Newspaper Page Text
The New York Truth tells what Cleveland has
"He never hnng in Washington,
Near senate chamber door.
To meet a crowd of lobbyists
And boodle large Implore;
He never hang near Mulligan
And on hi* bended knee
Implored that mighty Irishman
To save his familee.
"He never hung an anchor out
Far to the windward side:
He never bunt? near 'Flehcr dear,*
And for his- letters cried.
He never hung about Jay Gould,
Who Wall street lambs doth rope;
He never hung near Dorsey's side
With Indiana soap."
Tun DUTCH HAVE TAKEN HOLLAXD.
The Hollanders grew happy,
When Boliaad strong was taken
By her own gallant Dutch.
So, boom the cannon, fellows !
Ohio's Bone Kepub.,
And Holland's once more captured!
All hail the Manual's club!
A Glance at the Old House Where the
Great Poet Lived.
£he Library and Great Hall— Longfellow's
Love for Philadelphia.
| Boston Letter. j
It is a curious old relic. It looks aa though |
the elements had cut tho tree short off about
fifteen feet above the ground. It stands on
the slope of a sort of terrace, bard by the
corner of an old, old house. Sometimes it J
shades the window, but generally it docs no |
other duty except to appear like a sentiuel.
It does this duty well, guarding a 6acred
spot For many years — several hundred,
so tradition says — it has stood there. There
are those Hvine who remember when it was
a beautiful tree, with spreading branches and
As it grew very old it decayed, until now
only the long stump remains. What com
fort it brought in its palmy days to merry or
gad men and women, what Interesting
scenes it baa witnessed and how many and
how great people it has sheltered from the
riys of the sun or patter of the rain no one
can now tell. It is a singular looking object.
In winter time It is grim aud ugly aud
constantly wears an expression as if baying:
"Ala*, I am old."
'mi: OABB OF YOUTH.
But to-day it is clad in the garb of youth.
It looks like a column of clinging vines
You would say in looking upon it Some
loving band has planted here a shaft of ever
greens to the poet's memory." Not a frac
tion of the old stump can be seen. Ivy and
beautiful creeping tendrils have twined
themselves all about this old landmark of the
past They have even grown away beyond
the top and fallen over until the tender
undergrowth looks like the branches of a
weeping willow. A glance at this strange
reminder of other days recalls these lines
from the pen of Longfellow, who in his life
time kept this trunk of an ancient elm
standing and ivy-clad, as he would have
kept near him any other friend of his child
"See how the ivy climbs and expands
Over the bumble hermitage, and seems to caress
with its little hands
The rough, gray stones as a child that stands
Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age."
The poet wrote this stanza and more
charming verses describing the ivy-covered
church of old Saint David's at Radnor, just
out of Philadelphia, not long before he died.
This singular time marked roof tree where
Longfellow dwelt is hedged about with many
other interesting monuments of the past be
side the one I have described. The elms
and poplars are all about the yard, years and
years old. Then there are fruit trees and
flower*. The great row of lilac bushes that
fence the whole front of the yard are etill
fresh and bright. The old wooden house,
buiit away back in revolutionary times, has
not yet been modernized. The beautiful
lawn thai reaches to the road and the pretty
green terrace that follows all around the an
tique mansion proclaim the age of the place
and seem to half smile in their late summer
garb over the havoc time has made with man
and his works.
■ ■ LONGFELLOW'S HOME.
Longfellow's home is situated in a quie
part of Cambridge, on one of the more se
cluded streets of this ancient town. No
place about Boston is so much visited as
this. It is curious to see how much interest
centers about everything that belongs to a
gifted man just after he is dead. It is also
curious to observe how soon he is forgotten.
The moving;, busy throng doesn't stop long
to keep in mind the men who have made the
world better with their thoughts.
I walked over to this old homestead the
other day to renew my acquaintance with the
hallowed place. It was a charming morning
and quite a crowd was already threading the
walks and gratifying their curiosity by scan
ning the old house from the outside. I
joined the throng for a few moments
to see what changes had been made
since last I was here. The place seems al
most the same as when the gifted man lived
and the old housekeeper said: "We try to
keep it as nearly as possible as It was when
Mr. Longfellow was alive." This information
from the person in charge came half an hour
after I had sprung the old fashioned brass
knocker on the front door, and she had con
sented to show me into the library. As 6he
opened the door and I stepped in she said :
"Visitors are not permitted. We have to
make it the rule or we would be kept busy
with callers. We rarely make an exception,
but as you knew Mr. Longfellow walk to the
study and see how familiar it will still look to
The parlor door was wide open as 6he
Bpoke and in it I could see the old fashioned
eofas, with their neat chintz covering, look-
Ing just as comfortable as when I found an
easy seat in one of them one rainy April day
the very year Mr. Longfellow died. The
books on the table were just the same and
the pictures on the wall had not been moved.
The present mistress of the house
►wung open the library door, and with
hat in hand and reverential bow I stepped
within this sacred room. There was the
open fireplace to the left, but no cheerful
fire burning therein, as on my last visit.
The two great easy chairs on either side
seemed to stand just as they did then, when
Longfellow occupied the one to the right,
and In his happy way told of how he wrote
his best verses and the stories of his frolics
with Hawthorne in their early days . The
large square table upon which he" wrote stands
now as it stood then, but it lacks the delight
ful confusion which says: "The master is at
home and at work." The scraps of writing,
the other evidences of toil and those charm-
Ing positions for objects which genius always
finds are no more. The pen which traced so
many beautiful thoushts lays idle and will
never again put in enduring form the works
of so great 4 man. The" books are all
arranged in order about the table and there
Is a prim' methodical air to the room, which
in itself relates the sad story that the bard
no longer lives.
AVI! EKE HE WORKED.
There are no literary works scattered about
the floor as there was when I was last htre,
ad the walnut cases which line the four
sides arc closed and the books stand idle
■800 the shelves. Naturally the room is not
light and airy as it. was when the master
lived, for the curtains are drawn, the" shut
ters closed and an air of gloom thrown over
toe favorite resting u~d working place, of the
great poet whose life's work is done. Against
one of thy book-cases etands a small oil
paints t;tr ■•: Longfellow when he was young.
It f.rosi-a'is him at about twenty, when his
gcahis flrtt began to find expression in
vaisct. It seems a clever picture of him at
that time. Hanging on 'the wall arc four
r.teel engravings which at once arrest atten
tiou. They show Hawthorne. Emerson, Ban
ner and Longfellow-' when they were
little more than boys, and besides be
ing interesting faces of men who
have grown great, and made the world
better for their living, they recall the life
long friendshiy that existed between these
four powerful characters. You will hardly
recognise in cither of them a feature of the
men as they appeared years afterwards, and
as the general public can recall them. These
portrait* are the work of one artist, and were
evidently produced at the same time, that
they might recall to this quartette when they
grew old the friendship which began when
they were young and never ended. Over at
one side of the room, covered with a - gauzy
veil, stands a marble bust of Green, of Rhode
Island, one of Longfellow's closest friends.
Beyond there is a miniature bust of Shakes
peare and here and there a few other small
works of art, such as would be likely to be
found about the habitation of a man of let
ters. As I looked about the room the house
| keeper paid: "Mr. Longlellow's daughters
arc In Europe; they are expected to return
In the fall, and the house is soon to be refit
ted for their occupancy. Mr. Charles Long
fellow, his son, and his sisters are expected
to occupy it. What changes are to be made
Ido not know. Mr. Charles Longfellow will
probably reside here with his sisters. I have
lived about this old mansion for twenty-two
yearn. I was twenty years with Mr. Long
The old housekeeper, a middle aged lady,
grew sad as «he recalled her years of service
to the once famous master of this house.
She spoke of his many kindnesses and of the
affectionate regard in which he was held by
| the people. And her tenderness was shown
in her simple expression, "Everything should
! be kept just as he left it."
Whether those who fall heir to this historic
spot have an equal regard for the memory of
j the dead time only can tell. Pcoyleof mod-
I crn tastes arc seldom satisfied with the old
: time appliances to make life comfortable, no
matter how sacred. To-day it is an interest- I
■ ing picture, and all that is lacking is the
presence of the man who made it famous.
The great hall which divides the house is |
j as interesting as any portion of the building.
The sUim are built at the further end, run
' straight up for a few feet and then turn to
the right On the first landing an ancient
time piece stands. It looks curious enough :
in its great high case, and the singularly
I good naturcd face peers down with a curious \
I glance as you step in at the front door. The |
: half moon on the dial «ectns to wink you a [
welcome, and behind the face a chime of
bells greets you with a 6ong:
Shall old acquaintance be forgot and never
brought to mind?
And then it goes on pacing oft the hours
as merrily as though death had not robbed the
home of its chief charm.
Half way op the flairs it stands.
And points and beckons with its hands.
This old clock must have inspired the bard
when be wrote of "The Old Clock on the
Stairs." The house, the yard, the trees, all
the surroundings are pictured In this verse
of that ancient poem, written by Longfellow
when be was yet a young man.
Somewhat back from the tillage street
Stands the old fashioned country seat.
Across it* antique portico
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw.
And from it* station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all:
"Forever ' Never !
Never 1 Forever 1"
A Prussian Veteran,
The oldest officer in the German army,
Field Marshal Gen. Herwarth yon Bittenfeld,
who died recently at the age of eighty eight
years, was one of the few remaining veterans
who entered the army at the beginning of the
present century and who earned their first
laurels at Waterloo or Leipslc. The most ac
tive part of the general's life, however, be
gan at an age when most soldiers think that
their campaigning days are over. He entered
the Prussian army at the age of fifteen, j
fought at the battle of Lcipsic, and took part
in the invasion of France by the Allies in
1814, serving with distinction in several en
gagements and at the Eiege of Paris. Dur
ing the second campaign in Schleswlg-Hol
stein, in 1864, he achieved one of the most
brilliant victories over the Danish army, and
virtually brought th€- war to a close by taking
possession of one of the most important po
sitions of the enemy, the island of Alsen,
and by almost annihilating the troops who
were ordered to defend the place. Th* war
of IBM again called him into active service.
He was assigned to the command of the Elbe
army, and gave many proofs of his superior
talent as a military leader and organizer.
His participation in the battle of Sadowa
added new laurels to those he already wore.
His age prevented him from figuring as con
spicuously in the war against France, but
did not force him into entire inactivity. He*
thus took a leading part in the three great
wars under the present emperor, whose sen
ior he was by one year; and wherever the
names of the victors of Alsen, Koniggratz
and Sedan are mentioned that of Blttenfcld
is not forgotten. Germany loses in him not
only a soldier without fear and without re
proach, but an enthusiastic patriot after her
The German Bed. "
lam not one of those irreverent Ameri
cans who poke fun at the German bed. It
is narrow, it is also short and it curls up at
both ends, like a caterpillar on a shovel.
Its middle curve sustains the notorious Ger- '
man "pull." This is simply a small feather
bed, about throe feet by four, constituting,
with a single blanket, the sole covering of
the victim. Before leaving America I was
told that one-third of my time was spent in
bed, for which reason I have studied this
queer lay-out with care. I infer from it that
the German never has cold feet, and that
his main concern is with his bowels. He
lies upon his back, in which position the
central sag of the bed compensates for what
would else be a central protuberance of per
son fatal to the permanence of any such
ticklish covering as the puff aforesaid. But*
with his head raised high by a bolster and
two pillows, and his feet elevated corres
pondingly, the upper line of his person is
substantially a straight one, upon which be
balances the puff with mo re or less success,
according to his gifts and idiosyncrasies.
Still, the care of the puff is a ticklish opera
tion, and therefore he does not allow it to be
endangered by the presence of second
causes in the bed with him. All the Ger
man beds are single as well as singular.
But there is much to respect in a German
bed when you come to know it better. The
puff is of no use to an American, who gen
erally sleeps upon his side, and turns over
frequently during the night. To sleep upon
one's side in a German bed, without first
reforming it, is impossible — tbe spinal joints
do not permit it. But after taking out -the
wedge-shaped bolster and a large pillow or
two. we find a mattress of toft material,
based upon a covered spring mattress of ap
proved congeniality. Then if one is not too
short he can lie at ease, and by the aid of
warm weather or an extra blanket or two, at
a practical temperature. But all the com
mon beds arc too short for an average Amer
ican to stretch himself upon. I thought se
riously of practicing up the puff technlc,
but later gave it over as suitable only to . re
ceptive minds of ■ tender years. — Cor. Chi
Deliberate Insult. .
Mrs. Suddenrich— "This here Is a perfect
insult. The idear of that firm intimating
that we belong to the codfish aristocracy 1"
Mr. Suddenrich— "An' did they do that?
the villains; an' after I bought so much of
"That's just what they did, Indeed. An*
that haint the worst of it. They put it in big
letters on the package of goods you
The blacklegs! I'll make 'cm take it back;
that I will. Wot was it they put on the
"Here it is. Just look at that now; Mr.
Suddenrich. C. O. D.' "
A man whose cloth es were apparently in
the last stages of decay sunk into a plush
covered chair in ■ New York banking house
the other day, and spreading his legs began
to watch the stock quotations as they were
bulletined on the wall. The manager was
Just about to eject him c* a tramp when he
astonished the crowd by. drawing $1,500 from
Me pocket and giving an order, to buy 100
THE ST. PAUL SUNDAY GLOBE SUNDAY MORNING, i BER % ,1884J
I bad gone Cubing on the Wye :
Young was I and romantic, then.
That summer, fn'.l of sen, that I
What eres and morns, 'neath gleam and cloud,
Had I by stream or coppice green.
With her. my beauty, sweet and proud
As any queen!
Her word* made music In my Mr,
That trilled— l have forgotten what ;
No tenderer talk had Gnen«rer»
And what fruit grew of it, yon say?
Oh, we were only friend and friend:
We bagged chance bliss a little day.
Till came the end.
Onr joys were bubbles on a stream.
That met and mingle mo one ;
That in the ran a minute gleam— '
Break, and are gone.
To look Into each other's eve*.
A fleeting while, we felt a gain ;
Bat love »m never winged with sighs.
Nor grew to pain.
We had no hope, we had no fear ;
We met and — with a laugh;
She gave me tint — see it here—
—CamdPt Family Magazine for October.
——^——— — — — —
FIVES OP PRESIDENTS.
Wives Of Candidates, Candidate* Without
|New York World.]
When the American people proceed to el
ect a President they do not seem to trouble
themselves very much about who his wife is,
or what the is. or what bis domestic rela
tions are. Nothing could better Illustrate
the Democratic character of our political in
stitutions than that every now and then a
President's wife appears who has no Roclal
fitness whatever, for the place she is expect
ed to occupy. The wives of all the recent
President* except one. Mrs. Hayes, never
would have been selected to occupy the po
sition they were compelled to assume when
they went to Washington. Mrs, Lincoln
shrank from the ordeal, was never at ease
while her husband was in the White House,
and never recovered from the uad effects of
of her sojourn there. Mrs. Andrew Johnson
was a very plain little woman who loved her
husband as she ought to have done. 1 1 who
never had a taste for fashionable society.
Mrs. Grant U one of the most faithful Of
wives, but her side of two Presidential terms
will be forgotten a long time before that of
her husband. Mrs. Hayes was the first wife
of a Republican President to carry any
strong characteristics into her reign at the
White House. She is a most amiable, intel
ligent lady, and is remembered with many
more pleasurable emotions than her husband.
Mrs. <.ar(ieldwas a levin? wife and a good
mother, but going to Washington came near
being as fatal to her as it was to (iarfleld.
himself. She was as suited to the respon
sibilities of the position she bad to assume as
Mrs. Lincoln or Mrs. Andrew Johnson.
President Arthur is more of a "society" man
than any of his Republican predecessors, and
if his wife had lived with him through bis
administration she would have been as high
ly esteemed by genteel people as the Presi
dent himself is. She was a most lovable wo
man and thoroughly familiar with polite
Mrs. Lincoln, Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Grant
and Mrs. Garfieldall married self-made men
before they were made — It, when they
were young and poor and inconsequential.
They and their husbands were on a level
when they married; they proceeded to raise
up families of children, as all good wives
should do, while their husbands proceeded to
study and grow famous. After twenty year*
or M the husbands were quite ready to be
Presidents, but their wives were not ready to
be mistresses of the White House. They had
not been cultivating themselves in that di
rection. Mr. Lincoln married Mary Todd in"
I M I) when he was a poor lawyer at the little
village of Springfield, capital of the then
sparsely settled state of Illinois. That was
nineteen years before be became President
Andrew Johnson came from even more hum
ble surroundings than Abraham Lincoln. He
was born in ISOS, and married In 1827, so
that he was only nineteen when he assumed
the responsibility of a wife. She taught him
how to write and cipher, and was a good, pa
tient faithful woman. The bad no desire to
appear in the glare of Washington society
during the time her husband was President,
and her daughter, Mr*. Patterson, took the
lead of the social side of the White House.
Gen Grant married Julia T. Dent the daug
ter of a farmer, in 1843, and in 1852 he, af
ter having become a captain in the army,
went to live with her father on his farm near
St Louis. Mrs. Grant at that time lived a
very humble life, her husband making part
of his income by selling wood by the wagon
load In the streets of m. Louis. Afterwards
he went to live with his own father at Galena,
111., where he pursued the occupation of a
tanner and leather dealer. He was there
when the war broke out The first ten years
of his married life certainly gave no promise
of his future positions and honors, and Mrs.
Grant never dreamed of preparing herself to
go Into the White House. Fame never fell
upon a family more suddenly nor more un
expectedly. President Garfield married
Lucretia Rudolph in ISSO, while he was a
teacher in a school. He was then thinking
more of being a preacher than a politician,
and his wife had no intimation of the cares
and anxieties, to say nothing of the over
whelming sorrow, that awaited her as the first
woman of the land. Mrs. Lincoln, Mrs.
Johnson, Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Garfleld were
devoted wives and mothers, and that was
worth more to the nation than fitness for
fashionable society. Still they and their
husbands would many a time have been
made happier if the latter had had better op
portunities in life
How would it have been if the Democratic
candidates instead of the Republican candi
dates bad been elected Presidents during
this — that is from 1860 to the present*
Lincoln and Douglas were both from Illi
nois, and there whs a much greater contrast
between their wives than between the two
men. Douglas did not marry till he had
reached an eminent position and Mrs.
Douglas was distinguished for both beauty
and all the accomplishments that adorn an
attractive woman. At the time her busbann
was a candidate for President she was not
more than thirty years old and had all the
freshness of her youth. The failure of her
husband to be elected was a tcrriMc blow to
her ambition, for she and her husbanc prob
ably had the Presidency in mind at the time
of their marriage. The wife of Gen. Mc-
Clcllan, who was the Democratic candidate
for President in the year ISM was a very
young woman at that time. She was the
daughter of the late Gen. Marcy, who was on
the staff of Gen. McClcllan while be was in
command of the army of the Potomac. She
was raised in Washington, though I believe
Gen. Marcy's home was in Connecticut
She and Gen. McClcllan were married short
ly before the opening of the war and now
have two children, a daughter, Miss May,
and a son, the latter being at school. If
Mrs. McClcllan bad gone to the White House
■ha would have been as great an adornment
to it as Mrs. Douglas, though not so beauti
ful a woman, uor one so fond of society.
She has always been most highly esteemed
by a very large circle of acquaintances whom
she loves to greet at the receptions she gives
during the winter. Gen. McClellan has an
ample private fortune, and In summer lives
nt bis beautiful country place on Orange
Mountain, S. J.. and du-iug the winter sea
son takes a bouse in New York City. If Mrs.
Meridian had gone to the White House she
would have been a very popular .ronian.
While she is cultured to a high degree in
both mind and manner, and while she
numbers among her friends many who
pride themselves on their exciusivenees, she
s thoroughly Democratic in her - idea* and
her receptions take a wide range.
Mrs. Horatio Seymour, whose husband was
the Democratic candidate for President In
ISCS, was Miss Mary Blcecker, of Albany,'
before she married. Her father was a promi
nent and highly esteemed citizen, and had
ample means to educate his children. Mrs.
Seymour has always been greatly esteemed
fur her centleness of manner and refined
tastes. Horatio Seymour was the heir to a
large fortune when he married her, and her
associations have always been among -the
foremost people of the state. Her husband
was elected Governor of New York in 1852
and again in ISC2, so that she was the mis
tress of the Gubernatorial mansion at Albany
twice before her husband was nominated for
President If he bad bten elected she would
bare been a worthy successor of Martha
Washington. She has never had any child
ren. Horatio Seymour, jr., is a son of Got.
Seymour's brother." There is a Horatio Sey
mour, jr., and , a Samuel J. Tildcn, jr., but
they are both nephews and not sons of the
two great *tat»men for whom they are
named. ' Of the wife of poor Horace Gree
lev, the 111-fated Democratic candidate for
President in 1873, I will not speak, as she
died before his candidacy. If be bad been
elected his two daughters would have gone
with him to the White House. One of them !
has since died and the other lives at the old
homestead at Chappaqua. Mr. Tilden, who
was the Democratic candidate in 1570, is a
bachelor, as everybody knows. Gen. Han
cock, who was the next in the line of unfor
tunate candidates, has a moat cultured wife,
but she Is of a very retiring disposition and
was earnestly opposed to her husband's can
didacy. She was a Miss Kiusel, of St. Louis,
when Gen. Hancock, as a handsome young
lieutenant, maaried her. Her fattier was a
man of wealth, and at the time of her mar
riage the was a great favorite in the first so
cial circles of St. Louis. Her life was greatly
saddened a few years ago by the death of a
lovely daughter, who had just come to wo
manhood. She has musical ability of a high
order and has composed a number of pieces
of noticeable merit About the only place
where she is ever seen in public is as the
organist of the little Episcopal church on
Governor's Island. There might be a strong
contrast drawn between the women who
were the wives of candidates for President
since ISCO, but I shall leave that contrast to
be drawn by the reader, begging to repeat
that tbe American people do not seem to
bother themselves much about who a Presi
dent's wife is.
The Century for November has an editorial
under tbe bead of "Lawyers' Morals," from
which the following point* are quoted :
"1. A lawyer ought to be a gentleman.
His function as an attorney gives him no
dispensation to disregard the ordinary rules
of good manners, and the ordinary princi
ples of decency and honor. He has no right
to slander his neighbor, even if bis neighbor
be the defendant in a cause in which he ap- i
pears for the plaintiff. He has no right to j
bully or browbeat a witness In cross-examin
ation, or artfully entrap that witness into '
giving false testimony. Whatever the privi
lege of the court may be, the lawyer who is
guilty of such practices in court is no gentle
man out of court. -
3. A lawyer ought not to lie. He may
defend a criminal whom he knows to be j
guilty, but be may not say to the jury that
he believes this criminal to be Innocent. He
may not, in any way Intentionally convey to
the jury the impression that he believes the
man to be innocent. He may not, in bis
plea, pervert or distort the evidence so as to
weaken the force or conceal tbe meaning of
it. He is a sworn officer of the court, and
his oath should bind him to the strictest
veracity . It would be quixotic to expect him
to assist bis adversary, but bis obligation to
speak the truth outranks every obligation
that he owes to hir client It Is notorious
that some lawyers who would think it scan
dalous to tell a falsehood out of court, in any
business transaction, lie shamelessly in
court in behalf of their clients, and seem to
think it part of their profession xl duty. That
bar of justice, before which, by their pro
fessional obligations, they are bound to the
most stringent truthfulness, is the very
place where they seem to consider them
selves absolved from the common law of
veracity. So long as tbe legal mind is In
fected with this deadly heresy, we need not
wonder hat our courts of justice often be
come the instruments of unrighteousness.
"3 A lawyer ought not to sell his servic
es for the promotion of injustice and knav
ery. Swindlers of all types are aided by law
yers In their depredations upon society. The
mock broker who operates in Wall street, and
strips green country speculators of their hard
earned gains by the most nefarious roguery,
always has an able lawyer as his accomplice.
The gentleman by whose agency a nest of
these rascals was lately broken up says : "The
great difficulty in stopping swindles of this
class is that the rascals make enough money
to be able to employ t:. best legal advice,
and are moreover, careful to do nothing
which will render them liable to arrest'
This is the testimony of a lawyer, Mr. Ralph
Oakley of New York. 'The best of legal ad
vice' can be had then, in New York city for
such purposes. - It would be more difficult to
believe this if its truth were not so often Ill
ustrated in the stupendous frauds and pira
cies of great corporations, all of which are
carefully engineered by eminent lawyers.
Our modern 'buccaneers' — our brave rail- I
road wreckers in constant consultation
with distinguished lawyers. They undeni
ably bare •tin- best of legal advice' in plan
ning and and executing their bold iniqui
" lie Knew When The Jlriile Won Born.
A rather curious incident occurred lately
at the recorder's office. An old, white
hired darkey, leaning on his cane, poked
his head in the door of the marriage license
department, and, taking off bis hat, said:
"Sense me, boss, but I'se looking for de
place whar dey git a license to marry."
"C<me in. then," replied the clerk you've
struck It the first time."
"Come on hyar, cblllcn," the old man
said, beckoning to somd one on the outside.
"These 'ere two wants to get married, boss,
and I came 'long wid'em kasc this gal ain't
got no father nor mother 'ceptin' me."
"How old is she?" asked the clerk.
"She's berry nigh nineteen."
• Where's her father!"
"And her mother!"
"How do you know she is nineteen! She
"How'd I know? I know I brung her
"Where was she born!"
"Now, lcznme see; her father died befo'
de war, and she was born just after Marat"
Lincoln was shot."
"Why, that was .four year*- after her
"1 know it. Jut's right boss, she was born
four years after her father died."
'•Oh, that can't be!"
"But I tell you boss, I know it. He r
mother war living wld my folks at de time,
and it war just four years after her old man
The clerk was stumped, so he called up
Recorder Farrelly to know what he should
do. The old darkey felled to be shaken in
his statement, and as it was certain that she
had a father and at soiue time the license
was granted and the three sailed out to find
a preacher.— St. I.n.iA Post-DUjxitch.
lie I%'nutrit the Sam*. -
' A man whose linen dnstcr looked as
though it had been u*ed for a bed sheet, re
clined against the Grand Pacific bar and ut
tered a cough.
"What is'U'*' asked big Jimmy.
"Do you rc-kognize me — do you know
"I don't think I have the pleasure."
"I was in here last night — last thing be
fore you closed — remember!"
"I believe I do. "
••Ye*; I thought bo. Do you remember
what it was that you dealt out last!"
"I do not Perhcps whatever you asked
me for." •
'. "Perhaps; very likely. But say— it was a
corker. I want some of the same kind of
stuff right away." As be poured out of the
flask into the large glass, he continued:
•'That's it; I never got anything away from
home that made me feel as much at home in
in my life a? this. You know how much I
took last night — I wasn't drunk when I left
here, was II Well, I went .right to" bed —
right to bed, with that last deal of yourri,
and say — when I woke up, what do you
think! I was tied to the foot of the bed.
I'd got up in my sleep and took the bed
sheet and made a rope of it and tied myself
up. Thought I was home, yon . know In
Texas. Well, here's lookln' at you. Jes
drive the cork in that bottle till I come in
again . ' ' — Vkicagv Herald.
; The Speaker of toe Iiouso: The wife gener-
THE LOST LETTER.
Far down by the dark Cowing river, .
Mourn, dove, for I never will see —
Hand trembling and dear lip-* a-qnirer,
Some message my darling wrote m«.
drier*, lore, for death ha* caught the token.
Weep, soul, for the tweet words unspoken. . .
Break, heart, for the message was broken — .
What did my darling write me?
Some word, evermore would hire blessed m«,
0 f kylark, 70a sin? it up there :
Some tender thought would hare caressed me,
Some whisper would soothe my despair.
Dumb lips, it would quiet my weeping;
Soft eyes, is It relied in your deeping?
Still heart, does it rest in your keeping.
Hushed in your dumber-bound care?
What* What? So I wonder and ponder—
Wood robots, can yon tell it me?
Down here will I know, or up yonder?
How long mast I wait ere it be?
Brown bee, in the blossoming clover,
Wild bird, in the woodland a rover.
Whispering wind, as yon moan the earth-over.
Bring her lost message to me. •
— Robert J. SunUtte.
ROMANCE OF A PARDON.
Hear* Pr natty for the Subterfuge to ( on
ceal a Secret Lore* j
Albany Special to Louisville Courier-Journal, j
Some discussion baa recently taken place
regarding a pardon which the Governor ha*
refused to grant. In fact, he decides against
granting pardons every day, but these do not
usually get Into print. One of them, however,
which he did grant some months ago has
never been published, nor did he, as is usu
al with him print the reasons. They would
not now be allowed to be given, if there was
any probability that the actual names con
cerned, as even the places where the inci
dents occurred, should he correctly given.
The story is a true romance, probably sel
dom equalled in the most emotional fiction.
Early last spring a young man named for
the present purposes, Smith, was employed
as a gardener by a very wealthy gentleman,
to be called for the present purposes, Mr.
Jones, who lived we will say on the Hudson,
near New York. He was discovered one
afternoon by Mr. Jones, on hU unexpected
return from the cltv.in the very act of steal
ing from' Mrs. Jones' room with some of her
jewelry in his possession and her bureau
drawer opened and rifled. He was seized
and charged with burglary, and after vain
endeavors to escape, admitted his guilt and
was imprisoned. QMrg. Jones was greatly
distressed when she heard of it, and begged
hard that be be not prosecuted, as he was a
great favorite, being a youth only nineteen,
of a very handsome presence and well edu
cated. She pleaded so strongly with Mr.
Jones that he sought to hush the matter up,
but other servants had been witnesses to the
disturbance at his detection and they be
gan to talk so freely of young Smith's guilt
that the authorities compelled him to enter a
complaint. Smith was lodged in jail, had
an early trial, promptly confessed his truilt
and was sentenced to five years in Sing Sing.
Mrs. Jones was so overcome w ith grief that
she was too sick to attend the trial even to
Identify the Jewelry. After be had been in
Sing Sing a few months, Smith was trans
ferred, at bis own reuue-t to Auburn.
A few months ago a lady, heavily veiled,
called to see the Governor and was received
by him at his public desk. Without unveil
ing she said that she came to sec him about a
pardon. He asked her the particulars of the
case, and she stated that of young Smith, as
"On what grounds do you ask for a par
don!" said the Governor.
"He is innocent," she said, faintly.
"Can you prove that) Nothing more is
needed than proof to that effect," answered
•'Yes— l can prove it."
"Then I could possibly grant him a new
trial, but that would be tb.- most I could do.
If your new evidence is sufficient, that will
be all you want. What evidence have you!"
"He did not take the jewelry."
"II I remember rightly, he pleaded
"But he is not guilty, Governor; indeed
he is not guilty."
"Are you a relation of his!"
"Yes, sir," she replied, "I am his sister."
"Well, well," said the Governor, some
what bluffly, "you see the District-Attorney,
lay your evidence before him, and on his
sending it to me, I will cou aider the applica
The lady lingered, and in a trembling
voice and a low tone said:
"Can I not speak to you alone on this
Somewhat perplexed the Governor escorted
her into an inner room, when an astounding
story was told him by a beautiful woman in
great mental anguish. She, too, was guilty.
She loved the handsome gardener, and she
was the wife whose whose jewels bad been
stolen. Upon the verge of a discovery of
their secret by the husband, no means of
egress for the young lover which would not
be seen and excite suspicion If not be proof,
she had hastily hidden herself In a closet
while he had broken open the drawer of the
bureau and seized the jewels just in time to
give the astonished husband a wrong clue to
the meaning of bis presence there. The lady
told her story with her face buried in her
bands and trembling violently.
"For all these months," she said at last,
getting down on her knees, "he has been
suffering there for me and I can do nothing
but beg for him."
It was many moments before the Govern
or could reply. He is an impressionable man
and this MM of distress moved him very
much. Presently he said:
"Madam, If your story is true It will be
come my duty to pardon him as not guilty of
the crime for which he is charged. But I
must have absolute proof that is true, and 1
matt have proof that you are the person you
represent yourself to be."
She made a gesture.
"Wait a moment. I muat also require
him, if pardoned, to ab-ent himself from the
country for at least the rest of his term, and
1 must be convinced from him that he did
act, a* you say, solely in order to save you."
Some days later one of the Governor's per
sonal atafT was quietly stopping at a small
hotel in the village near which Mr. Jones
was llvlug, In the . afternoon was
waletd upon by Mr. Jones in
in 4 a coupe, who, upon introducing himself,
warmly invited the stall officer to dine with
him at his home. At the head of the table
sat a queenly beauty — the heroine of the
mysterious visit to the Governor. She was
uad imitated and managed with difficulty to
act her part as hosted.
A fen* weeks later a veiled lady called in a
closed cou^e upon the Warden of Auburn
Prison. Without the interchange of a word
the Warden conducted her to a small parlor,
where *he was left entirely alone. In a no
ment the door was opened, and a young man
clad in an ordinary citizen* suit entered th.
room. No on« rime with him, and the door
was closed as soon as be entered. In a mo
ment he recognized the figure before him.
He sprang forward.
"For Heaven's sake," he said, "vhy are
you here? How reckless you are. You may
expose all the put For your own sake be
careful. I Jo not care so long as you are
She fell tainting to the floor, and immedia
tely the Warden entered.
"You have made a mistake," said the
prisoner, with a heavy sigh, as he walked
back to his cell. "I do not know tbe lady.
She is a visitor for tome one else." .
Concealed behind a screen at one end of
the .room were two members of the Gover
nor's staff, tent there to test the true nobili
ty of the convict's soul. Five days after
wards the prisoner was pardoned, conducted
to a steamer and shipped to Europe for five
years. .He carried $1,000, which was given
him by, the woman be bad lost.
On the journal of the Executive chamber
this pardon is entered on a book that is never
seen by the public.
. House Decorations.
A confusion of architecture has also re
sulted in a confusion of furnishings in our
dwellings. What with fringed and striped
, portieres, a hanging drapery designed to hide
ungainly corners and a sure catch-all for
dust and debris, lace-trimmed tidies, orna
mental hatchet* draped and fringed, and
paper men and women dressed in silk and
satin and pinned to the wall, the real occu
punt of the rooms find* herself at a disadvan
tage. It is a triumph of matter over mind
but it i.« sometimes hard to discriminate, and
one has to look twice to distinguish between
the upholstery stuff and the flesh and blood
owner, So there is a talk of banishing all
<.Ux> bric-a-brac which resembles a child's
play boose, and returning to the four square
walls and plain severity of the best parlor of
long ago. It will seem at first as if some
body were dead, but it will give people room
to move and relieve that cluttered up look
which makes the modern drawing room
such a chamber of horrors to a sensitive soul |
It does seem preposterous to put in clear
window lights in a dwelling and then bang
them full of waterfall transparencies and
paper dogs. Souls are choked with these
Mi* fortune of Presidential Wive*.
[Sew York World. J
The misfortunes of women who have been
the wives of oar later presidents is remark
able. Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Taylor, Mrs.
Lincoln and Mrs. Garfield all became wid
ows while at the White House, the two last
under the most terrible circumstances. The
first Mrs. Taylor died while her husband was
President and the second Mrs.. Taylor who
is living at Georgetown, D. C, was com
pelled to uk Congress for a pension in 1579.
Ex-President John Tyler died at Richmond I
In January 1562, and his property was dcs- j
troyed by the war. Mrs. James K. Polk,who j
Is yet living at Nashville at the advanced age
of eighty-four, had a fortune left her and has
long enjoyed the society of a rare circle of i
devoted friend*, but the last days of her life :
have been much embittered by the disgrace
ful defalcation and subsequent imprison
ment of h«r nephew, who was State Treasur- '
er of Tennessee. Mrs. Tyler and Mrs. Polk !
are the only women now living who were
wives of ante-bellum Presidents and it is
rather old that Mrs. Tyler is the younger of
the two by twenty-five or thirty years, where- >
as her husband was President In IS 13 and
1544, while Mr. Polk did not come into the
office till later. Mrs. Tyler was not only a
second wife but married at the early age of '<
eighteen. She is the only Presidential wife,
I believe who had the honor of giving a
weddicg reception the White House. There
are at least two people in New York who i
danced at that reception — Mr. Henry Berth .
and wife. I shall not attempt to recount
the misfortunes of Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs.
Garfield for they are well known to all the
Poor Mrs. Lincoln survived her husband a
dozen years or more, but she never sur
vived the shock that his death gave her. and
the latter days of her life were clouded by a j
disordered mind. Few and far between were
the happy moments that fell to her lot from
the turbulent hour that her husband became
President The story of Mrs. Andrew John
son is almost as pathetic, but it is not so well
known. She was nearly sixty years old when
her husband became President, and had
been married over forty years. She was al
most as little known at Washington during
the Presidential career of Andrew Johnson
as if she had not lived at all. and the Ameri
can people know less about her than any of
the res of tne Chief Executives of their
country. She died in 187*, six months after
her husband had died. Ido not suppose
Mrs. Grant is by any means a happy woman
though she has the satisfaction of knowing
that the American people will always hold
her husband in the highest esteem for his
great military services. The disaster that
came upon Gen. Grant and his sons who
were In business in the firm of Grant Ward
told very heavily upon her and she, along
with the other recent President's wives, has
a burden to bear. Mrs. Hayes seems to be
peacefully settled In life, and lives quietly at
a little village In Ohio. The greatest nils-'
fortune that baa come upon her is that she is
the wife of a President whose title was al
ways held in doubt by a majority of the
American people, and who hold's as ex-
Prealdent a very insignificant place In the
The niomlr Out of Fnahiou,
[Chicago Tribune's Ntw York Letter.]
It occurred to me the other night while at
the theatre that the blonde has had her day.
Advices have not yet arrived from Par as
they usually do at this season of the year con
cerning this subject, but from a casual In
spection of the women whom I have seen at
the Union Square, Daly's and Wallack's
theatres since Monday I am quite convinced
that the dark-haired girl is to be the go this
winter. Every one must remember what a
ridiculous blonde craze set in four year - ago.
No one knows exactly whore it originated,
but men were startled by seeing life-long
friends whose hair had always been dark turn
slowly or rapidly, as the case might have been,
to pronounced and artificial blondes. It be
gan to seem about a year ago that no natural
blondes were left on Manhattan Island.
Nearly every woman had yellowish, straw
like, canary-colored hair, coupled in the ma
jority of Install with dark eyebrows and
eyes and a curiously inharmonious complex
ion. The fashion spread with extraordinary
rapidity. The papers teemed with the ad
vertisements of quacks who agreed to turn
hair to a golden hue for 75 cents a bottle,
and the news columns of the same papers
occasionally hail sensational stories of girls
who had cecome demented from the exces
sive u,sc of these dyes. It as said at one
time that if a man ascended to a reasonable
altitude in a balloon and gazed down through
the skylights of New York houses he would
see thousands of women lying on their backs
with their hair spread over a board bleaching
slowly by means of soda and 'the sun. In
this state of affairs a genuine blonde or a
straight up-and-down, hot-tempered, freckle
faced and red-headed girl became veritable
queens among the throne of artificial beau
ties. Now, apparently, every one has grown
weary of it all, with the result of a decidedly
gratifying and much more picturesque na
The American Ti/j>e of Beauty.
iC'bas. G. Leland'* London Le tier in Chicago
The most perfectly fascinating creature
which the Anglo-Saxon race ever produced
was the typical belle of Baltimore, the repre
sentative of the whole south. In her erace,
her tact and fascination one quite forgot that
she would have been quite the same thing if
she had been unable to read. Perhaps she
never did read, not even a novel. Even
when ska had a little culture, It all ran to
"accomplishment," and its real use was
only to charm the men a little more. This
type of girl, still common in America, and
till of late common in England, is disap
pearing with incredible rapidity. It is going
with the " long hair which was once the
crowning glory of woman, and with it is go
ing much that was once held to be essential
to guard life and society from utter ruin. I
have dwelt on this because it is becoming so
common there that not to comment on it
would be to ignore the most remarkable
phenomenon of English life as it at present
exists. As girls realize that it is becoming
more difficult to marry with a certainty of
being able to live as well as they did at home
as there is a growing unwillingness to raise
large families aud be left as poor widows to
support them, as, in fact, all the old ideals
disappear, and new ones of being able to
make a living and be "Independent" and
"bird free" are developed, they are becom
ing careless as to beauty, indifferent as to
being charmers. A poor young man in Eng
land who is in no way distinguished either
by family or works Is indeed to be' pitied.
Women, old or young, speak of him as a
nuisance. The only interest which he ex
cites is a wonder why he eumbereth the
I ground. Now, as all men cannot be rich
enough to marry poor girls, let them work
never so industriously, this is manifestly
hard for them. So they emigrate or go to
the bad, and so the dance goes on.
Too Much of a Lady.
"Is that a vail over your face, Maggie
Leddy?" asked Justice Murray, as he looked
bard at a bs grimed female who was propped
up before the bar. . ■
"Niver a vail, yer banner; its the sunburn
I got durin' me last visit to the island."
44 How long ago was thai, Maggie?"
"I came down yesterday, judge, after
stay in' there six months like a lady," said
the prisoner, toying with a greasy lock of
hair that fell down over her nose.
"Six months more will do you good, my
girl," said the judge, benevolently, "for
when you come out ajraln you'll be so sun
burned that tow can peas for a colored wo
man, and then you can turn over a new
"It's little I care for the six months,
judge, but as fur passln' rneself off fur a
black nagur, I'm too much of a lady fur
that, bless' yer banner's sweet tongue "—
Xtw York Herald.
"Bright yellow, red and orange.
The leaves come down In boat*.
The trees are Indian prince*.
Bat now they'll turn to ghosts;
The leathery pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough;
It's autumn, aatamii, antamn late,
'Twill »oon be winter now,"
"One of those October days, when to
breathe in the air is like drinking wine, and
every touch of the wind against one's face is
a caress; you have ft sense of companion'
ship; it i 3 a day that loves you."
'•The October day is a dream, bright and
beautiful as the rainbow, and as brief an*
"October glows on every cheek,
October shines in every eyo, '
While up the hill and down the dale.
Her crimson bannrrs fly."
The newest wrinkle in stockings in a pun
silk article In two foundation shades of con
trasting tints. For example: The upper
portion of mandarin, a Chinese yellow, and
the lower part of gendarme blue. On the In
steps a mass of embroidery in the shape of
a basket of flowers, each flower worked out
in natural colors and the whole composing
blue forget-me-nots, pink carnations, purple
pansies, yellow asters and white daisies. A
ladder of vines runs up the side as a clock
ing and over the solid colors, such as pea
cock blue or olive green, golden sUrs are
sprinkled in an abandon of artistic beauty.
No two pairs are alike. They cost from $18
to $IS a pair and are worn with fancy slipper*
for evening parties. Widow's stockings are
Of black silk embroidered with white floss and
cut jet beads are sown thickly with spra of
purple helilrope, panties and other mourning
flowers. Very elegant bant In solid colon
■without any ornament cost $S a pair.
The long-armed lace-flntshed gloves are
entirely new this season and serve to adorn
the show-cases handsomely at a cost of $15 a
pair. The glove Itself is of French kid with,
a lace wrist; next a strip of the kid handsome
ly worked, then a long sleeve of lace, a wide
armlet of kid and a finish of lace. They are
to be worn wrinkled, hence their length.
They are fastened up in a slovenly manner
by a gold shoulder-pin, and kept in place af
ter a fashion.
LARGE nwi. SATCHELS.
The newest satchels or shopping-bags are
very large and are of Japanese leather, with
processions of Injects and birds in repouss*
work on the sides. Alligator kid is also a
fashionable leather for . these bags, and
dressed seal. The clasps are of silver, and
they are lined with satin, and cost from $15
to $25 each. The initials of the owner In
silver letters on one corner of the reticulu
are still in favor.
FRENCH FASHION' HINTS.
Changeable holsery is among the novelties.
Blue and gold, bronze and red, and red and
blue are favorite combinations.
A Molten.- plastron of real Valenciennes
lace and white crepe dc Chine, costing $150,
was recently made for a New York lady.
Bronze, the exact color of a bronze kid
slipper, is the new color In holsery. Broose
slippers and stockings exactly matching will
be the favorite foot-wear for dressy occasions.
The "common-sense" shoe for tralklna; is
an established fact. This season the toes are
slightly rounded at the corners, but the heels
are seldom over three-quarters of an inch in
Profuse beading is everywhere evident.
Dresses, bonnets, mantles, even, slippers,
give evidence of the general craze for heavy
jet ornamentation. Many wraps have shoul
der-pieces composed entirely of bead-work,
for the blighter colored ones cashmere beads
being substituted Instead of black.
A description of one of Worth's latest to be
worn at a wedding: The skirt Info be of
black and gold striped velvet, perfectly plain,
save for the little raffling of plain velvet
round the edge. The bodice and tunic ate to
be made of plain biack velvet, the former
opening over a waistcoat of Persian embroid
ery, In hieroglyphics of black on. gold. The
collar and raffs are to match".
The French manner of wearing the hair at
the top of the head has not been found uui
versally becoming. Those whom it does not
suit have not returned to the Grecian knot
in the nape of tho neck, but have hit on a
medium plan — the front hair la a mass of
short waved curls, and the back is a rich coil
Of thin plaits called "basket plaits," pinned
round and round in the centre.
Accessories of the toilet are as numerous
and varied as ever, or more so. All the
laces that a lady owns can be used in one
form or another, and she can add as many
of the new ones as she chooses. Polonaises
are made of old lace points, square shawls
and rotondes, whether of Chantilly, Llama,
'. Spanish or French lace. Even garters, and
the tops of stockings are ornamented with
lace flounces, and lace rosettes with jewel
centres decorate, house and ball shoes and
Amazone is again quite a new fabric In Its
present guise, for last year the stuff bearing
this name was plain, but now has a crepe*
like or wrinkled surface. Cloths woven to
resemble crape are a feature to be noted in
the fashions. A really delicious little mantle
for wearing to theatres is made of dark wall
flower-red plush, lined with quilted plush
pink silk and trimmed with skunk. Tho
shape is half mantle, half cape, and it Is tied,
in at the waist at the back, but falling below
it. In front the ends are rounded.
The "Dauphin" collar has been much worn
in France. It is four inches deep and opens
in front, leaving a space for a gathered
drapery, which Is fast' ned down on either
side in shawl-shape and taken to the lower
part of the waist, where it la slightly crossed.
This collar makes a very pretty waist trim
ming, particularly for young ladies. It la
made of the materials used for neck trim
mings, such as blue batiste dotted with red
or white embroidered lawn with white dot»,
or crepe llsae with silk embroidered designs.
What to Head.
Now that the winter evenings are drawing
near it is well to consider forms of entertain
ment for the family and plan out amuse
ment* and instruction for the long hour*
between dark and time. It is a good
plan to devote certain evenings to social vis
iting, others to games and some to good
reading. But what to read to instruct young
and old? The history of one's country, a
good volume of foreign history and some in
structive novel. For a family of young peo
ple "Taine's English Literature" is admir
able. "John Halifax, Gentleman" is a
a good novel. The author Is Mrs. Mulocu
Craik. "Henry Esmond" by Thackery is a
! good novel. "Jane Eyre" is fascinating
; and instructive. The little girls of a family
I cannot find a more delightful and morally*
j useful book than the "Wide, Wide World,'*
which their mothers read. It does not deal
with love, marriage and romance, yet Is full
of interest. The "Mill on theiFloss" is an
other good novel, fu,l of pithy sayings and
I lessons for every-day life. "Adam Bode,"
by the same author, George Eliot — Mrs.
Lewes Cross — cannot fail to interest young
and old. The beloved Prince Consort of
England never wearied of having it read
aloud. and declared it to be the best nove
then extant. It is a matter of surprise that
anr|family could complain of the loneliness
of winter evenings with a library of half a
dozen well chosen books to' select from. A
happy thing to do is to bring the character*
of the book into the family and make real
people of them. A charming biography giv
ing the home life of a family is that of Char
lotte Bronte, written by Mrs. Gaskell. It hat
been pronounced by competent critics the
best ever written and as fascinating a3 a
novel. It will do to complete the half dozen
volumes of the home library. Ralph Waldo
Emerson had these rules for reading:
1 Never read any book that is not a year
2 Never read any but famous books.
- 3 Never read any books but what you
It Is probabl ethat the last rule was formed
when the writer had acquired critical tastes.
It would hardly be safe for all readers to fol
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