt Anne, I should like to try the experi
ment" Mother smiled grimlv, but Tom was
so evidently bent on his "experiment" as
he called it, that she gave up the argument.
" You can dance if you are ready to pay
the piper," she said, shortly. "And, pray,
how soon do you mean to be married ? "
Tom's face fell a little at this question.
""Well," said he, "I can't say exactly. I
suppose we will have to be engaged first."
"What!" said mother, opening her eyes;
"why, you never mean to say, Tom, you
i. eu't spoken to her yet? "
"Not yet," answered Tom, cheerfully.
" Time enough for that, you know, after I
had spoken to you."
" "Well," she said, " if it was anybody else,
I should say he was cracked ; but you were
never like other people, and never will be,
Tom Dean. But, at least, you have fixed on
the lady?"
"Oh, yep," answered Tom; "but if you
will excuse me, Aunt Anne, I would rather
not say anything about her just yet ; for, if
if anything should happen it wouldn't be
pleasant for either party, you know." "With
which veiled allusion to his possible rejec
tion, Tom took his hat and left the room.
Our household was rather queerly put to
gether. There is no particular reason why I
should have been of it at all, for I was not
really related to Tom, nor even to "mother,"
as I called her, though I am sure we were as
dear to each other as any mother and
daughter could be. She was the second wife
of my father, who, like most ministers, had
leen richer in grace than in goods, and left
ns at his death with very little to live on.
Then it was that Tom Dean had come for
ward and insisted on giving a home to his
aunt and to me, whom he had scarcely seen
a dozen times in his life before. That was
exactly like Tom "queer Tom Dean," as
his friends were fond of saying, "who never
did anything like anybody else." I sup
pose, in spite of his clear head for business,
there is no denying that he was whimsical;
but I am snre, when I think of his unfailing
generosity and delicacy, I can't help wishing
there were a few more snch whimsical people
in the world. Naturally, at the time I am
speaking of, my opinion had not been asked ;
all I had to do was to go where mother went,
and, while she gave her energies to the house
keeping, give mine to growing up, which
by this time I had pretty well accomplished.
But perhaps for that very reason for one sees
with different eyes at 12 and 18 my posi
tion in the house had already begun to seem
unsatisfactory to me; and the morning's
words put it in a clearer light, since it had
been used as an argument against Tom's
marrying. I knew that mother had spoken
honestly, believing that such a step would
not be for Iiis happiness; but was he not the
best judge of that? I knew him, if reflec
tion should bring him round to her opinion,
to be perfectly capable of quietly sacrificing
hi3 own wishes for my sake, who had not the
bhadow of a claim on him ; so it must be my
part to prevent his own kindness being
turned against him now. Still, it was not so
easy to see how I was to provide for myself
m case it should become advisable. "What
c(,uld I do ? Draw and sing and play toler
ably, but not in a manner to compete with
the boats that would be in the field against
me. Literature ? I had read so many stories
whose heroines, with a turn of a pen, dashed
iuio wealth and fame. That would be very
nice, i.jily I was not the least bit literary ;
I hud r.cvcr even kept a journal, which is
,s.:yinga great deal for a girl in her teens.
Tj.c "L::c arts," then, being out of the ques
tion Jar me, what remained? There was
some clerkship, or a place in some family,
and there was Will Broomley !
That may seem like going away from the
point, but it was not. I was matter-of-fact,
but 1 could see well enough whit was going
on right under my eyes, and I had a pretty
clear idea of what was bringing Will to the
house so often as lie ha I taken to coming
lately. There was a "s.itual;on," then, that
would give the home-life I liked best, and
felt myself best suited for; but would it
answer in other respects? I overcast the
long seam 1 was sewing twice over, 1 was so
busy trying to make up my mind whether I
liked Will Broomley well enough to pass
my whole life with him ; and even then I
hod not come to any decision, when I was
called down stairs to Lei tie Walters.
Lettic was the prettiest, I think, of all my
friends, and certainly the liveliest. Tom
called her "the tonic," and used to laugh
heartily at her bright speeches. I suppose
it was this that made mother fix on Lettic
as his choice. When I came into the sitting
room I fou ltd a kind of cross-examination
going on. It was amusing to anybody in
the secret, as 1 was, to watch mother's artful
way of continually bringing the conversation
round, as if by chance to bear on what she
wanted to know. But it all amounted to
nothing, cither because Lettie was too good
a fencer, or because she really had nothing to
betray. But, when Tom came home, mother
took care to mention that Lettie had called.
" What, the tonic ? " said Tom. " Too bad
I missed her."
"But for your choice being already made,"
said mo titer, with a covert scrutiny of his
face, "I dare say you might have as much
of the tonic as you liked."
"But I goon the homeopathic principle,
you know," answered Tom, with a twinkle
in his eye.
After that, mother's belief in Lctty's guilt
iness wavered. Her suspicions were trans
ferred from one to another of our acquaint
ance, but always with the same unsatisfac
tory results.
" It "passes my comprehension," she said
to me, despairingly, one daj'. " I am positive
I could tell the right one by Tom's face in a
minute, and yet I have mentioned everybody
wc know."
" Perhaps it is somebody we don't know,"
I suggested ; " some friend of his we have
never seen."
"What! a perfect stranger?" said mother,
sharply. " Never talk to me, child ; Tom's
not capable of that ! "
I was silent, for I did not want to worry
her ; but that was my opinion all the same.
The same evening it was rather more
than a week since Tom had hurled that
thunderbolt of his at us mother began
about it openly.
"When are 'you going to introduce your
wife to us, Tom ? I suppose you have come
to an understanding by this time."
"Oh, there's no hurry," Tom said, as he
had said before; but this time did not speak
quite so cheerfully. " The fact is," he con
tinued, with a little hesitation, " there
there's a rivaj in the case."
"A rival!" repeated mother, with unfeel
ing briskness.
" Yes, a young fellow younger by a good
deal than I am," and Tom's face assumed an
absurdly doleful look. " He is always there
now. I confess I don't sec my way clear:
I'm waiting for her to make up her mind."
"And she's waiting, most likely, for you to
make up yours," said mother, forgetting in
her propensity to right matters, that she was
playing the enemy's game.
"There is something in that that never oc
curred to me,'' said Tom, his face brightening.
Mother saw her mistake, and made a counter
move at once.
" But the ways of my time are old-fashioned
now ; young ladies, nowadays, take matters
into their own hands. If she cared for you,
you may be pretty sure she wouldn't have
wailed till this time to let yon know it
that is, I judge by the girls I am in the habit
of seeing; but if this one is a stranger to
me " (here mother riveted her eyes on Tom's
face; oh, dear, my unfortunate words!) "if
she is an entire stranger I cannot pretend to
form any opinion of her, of course."
"Of course," repeated Tom, absently.
"Not that I have any such idea," resumed
mother, growing warmer; "I have said and
I say again that to bring a periect stranger
under this roof is not my opinion of you,
Tom."
I felt mother's words like so many pins
and needles ; for Tom was looking medita
tively across at me, and though that was just
a way of his, it seemed now as if he were
reading in my face that the opinion was
mine, and that I had been meddling in what
did not concern me. I felt myself for very
vexation getting redder every moment till it
grew intolerable.
" It is so warm here," I said, for an excuse,
turning toward the French window. " I am
going to get a breath of air."
I went out into our little strip of garden
ground; Tom followed. I thought I should
never have a better opportunity to say what
I had in my mind to say, so I waited for him
by the bench under the old pear tree. "Sit
down here, Tom," I said, "I've something to
say to you."
"Have you? "said Tom; " that's odd, for
I well, never mind that, j list yet. What is
it, May?"
" Tom," I said, still surer now he had mis
judged me, and more resolved to set him
right, " I want a place."
"A place?" repeated Tom puzzled, as well
he might be by this sudden and indefinite
announcement; " what kind of a place?"
"I don't know," I said, for, indeed, my
ideas were of the vaguest. " J thought you
might, being in the way of those things.
Now pray, Tom," I went on quickly, " don't
fancy I am discontented, or or anything of
that sort; the truth is, ever since I left off
school I have wanted something to do, and
had it in my mind to speak to you about it."
With this I looked at Tom, fearing he
might be vexed ; but he did not look vexed;
only prc-cccupied.
" I do know of a place, as it happens," he
said after a while, "only I'm not sure how it
would suit you."
"That's soon seen," said I. "What is it
like?"
" Well, it's a sort of of general usefulness."
" Why, it must be to run errands," said I,
laughing. "And where is it, Tot?"
"Well," eaid Tom, hesitating again, "it's
with me."
"How very nice!" I exclaimed. "How
soon can 1 have it?"
" The sooner the better, so far as I am con
cerned," said Tom, and with that he turned
and looked at me, and directly I met his
eyes 1 knew somehow, all in a moment, what
it was he meant; and I knew, too, both that
I could not have passed all my life with Will
Broomley, and why I could not.
I am sure Letty Walters, who interrupted
us just then, must have thought my wits
were wandering that evening, and, indeed,
they were: for 1 was completely dazed
with this sudden turn things had taken.
But Tom, who had the advantage of me
there, took it quite coolly, and laughed and
talked with Letty just the same as ever till
she went away.
It was pretty late when we went in.
Mother sat where we had left her, knitting
in the twilight.
"Wasn't that Lelty Walters with you a
while ago ?'' she said, as we came up.
"Yes," said I, with a confused feeling of
an explanation of something being necessary;
"she just come to bring the new crochet pat
tern she promised me."
" J Tin ! " said mother as much as to say she
had her own ideas as to what Letty came
for.
Tom had been wandering about the room
in an absent sort of fashion, taking up and
I putting down in the wrong places all the
! small objects that fell in his way. He came
j up and took a seat by mother. I became of
, a sudden very busy with the plants in the
i window; for I knew he was going to tell
! her.
j "Wish me joy, Aunt Anne," said he, "it's
all settled."
"Settled, is it?" said mother, in anything
but a joyful tone. "So it's as I suspected
all along. Well, you have my best wishes,
Tom ; perhaps you may bo happy together
after all ; I'm sure I hope so."
This wasn't a very encouraging sort of
congratulation, and Tom seemed rather
taken aback by it.
" I'm sorry you are not pleased," he said,
after a pause; I had an idea somehow you
would be."
"I do not know from what you judged.
But, there, it's no use of crying over spilt
milk. You'll be married directly, I rtrcsume;
I must lie looking out for a house," and
mother stroked her nose reflectively with a
knitting-needle.
"What for?" said Tom; "I thought of
keeping on here all the same."
"I never supposed otherwise," said mother.
"Of course I did not expect to turn you out
of your own house."
' But what is the need looking out for an
other, then?"
" Why, for myself."
"For yourself! " repeated Tom, in a tone
of utter amazement. "Going to leave us
just now? Why, Aunt Anne, I never heard
of such a tiling!" '
"Now, Tom," said mother, speaking very
fast, and making her needles fly in concert,
" we might as well come to an understanding
at once on this subject. I am fully sensible
of your past kindness now just let me fin
ish I say I appreciate it, and have tried to
do my duty by you in return, as I hope I
should be always ready to do. I wish all
good to you and your wife, and shall be glad
to help her if I can, but to live in the same
house with her is what would turn out pleas
antly for neither of us, and, once for all, I
can't do il.'
"Aunt Anne," said Tom, pushing back his
chair and staring in mother's excited face,
"either you or I must be out of our wits."
"It's not me, then, at any rale," retorted
mother, getting nettled.
Amusement and a certain embarrassment
had kept me a silent listener so far, but
there was no standing this; I tried to speak,
but could not, for laughing.
"I think you are all out of your wits to
gether," said mother, turning sharply. "What
ails the child ? It's no laughing matter."
"You don't understand each other," I
gaped ; "oh, dear! it's not Letty oh oh,
dear ! " anil relapsed again.
" Not Letty ? " repeated mother, turning to
Tom. "Then why did you tell me so?"
"I never told you so," said Tom.
"Wiry, yes you did," persisted mother.
" You came in and told me you were going
to be married."
" Yes, so I am," said Tom, still at cross
purposes. '' Now, Tom Dean," said mother, rising and
confronting him, "what do you mean? who
is going to lie your wife? "
"Why, May, of course," auswered Tom.
"May!" and then, after a pause of inex
pressible astonishment, it was mother's turn
to laugh. " Do you mean to say, Tom, it was
that child you were thinking of all the
while?"
"Why, who else could it be?" said Tom,
simply.
"Well," said mother, "I ought to have re
membered you never did do anything like
anybody else. But, still, why iu the world
did you go to work in such a roundabout
way
9
"I wanted to see how you took to my
idea," said Tom.
"And how do you suppose we were to
guess your idea meant May?" mother
asked.
"Who else could it be? "repeated Tom,
falling back on what he evidently found un
answerable argument. It was no use talking
to him. Mother gave it up with a shake of
the head.
"And you won't want another house then,
Aunt Anne? " said Tom suddenly. That sot
mother off again; Tom joined with her, and
altogether I don't think we ever passed a
merrier evening than the one that made us
acquainted with Tom's wife.
"" a
LITTLE LOVE STORIES.
The Sentiiuunlnl News of the I)nr Presented In nil
its Exciting DcIuIIk.
When Nellie Ostrum and Frank Beldcn,
of Pittsfield, Mass., wcro courting they
found time to talk about the love stories in
the magazines, but they did not think that
before another summer they would figure in
a real love story, with lots of broken vows,
scalding tears, revenge, and all that sort of
thing, peppering the romance from beginning
to end. It was young Bcldcn's fault. The
wedding day having been fixed about six
months ahead, Miss Nellie went with her
parents to visit relatives in Missouri.
During the few weeks succeeding his sweet
heart's departure Beldeu did his whole duty.
He even gave up his cigarette and the
money he was saving astonished the whole
bank into which it found its way. Then, as
the local paper explains, " on the sunshine
of his love there eamo a lowering cloud."
In other words, Beldeu began to pay atten
tion to another girl. Miss Nellie's Pittsfield
friends lost no time in telling Miss Nellie all
about it by post, and in post-haste, and what
Beldcn mentioned as "a scorcher," came in
the return mail. The receipt of this scorcher
fanned the lover's sparks of liking for the
new girl into such a flame that he wrote to
Miss Nellie, breaking off the engagement.
That was about the time of the great Mis
sissippi floods, but whether the jilted girl
wept such an inland ocean the chronicler of
the affair fails to aet forth. Bat in due time
Miss Nellie returned to Pittsfield, and to her
friends it seemed that all her wedding cake
was betrothal dough. Why Belden again fell
head-over-heels in love with Miss Nellie no
one understands; but he did, begged for
giveness, sought reconciliation, and all once
more apparently became serene. The wed
ding day was fixed for last Wednesday.
Along that Wednesday came, and Beldeu, in
his broadcloth, appeared at the bride's house.
Miss Nellie met the bridegroom at the door.
Taking him into the kitchen, where she
was capping strawberries, she said: "Fred,
I am to be married next Monday, not to
day; my future husband is now on his way
from Missouri." Beldcn falls and so does
the curtain.
According to Mr. Ira S. Parke, of Nevada,
every man ought to meet the future wife of
his bosom when she is young and take a
hand in her training. That was Mr. Tarke's
theory. " Why," he argued, " mere love is
folly; marriage is business all the time."
Mr. Paike lived in Six-Mile Canyon, and
near him dwelt a poor mau with a pretty
little daughter away down in her teens. In
talking with the neighbor one day the
theorist proposed that he should take the
neighbor's daughter partly in hand, send
her to school and then marry her, for,
thought Mr. Parke, "as the twig is bent the
tree's inclined." The neighbor agreed,
partly because lie knew that his friend was
a trustworthy man and partly because lie of
his own means would not be able to give
his daughter proper schooling. The process
of teaching the young idea how to shoot
went swimmingly on for a few years until a
month or so ago. A visit to her home then
revealed the object of the experiment a lovely
maiden modest, well-informed, and, as Mr.
Parke, no doubt, rapturously whispered to
himself, in overy way lit to make a man happy.
Such was the condition of affairs when the
snows of the Sierras began to give way
before the warmth of coming summer. Mr.
Parke seized the opportunity of tho visit
to tell his protege of the delightful arrange
ment. To his surprise such of the girl's
smiles as she gave with which to punct
uate his recitation were accompanied
by shoulder shrugs, uplifting eyebrows aud
protesting little puckers. To bring the
matter to an end with its climax, the girl
ran away with her real lover that night, and
now Mr. Parke is selling at auction a lot of
costly furniture with which he had stocked
his bride's nesfc.
As there is no fool like an old fool, so
there seems to be no Christiancy like
an old Christiancy. The people of Mayville,
Dodge county, Wisconsin, are quite sure
that such an amendment of the proverb is
in keeping with facte, whereof what follows
is an outline: Jacob W. Koby, a wealthy
citizen of that place, used to go down to
Milwaukee a good deal last winter to see
Miss Elizabeth Collins. The former will
never go through his sixtieth December
again, but the latter is now experiencing
her nineteenth June. As Miss Collins
avers, Mr. Koby made love in such
kingly style and asked her to be his
wjfe so pleadingly that she agreed to
marry him. The bride bought her outfit,
and all the other arrangements were made.
On tho wedding day Mr. Koby appeared at
the bride's house, iu Milwaukee, but at the
appointed hour lie was nowhere to be found.
The other day Mr. Koby engaged two of the
best lawyers in Wisconsin to keep him from
paying $20,000 in a breach of promise suit.
Love in Texa3 is much like love in
other places, very likely, but no couple
ever acted as two young people did down at
the town of Marshall in that State a few
days ago. The young man picked up a
pebble and playfully threw it at his sweet
heart. , The pebble struck the girl on the
finger where the youth had just put an
engagement ring, and the blow hurt like
everything. Getting angry about it the
sweetheart "hurled the pebble back at him,
knocking out one of his front teeth." In
view of the fact that there will bo no wed
ding it is safe to announce " no cards."
Six young women who not long ago were
bridesmaids at a fashionable wedding in
New York have had their protographs taken
together and the picture is on exhibition at
a fashionable resort. Ten young men were
observed the other day peering through ten
pairs of eyeglasses at the double bevy of
graces.
A STRANGE STORY OF DEATH,
After a Young Woman is Thought to ho Dead She
Tnlks About Hc.itpiiIv Sights.
There is a very strange story reported
from Fast Boston. There died reccnly at
the residence of Amos K. Lovejoy a young
lady named Ilattie G. Craig, lacking a few
days only of being twenty-four years of age.
Her death was preceded by a sickness of
nearly a year, and the disease of which she
died was clearly of a consumptive nature.
Many of the circumstances following the
death and preceding the burial of tho young
lady are of a peculiarly interesting if not of
a distressing nature. On tho morning of
the 12th the long-suffering patient seemed
to be rapidly nearing the end, and at 11
o'clock she appeared to have breathed her
last. The eyes of the young lady were
tenderly closed by her sorrowing grand
mother, aud the body was left alone with
the weeping lather. He remained for about
half an hour in the chamber of death and
then took his leave with reluctance. Just
as he had turned his back upon the beloved
form he was startled by a movemont of the
body and an exclamation simultaneously
of "Papa, papa, please don't leave me."
When he turned around he saw, with delight
and astonishment, that his daughter was not
a corpse, but an actual, living and conscious
being, endowed with as much intellect aud
strength as at any time during the last part
of her sickness. Of course there were now
great joy and consternation throughout the
household. When she had become some
what calm Miss Craig, with a smile and
countenance angelic beyond description, said:
" Oil, papa, dear, do you know where I
have been ? "
"No, Hatlie; tell mo where you have been ;
let me know all about it," answered the over
joyed father.
" Oh, papa, I have seen heaven, and I am
to have my health restored to me on certain
conditions," she answered in great glee.
"What are these conditions, and are you
willing to submit to them ?" asked the father
"Yes, papa; certainly I am."
"But what are they, dear?" still queried
the parent.
"I cannot reveal them to you now papa.
But, oh, 'I saw such beautiful things in
heaven."
" Tell me, won't you, all about who aud
what you saw ? Come, now, that's a good
girl."
" Oh, I saw them all ; I saw them all, papa,
and I'm going to heaven again, and when I
go don't let them put me into the ground
until you are sure I am dead."
During the rest of the day, up to six o'clock
in the evening, the poor girl was alternately
iu a conscious and swooning condition. At
six o'clock she seemed to have died. There
was no change in the body for three days,
and several physicians counseled that the
body be kept from the tomb. On the fourth
day, however, there were unmistakable signs
of death and the interment took place.
Jjoslon Herald.
ABOUT THE WAY OF IT.
The prize fight between Jones and Brown
was just over, and it was fully reported in
the evening paper. Mr. Smyth was lying
! on the sofa when Mrs. Smyth picked up the
1 journal for the purpose of glancing over it.
" I see there has been another disgusting
; prize fight," said Mrs. Smyth. "Isn't it
! horrid for two brutes to pound each other
in that way ? "
"Disgusting," said Mr. Smyth.
"And it is disgraceful for a decent paper
to devote so much space to describing it.
The report is two columns long."
"Outrageous," said Mr. Smyth. "I'll
write to the editor to-morrow protesting
against hi3 sending such stuff into respect
able families."
"I would if I were yon. I see that the
fight took place near New Orleans."
"I heard it was to do so. Does the paper
say who whipped ? "
"'There were fifteen rounds. Both men
were in fine condition, and Jones won the
toss.'"
"Doesn't give the names of the trainers?"
" I don't see them."
"I wonder who they were. I'll look in
the paper in the morning. It w;ll tcii."
"'Jones jumped into the ring at lh'JO, and
Brown immediately followed him.' "
Mrs. Smyth hero relapsed into silence,
reading to herself.
"Well, go on," said Mr. Smyth, sitting
half-way up on the sofa. " Who does it say
whipped?"
" ' Bets were freely offered against Jones,
with few takers. Just as the men faced
each other a cry was raised that the sheriff
was coming, whereupon the crowd scat'"
"Pshaw! " said Mr. Smyth, lying down on
the sofa again. " No fight after all. Pity
the thing was not brought to some conclu
sion." "'But,'" continued Mra. Smyth, reading,
"'it was a false alarm, and the combatants
began. After some skirmishing Jones got
Brown's head under his arm, and pounded
him until the blood Game.' Horrible ! I'd
better not read any more."
"Oh, well," said Mr. Smyth, sitting up
again, "as long as you've gone this far you
might as well keep on. Does it say which
of them won?"
'"When the second round began Jones
came up fresh, but Brown seemed consider
ably the worse for wear. After some
wild hitting on his part Jones knocked him
down, and he was hauled into his comer.'"
Mr. Smyth rose from the sofa and came
over and sat on a chair by Mrs. Smyth while
she read the description of the succeeding
nine rounds. At the conclusion of the elev
enth round, Mrs. Smyth observed:
"Henry, thi3 is almost sickening. Is it
worth while to read every line of it?"
"Not evert; line, but I wouldn't skip much
of it. If tho newspapers will thrust these
brutalities upon us we are almost forced to
take some notice of them. And Jones won
the victory, did he ? "
" "'When the twelfth round began Brown
was nearly senseless. He was put upon his
feet by his trainer, but was totally blind, so
that ' Isn't it awful, Henry ? "
" Revolting ; and Jones, he came up smil
ing, and go on ; let's hear the result. Who
whipped ? "
"'Jones knocked him down again, and as
Brown failed to respond when time was
called Jones was declared the victor.' "
"Good for Jones!" exclaimed Mr. Smyth.
"I knew he'd win," said Mrs. Smyth, with
a smile. " But how infamous it all is ! "
"A disgrace to a civilized country ! " said
Mr. Smyth, going back to the lounge and
stretching himself out on it. " There ought
to be a law to forbid newspapers from pub
lishing the loathsome details of such con
tests. Let's see, dear, does the paper say
whether Jones is going, to give a sparring
exhibition in this city?"
"No ; I can't see that it does."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Smyth; "then I
won't have a chance to see him."
Then Mrs. Smyth resumed her sewing, and
Mr. Smyth went to sleep.
NOTES FOR THE LADIES.
The summer weather is here at last.
The new suits, with parasols to match,
are taking.
One of tho most fashionable summer
trimmings is velvet.
Next to dark green and royal blue, the
favorite color for street wear is the new
shade of golden brown.
A dark red parttsol for general wear, a
white parasol for dress, and a black one for
use are the popular choico.
The Washington stores are filled with
the season's novelties and at prices as low,
if not lower than elsewhere.
Silver gray is the most fashionable color
now in Paris, and gray and steel lace is
chosen to trim dresses of this color.
Sea-side plumes are of Spanish cock
feathers with plumy tips, and the curl is
said to be proof against the dampness of sea i
air.
Puffed plastrons, with the puffs shirred
horizontally, give stylish finish to dress
corsages, but puffed sleeves detract from the
effect.
Black velvet dog collars, fastened under
the chin with tiny gold or silver clasps set
with mock gems, are worn with both day
and evening costumes.
Spring stufls are not so novel as we were
led to expect, the textures being similar to
those worn last year, the patterns and names
only being changed.
Feathers and flowers are used in profusion
by French modistes, and painted ribbon and
painted lace add greatly to the elegance of
dress bonnets and hats.
Long redingotcs of thin cloth, with a
number of small capes on the shoulders,
and several pockets with flaps covering
them, will be much used for traveling and
country wear.
Plain, close-fitting sleeves for home or
promenade dress, buttoned up the back of
the arm to the elbow, are more favored by
ihshionable ladies than sleeves of any other
slyle.
The fan is every day becoming more
tempting and original in style and make.
Many of them are of two colors in silk or
satin, the divisions being alternately plain
and decorated.
Black hats, black gloves and black stock
ings will be worn much together. They
will not be relegated to black dresses only,
but will be worn with any kind of a dress,
even white.
The Gainsborough hats, so long in popular
favor, have lost their prestige. Manufac
turers last season turned them upon the
market by the ton; hence their downfall
from glory.
Ribbon neckties are in vogue. These are
from an inch and a half to three inches
wide, and pass round the neck outside tho
collar and inside the dress, tying in front
with long lojps aud ends.
A pretty fashion, at present very popular
among young girls, is two little curls in the
coiffure behind each ear, dropping on the
neck. To some faces the caprice is very
becoming and charming.
Spanish lace is as fiishionable as ever, and
is embellished very often with bugles or
satin beads and threaded with gold. Tho
plain Spanish lace is lavishly used oa
fischu3, costumes and mauielettes.
Dresses of tine French lawn are made up
in short princesse style, the upper part
formed of perpendicular shirrings and band3
of insertion, and the lower portion of
flounces embroidered twelve inchee deep.
White outdoor costumes of coarse woolen
textures will be much worn by young
ladies this summer. Large black hats
lined with black velvet and trimmed with
black feathers should be worn with them.
Stripes of satin alternating with checked
stripes are in great favor for the pleated
flounces of walking dresses. The overdress
is then made of the plain color of the satin
stripe, and may be either of satin or cash
mere. English bridesmaids wear short frocks
of white English silk with drapery of silk
muslin festooned on the skirt. Hedge roses
in straigli wreaths trim the Gainsborough,
bonnets of English straw, and are worn oa
the corsage.
Fashion is running wild over embroider
eries of every kind ; this trimming is used
lavishly upon all kinds of toilets. Whole
dresses of net are completely covered with,
embroidery, to be worn over princesse slips
of tinted surah.
HOUSEHOLD HINTS.
Mutton" Cnops with Potatoes. Wash
trim neatly, and dry the chops and let them
lie upon a clean towel, while you mash
some potatoes, adding to them a little cream
to make them slick together. Season the
chop3 with salt and cayenne pepper, and
cover each one with the potato, then fry
them in butter a nice brown. They must
be cooked quickly and have sufficient butter
to float them.
Fried Taylers. This is the season
when this salt-water fish begins to appear
ia the markets, and it makes an excellent
dish for breakfast when properly cooked.
Have the fish properly cleaned, remove the
head and tail and split it in two. Dry it
thoroughly with a towel, and sprinkle with
salt and pepper and dip each half in corn
meal. Have your fat boiling hot and
plunge the fish, into it. Fry until brown
and crisp. Baste them with butter and
serve immediately upen a warm dish.
Corn Fritters. Grate one dozen ears
of corn upon a coarse grater, and with a
spoon scraps the cob in order to obtain the
milk that adheres to it. Add salt, a table
spoonful of flour, two tablespoonfhls of
milk, and two beaten eggs. Drop the mix
ture from a spoon into boiling fat and fry
them a nice brown. Drain them and serve
very hot.
Sweet Potato Rolls. Boil and mash
through a colander two large sweet potatoes,
adding to them a tablespoonful of butter or
lard. Sift two quarts of flour into a bowl,
make a hole in the centre of it, and with
two beaten eggs, a cup of fresh yeast and
some boiled milk make a sort of spongo,
stirring the potatoes into it. After this has
stood for an hour mix it into a stiff dough
and knead it well. When the dough is
quite light roll out and cut it into small
round cakes, and let them stand awhile
before baking. The milk must be cooled
after it is boiled before mixing the sponge.
Add some salt to the flour.
Jueilee Poxe. Take one pint of corn
meal aud add to it a small tcaspoonful of
salt, too eggs well beaten, and half teaspoon
fnl baking powder. Mix it into a batter
with sweet milk, stirring very hard. Have
a round tin pan or an earthen lurk's head on
the top of a stove, and when it is very hot
throw in a heaping tablespoonful of lard or
butter, and when itboilsponrthemixtureinto
it. Stir arouud lightly and bake in a quit k
oven. As soon as the loaf is browned and
the fat nearly absorbed it is done, and must
be served immediately.
Cocoaxut Pudding. rare the brown
skin from one coeoanttt and grate it.
Rub a tablespoonful of butter and a scant
cup
of
to a cream ; add three
beaten eggs and a cup of milk, and stir into
the mixture the grati'd coeoanttt. Vanilla
or rose-water may be added if liked. Bake
in an open crust and serve cold.
Macaroon. Blanch and pound in a mor
tar one pound of sweet almonds ; add some
rose-water to prevent them from oiling;
work in one pound of powdered sugar and
the whites of six eggs beaten to a froth.
Drop the mixture from a spoon upon but
tered paper, forming small cakes, about one
inch apart. Bake in a moderate oven.
Strawuerey Jam. Cap large, ripe,
firm strawberries, and to every pound of
fruit allow three-quarters of a pound of
pulverized sugar. Strew the sugar over tho
berries, and when it is dissolved put all into
a porcelain-lined kettle and cook slowly
until the berries arc clear and the whole
begins to thicken. Seal up when cool iu
small glass jars.
Lajih A la Bordelaise. Roast the
lamb before a good fire or bake it in a quick
oven, basting it constantly with butter;
when it is nearly done sprinkle it with
bread crumbs and a little minced mint and
chopped shallot; baste now with tho drip
pings from the meat; sprinkle salt over it
and dish it up ; have ready a thick brown,
gravy, and pour it round, but not over, the
lamb; add a little mint and a teaspoonful of
vinegar to the gravy.
