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01 TltrTH. The New York Truth tells what Cleveland has tot hung: "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, Kejoicing overmuch, 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! LONGFELLOW'S HOME. 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 rich foliage. 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 hood. "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 you." 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 fellow." 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 own heart 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 cago 2?inu. Deliberate Insult. . . [PhiladelphiaCalLJ 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 them, too?" "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 ordered." The blacklegs! I'll make 'cm take it back; that I will. Wot was it they put on the packaged' "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 Western Union. THE ST. PAUL SUNDAY GLOBE SUNDAY MORNING, i BER % ,1884J GWENDOLEN. ■ — 7~~~ I bad gone Cubing on the Wye : Young was I and romantic, then. That summer, fn'.l of sen, that I Met Gwendolen. 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» For Lanncelot. 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— BHer photograph. —CamdPt Family Magazine for October. ——^——— — — — — FIVES OP PRESIDENTS. Wives Of Candidates, Candidate* Without Wives. |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 usages. 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. "Latryeri' Moral*." 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 ties." V " 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!" "Dead, boss." "And her mother!" "Dead, too." "How do you know she is nineteen! She looks younger." "How'd I know? I know I brung her up." ">-'" "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 father's death:" "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 died." 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 me!" "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 above narrated. "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 the Governor. •'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 guilty." "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 tion." The lady lingered, and in a trembling voice and a low tone said: "Can I not speak to you alone on this matter!" 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 saved." 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 household weeds. 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 world. 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 public estimation. 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 ture. The American Ti/j>e of Beauty. iC'bas. G. Leland'* London Le tier in Chicago Tribune.] 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 Wat." "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. OCTOBER ETTES. "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* fugitive." "October glows on every cheek, October shines in every eyo, ' While up the hill and down the dale. Her crimson bannrrs fly." EXTRAVAGANT STOCKINGS. 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. LACE-SLEEVED GLOVES. 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 height. 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 slippers. 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 old. 2 Never read any but famous books. - 3 Never read any books but what you like. 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 low. ■ Burklln's Arnica Salve. The greatest medical wonder of tne world. Warranted to speedily cure Barns, Bruises, Cuts Ulcers^ Salt Rheum, Fever Sore*, Cancers, Piles, Chilblains, Corns, Tetter, Chapped Hands and all Skin Eruption*, guaranteed to cure hi every instance, or money refunded ; 25 cents per box. For sale by Lambia & Belauds