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The morning call. (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, July 20, 1890, Image 10

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10
MY SISTER.
WRITTEN FOR THE MORNING CALL BY WALTER BESANT.
CHAPTER 1.
!UV SISTER— OB I Sir SISTER.
■fTV.i'S a fine Satuiday evening lv July there
_\£_\ I ate never many readers In the Free Li
ilfl j§ bia ry. The old men who come lv winter,
* Ss *'' 1 because the place is warm, light anil quiet,
are now walking up and down the pavement,
where the sunshine warms ihem through and
through, and chase away their rheumatic pains.
The yonnger men are all afield, playing cricket,
boating, cycling, i ambling afoot, thinking of
nothing but the delights ot fresh air, aud rejoic
ing in then- youth. What have the young to do
Wllb a musty, dusly library on a snmmer even
ing? A library is a cemetery. Books are mostly
the tombs of dead meu's brains. Youug folks are
much better occupied wiih reading each other's
thoughts than with walking among the tombs,
so that the library is almost empty.
Il was about 7 o'clock. At the window Into
which the sun would have poured Its wealth of
heat anil light— It gives to the tombs of
the dead as well as io the l.elds and flowers of
the living— a brown blind was hauled dawn,
leaving a lone narrow line. The sun, pertina
cious in Its attempt to reach everything, took
advantage of the line make a thin plate or
lamina of bright sunshine, across which the
ineriy notes darned wllb their usual cheerful
ness. Tneie was a smell of leather bindings;
the tables were coveted with magazines and
paneis; a lew renders sat at the tables, But 1
think thai knowledge v. as not greatly advanced.
One or t wool them slept; one or iwo looked as
if tl.elr thoughts weie elsewhere— with the brook
babbling over the shallows, Willi the village
■ cronies gathered under the lean-to besido the
ale-house. One of luem, gaum, hollow-eyed,
honary, sat with an Illustrated paper before
him. But he never turned over a leaf, and he
looked uot at the pictures. The librarian
watched that man suspiciously. He did not like
the look in that man's eyes, It meant rebellion;
It meant a wicked spirit of discontent with the
social older which left him starving while It
made Ins neighbor (at, and refused him work
while it suffered his neighbor to live In comfort
ou iho work of other men. Only a year or two
:mo— or II might be ten. because to one who is a
librarian years lave no significance In connec
tion with numbers— a nun had come Into the
place wiih just such a look in Ins eyes, That
man asked for a book, sat down, and proceeded
to le.i aw iv its Undine audio wrench ihe sheets
asunder, Then lie gave himself up in the li
brartan with Un greatest gentleness and polite-
X ! r ; SIS
Xk
•/ i •-'• * - _"' x
ness. explaining that llbeity without a crust ts
really a mockery, and that in future he meant to
be maintained by Ins countiy, and that when he
had served his time for the uctlen of the
book lie meant to 'mash a lamo. •ml thai atoned
for, lo st. al a stretcher from a police station, and
* so on, gelling perhaps longer sentences, until he
* should t*e called to his reward. Tney walked oil
together to Che nearest police Malum like two
eld lends, and parted with a hearty grasp after
1; .' sergeant had noted the case.
Another man tbere was whom the librarian
regarded with eyes of compassion. He dragged
liitus If * _■*■;%• and wearily up the stairs, :lnew
himself upon a seat next the wall, and therefore
provided with a back, took un a paper, sighed,
and Instantly fell fast asleep, Tim son the
librarian knew very well— was the ciei out
of work. lie tel asleep because he was ex.
hausted with want of food, and with climbing
.the stairs in the city seeding for work, The
librarian wondered how much longer the weary
quest would coniinne. The man was clearly
well on ibe downward slope; his next place would
be lower; his next, lower still Willi adversity
arrive: 100 often moial weakening— ilisone of the
countless ills which follow in misfortune's train;
peihaps tins poor wretch would take to drink—
man}' of ihem ao; in the end, a clean bed in the
Dond. ui Hospital, will) pneumonia drawing him
swiftly to an Ignoble grave.
The libraiian - .1 in his corner, a many pigeon
holed cabinet against the wall at his side, a great
book befoie him— no librarian Is complete with
out a great book before him— the usual ma
teiials for cataloguing on his desk, because to
carry ou ihe catalogue Is as necessaiy a part of
the dally work as lo open the day's letters is for
a si-crelaiy. He was a man of 00, or perhaps
ore, his beard while and Pis gray hair scanty
on the lop. He were spectacles, and bis face
allowed the clear, unlined lace ol one who has
never been concerned" with markets, prices or
the stale of tiade. He lived all day lv the libraiy
ami In ihe evening be walked home to his soli
tary lodging ■ a i.e. away.
The ..pi, of a free library is familiar
wllh every kind of reader. He classifies ihem
them ail. Theie are lust the linen. ployed. the
most numerous patrons ot the free library. The
librarian gets to know the trade of .very man,
if he belongs to one of the commoner branches of
work, I. bis appearance. There are tne quiet
men. who use the libiaiy In the evening when
their mates are lv the public-house driokiug or
at He club wraugltug or perhaps gambling.
Tbey come heie. not lo pursue a Hue
of study, but to amuse themselves in
peace 1 lieu in the library mere are
one or two habitues of the daytime. Mostly
nev are reliied tradesmen, or old pensioners,
who continue to live In the locality where they
bare in lids. There is the young fellow who
comes lrgnlarly to consult all the papers on
spoiling matters. lie collects the prophetic tips
aod votes ihe odds In a book; he would fain be
a sharp, nut be. too often, lemaius a Juggins.
There lsthe boy who comes here whenever he
can get lire chance to -it in a corner and dream
away the rime dellciou-.ly over a story. There is
the poor county lad who has mere knowledge In
bis lime finger than a London artisan lv his
whole body, who understands how to plow and
sow and reap, and sack and thrash; who can
<.-uiliv:tle an allotment; who knows sheep and
beasts. and pigs and horses; who can foretell the
weather. ret he has thrown it all over and come
up tv London, win re he has nothing but his pair
if bauds, and his siioug arms, and Ills great
knowledge avails him nothing. It Is as If you
turned a professor of mathematics Into a draper's
shop, here they would nse bun fur nothing but
in sweep the lioor anil carry out parcels. He
rolls tutu the library accidentally, and not like-
Ing the place or tire smell (which Is not iv the
least li.-i* the smell of the earth), be goes out
again.
The librarian knows them all. He watches in
the sin i.t room as the clock over his head ticks
loudly, and makes up their little stories tor
them? Sometimes ihey whisper a Utile with him.
He is a sympathetic creatine, and they will con
fide their case lo him asking for his advice, 1 hey
do not seek It In the search for a book 10 read,
but in the search for work. And sometimes lie
knows, or has heard things, which may help
them. Other libiariaus, yon see, gel a vast and
intimate acquaintance with books. This ilbia
tiau is mote useful to bis readers li be knows the
contents 0! the trade journals.
Sometime.-, however, as in the case of Naomi
Hellyer. he was altogether at sea. Naomi hist
appealed on this Saturday evening. Sbe came tv
timidly, and looked about her with hesitation.
Tbete was no other woman in the place. Per
haps women were not admitted. Then the libra
rian stepped out 01 his comer and invited ber to
lake a seat and ask for anything she might want.
lie saw a woman of 30 diessed In the black
stuff frock of a workwoman, wiib a cloth jacket,
though 11 was so warm an evening. Her dies.
was pei fectly neat and well-fitting: her gloves
were worn; she had the appearance of resolute
res* eet a 11 1 ity coupled wnh small pay. lier lace
was tti li' and pale, and ber features delicate. Sbe
was uot beautiful, but she looked steady and se
rious—what Is called responsible. The librarian
noticed th se things; be also noticed, for he was
auob-eivant cieatuie, as well as sympathetic,
that theie was trouble in the lace— abiding
trouble.
When she shook off her worn gloves lbe librae
rian -aw upon her foielinger me usual sign of
needlework, which a woman can no more dis
guise iliau a mulatto can hide the black streaks
below bis linger-nails. hh-i took a Dlace at one
. of the tables and began to turnover the leaves
of an illustrated paper, but languidly, as if sbe
took no interest In what she read. The librarian,
. watching ber trom his corner, observed that she
presently put dowu the paper aud began to wall;
abot.r. leading the lilies of Ihe bonks on the
shelves as it she was in search of something.
Being a conscientious librarian, as well as ob
servant and sympathetic, he left bis Mace in the
corner and asked her if there was any woik
which sue wished to read. She «1i..0k her head.
There was nothing, she said. The librarian ob
served that she had an extremely sweet voice.
He also observed that she went looking at me
titles a- 11 she really did want something.
The libiai lau was experienced as wen as con
scientious, observant and sympalhetie. He dls
coveied lhat there was something behind mis
. ii-siiess curiosity.
"I mink yon ate locking for some book," he
said. "If you will tell me what It Is—"
"Have you got," -he asked, coloring deeply,
"any book that tells about"— she hesitated.
"About .'*' be repeated.
''"About women" here she looked about .to
make -me nobody else could bear, and her
voice d topped to a whisper— "about women In
piisin, haw they are treated and bow they live."
"We have a book called 'Five Years of Penal
* Servitude,' " lie replied, "but that is about male
convicts, not women."
• "Jlay I see lhat*.'"
lie lound and gave her the volume.
W ben the ltbiaty closed she brought him hack
the bo. k ami went away. But ber eyes were
red. Siie had been crying.
Dating the week the librarian found himself
thinking a good deal about this woman. Slie
looked leliued and delicate, perhaps above the
position she now held, which seemed lo be poor
ly paid judging Irom bet dies,. By her language
add her manner she showed bersell what is
called ladylike, or what ladies pierer to call
rather a superior pei son. He could not remem
ber whether she wore a wedding-ring. He hoped
Ihat she would come again.
On Sauu day evening she did come again. The
* librarian greeted her with the smile reserved lor
habitual leaders. ■■ Let me find you another
book." he said.
"i'l ase let me have the same"— as li the li
brarian should remember every book taken up
by every reader. But he did remember her book
' and gave It to ber. -
She finished the bonk lhat evening. But long
after she closed 111 volume she sat with It In tier
band think ing. * She was lv a corner wbere there
were uo other readers. But the librarian could
ace her. And from time 10 time the tears lose
10 Mi eves and ran down her cheeks. He won
yen d what was meant by this grief, what mis
erable story lay behind.
She was tbe last to leave ■ the library. The
,■ —■■! i i| 'I H||i" ,l^»Mq» 111 ,ll,i ~ -:- -■'
other readers had all cone, half an hour beforo
the time for closing, but she sal there motion
less, thinking, crying silently, and the librarian
made pretense not to see her.
When the clock struck 10 he locked the room
and went out, a few minutes after her. Ills mind
was quite full of her distress, as he walked away
along the streets, now growing cool In the July
twilight.
I'iesently he saw before him, going the same
way, his reader. He overtook hei and ventured
to speak. , .
"We are going the same way?" ha asked.
'•1 am going to ." She mentioned a street
not far off. ■-„ ;
"It is ihe same way." he replied, "may I walk
with you? lam the librarian, yon know."
Mie hesitated a Utile, liut an official such as a
librarian is not a perlect stranger. Besides, he
was old and looked harmless, and bis voice and
manner were friendly. "If you please," she
said piesently.
They walKed together In silence, side by side.
I'ieseutlv the librarian began to ask a few
leading questions, and learned that his uew
friend was a workwoman at a diessinaker'a lv
Ihe neighborhood. 11 is not a fashionable quar
ter, and the pay given to the most superior per
son is but meager— still it was enough, and the
woik was regular.
" I do uoi belong to the place," she said, "I
come trom tire country. 1 have no friends, and
am fortunate in gelling any work at all."
" you must come a great deal to the library,"
lie replied. "There you can be quiet and have
the companionship of books, 11 you care lor them.
But vuii must not always read sad boohs—' 1
•' 1 have no heart," she said, "fur anything but
sad books. This is my street. (iood night."
A Meek later she came again. Always on a
Satuiday evening. 'Ihe reason was that she
worked extra lime in order to get a little more
money on oilier evenings.
" 1 have fouud you a book about female con
victs," the librarian told her. "It is tvveuty
years old, but 1 suppose ihiugs aie not changed
much."
"Ob, give It me— thank you!"
She snatched It from him and sought her cor
ner, wheie she sac, her head on her hand, read
ing the book all the evening.
They walked home together again.
" Yon are la gieal trouble," said the librarian.
" li it will be any help to you, tell in • what it is.
A good mauy people tell me ihelr troubles.
Sometimes ii helps only io talk about things.
Have yob no friends?"
" No. 1 nave lost all myold friends, and I can
not make new ones. Oh. If 1 could tell you—"
" You may tell me, II you will trust me."
" lou win not give me any uioie books if I do."
" Surely— surely— "
" Well, men— il.e reason why I want to read
about— about— you know— oh ! I must speak to
some one— tlie reason why— it is because my sis
ter is in prison— obi my sister— on Imy Door,
poor tinier I Sue is iv prison."
CHAPTER 11.
I.V Till! KIVER.
Outside the old wall, a tie of which still
stands, runs, winding slowly through the
meadows, tbe river ou whose banks me ancieut
northern town Is built, it Is broad enough for
boats, and on summer evenings a few come out,
bul nel many, because It Is a sleepy old town,
and nil ihe young men who have any go lv them
seek then nines elsewhere when they come to
the rowing age. I'm half a mile or so below the
town a I. mad walk lias been constructed, having
Ihe river on one side ami a row of trees on the
other. Seals are planted heie aud theie. It is
the boulevard of the rawest eople, and. when the
weather and season allow, the place Is crowded
and a nun. led with the girls— iv this happy towu
lb re aie Unity girls to one youug man— who go
up and dowu iv pairs laughing and prattling as
merrily us if i i.e v were not destined by i lie rigor
of (ate to single blessedness, because there are
so many of em. I have always thought that
llils especial application of the old law about the
slus of ihe fathers must be very hard for a girl
to accept with resignation. " You suffer," says
the law, " because mere are too many of you. I
am very sorry, but— lt is the sin of the father—
why were you born?" Why, indeed *.'
In the summer tbe lilies lie upon the waters;
the river sparkles and dances in llie light and
sunshine; tio-ie are swans. ducks; iind-.u ibe
branches dlspori millions ol midges j there is a
soft vv.'.nn smell in Che air, partly from i lie river
and partly from the low meadows on die other
side; Che fields are lull of buttercups; from the
tower ot ihe cathedral float the melodious votes
of a carillon; Ibe river is lazy, and lioweih
slowly, lingering beside its banks; now and then
a water-rat plnnges on the opposite side as a fish
leaps out of ih* water; llie cows sii watching
the sky and me sunset; ll,e swallows and swills
are the only really active Chines: ll is a pleasant
peaceful place to which lbe crowd of girl- lends
an Illusive show of youth. 1 say illusive because
youth ought not to ke all of one sex. and when
theie are no male ami female iv equal propor
tion youth loses its brightness.
Wbeu the mugs are cold and dark the place
Is deserted. No one walks there after sunset
l ins was tbe i- ..sun why a certain couple chose
the place one evening in October, li was a little
a: et seven; the nfgtii bad (alien upon a gloomy
day. Afresh breeze blew up the river, tearing
the leaves oh the iiees, whirlius them about in
the ah and making drifting neaps of them; the
branches overhead creaked; ihe meadows were
dark; the river was black; drops of rainfall
ii on the faces ol the pair wn.. walked side by
side, the young mail's aim aiouud the gill's
waist.
" Tell me all," lie said. "Let me kuow the
worst, and then we can face 11. My darling. Is
there anything ibai we cannot face together
baud in hand."
"Oh I" she mummied. "It puts new strength
in me— only lo bear you speak and to fee! yum*
presence. Naomi is anxious and troubles her
self about the future, morning, noon and night.
Harry, will It make no diflereact to you!
,*] 1^ ijk.
XkXlr
Imm'Mt
wm&%S. -'A a* A i\lk^
a " s *^7^^ ES^iffi*'
" My darling, how would anything make a dif
ference to me? Do I not love you once for ali
tor all this world and all the next '.'"
He bent over her— was a tall and gallant
voting fellow— and she raised her lace to meet his
lips.
" lie fell down," she went on, "while John
was pulling tip the shutters. He was •lauding
at his desk, and he f II down on his face. He
■never spoke again or knew anybody or fell any
thing. And next morning about noon li ■ died."
"De died," echoed tlie lover. " Poor dear
Ruth You told me of this in your letter. It
was a terrible blow to you."
" I wrote in yon about it. But I said nothing
Of what was discovered afterward."
" What was discovered?"
"We always thought lie was so well off. Every
body thought so. There was never any want ol
money. W lien he died the people said we must
remember how well ott we should lie left and
that ought in console us?"
"Well, dear"?"
"There is nothing. The business had been
falling off lor years. Tbete Is not enough now
io pay rent and taxes. And as tor what Is left It
must all go to pay debts."
'•Poor child! This Is terrible. What will you
do?"
"When people have got no money Ihey mnst
keep themselves. The Dean came lo see us this
morning. You Know i here was no one who re
spected father more than tlie Dean. He says
that we must be brave and make the Lest of
things."
"Yes— bur, my child, I cannot bear to think of
your having tv woik. These pretty hands should
do nothing but play with pretty things."
"As lor Naomi," said the owner ol the pretty
bands, "she is so clever with be- needle lhat she
Is quite suie 10 get a good place somewhere.
She says lhat she could mil take a situation iv
111' town lv be reminded all day Ion*; how wo
have come down, so she will go to London and 1
must y.i with her. Then I shall be near yon,
Hat iv, and pei hau«— haps— ''
" Perhaps what, dear?"
" Perhaps, before long, you will be able to
lake me away for good, aod then I will work at
nothing harder than to please you, dear."
"Dear Hutu, I ask for nothing belter. There
could be nothing belter. Hill —
" You have not yet told your people about me?
Why DM tell liieiti and have done. They cau 1
but refuse 10 call upon me, I suppose."
" You dou't understand, dear child. They are
ambitious. They want to get Into society, you
bee, and they expect me 10 help lliem. Well, we
are rich enough, 1 suppose, and we've got a big
house 111 l'alace Gardens, but my grandfather
kepi a shop. We aie only In trade, as Itis,
although we have our ollices and our clerks In
stead ol our counter ami our shopmen. See
vow. Kuib. mv father will give iik* a partner
ship when lam live and twenty. That Is in six
months; then 1 shall be independent. Let us
■I. I along somehow until tbeu. I cannot have
my darling oideied about by some scoundrel
shop .•..,.. i-,. or working hcrhirgers to the bone."
'I he girl shook her he. id.
" Naomi would not hear of such a thing," she
said, '* unless 11 was property understood and
was acknowledged. No, Harry ; 1 must be Inde
pendent of you until— "
" If I cau atlutd to maintain you, dear, why
not?"
" No, not even if 1 have to go lower down the
ladder, Uiiuy. Can't you see that It is Impos
sible? 1 can wait for you. And 1 don't suppose
thai 1 shall drag you down with me, shall 1?"
She said this with a laugh, bnt like many light
words they were prophetic She was, although
she knew it not. to drag him lower—low
er; tier hand was 10 be upo* bis head pushing
him down, dawn, duwn.
" Let us go home," she sa'.d. "Alas. Naomi is
going through the things. They all belong 10
the ci editor. even the old books on the shelves;
even Ihe swing in the garden— all except our own
clothes; even the seal tinner the muibeny tree,
ln a day or two we shall go out of the old home,
we two together. What wtll become of us?
What shall we do?"
"You are not without friends." said the young
man, •' you have me."
The wind freshened aud the rain beat upon
their luces.
." I am full of terrors,'' said the girl. •' II
seems as ll somthlng dreadful wonld happen to
me."
•' You nave me to protect you, Ruth."
Her lover's words were brave, but somehow
they lacked that subtle quality wblch insures
confluence. ■'.--■-— ■ ; :
" Yes, Harry, 1 have you and you have your
own pewp:e as well; and they ate not likely lo
welcome ihe daughter of the country book-seller.
Let me go home."
CHAI'TIiH 111.
THE CITY MEItCHA_-T.
The chief— the sole paiinei-ihe head of the
house— sat In his private office. No study or
kinuklug-rnom of any cuuutin.-'-bouse was more
couilortably iui nlsned tii.ni ibis private office. A
pile of letters unanswered lay upon the great
THE MORNING CALL. SAN FRANCISCO. SUNDAY. JULY 20. 1890-FOURTEEN PAGES.
table besido the' blotting-pad; a shallow basket
contained the letters wliich he : bad written or
signed; theio were bundles of papers lied up and
Indorsed. On either side of the fireplace was a
loug, low chair; on a small table In the window
stood the luucheou-iray. The chief had taken
ills chop and pint ol claret and was now sitting
In one of those low chairs, his feet stretched out
belore lilm In complete physical ease. In the
rooms without be kuew that his managers, heads
of departments and clerks were all diligently at
work for him. lt makes a man comfortable only
lo think that people are at work (or blm. Most
of us when we are not ourselves at work have
got the feeling o( unprofitable service. Not so
Mr. John Stoke of Threadneedle street, City, lie
knew that his people were working for him to
what Is called a pretty tune. As he rolled his
cigar between his lips tbat tune melod
iously mug in his ears. The same
luue rings out every day (or all the great city
merchants. It was first set as a carillon by Ulck
VVliittingion in the tower of St. Michael's, Pater
noster Koyal, for the solace and delectation of
all rich merchants for all lime, and to turn away
their thoughts from the parable of Dives. The
words of the luue can ouly be heard
by rich men, hut I have been told ihat they aie
something as follows: ••.Merchant', cake thine
ease while tie treasure grows; wise is he who
reaps what another sows." Ii believe there is
more to the same ellect. Mr. John Stoke was
now a man of 55 or so. Tbe kind of lace and the
expression upou it are not uncommon iv tbe
cilv— ihey belong to a certain type of city men—
and those who have it are generally successful.
It is a masterly face. If any of Mi. John Stokes
servants fall in their duty they know better than
to ask for mercy from such a face. Nelson him
self did not reckon more confidently than
Mr. John Stoke on every man doing his
duty. He was not exactly popular with
his servants because ho bought his
labor as he bought his goods —at the
v7\Vs' -» 14 V '///hv'i*"> 7j-\
Xy -e£z£* ! 1 fsffl'y-^-^
<■**•* **af<-e«J<" 1 *^^
cheapest rate— and because he. exacted from
labor, as rrom goods, the utmost profit. The
law of political economy, which makes a man
buy in ihe cheapest market, when applied to
labor, dues not, somehow, lead to a contented
and happy service. It Is a law, when
applied, which only allows people to be happy
when it is broken. A good many laws, moral,
political and doctrinal, possess tne same char
acteristic. Nobody likes being bought at the
cheap, st; we all want -a fancy price to be put
upon our work, especially li we have grown gray
In tlie service. Now Mr. John Stoke allowed no
allusions on tills subject In his ollico and had no
respect lor gray hairs or for length of service, or
for anything in the world except his own in
terests.
lie lay back In his chair and watched the
wreaths uf smoke, listening to that pleasant
tune— the parable of Dives quite forgotten.
Presently he began to think. Mr. John Stoke
was oue of those persons who are gifted with
the power of thought. Out ef politeness we pre
tend lhat everybody has Ibis power. Not so;
otherwise the irojoiily of mankind would not
be as sheep running whithersoever they are
ditven, and bleating at their leader's command.
But let me continue to be poliie. This man had
a llllle cuup in his mind, a liilie that would
probably briug in twenty thousand or so, and he
was nine It over so as in get at tie best
points . I handling It. The warmth and comfort
of fireside, lunch, and cigar send some men into
mental sleep. To tins man they only gave the
oppottuuity of uninterrupted tbougnt.
Presently the door opened ami a young man
stood iii Ihe dooi way— tall ami handsome
young mau— vou have already seeu him in the
walk by Hie riverside.
"Come In, Harry, come In." said the chief
pleasantly: "shut tne door and come In."
"You said you should want to speak to me
about half-past iwo."
-Yes. 1 did. Well, my boy. 1 thought that we
might have a fen words, perhaps two or three,
just lo understand each other. Sit down. lake
ii cigar? No? Well, you are hve-aud-tweuty
to-day, aie you not*.'"
"lt is my blilliday.* The young man looked
anxious, yet exieciaut'of some pleasing an
nouncement. One cm only be tive-aud-twenly
once m life. Besides; ihlngs had been promised.
" Yes," ins father continued, looking critically
at the ash of Ills cigar. "Yes. yes, live aud
twenly. 1 was a partner before that age- before
we sank the shop and became au ofliei*."
•' Trine was the shop, though, to begin with,"
said the sou.
"Uudoubtedly; and ,i very good Hiop, 100. We
mustn't lorgel the shop. Nut lik%, mat It will
p.* forgotten. People talk about it when they go
home from my dinner parties; when my have
bad a fortnight among my birds, with champagne
up to the eyes every Uigur, they snigger over the
shop in Hie train going home; when ihey have
been a cause in my yacht, with everything of
they ry best— oh, yes, th; more you do for 'em
the better they remember it; ihe moie they
sneer aud snigger. Our friends, dear boy, will
not readily forget the -hop. It is then* consola
tion when lhev consider the prosperity of the
firm. Tf It wasn't lor feeling how green ihey get
wmi envy I'd uever have any old lriends in lbe
place at ail."
" I don't see why we should want to forget it,
father."
" No. there Is no absolute necessity for forget
ting anything. However, we aie now, Harry,
pretty nigh up the tree. 1 don't think (here cau
be many men In the city likely to cut up better
than yonr lather. Very good, then." He looked
at his son for a whole minute, as II seeking for
the best way to go on. "Very good then," he
repeated, " I've always promised aud always In
tended to take you into pailuersiiip at hve-and-
Iwen.y, and now, Harry, I have sent lot* you to
say lhat 1 am willing lo carry out thai intention,
and to give you a birthday present worth
having."
" On," said Harry, with a great sigh.
'* V.i conditions, ol course. Hang it, do you
■oppose thai lam going to admit any one, even
my own sous, lulu my house— the bouse I have
made— share my income, except ou my own
terms?"
"Well, sir," said Harry. "I always supposed
you would have your own way in everything,
whether 1 am io be a partner or uot."
" You ate right, my hoy. My own way I mean
to have. _el these are not my conditions. Now*
sit there and don't answer a single woid till I've
done, You've had you're fling, Harry; that you
can't deny. You've lived In your own chambers,
anil you've had a tood allowance, and nobody's
ever asked any nasty ones what you did
with your mouey. Very well, then, now
l hat's all over, a partner 111 my house has got
lo take his place— his own place, mind— ill soci
ety." The young man turned pale. " I've been
otleied a baronetcy.. Well. 1 wont have It; I
mean to be made a peer. Do you bear that? I
Khali be Lord Thingamy, and you shall be the
Ilouorable Harry. Veiy well. I lieu "—he marked
his leniences with short pulls at bis clear—
"that's understood. Next tiling; how is thai
peerage to be advanced and made lo lake a re
spectable place *.' Money . not enough 1 Land i
that Isn't euougb 1 Politics? I'm too old aud
you are 100 stupid. Your brother Joe— the Hon
orable Joe he will be, may lake up politics Iv the
family lulerest; not you, Dy marriage, my
boy"— the young man again changed color, but
this time he became crimson—" it yuu want to
get any good out of your rauk, you must marry
lulu the .-.nine blood as that into winch your
children will be born. By marriage. Harry.
Thai's my condition. As to my having my own
way, of course, I shall have my own way. 1
should like lo see anybody In tins house wanting
to bave auy way that wasn't mine. You will
have to ninny to please me. Do thai, and you
shall have whatever you like— you shall be a
partner to begin with; yon shall have fashion,
laud, and rails."
Harry made no reply. Ills color bad now gone
back to pallor, and bis hand trembled.
"Those are my condition*." said his father.
" Have you anything to say?"
Ills sou opened his mouth, but no sound came
forth.
"Perhaps 1 can help you, Harry." His father
threw bis head luck and watched the blue-white
wreath cutting over his face. " 1 am sure I can
help you. There is that Utile glil you have been
fooling around for six mouths."
" What about her?"
" £T c- *•
" I know all about her. She's a girl In an Ox
ford-street fancy-shop; her sister Is employed at
a ltegeut--tteel diessmaker's. They are respect
able girls, which makes it the more dangerous."
" I've given my— my word to thai girl," said
Harry, but with an apnteheusive glance at ins
masterful father,
" I don't care what you've given her. You've
got to gel rid of her."
" 1 must keep my word." The son got up and
stood before ins father with dogged face.
When two obstinate faces gaze upon each
other, one or the other lias got to give in; every
body knows lhat.
" I said, Harry, that you've got to get rid of
her. As for your word, or any other mess you
may have got Into, you must get out of lt the
best way you can. 1 suppose money will do It."
"1 must many her; 1 will marry her t*'
hut theie was a weakening In his lace as his
fathers look became more obstinate.
"Well, sb," said the older, "1 ant not going at
my time to give in to anybody. My moneys my
own, 1 suppose, to do what I like with. Now,
sir, here Is my offer— a partnership, a great fu
ture, an estate, a peerage, the foundation or a
family— that Is what I oiler you, on cci tain con
ditions. It you refuse, you can so straight out
ot this olhce and never come back again. You
shall bave uo money— not a brass cent. There's
your choice; lake it. I'll give you an hour to
make up your mind— no. 1 wont ! I'll give you
half an hour— no, I wont give you even a quarter
of an hour. Damn it all, sir, I'll give you live
minutes— live minutes lo choose. Now I"
' lie look out Ills watch, one of those great gold
things wliich you can buy for -. £120 . or
then-all. iiii-. and held It In his band. Harry
stood iietore blm, the obstinacy gone clean out
ol his face, pale and trembling. ..
"Well, sir." Ills father put back his watch..
' "I accept the conditions," said the sou.
CHAI'TKE IV.
SI'KDAV AFTERNOON.
< Sunday, afternoon Is tbe lime when all the
'pi entice youth of Loudon, male and female, are
walking out together. If it is sunnier lhev are
In the park, that of Baltersea, Fincbley, Hump
stead, Victoria, West •■ Hani ;or *- Soulhwark, .
proudly arm In arm. if It ls the winter tliey ate
on their way "out to tea." This afternoon should
have been numbered with tbose of i the sweet
spring season, because It was nearly the end of
April, but a cold northeast wind aud occasional
driving showers forbade the thought ol spring,
Ou the north side of fall Mall a girl walked up
and down the pavement.
* She called at a certain house, and being turned
away, continued, as If wailing for some one and
resolved to see that person, to walk up and down
belore the bouse. Sue began abou! 3 o'clock In
the afternoon; at 4. 5, and G o'clock she was
still walking there. Nobody noticed her, not
even the ball-porters of the Carlton and the Re
form clubs opposite. The evening was so cold
that people hurried along the street without
looking at each other. Besides Fall Mall is not
a crowded Sunday thoroughfare. Therefore no
one noticed the girl, she was a lair, light-haired
girl; her features were regular and delicate, her
eyes were blue, her figure rather thin, but tall -
and graceful. If any one had stopped to look at
her Instead of hurrying along as if lashed wiib
a whip by this abominable wind, he would have
remarked generally, that there was an ex
tremely piety girl, aud secondly, chat here was
a tti.i In trouble. I Indeed, if anxiety were ever
depicted upon any face it was upon this girl's
race; an anxiety which showed itself in a
trembling of the lips, lv quick, short sighs as she
walked, in eager glances along the street as il
she weie asking when— wheu would he come?
It was at 7 o'clock, just as the sun was setting
and the lessening light like a messenger pro
claimed the fact from its hidden lord, chat he did
come. He hurtled Into Fall Mall from SC. James
stieet and walked rapidly along, looking down;
a young man.
" 1 accept," he bad replied shortly. Mark that
this man, who seemed to Che girl so noble aud so
brave, hail become suddenly at tbe touch of his
father's baud the meicst cur and coward of a
' man ; he had promised a thing wbicb wanted, to
carry It through, lha falsest, tbe coldest, the
crudest of hearts. Fear of poverty and dread
of bis father's anger were the ruling forces which
transformed a lover, manly, true aud lender, Into
a cur. The thing makes one tremble. Under
what Influences, brother of mine, should we two
put off the minor of the knight and reveal the
craven tall of the mongrel cur?
Vet this man, who was going to do so mean
and villainous a ibiug at bis father's bidding,
had so much of his father's courage lv lilm that
lie was ready to tell the girl lv so many words,
face to face with her alone, what he meant.
"Come," he said, "I was going to write to you;
but there would have been a row afterward.
Better have ll out In words."
"Harry— what is if.' What bas happened?
Why do you look so strange?"
"Come upstairs"— he led the way. His cham
bers were on the first floor. He raked up the
low ashes of his hie and threw on some coal. .
"Sit down," he said; "you must be cold."
She waited for him to take her In bis arms and
kiss her, as was bis wont. He offered no caress
at all. She sal down, however, aud warmed her
hands and feet. She was very cold. Then she
slatted up again.
"Something has happened, Harry. What Is It?
Tell me Instantly.
It was growing dark now. The young man lit
the lamp and pulled the curtains slowly, as If
taking as orach lime as possible over the job.
"It is a fortnight since 1 have heard of you or
seeu you? What does lt mean? And, Harry, I
muse tell yon— "
"Don't tell mc anything. Look here, Ruth, It's
all over."
"All over ? How can It be all over?"
"i say- It Is all over."
"Do you mean i hat after all you will have to
acknowledge me without your lather's permis
. i"ii?"
"Not quite; I mean what I say, Ruth. It Is all
over."
"Harry!" she sprang to her feet, tired no
longer, nor cold, but Hied with a sudden streugih.
"Harry, what do yon mean?"
"We had a very pleasant time Id the August
holidays, hadn't we, Ruth? I shall always look
back to thai time In the old town wbeu we used
Co sit and make love in the garden under the mul
berry nee. Yes— l shall never have such a lime
again. Hut that's all over. Pity thai good limes
never last—"
•1 don't understand you to-day, Harry. Why
can't you look me lv the face? What have you
done?''
*"U hen I came back to town I found out that It
wouldn't do. I couldn't exactly explain to you
why It wouldn't do. Besides, to tell the truth, 1
hoped it would do. I might have been mad" a
farmer without conditions, or— or anything may
happen. Ihe mini Is, ot course, as I suppose
you guess," he raised his eyes and faced her
boldly, "that they want me Co many a lady."
She leceived this brutality without flinching.
"You have lold ihem, 1 suppose, thai you are
married already
"No. 1 have nor. I should leil them, of course,
if I could afford it. But I can't. Tne old man
has found out all about you, Ruth, 1 don't know
how. He's uot a bau sort, the old man; all he
says Is 'cut it,' that's all."
liuth diew her breath quickly. On her pale
cheek showed a spot of color.
" 'Cut It," he say-, and you tfiall be a partner.
Keen it on aud you shall be a beggar.'
"That's the situation. Bulb." Ho threw him
self Inio a chair wim a laudable assumption of .
carelessness. "A beggar. < I here Is nothing in
the world that I cau do. I don't know any trade
—I cau't do anything. There isn't a mau in the
world more helpless than I when it comes to do
lug any work that will pay. So. yon see, as I
can't attord io be a pauper, and it would only
make things for you worse if 1 made you a pau
per, 100. I've made up. mv mlnd that the only
thing for us to do is to cut it— to have done
with it— to separate— to go as if we had never
met." ■*
" Hut we cannot, Harry. lt Is too late to talk
of touch a thing."
•* It is never too late. That Is my resolution,
Rum."
"liood heavens! Why, we are married.
Have yon forgotten that ? 1"
" Are we .'"
"Are we not."
" Look here. Ruth," he threw himself Into a
cnalr and tried to assume a Hue air of careless
ness as If die matter was one of very small Im
portance. "So long as there was any chance at
all for us I was willing to go nu. But there
isn't, ll would bo only cruel to you to keep up
-X yJUai
7 rTP-i" "k I sks « ' '"**
the thing any longer. I want to consult your
luterests first. 1 can't keep a wife, you see. I
can't even keep myself. Well, now— don't fly
out more than you can help. Hutu. Look here,
you've go! dozens of letters Ol mlue; ynu cau
maKe yourself, internally dlsagtee.ible if you
please. If you go Into a court of law yon would
even get damages, I daresay. Now look heie.
Don't let's have any scandal. I'll buy the letters
— I'll buy up eveiythliig at a big price. Any
thing to prevent a row and lo part amicably."
She stared at him wiib a mind only ball awak
ened.
"Buy your letters? What do you mean?
Harry— husband "—she laid her baud on his aim
as be s;it up. the chair; "tell me. what does
this niean^"-*__uv your letters to your wife?"
'•Wife— Well— of course, I don't pretend
to believe that you didn't see through the trick.
Where were yon married, pray?"
"At a registry."
" v. here was that registry?"
" I don't know. You took me there." -" _*> •
"I look you in an oflice. But, my child— It was
a sham registry." He turned away his head.
Cold and selllsb as he was, he could hot face her
as be told tills Infernal lie. "A sham office." he
went on, "and took a false name, You are no
more married than your sister — Miss Ittith
Heron." Me forced himself to face her.
" I don't Know— l don't know." she said, not Id
fact knowing what she said. Then she stopped,
and neither spoke.
'■ Do you mean all you say— all ?" she asked.
"All— l mean it all. Hang It, Hull), nobody
wants you to come to any harm. I tell you
frankly that I will buy back all the letters."
She bent forwaid and whispered.
He sprang to his feet withr.an oath and walked
across tlie loom. When lie came back to her his
lace was dogged and obstinate as it had been
with his father, Unhappily, the girl would not
meet him with equal stubbornness.
••What does that matter to me." he asked her,
with brutality Inciedible. "Do as you like. Only
when you come to think It over you will say that
the best thing you can do Is to follow my advice
Hive up all the papers and I'll see you through
buy you a business— send you abroad— anythlne
you please."
Kemeiuber that this man up to this moment bad
been her passionate lovei— who would not
find respect 100 great or worship too complete.
What did I say. Fear of poverty reduced him
one moment to this level. Again I say— it makes
one tremble lest through some tempatlon we
too— .
The girl stared at Dim. It was as if beneath
the visor of the knightly helmet, where a mo
ment before had been the face of mm, there
should be grinning the ugly features of a mock
iug ape. ,
"You mean all this," she said again.
"Of course I mean It. What the devil should I
say it for unless I meant It?" Brutality, you
see. once begun, must be kept up, even li one bas
ban enough ol It. Vet 1 declare that to Ihis
young man the recollection of bis father's lieice
eyes and of bis awful threats drove pity, love,
memory, everything out of bis mind. -*Ue
bad but one thought, to get out of the mess.
"You have no pity? Consider— oh! 1 have told
you— consider— because you did love only a week
or two ago—"
"Di op it, Klllll. If one of us two Is going to
be a pauper it shall not be me. If I cau help IU
We've bad a good time, and ii's over. You
shall be taken care of. lt is all over, I tell you "
"Ho— no. Oh!" She clasped her hatids"wlih
a cry of anguish. "It is only the beginning. Oh!
it is beginning." .'•■■•
She sank Into the chair he had left and burled
ber face in her hands. . Then sbe sprang to her
feel again as if there was no rest in her.
"Oh !my sister— Naomi," she cued. "Oh Imy
sister— shall I tell her 1 What shall I say?
Oh ! J would rather die than tell her." .-.•-...•
He was leaning agalust the mantelshelf.' He'
turned impatiently aud took up a tittle dagger
paper-knife, one of those glittering toy's the
handle of which Is of niolhei-o'-pearl and the
blade is of polished blue steel and began to play
Willi It, not eveu thinking of lbe toy. ... A, J.
"1 thought you had more sense," lie said "than
to go on like this. Well, you know now what I
had to say. Belter go quietly aud think It over.
Come, Ituth, ll wont be so hard, after all. 1 tell
you lhat you shall always have a friend In me.
aud— " .*■•■-■ -■-■;. r 4-.r A,
••I cannot bear It. Uow can I tell her? Oh !
I wish I was dead. How can 1 tell bet? I will
kill myself." • She wiling her bauds, looking
round the room as if for some help or comf on
I liMr-M
•■They all say that," said the man. "But they
don'i do It, you know." , ,":/, :
. She pushed back her hair; then she tore off
her bonnet aud let It fall, as if ihe sight of It op
pressed lier. The wild look in her eyes and her
white cheeks f lightened the mau— brute as he
was. ■*-.-_-. ■■**... .J .
"Come, Ruth." he said, "be more sensible.
Consider- think a : llllle. . Let us part friends "
He held out his hand as one who seeks to concil
iate, V lv it was the Utile dagger. ■: , "
-She snatched It from him. - "No," she cried.
"1 will never tell Naomi. j You ; may i tell her—
you. I will kill myself. Yes— let me go— me
go. I will kill myself." -f '--■-■' *-_• -
She fought with the strength of despair while
he Cried to wrench the weapon from her band.
Then his— her— feet caught, and they fell upon
the floor— he undermost.
When the girl's shrieks called ln the bouse
keeper from the next set of chambers she
was standing over Mr. Harry Stoke, who
lay on liis back— white In tho face— lying in his
blood. Upon ber dress was blood; upon her
bands was blood, and In her right hand tbe
paper-Knife which she bad corn from the ribs of
the wounded man was dripping blood.
Copyright, ISOO, by the Author? Alliance.
Concluded next Sunday.
IT'S ENGLISH, BUT NEW.
The Outdoor Game of " Colors "
That Will Become Popular.
ittfj NEW out-of-door game called "The
<£*\ri Colors" hag been invented by Mrs.
__\__? A. ; Ilaitshorne of Bradbourne
Hall, near Derby. England, says the Pall
Mall Bndeet It may be played by
fonr or eight players. For the four
players the materials for the came are four
sets of five posts painted red, white, blue,
and green. Each player has a little rack
on which she or he carries eight rings,
two each of the same colors, and two
small flags bearing the letters "R." or "L.,"
signifying right or left. There are also
flags painted black to indicate a miss or
"fault." The court should be 60 feet long
by M feet wide. To arrange the grouud the
posts are planted in sets of lives, each post
2 feet C inches apart from its neighbor, in
a figure which would form a cross, the first
or starting set being at one end of the
ground,' the end or finishing set at the ex
treme end of the court, exactly opposite the
start, and the side sets in the middle of
each side of the court.
Each player being furnished with Lis
complement of eight rings, which have pre
viously been shaken up in a bag, two part
ners stand on each side of the starting set
of posts facing each other. The whole
object of the game is to get rid of the rings
in such a manner that they retain tlieir
proper sequence on the posts. There
Is no throwing or running. The
players walk leisurely from set to set, de
posit their rings if they can and then walk
on to the next set of posts. One player
may get rid of a ring by placing it on his
partner's ring, and any player may play
two rings, following if possible.
There is no hurry or scurry, but there isa
certain amount of science in the game, and,
of course, it may bo varied in many ways,
lt may be called the quadrille of garden
games, ft will never in any way interfere
with tennis, because it appeals to totally
different people from tennis players, but
there is plenty of room for It, and it cer
tainly is prettier and more interesting than
croquet, though it seems so simple.
The new game was played the other after
noon in the garden of the Inner Temple by
a uumber of trained players before a party
of specially invited guests.
A PECULIAR HEAD.
Powder Blown Into One Gar Passes Ont
of the Other One.
\yyoU have heard the saying, Tn one
yM_f?: ear and out the other,' " said a young
_tmi % Doston specialist to a Herald man.
Of course, the adage was familiar, and with
out waiting for a reply, the doctor contin
ued ; "I've seen many strange things in my
practice, but the most startling was a prac
tical demonstration of that ancient saw.
I treat diseases of the eye and car, and
although you may know very little
of physiology, you probably do know
that the ear-drum is the instrument of
hearing. There nre strange peculiarities of
that same ear-drum. For instance, I once
had a man come to me who could hear very
little and had pain in his head. He did not
know what the trouble was, and when,
after an examination, I told him that it
would be necessary to makaan opening in
his ear-drum, he said that ho supposed that
he would never be able to hear again. You
see, he held the popular notion that when
the drum head is broken it gives no sound.
"After some persuasion lie consented to
the necessary operation, and cutting both
ear-drums, I removed the accumulation
from behind theui. The effect was magi
cal, as he could then hear perfectly. Tho
organs grew over, but the internal trouble
continued, and the operation was repeated
several times with equal success. Another
patient of mine suffered from a disease of
the ear which had almost entirely destroyed
the drum. Only the merest shred of the
tissue remained on either side, and yet bis
hearing was good.
" There aro queer cases, and rather un
dermine the popular theory In regard to the
hearing, but the one I started In to tell you
was more wonderful. About two years ago
a bsy came to me for treatment of a disease
of the head with a long name, that 1 don't
suppose you care for. All the openings in
his head were of unusual size. His mouth
and . eyes were large, he had a big nose,
with wide nostrils, and his ears were
in proportion. I performed the neces
sary operation, and cleared cut the
air cavity. With a strong blast from
my air pump over there I blew a
powder into his left eai. He interrupted
me in this by saying that the medicine
seemed to be coming out on the other side.
I smiled indulgently at hat I told him was
his imagination, and at first paid no fur
ther attention to the matter. He persisted
in his assertion, however, and to satisfy
him he was wrong I examined ills right ear.
He was right. There was no doubt of it.
The powder was going clear through his
bead. II was going iv one ear and out the
other.
" What is the explanation? It is simple
enough. The large openings in the boy's
head permitted the powder, driven by the
powerful blast, to traverse the channel
from his left ear to the upper part of his
nose, through bis nose, and thence by the
corresponding channel on the right side of
his ear. All the powder did not get
through, but a considerable portion of it
did."
FRENCH WIT.
Translated From Kecent French Journals
for The Sunday Call.
f^%iiß. R. had just prescribed for a patient
I^.l it who was quite ill, and asked him:
11/ IK "Are you pleased with the apart
"^ - meuts you now occupy?"
"Yes, perfectly." ff -
"The rent high?"
"Moderate." Xsv_ .
'Is the janitor agreeable?"
"Never had any complaint to make."
"And the landlord?"
"A very agreeable person indeed."
"The chimneys, are they smoky?"
Astonished at these qucstiousthe patient
asked: "Doctor, why all these questions?"
"Well, to tell the truth," replied the doc
tor, "X like these apartments, and 1 have
made up my mind to have them."
em*
"Now, my dear fellow, do not your ancient
debts worry you?"
".Me! -Not at all."
"Then how about those you recently cre
ated?"
"Those! Why, I will let them become
ancient, aud then they wont worry me."
» * *
"You will be in misery," said the fortune
teller to a visitor, "and you will, in conse
quence, suffer until you become SB years of
age."
"And after that?"
"By that time yon will have become ac
customed to misery and suffering to the de
gree—that you wont notice it." .
* » »
"Now.lmy son," said ihe'professor, "Do
you know where Spain is?" .
Robert pointed to it on the map.
"Correct, my boy; now, for what is Spain
noted?"
"Spain is noted," answered Robert, "as
the place in Which so many people from all
parts of the world build their castles."
» » * '
"My dear sir," said a tenant to the janitor
of a house at Alfortville, "you have de
ceived me."
"How so, sir?"
"You certainly did. You told me that
there was water on every floor, aud I have
discovered that 1 must carry water up from
the yard."
"1 did tell you so, sir"; replied the janitor,
"and so there during the floods."
*-_•
Sceno in the interior—Mother Gribboul
lard is punishing her son in the must ap
proved manner—the youngster is howling
as loud as he possibly can, when the mother
says: "You miserable being; will you keep
quiet - Do you want the neighbors to flock
around the house, and perhaps have some
come in and seize me by the throat?"
■ '"So, mamma. - I am only crying thus
loudly to drown the report of the blows you
are giving me." --.■
„ Club.
University
The University Club of San Francisco
has • filed articles of incorporation in the '■
office of the Conuty Clerk. Directors— W.
W. Foote of Oakland. Telham W. Ames of
i San Rafael, Clinton Day of Berkeley. Sid
ney V. Smith of Marin County, and George
F. Harrison, W. K. Gruedberg, John Chet
wood Jr., Francis Michael, A. N. Drown,
F. iJ. - Carolan and J.; W. Carlin of * San
Francisco. _■ There is no capital stock.
- Sue—Theie Is Miss 1* assay i over there in that
horrid pink gown; how dreadfully unbecoming
It is. • And tbey say Jack Deadbroke baa engaged
himselt to her lv spite of the horrid taste she dis- *
plays In dressing. .JBagp*«w>Mcg injii vi ngwsfi
I lie--Yes, Jack 1. engaged to her, for he ls re
ceiving - congratulations: but then, you know,
Jack Is poor sud her pockets are well lined. _■■-..
. She— Ye", and so Is her face; In fact, it Is nip
and tuck which is lined Ihe most Feck's Hun. _
SHALL WOMEN
RIDE ASTRIDE ?
A Question That Is Agitating the
People of England.
Ladies and Gentlemen of Equestrian Experi
ence Who Hold Diametrically Opposite
Views on the Subject.
.1
eaiSLHE question "Shall women ride
«X astri<le " seems to have divided ladies
J_JC and gentlemen ol wide equestrian ex
perience and renown into two hostile camps,
who hold diametrically
opposed views on the
subject. The arguments
pro and con ; are very
numerous; nobody, how
ever, tries to deny that
the cross saddle is safer,
more comfortable, and
less tiring for the rider,
as well as for the horse,
says the London Album
of Ladies Fashions. An
J objection "that Nature
( id not endow woman
with legs of sufficient
length to throw over a
horse, and consequently
he would have to resort
to the ignominy of a
chair," is scarcely in
tended to be taken seri
ously, as tall women, ac
customed to gymnastics,
could mount a horse with
the greatest ease, where short ones would
naturally ride ponies, and even if a little
lady wished to mount a high horse, there is
no earthly reason why she should not do so
then as now, with the assistance of a gen
tleman or groom.
In defense of the cross saddle the exam
ple of the Japanese and South American
ladies has been effectively quoted ; they rep
resent the very ideal of modesty and serene
unconsciousness that the position of a leg
on horseback could possibly be brought in
connection with morals and general char
acter. But there the difficulty must strike
everybody; the young lady who rides in
the park Is self-conscious, and for this very
reason she could not copy her sisters from
over the sea. The controversy threatening
to remain fruitless, the pessimistic verdict
was: the question could not be solved; it
has been open for more than a century and
would remain so forever. That the subject
is not a new ono was proved by the Duke
of Heaufort's letter, which describes a
family portrait of the middle of last
century, representing the lady cross
wise on her horse. Sooner, how
ever, than anybody expected, the
practical result of the 'discussion made
itself felt. An enterprising tailor invented
the costume which our first sketch repro
duces. The lady is dressed like she would
bo for hunting, with breeches .-.nd Welling
ton boots, but instead of the habit, she
wears a bodice with skirts attached to it,
like those of a man's frock coat.
This costume has, no doubt, its great ad
vantages, aud people will be able to form a
final opinion of it, when the ladies appear
in the park. One thing, however, we make
bold to foretell without hesitation: it will
never become popular. To expose her
figure to such an extent, a lady must be
" clad in beauty," and if ordinary women
decline to show themselves in this attire we
cannot blame them for it. For a stout or
painfully thin, ill-shaped wouinn, the cos
tume is an utter impossibility; to wear It
would be a violation of all good taste and
self-Aspect.
Having come to the conclusion that there
was still room for improvement, we offer
our readers a new costume, which seems to
answer all requirements. It allows a lady
to ride on a cross saddle, and looks to: all
Intents and purposes like an ordinary habit,
with which she can even walk about com
fortably, and not appear ridiculous, as sho
- i||tfK
does in a safety skirt. Any kind of habit
bodice can be used, ana breeches with Wel
lington boots, or ordinary trousers worn
with our costume, the only difference con
sisting in the cut of Uie skirt. This Is an
old-fashioned habit-skirt— we mean cut
straight, without any indication of the knee,
one side exactly like the other— winch
ought to be rather narrow and only reach
to the ground when the lady stands. The
ceuter of the front and back are divided,
the front neatly fastened with a taw fot
little buttons, the back invisible under a
fly. When the lady mounts her horse she
has only to undo the skirt as far as neces
sary to sit easily on the saddle, and the two
sides fall naturally down like a habit ou
either side. Our illustrations show the
lady on horseback with the loose sides,
and then front and back, fastened for walk
ing. To avoid the flying about of the
skirts, two wide elastic bands are sewn in
on buth sides to surround the leg, as shown
in our sketch above.
Mrs. Grundy herself could not object to
the appearance of the lady, cither mounted
or walking, even if Nature had not eu"
do wed her with a "form divine," and the
lady can at any moment jump off her horse
or be thrown by it, with the certainty of
coming clean off the saddle, exposed to no
greater danger than a simple fall. Thus
the costume offers a possibility for ladies
of riding crosswise, ana looking not only
as well as in a habit, but considerably bet
ter, as there is no empty, ugly side, like on
the ordinary lady's saddle, a habit skirt
falling down whichever way she turns, al
lowing her at the, same time to dismount
and fiud herself in a plain and must becom
ing walking dress the moment she touches
the ground. : •
Whistling fur Seals.
Mr. F. F. I'avne of Toronto records an
interesting fact wliich often came under
his notice during a prolonged stay at Hud
sous Strait. .' "Here,", he says, "ihe Esqui
mau might often be seen lying at full length
at the edge of an ice floe, and, although no
seals could; be seen, they persistently
.Fair white hands.-"*
Bright clear complexion
right clear complexion
Soft ."healthful skin*
"PEARS'— The ComjlKiiiii.SflllPi-Sojt 1 F^t^lm"
auo tf SnWe
whistled in a low note similar to that often
used in calling tame . pigeons, or, if words
can express mv meaning, like a plaintive
phew-ew, few, few, the first note being pro
longed at least three seconds. If there were
any seals within hearing distance they were
invariably attracted to the spot, and it was
amusing to sco them lifting themselves as
high as possible out of the water and slowly
shaking their heads, as though highly de
lighted with the music. -.'■■- " ,-„ „
"Here they would remain for some time,
until one, perhaps more venturesome than
the rest, would come within striking dis
tance of the Esquimau, who would often
change the seal's tone of joy to one of sor
row, the others making off as fast as pos
sible. The whistling had to be continuous,
and was more effective if performed by an
other Esquimau a short distance back from
the one lying motionless at the edge of the
ice. I may add that the experiment was
often tried by myself with the same re
sult."—American Naturalist.
THE DISCOVERY OF
THE SUNSHINE MINE.
Written for The Sunday Call.
?pXELL you how the Sunshine mine was
4\w discovered?" repeated John West, a
jlf fli sturdy, sun-browned miner, as he sat
under the shadow of a tree near his cabin,
up in the Eocky Mountains, enjoying an
evening smoke, "why, certainly, if you
think it will interest you. Yes? Well, it
waa about this way:
"It was one evening in June, and as I
stood in front of the door of our cabin— a
sort of bird's nest perched on a ledge high
up in these Itockies— having just returned
from a hard day's prospecting, I looked
around for my little Sunshine— my little
darling daughter who was wont to
meet me whenever i came home— but I
could not see her. 'Sunshine I' I called,
gleefully, but there was no response.
Again and aeain I called -Sunshine,' 'Sun
shine,' and listened anxiously for a reply,
but none came, and all was stillness except
the echo of my own voice, which seemed to
repeat in hollow mockery my calls for 'Sun
shine,' and the murmur of the wind that
came wailing down the canyon stliug the
fir branches, and moaning among the pine
needles, and a solitary bird gave out a pro
longed note.
. "I missed my little golden-haired daugh
ter, who always used to meet me, and I
missed the sound of her familiar voice and
the words. 'I'apa lias come.' "
"We lived not far from timber-line, above
which nothing, not even the hardy fir, grew.
Above was only solid rocks and dazzling
■now, and when I failed to receive a re
sponse everything around me seemed to be
come bleak and dreary. The gray rocks
that overshadowed our cabin seemed to be
starting from the mountain side, ready to
fall upon and crush me. Again I culled
'Sunshine,' aud then there was agony in my
voice. I listened, my heart stood still,
while 1 strained to catch the faintest sound,
but failed to hear one. The tears came to
my eyes, and with lightning rapidity flashed
through my mind the events of the day pre
vious. I had taken her up a mountain trail
to see the nodding ferns and to pluck the first
wild columbines, and I thought she might
have gone in that same direction, had Be
come bewildered and lost in the mountains.
Ob, the agony of that moment! I felt that
my Sunshine was lost to me. I fell on my
knees and uttered a simple, fervent prayer,
asking him to restore to mo my little
darling, and I called upon that good angel
whose soul took its flight to the realms
above when we laid her to rest under a
solitary pine near the cabin, up the canyon,
to cast her protection over little Sunshine.
That good angel was Nellie, my wife, the
daughter of a .New England clergyman, who
seven years before had accompanied me to
this mountain home, to be with me in my
search for gold, but she passed away and left
little Sunshine to my care and that of
kindly neighbors, Scotch people who lived
in a cabin near by. That day they had
gone to Denver to meet a daughter and
Sunshine bad been left alone.
"I started to go up the trail, but decided
upon second thought to wait a few mo
ments till the miners returned and then
have them all make a search. Among them
was an old colored man, ' Old .Black Joe'
we called him, and he loved Sunshine so
dearly. As I thought of htm memory held
before me a picture. Sunshine and Old
Black Joe were seated before our cabin
door. They were talking of angels— little
Sunshine believes in angels— sue always
loved to look at the pictures of them in her
grandfather's Bible.
"'Little Sunshine,' asked Joe, 'what de
use ob de wings on de angels anyway?'
"Sunshine put her small white hand on
his large black one and led him to where
they could see the evening star, and point
ing to it she said, ' Joe, the angels fly from
star to star.' "
" 'Mus' all de angels have long yallar liar
and be white, Miss Sunshine?' asked Joe,
anxiously."
" ' We shall all be changed by and by,
Joe,' she replied," we shall all belike the an
gels,' and then she added, ' there will be a
great change in you, Joe.'"
"The miners laughed, but neither Sun
shine nor Joe appeared to mind them."
'"Dar'l not be much change in you,
honey,' Joe said, as he almost reverently
touched the end of her golden hair. JH
» » • * » »
"When the miners came a searching party
was soon made up. for there was not a man
among them who wouldn't have walked his
legs .oil to serve Sunshine. Up, up the
mountain trail 1 went, where only tne day
before I had taken my little one to see the
flowers, aud how Kayly she chatted to me
on the way. Poor little Budge had trotted
beside us, and Budge was missing also.
Poor old Budge, that she had rescued from
some cruel boys who had lied a stone
around his neck and were about to throw
him into a lake. After she saved him and
took him to the cabin they became insep
arable companions.
"As 1 trudged up the. trail, I thought
over and over shall I ever see my little Sun
shine again. Suddenly I came across _
tiny copper-toed shoe on the trail. One
glance was enough to satisfy me that it
was Sunshine's. I picked it up and thrust
it in the bosom of my woollen shirt. It
gave proof that sho Had been on the trail,
and inspired me Willi new hope; but then
wild thoughts filled my mind and made my
flesh creep. Indians, wolves and a fail
down some frightful precipice. Suddenly I
heard a sound ; it was the barking of a dog;
of that there could be 110 mistake, and how
it sounded like the bars of Budge — yes, it
was poor old Budge, for no other dog on the
mountain side had such a bark. IIU bark
ing was to me the most welcome sound I
ever heard in all my life, and I can assure
you Wmi it did not take me long to reach
the spot whence came that sound. As 1
reached the crest of a little rising ground,
and looked down on the other side, there
stood Budge, wagging his tail and turning
his head every few seconds from me to
some point down the canyon, ilia bark
seemed to say: 'Come with me, and I'll
show you where she is.'
" lie turned, 1 followed, and in a few mo
ments saw behind a clump of bushes little
Sunshine, barefooted, lier'little blue apron
filled with wild columbines. .*■ The next mo
ment I was by her side aud had lier in my
arms. So joyous was 1 - tnat I could not
utter a word, but after kissing that sweet
little face again and again, lears filling my
eyes and casting my gaze heavenward, I
thanked in silence 11. that bad aus weied
my prayer, and thought of that ■ angel who
had thrown her protecting arms around
Sunshine and saved her Irom the dangers
of the mountains.
"Suddenly 1 was aroused by hearing my
baby darling— for she was but six years of
age— saying, 'l was lost down there,' and
she pointed down the deep canyon, 'and I
was afraid.' Then suddenly she exclaimed,
'Papa, i lost my other shoe down there.'
"Kissing ncr again and stroking Budge I
told Sunshine to wait fur me. I went to the
place she pointed to. It was . steep
and every now and then 1 had to drive
my pick, which 1 i.al with me, into the
ground to prevent me from slipping,
lust before I got to the lost stioe 1 drove
the pick into a crevice and secured the foot
covering, In recovering my pick the rock,
a sort ol rotten quartz, separated aud dis
closed- to view .. that which 1 had. been
searching for, for seven long years— gold,
cold iv plenty.
"And that was the way 'The Sunshine
Aline' was discovered."
"■._'.■ Grace Hibbabd,
A number of wealthy Chicago Hebrews have
subscribed ;j<27,000 toward the proposed Baptist
University.
; X v KISCEI.LAIfEOt.Bj
UCHELS, WAND & CO.,
x Successors to E. MANSBACH,
26 Kearny Street.
GREAT INDUCEMENTS!
DRAPERY, NETS" AND LACES!
48-inrh BLACK LA TOSCA NET. all silk, worth $1,
at oOc a yard.
48-inch BLACK. In STRIPED and POLKA-DOT, all
?»•• silk, worth 41 25, at Toe a yar<L *"*PP9
42-lncb BLACK FLOUNCING, all silk, worth tl 50,
at 91 a yard.
42-Inch EMBROIDERY FLOUNCING, all silk, worth ■
tl, at Cl 25 - yard.
42-luch CREAM and BEIGE ORIENTAL FLOUNC-
ING, worth 40c, at -'3c a yard.
42-Inch CREAM - and BEIGE ' ORIENTAL
FLOUNCING, worth "sc, at 35c a yard.
__-t__-.C_-.Sm
2-inch LINEN TORCHON LACE, worth lOC, at 5c a
yard.
2V4-inch LINEN TOECHON LACE, worth 12Vic, at
6Vic a yard. •.-.-■
3-lnch LINEN" TORCHON LACE, worth 15c, at 8'/ 3 c
■'■■* yard.
5-Inch LINEN TORCHON* LACE, worth 20c, at 10c
a yard. *
6-lnch ORIENTAL LACE, worth '25c. at 15c a yard.
GLOVES.
LADIES' 4-BUTTON .SUEDE GLOVES, worth $1, It
t>sc a pair.
LADIES' 8-BUTTON MOUSQUETAIRE, worth-.
Sl 25, at 85c a pair. '■ ' _ ,
LADIES' 4-BUTTON BLACK EVERY PAIS WAR-
BANTED, worth tl 25, at 75c a pair.
JS3F--.E101.A-Xj.
250 dozen RUSSIAN TIDIES, WARRANTED TO,
WASH, 0 inches square, sc: 9x14. 10c: 15 ■
Inches square, 15c; 14x18, 2l)c; IS inches
square, 25c. ______
fiS'Coantry orders will receive prompt attention.
lICIELS, WIND & CO.,
26 Kearny Street.
je29 Su tf
1 LOVELY COIPLEIIOH
May Be Obtained by Every Healthy Woman.
■g§jg& MRS. GRAHAM'S
IPff CUCUMBER
tm GRAHAM'S
CUCUMBER
m^S^ ELDER FLOWER
f^m£> CREAM! .
7* ***"/ — c — Ehculd Be Used by AIL
The lady Is ranch mistaken who thinks she has
thoroughly cleansed her race because alio has just
washed it with water and soap. To prove It— let her
then use a little CUCUMBER AND ELDER
FLOWER CREAM, by rabbin* It thoroughly in (be
skin and then wiping the face well with a towel. The
result— as seen on the towel-proves it. Soap and
water scarcely remove the Impurities from the sur- .
face of tbe skin: they never penetrate and cleanse
the pores; besides, soap is a caustic, and dries and
withers and turns tbe skin dark. Indeed, many em-
inent dermatologists go so far as to declare that a
woman should never apply soap aud water to her
lace if she wishes to preserve a fresh complexion
and youthful appearance.
CUCUMBER AND ELDER FLOWER CREAM
possesses all the purifying and cleansing qualities
possible. It Is composed of milk of almonds, Jnicu
of cucumbers and extract of elder flower, and con-
tains no vaseline, glycerine, animal fat or other sub-
stance which wuu d ln any way dry, wither or
darken tbo skin or cause a growth of hair on the
face. It Is neither greasy, clammy nor sticky, lt
renders the skin beautifully pure, soft and of a
satin-like texture and bloom, keeping it free fiom
wrinkles, and youthfnl looking.
No lady's toilet ls complete without It.
Price per Itottle $1.00
Mrs. Gervalse Graham, at her establishment at 103
Tost St., treats ladles for mules, blackheads, pim-
ples, freckles, moth patches, rough or stippled or
too oily skin, for undue redness of the skin, for su-
perfluous hair, for gray or falling hair, for the eye-
brows and lashes, for undeveloped forms, for ton
much or too little flesh, and all other blemishes of
face or figure. She occupies the whole building so
that ladles who call will meet no one bst Mrs. < I i-
ham's lady patrons. Mi tt
TO THE YOUNG FACE
POZZONI'S
m_____%.Mi_^t_ t ».._t__-t____t_^
MEDICATED
COMPLEXION
POWDER
Cives fresher Charms, to the
old renewed youth.
TRY IT.
SOLD EVERYWHERE.;:*
mrll ly TnThSn I:
A Skin of beanty la a Joy Forever.
DR. T. FELIX aol'R&l'D'S
■©Oriental Cream, or Magical Beautlfler»
•S jj .-/___!_. Removes Tan, Pimplea.
*•*££ 6- /-_9S_____ Freckles. Moth . Patches,
*1 « "-a j. HKK 1: '. !| ami Skin rtlseasea,
E3 — ■»•= _\a____&'f__ ""- levery1 every blemish on
-* ~. Jas 1^_«,,7 _™*a beauty and de-
-*=_==__ l<M.'* ! rs= /g"i Hes detection.
w'lisf (feSf It hit stood the
said to :i lad? Nt tne Anut lon r.a patient): "As you
ladies wIU use them. I reeommind .floltraiiifs IVeam'
at the leatt harmful of all Skin preparations." One
bottle will last six months, using it every day. Also
Ponrire Snbtlle removes superfluous hair without
iniury to the skin.
KKlti) t. HOPKINS, Prop'r, 37 Great Jones St., Y. ,
n For sale by ail Druggists and Fancy Goods Dealers
ihrooghout the D. 8., Canada., and Europe.
»_- lieware or Base imitations, flooo Reward
•or arrest and proof of any one selling the same.
ax 30 SnMo 8p ly
HENRVTS
CARBOLIC SALVE.
The most Powerful Healing
Ointment ever Discovered.
Henry's Carbolic Salve cures
Sores.
Henry's Carbolic Salve allays
Burns.
Henry's Carbolic Salve heals
Pimples.
Henry's Carbolic Salvo cures
Piles;
_ Henry's Carbolic Salvo heals
Cuts.
Ask for Henrys-Take No Other.
K>~BEWARE OF COUNTERFEITS..^
Price 25 cts., mail prepaid 30 cts.
JOHN F.HENBY& CO., New York.
tV~Wrlto for Illuminated Book.
i_^_^_^-m^^B-_m
■ noB :iv * :
NO MORE J'RECKLES !
USE mOF. I. lIUBEUT'S
MALVINA CREAM AND LOTION
IT IS A PREPARATION* UNRIVALED POR
REAI'TIKYIMr the Complexion anil an winding
remeay for the removal or fRKCKI.es, PIMPLES,
Moth •_ Patches, 'lan. Sunburn, LlvetMnoles mil *
Ringworm and all scaly eruptions Try ft and be
convinced. Tako no worthless imitation with like
sounding nrtme. Insist upon bavin; MALVISA.
It this preparation should fa 1 to answer to th»
qualifications as above mentioned your money will
be refunded. Price, SUe for each. For sale by all
druggists. my* SuMo 6i> Jin
umrWs -
I* CURE
/^ASTHMA
. CaM, M Fever, ffluMterU Wlioonisc
Congk, Croup ani Common Colls. ■
Recommended by Fhyntelana awl soil by Dr«
glststlirougUout tlie world. Send for I ree sample
HIMEOD MANUF'G CO.,
7.- .-..r SOLE PROPRIETORS,
191 FULTON ST.. NEW YORK.
: ror a a SB It ■ ■ *
BEST TRUSSES & SHOULDER BRACES
Marie at .1. 11. A, FOI.KKIIS ,v BROS.,
SUKUICAL AND DENTAL INSTRUMENT . _,
DEPOT, lltj Montgomery St., adjoint aaafd
Occidental Hotel entrance. It'll II cod

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