Sacramento daily record-union. [volume], November 08, 1890, Page 7, Image 7

About Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891

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IN THE STUDIO.
There were two ladies in the studio, aad
the artist himself. Walter Mallett, R. A.,
has for some years past been recognized as
one of our greatest living painters. The
Academy exhibitions and the engravers
have made his name and hig works famil
iar to the public; the artist himself is
still very little known. At the time lam
referring to, scarcely a year ago, he was
seldom seen in drawing-rooms; he loved
work and hated society.
On the other hand, there was perhaps no
one in all England more certain to be
recognized anywhere than the younger of
the two lades I have alluded to. Lady
Weybridge had been for some years past
one of the leaders of society, and its fairest
ornament—the reigning beauty whose
movements were chronicled in the society
journals, and whose photographs (in dif
ferent variety of costumes) were on sale at
every stationer's. Since her husband's
death, five years before, gossip, of a not
unkindly sort, had been very busy with
her name.
Lord Weybridge had been an elderly
peer of great wealth, and it was expected
that his widow would, after the days of her
mourning were over, make a brilliant
match. But she had refused all offers, and
after five years of widowhood was still a
widow —more popular, more fascinating,
and more beautiful than ever. The other
lady, Mrs. Penygant, was Lady Wey
bridge's chief friend and constant com
panion. The two lived together, and had
done so since Lady Weybridge had laid
aside the most uncompromising tokens of
her mourning.
Mrs. Penygant was older than Lady
Weybridge, and very plain ; her hair was
a very light red and her face was freckled.
She wore spectacles, which she took off
when she wanted to read.
On this particular morning she kept
shifting these contrivances up aud down,
as she devoted herself in turns to scanning
the paragraphs in the Weekly Globe and
looking at the beautiful lady sitting for
her portrait and the diligently working
artist, -.either of these spoke, and Mrs.
Penvgant felt a little troubled by their si
lence. She laid down the Weekly Globe,
adjusted her spectacles, and looked at the
canvas.
"The picture is progressing fast," she
said ; "at least, so it seems to me. But, of
course, I don't know. What lam so sorry
for is that it can't be exhibited at the
Academy, or that we shall have to wait so
long before we can see it there. I wish it
was March, instead of June."
The paiuter smiled a little.
Lady Weybridge glanced at her friend I
without turning her head.
"You are such a believer in the Acad
emy, Clara," she said; "I wonder how
many times you've been there this year.
You know, Mr. Mallett, Mrs. Penygant's
great treat, her great relaxation from the
cares of society, is to go to the Academy.
I don't think she ever gets past the room i
where there hangs a certain portrait which
yoa painted last year."
"I know I don't," said the elder lady. "I
like to stop near that picture and listen to
what people say. There's always a crowd
in front of it, and every new-comer says:
That's the beautiful Lady Weybridge,
painted by Waiter Mallett, the great art
ist,' and then they all admire with all
their might. The men admire the face
and the figure, and the ladies the dress.
They all admire the painting, though
sometimes their comments are too posi
tively funny. They nearly always look
out your address, Mr. Mallett, at the end
of the catalogue, as if they meant to come
and ask you to paint tbem; and then
nearly everybody says: 'Mallett—Mallett
—of course you remember his Androme
da.' Oh, it Is great fun listening to them;
I am only sorry you two can't hear what
they say about you."
"Such is fame," said the artist lightly.
"Lady Weybridge's beautiful costumes pro
cure me the admiration of my country, or
aft least of my countrywomen."
"Oh," broke out Mrs. Penygant enthusi
astically, "yon are sure of future fame—
generations to come will linger round your
oanvases and wonder at your skill!"
"But suppose I am using bad pig
ments I" said the artist.
The lady paid no attention to the inter
ruption. She went on with growing rapt
ure: "I assure you, I often think of how
you two will go down to posterity, hand in
hand as it were—The beautiful lady and
the great artist.' Your names will be
linked together, like Raphael and—
"Pope Julius II.," suggested the artist
"No, I don't mean the Pope," said the
other. "I can't think of her name; there's
a poem of Browning's about it, I think."
Lady Weybridge looked a little an
"l am afraid your imagination is run
ning wild, Clara," she said.
Then a long silence ensued, the artist
working diligently all the-time. At last
Mrs. Penygant ro6e, and with a little gasp
of astonishment, said: "< >h, dear Helen, do
you mind my leaving you for a little time?
I wrote last night to my sister in New
York, and I have forgotten to post the
letter—l think the mail goes out at mid
day, lt won't take me long to go and
come in a hansom; and I do want to get
the letter off."
Mrs. Penygant didn't appear to expect a
reply, for she went straight out. At the
door of the studio she glanced back for
half a second on the two she was leaving
"It's an awfully lame excuse," she said
to herself; '"but I am not good at inven
tion. I think lam doing right; and when
I come back I expect they'll both be grate
ful to me."
The painter took no notice of her going,
but worked on in the same steady way,
and the lady, a practised sitter, remained
perfectly fixed in the graceful pose in
which she was being painted.
Lady Weybridge had never looked love
lier; she was in evening dress, and in the
heavy masses of her dark hair diamonds
shone. Her neck and arms were bare, and
the noble -xiise of her head gave dignity
to the full beauty of their gracious curves.
She was radiantly lovely—beyond all pret
tiness— im->eriallv and perfectly beautiful.
The artist too was strikingly handsome. He
was about forty-five years of age, tall, and
with clear-cut features. His plentiful
black hair was sprinkled with gray; his
eyes were dark, the lines of his mouth sug
gested a sad and _erious firmness. One
would have said that he had seldom smiled.
For some time neither spoke; at last the
lady, whose thoughts were becoming
troublesome, moved a little, and said in
her clear fluted voice: "Do you think the
■icture will be a success?"
"If it isn't, Lady Weybridge, the
painter replied, "the fault will be mine;
but 1 don't think there will be any failure.
If it goes into the Academy next year, I
dare say Mrs. Penygant will be gratified
by the us'ial crowd."
"Do you think you will please your
self?"
"i never please myself, Lady Weybridge;
that is, never <-nite please myself."
"You've always been dissatisfied with
your portraits of me, I know," returned
the lady after a few moments' reflection.
"But I "think they are only too lovely, and
so does evervbodv else. I don't mind con
fessing that'l rend all the critiri. m_.»
The painter did not reply,—- alter a
little while Lady Weybrid:;. continued :
'You have painted DM .1 good many
times, haven't you?"
"Several times. I hope y v are not go
ing to be tired of—King to me.''
"Oh. no, 1 rather like it: sitting mute
still is soothing to the nerves—and 1 have
nerve . you know. Bat perhn-is Ido come
here a little too often. Has that ever
avcuMi you."
s ACiLJ_JIEfr.rO DAILY BE-XIRD-USIOJN, SATURDAY, _yOVJ-_M-BER 8. 1890.-IBAUHT FAC4-3.
"Never," replied the painter emphatic
•\_here is a paragraph in that paper—"
Lady Wevbridge nodded in the direction
of the Weekly Globe, which Mrs. Penygant
had dropped—"which I suppose is in
tended to refer to you and me. It sug
gest* "
"Please dom't tarn yonr head, Lady
Weybridge," said Mr. Mallett, working
diligently. "I never read these society
journals, and don't care at all what they say.
It is their business to get up false reports for
the amusement of the public, and one
more or less doesn't matter to anybody. I
suppose anybody who chooses to think"—
he continued after a little —"can see why I
am always glad to paint you."
"Indeed T"
"It is simply because you are the
most beautiful woman in the world."
"The compliment is a little too undis
guised."
"It is not a compliment, it is a statement
of fact, absolutely true to the best of my
knowledge. I have only seen one person
who could enter the lists against you."
"And who was she ?"
"She sat to me for my 'Andromeda.'"
"Lady Weybridge frowned passing dis
approbation.
"A model!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, but a very good girl—a model of
propriety, if you will excuse the feeble
joke. She is now married to a highly
respectable cheese-monger in the Cale
donian Road."
"And she doesn't sit for the figure any
more?"
"I regret to say that her husband won't
allow her to sit at all; he is the deacon of
some chapel, and has Puritanical notions."
"How dreadful!"
'•Yes, the Philistinism of the English
bourgeois is deplorable."
"I sympathize with your distress. But,
to come back to the original subject, you
seem to forget that though it is quite clear,
according to your statement, why you
should like to paint mc, it is not 60 clear
why I should like to be painted."
The artist did not reply, and again
silence reigned. Again the lady broke
out :
"You are an indefatigable worker, Mr.
Mallett. But I want a little rest —I am
tired of trying to look graceful. Let me
give up attitudes for a time. Take me
round your studio, and show me what
you have."
"There is nothing new," the painter
said. '"Don't let me fatigue you; I can
just finish this bit while you walk about
the stuJio—or, sit in a more comfortable
chair. Perhaps yon would like to look at
the paper your friend has left."
Lady Weybridge took the paper from
his hands, but did not read it. She was
watching the painter "closely. Her cheek
was flushed; she moved uneasily in the
chair; her whole manner indicated rest
lessness, which contrasted with the calm
dignity of her previous pose. At last she
said :
"Do yon know that you are hardly po
ite, Mr. Mallet, to leave me to my own
resources like this?"
"Doesn't the Weekly Globe interest yon?"
said the painter, laying down his palette.
"Shall 1 get you a cup of tea?"
"Tea," said the lady, with ironic empha
sis. "No, thank you; women don't try to
escape ennui by drinking something. But
you may sit down over there and talk."
She glanced at him, and then let her
eye-lids drop. The painter stopped a slight
yawn.
"I don't know what to talk about," he
said.
"I was just thinking," said the lady,
"how long it is since I met you first. It
was at Dr. Murby's, I think."
He started slightly, and then said slow
ly, examining a spot of paint on his velvet
coat: "I believe it was; it was nearly ten
years ago."
"Ten years," said she, with a sigh—
"how time flies! We are quite old friends,
are we not ? That was before Clara Murby
was married, wasn't it?"
"Yes," he said; "she became the Hon.
Mrs. Montcalm about a year after I met
you first."
"You have an excellent memory, Mr.
Mallett."
"Have I ?" he said absently.
And again the conversation flagged.
"Are you ready to sit again ?" said the
"No," replied Lady Weybridge, im
patiently tapping the ground with her foot
—"no, lam not ready yet; I want to ask
you something first. Why is it V
She hesitated — her cheek flushed a
deeper red, a forced smile strayed upon
"Why is it that yon are so—so unfriend
"Unfriendly ?" said the painter. "I
don't understand you. Lady Weybridee."
His tone was indifferent; he seemed to
be fixing his attention on the paint spot.
"Why do you avoid me, then ?" she con
tinued." "Why don't you come to see me?
Why do you refuse ray invitations ?"
"I rarely go into society," he said, "and
I dined with you not long since."
"More than a month ago." she replied
quickly. '"Are you aware that there are
men who would do anything to get one of
those invitations that you reject so easily ?"'
"I have the privilege of seeing you here,
Lady Weybridge," he replied coldly.
She flashed an indignant look at him,
and broke out vehemently :
"Yes, here, where you have a brush in
yonr hand, you are glad to see me ; you
like painting me, I know. You admire
the turn of my neck, I suppose, or, per
haps, the way my hair is done pleases you.
I am in your eyes just a model, a substitute
for the cheesemonger's wife. As to my
thoughts, my ideas, my feelings, you don't
care a straw about them. lam just a friv
olous woman of the world to you—just that
and nothing more. All I am good for is
to have my portrait painted." She spoke
rapidly, with mounting tones.
The artist had turned away, and did not
look at her as he replied slowly :
"Lady Weybridge, you are a great lady,
and very beautiful: wherever you go, you
get admiration, flattery, and what passes
for love with the men and women of the
world. And those who throng about you
are noble, rich, young, and they are all
your devoted admirers, your obedient
vassals and slaves. The cream and flower
of English society is at your feet. What
more would you have ? As for me, I am
a plebeian. What have I to do with
marquises and viscounts? And I don't
choose to make one more in the menagerie
Khen Lady Weybridge spoke again, it
in low, tremulous tones:
ome then," she said, "and see me, and
will not be troubled by any of those
silly people. Everything shall be as you
like, if you will come. You think I am a
woman of the world—cold, frivolous, and
heartless. Ah, how little you know me!
It is horrible to be misjudged like that,"
she went on with vehemence —"misunder-
stood; it is cruel, horrible, abominable.
To be understood by one that I "
Her beautiful bosom heaved convulsive
ly— _ gob checked her voice. It was but
for a moment; she soon regained self-con
trol, smiled faintly, and held out her
hand.
The painter did not take it; he had
turned round, and stood facing her, look
ing at her fixedly, almost fiercely.
"Lady Weybridge," he said, "let me re
mind you of what you seem to have for
gotten. You spoke of Dr. Murby just
now; do you remember his daughter—his
only child— Edith, who is now the Hon
orable Mis. Montcalm? Do you remem
bet the huose in Brook street where you
sun- her tir-! . 1 was a constant visitor,
and 1 think not unwelcome. I was then,
you know, in the Fitzroy Spiare stage of
"mv arti. tic career. I was ambitious, and
hoped; but I had only hope. The share
of fame I have now hadn't even begun to
,1 upon me. But 1 think Dr. Murby
ed _ aie 4 aod his daugbtw .e._..v«d
in me, Uo; and I (___-• to tkeir houM
again and again.
"I taw Edith constantly; we talked to
gether, read the nine books and shared
our ideas. I adored her, worshiped her,
loved her as only they can love who love
for the first time, when youth is past; and
she —she—liked me, was glad to see me,
waa learning to love me, I think. I re
member once—ah, she would have loved
me, I am sure, if yoa had not come be
tween ns.
BYou had not been married long then;
had come from your Devonshire par
sonage—l think it was in Devonshire—to
dazzle society with your brilliant beauty.
The Murbys were some connections of
yours, and they were pleased to be noticed
by you, in the' midst of your fresh grand
eur. You took Edith up. The first time
I saw you in the drawing-room at Brook
street I felt that you would come between
me and her. And you did.
"Edith was simple, unaffected, and un
worldly ; but what woman is there in whose
heart there does not lurk some secret crav
ing for the glitter and glare of social vani
ties ? You filled her mind with your ideas,
taught her to expect a brilliant marriage,
such as you yourself had made. She was
pretty, not perfectly beautiful like you,
but .till undeniably pretty —some men like
the snowdrop kind of beauty—and she
would be rich; why shouldn't she climb to
some pinnacle of social position? And
you taught her to distrust me, almost to
despise me. Oh, I know very well the in
nuendoes you let fall—know them as well
as if I had heard them spoken :
I There are lots of clever artist-, my
-, or of artists who think themselves
er; and a man who at 35 hasn't even
in to succeed!'
\.nd so I found my welcome growing
er, her 6mile as she saw me less cor
. It was soon all over; I had nothing
to offer but my deep love, and you had
taught her lo laugh at love.
"The time came when I felt that we
were for ever separated. I did not make
any protestations or complaints—there was
no scene—only one evening, as I left the
house, I told myself that I must never re
turn. I looked np at the rooms where I
had spent so many happy moments, and
felt that that was all over—that I should
never enter those door:! again. Every
thing in that drawing-room—the tables,
the chairs, the place where the piano
stood, the pictures on the wall9—every
little detail is fixed in my memory for
Br. But I have never been there since,
er seen her since, or sought to see her.
It was your doing, I suppose, that not i
long after she married the Hon. Augustus
Montcalm, who will be a Peer when his
tier his finished drinking himself to
i. And I suppose you were sorry
i, about three years after the wedding,
two you had brought together sepa
saw the affair in the papers—not the
ty papers, you understand. The Hon.
istns hadn't beaten his wife, or sworn
at her in public, and so she couldn't be set
free from him altogether. But he went
off to shoot deer in America. I was told
that that girl who used to sing the cock-
Ir comic songs went with him. That Is
it you did for her.
And for me, Lady Weybridge, for me —
i blighted my whole life. When 1 lost
ith Murby I lost all happiness, all
te of it; had loved once, and should
er love again. I have gained fame,
I I can sell my pictures for extrava
it sums, and everybody thinks me a
cessful man. But I shall always be
oe. I see the path of my life stret-h
--out before me, lonely and solitary. I
11 travel along it unaccompanied to the
[. And all this is your doing, Lady
ybridge. There was a time when I
hated you with all my heart and soul
when, if I could have blighted your
beauty and made your life as desolate as
mine is, I would have done it.
"That time is past. I hate you no
longer. I know you can say that you
acted for the best—that you did what any
body else would have done under the cir
cumstances; and I do not complain of my
lot in life. The man who can work can
do without happiness. Yet, when _ you
offer me your—your esteem, your friend-
He made a long pause. The impassioned
speech he had made had been interrupted
by several intervals of silence, during
which he had paced about the studio, and
then had broken forth more fervently than
before. Now he stood still and gazed at
the beautiful woman before him. Her
mournful fixed look stirred other feelings,
and with a sudden revulsion of sentiment,
he cried out:
"Ah, let us be friends, notwithstanding
—friends always."
He took her hand and raised it to his
"I will come whenever you ask me.
Lady Weybridge. Pardon my wild
words."
She let him hold her hand for a few
moments, while he looked on her with
broken, troubled glances. Then, with one
swift look at him, she said composedly:
"I am ready to resume the sitting now,
Mrs. Penvgant's voice was heard in alter
cation with a cabman. She came in
briskly, put on her spectacles, and pro
ceeded to examine the picture.
"I can see what you have done," she
said; "you've been very busy while I've
And she glanced from the one to the
other. Soon she broke out in a flood of
small talk, while all the time the undercur
rent of her thought was running like this :
"I wonder how things have turned out.
She is in love with him, because he is the
only man she knows who is not her de
voted slave. Will he care for her? Can
he help it ? I hope she won't be angry
with me for going away ; I meant it for the
_**it '*
Lady Weybridge's clear fluted voice in
terrupted her reflections and the remarks
she was making to the painter.
"I think," she said, "1 can hear the car
riage outside. Are you ready to go, Clara ?
lam a little fatigued. And, do you know,
Mr. Mellett tells me he won't be able to
give me any __ore sittings for at least a
fortnight. I suppose he's off on one of hit
wild expeditions —going to walk over th«
Alps or something of that sort."
_____ Penygant looked at her friend; sht
was throwing a cloak over her shoulders j
the painter was making a show of assist-
He followed them to the carriage, and
handed to Mrs. Penygant the Weekly Globe,
then he went back and gave a few touches
to the picture.
"Shall I ever finish it?" he thought
"What does she mean ?"
He became meditative.
"She is right," he said; "a week in the
Alps to think things over will do me
cmrtfi "
It was exactly a fortnight when Mr.
Mallett got back'to his studio. He turned
to the half-finished portrait of Lady Wey
bridge, and stood gazing at it for some
time, lost in thought.
"How supremely beautiful she is!" he
murmured. "And I—l was a brute. Why
shonld I rake up the dead past? Will
she ever give me another sitting, I wonder?
And if she does"
His servant brought in the letters
which had come during his absence. There
were not very many; on the envelope of
one he recognized the handwriting of
Lady Wevb ridge. He tore it open hastily.
"Dear Mr. Mallett," it said, "I am writ-
I ing to tell you a secret and to give you an
invitation.* The secret first. 1 am going
to be married to the Marquis of Evesham.
The engagement is to be kept strictly
i private for some time, and I tell you of it
as a pledge of the friendship which is, I
hope, always to subsist between us. I
I rau. tn't praise my future husband, but I
i may say that I think you will like him,
when you come to know him ; and you
will not find him BU— :i Philistine as the
vli.vseiWPi'er, _*ww l'w Ike inyttuvwa.
Will job come and dine with me on the
10th of Jnly? Yon won't find any of the
animals of my menagerie—only one Mar
quis and no Viscount. But Mrs. Mont
calm will be there, and she will be very
glad to see you after so many years."
He read the letter through twice, and
then became aware of a postscript:
"As you never read the society papers,
you may not be aware that the Hon. Au
gustus Montcalm has been dead for more
than two years. He got into a quarrel ia
Texas or Arizona, or some of those places,
and was shot."
A loog time passed, and Mr. Mallett
was still meditating upon that letter; the
others he had not even looked at. Then
he roused himself, and wrote a hasty ac
ceptance.
"Oh," he said to himself, "some women
can forgive. But the 10th of July is
eight days off; Lady Weybridge tempers
her mercy with justice. Eight days to
wait!"— Cornhill Magazine for November.
END OF THE WORLD.
Cite Terrible Picture Drawn by a _lotl
ein Seleatlgt.
The following scientific picture of the
end of the world is given in Longman's
Magazine, and quite dwarfs Wiggins'' ca
lamities : Ages hence it may be discovered
that there is some slight change in the
earth's orbit; or Mercury, yet nearer to the
sun than we, may be seen to pursue a
smaller orbit than now, and the terrible
fact may come home to man that we are
drawing nearer to the sun. Time goes on.
and the tropics become too hot for exist
ence, and colder regions find a welcome
change to warmth. Age by age goes by,
and the end is, visibly, no nearer; but the
figures of astronomers only too surely tell
their tale. Now the tropics are an im
passable desert, and the life on the globe
congregates around the jwles; Spain has
lost her vineyards and the Alps their snow;
England is a burning desert, and Green
land teems with the vegetation of the
tropics; in smaller and smaller circles
the inhabitants gather round the poles.
"But," to quote the words of Mr. Keight
ley Miller, "the narrowed limits of the
habitable earth can no loDger support this
vast increase of population, and fam
ine begins to mow down its victims by
millions. -Now, indeed, the end of all life
on the earth draws on apace. * * *
The heat and drought become more and
more insupportable; rain and dew fall no
longer. All springs of water fail, and the
rivers dwindle down to streamlets and
trickle slowly over their stony beds, and
now scarcity of water is added to scarcity
of food. Those who escape from the
famine perish by the drought, and those
who escape from the drought are reserved
for a fate more awful yet. For a time the
few remaining inhabitants are partially
screened from the overwhelming power of
the sun hy a dense canopy of clouds formed
by the evaporation of every lake and sea.
But soon the sun scorches up these vapor
banks and dissipates them into space as
fast as they can form. Then the fiery orb
shines out in unutterable splendor, with
out the slighest cloud wreath to interpose
between himself and his victims. Then
the last denizens of the world are stricken
down and consumed; the last traces of
organic life are blotted from its surface."
• a
Take the Boy.
It is a hopeful indication for the future
of field sports that in several recent papers
by sportsmen the boy accompanies the
father in his recreations, to the pleasure
and advantage of both. The gray-beard
thrills with the delight of long-ago youth
if his boy shows a quick eye and wit and a
hand prompt to obey both. He is as
pleased and proud as the youngster him
self, if the son gets bird, beast or fish skill
fully and honorably. With this quick im
itator by his side, he grows punctilious in
observing every law laid down by man or
by nature concerning the game he seeks,
that he may teach by his practice a rever
ence for such laws and an obedience to
them. The "pocket pistol," too, is left be
hind, if it ever before was thought an es
sential part of the refreshments.
From too great familiarity, or from the
oppressing cares that added years often lay
upon the elder (and that will not stay be
hind), if unaccompanied by this quick ob
server, he would pass unnoticed many ob
jects of interest and beauty—here a wood
duck preened her plumage and left a
many-hued feather on the log for a token;
a water lily, late blooming, gleams under
an overhangiog water maple; a hawk
circles the far-off hill-top ; or on a yellow
birch a vireo has swung her birch-bark
basket; a fox has left a chicken's bone or
turkey feather on the gray rock where he
feasted the night before; a woodcock has
twice bored the black mud by the wood
load bridge.
To the boy such companionship brings
numberless benefits. One of the best is
the surprised feeling swelling his breast
and beaming in his face of the comrade
ship implied. He learns so pleasantly
safe any legitimate methods of sportsman
ship, that he will not forget to practice
them in coming years. For him there
will be no sareless handling of the gun,
no foolhardy feat attempted on the water,
no fingerlings in his creel nor unlawful
game in his bas. He learns to love the
woods, as by his father's side he steals
silently over their sunny slopes to surprise
a partridge; or as he stands by him, with
finger on trigger and heart in throat,
under birch or hemlock in October sun
shine, listening to the nearing bugles of
the hounds. So, in like manner, he loves
the grass-boarded brook, from whose pools
the trout leaps to his father's skillful cast,
and the broader streams, where bass and
salmon play. And mingled with this
love of nature and her healthful recrea
tions, there grows a stronger filial affection,
not likely to grow less as the years in
crease.—Forest and Stream.
For a "hot weather" medicine Hood's
SarsapariUa is unequalled. It neutralizes
the depressing eff.ct of the heat by giving
tone and strength to tbe whole system, and
creating an appetite.
The City of Mexico is mad about its
census, too. It expected the enumerators
to find 400,000 inhabitant , but all they
could find made bot 327,000, and the cit
izens of the Mexican Capital are as mad
with the Government as the _sew Yorkers
with Superintendent Porter. The census
taker's lot is not a happy one anywhere.
Baldness is catching, says a scientist. It's
catching flies iv summer time. Use Hall's
Hair Reoewer and cover the bald place
with heal. hy hair and flies won't trouble.
1 If you hare a j
COLD or COUCH,;
acute or leading to
CONSUMPTION, i
SCOTTS i
EMULSION
j OF pii:i: COO LITER Ol_
! AND HYPOPHOSPHITES
( OF LI3TE AND SODA
\ IS STT_e-____ CTJRB FOR IT.
j This preparation contains the stlmula
| ting properties ot the Hypophosphitr*
| and Dne Jioncegian Cod Liver Oil. Used
sby physicians all the world over. It is at
' palatable as milk. Three times as efflca
j clous as plain Cod Liver Oil. A perfect
I Emulsion, better than allothere made. For
) all lorms otH'astiiirf Diseases. Bronchitlt,
consumption,
i Scrofula, and as a Flesh Producer
( there is nothing lite SCOTT'S EMULSION.
{ It Ifl sold by ail Druggists. Let no one by
( profuse explanation or Impudent entreaty
? indue, you to accept a substitute.
"TEA TEPHI."
The Israelitas and tha A agio-. axon Ba»a
—Tha BaJas af Tar a.
" Now, my dear sir, I do net wish to in
trade upon your private affairs, but don't
you think we owe society at large some
account of ourselves?"
The speaker was the Rev. Stephen Mac-
Pherson, a tall gentleman and fine-look
ing, in spite of a head too small for his
hight and eye* that seemed weak and in
significant in conjunction with so promi
nent a nose. He had undertaken a very
delicate business, as became a shepherd of
souls, on some one else's account. He was
a straightforward old fellow himself, and
he had been greatly annoyed by the peer
ing and prying which had occupied the
leisure of his pari.h for the last two months
—ever since the Turners arrived in Amity.
He had resolved to come out squarely and
ask the stranger who and what he was.
"Certainly," granted Mr. Turner, cor
dially, while he spread out his fiDgers to
the study fire. "These October mornings
are decidedly chilly," he had said on greet
ing his visitor. " Come into my den;
there is a blaze there."
The composure of the defendant em
barrassed the plaintiff, who began to feel
that he had gotten into an awkward posi
t'on for a gentleman to hold. " You see,"
he began again, with _ome shamefaced
ness, " you are a stranger here, and people
are naturally curious. If you could tell
me something about yourself I could de
fend you from chance attacks."
Mr. Turner Bent a sudden sharp glance
out from under his contracted brows. Mr.
Turner's eyes were not weak, in spite of
the crow's feet in their corners. " May I
ask in what way I have laid myself open
to the attacks from which you are to de
fend me ?" The question was related to
the glance as thunder is related to light
ning.
Mr. MacPberson cleared his throat and
made a tremendous effort to recall some of
the many charges poured into his ears by
his excited and voluble parishioners. For
the life of him he could remember nothing
but the silly gossip about the maii. He
hesitated to serve that up with the cere
mony which Mr. Turner's manner de
manded, but the pause had been stretched
to its utmost endurance. "It is only a
trifle, to be Bure," he said, nervously;
"but one thing your mails excite com
ment."
" Ah, it is contrary to precedent to re
ceive many letters I To whom must I
apologize for this innovation ?"
The smile which accompanied the ques
tion softened his sarcasm, and the clergy
man smiled in turn. " You show me that
I have made myself absurd," he said.
" Bat really the country is so full of con
spirators and runaways that when a soli
tary man like yourself receives enormous
mails from all over the world, suspicions
are aroused." The speaker paused and
wiped his brow, feeling that he was mak
ing out a case after all.
" I understand," Mr. Turner said, grave
ly ; and then added, " I shall be happy to
give you an outline of the work which I
am engaged upon, and which is the cause
of my extraordinary correspondence."
Mr. MacPherson bowed and murmured
something about a " great favor." He was
really anxious to hear what Mr. Turner
had to say.
" When I was a lad in a London count
ing house," began the host, while his vis
itor settled back into his chair expectantly,
" I was greatly interested in the study af
the Bible."
Mr. MacPherson became conscious of a
feeling very like disappointment. He was
himself also, of course, greatly interested
in the study of the Bible, bnt at present
he had been anticipating a revelation
which should be more enlivening than
the Law and the Prophets, and more per
sonal.
" There were many things which puzzled
me," continued Mr. Turner, too much en
grossed in his subject to notice the changed
attitude of the listener. " Among others,
the seeming contradictions in the prophe
cies about Israel and Judah—blessings and
curses inextricably interwoven. A young
Englishman named Hine helped me out
of the difficulty and set me on the right
track. He told me to mark all the allu
sions to Israel with red ink ; those which
referred to Judah with blue. The contra
dictions disappeared. And in every in
stance it was Judah who was cursed, and
whose wanderings and misfortunes were
foretold; it was Israel who was blessed and
promised all manner of good things. Then
came the question, if the Jews are identi
fied by prophecy as the children of Judah,
who are the children of Israel ? Hine was
ready again with an answer. Israel, the ten
tribes that disappeared at the time of the
captivity in Assyria, and who were ac
knowledged in the time of Josephus to be
'beyond the Euphrates,' reappear, accord
ing to the testimony of Strabo, Herodotus,
Diodoric, Pliny and Ptolemy, as the an
cestors of what is now the Anglo-Saxon
race."
Mr. Turner, becoming more and more
excited as he neared his climax, fairly
sprang to his feet when he said "the An
glo-Saxon race,'' and threw out his hand
with an eager gesture as if his announce
ment were fraught with peculiar good-for
tune for Mr. MacPherson. That gentle
man started forward as if at first he shared
the delusion, and he opened his mouth
once or twice before he said :
" Don't you—don't you thiak that is a
little far-fetched ?"
"Not at all," returned Mr. Turner,
promptly. "Do you believe the Bible?"
be demanded.
" Why, yes, to be sure," answered Mr.
MacPherson, surprised; " that is, most
of it."
'"Then how can-you ex dam the words:
' Israel shall be a nation and a company of
nations;' the 'Throne of David shall be
established upon it forever; 'All the peo
ple of the earth shall be afraid of Israel;'
'No weapon formed against them shall
prosper ?'"
"I always supposed," said Mr. MacPher
son, "that these and similar expressions
bad a spiritual significance."
"Yes, you have spiritualized the mean
ing all out of them," said Mr. Turner,
warmly. " How, then, do you follow so
literally the prophecies concerning the
Jews: 'They shall become a by-word;'
'wanderers without might;' 'hungry,
thirsty and ashamed;' 'leaving their name
for a reproach ?"
" Really I have not considered the mat
ter," answered Mr. MacPherson, "and I
must ccmfess that I am not prepared te an
swer you. But some of your statements
appear to me incredible. Now that about
the throne of David established forever:
do you mean to say that Victoria is de
scended from David ?"
" Undoubtedly. The disappearance of
Jeremiah from Egypt, with tht ark in his
possession, is synchronous with the ap
pearance in Ireland of an aged prophet
bearing the Lia Phail —the Stone of Des
tiny, Jacob's Pillow —which, you remem
ber, was among the contents of the ark.
He had also with him a young Princess
named Tea Tephi, a Hebrew name. She
married Eochaid, the Heremoun of Tara,
and from them Victoria is descended."
" Oh, come now !" cried the clergyman.
" That sounds like a fairy tale."
"So does the story of the Lia Phail,
upon which the successive Kings of Ire
land, Scotland and England have been
crowned, and which now rests in the coro
nation chair at Westminster And mark
this —though Lia is an Irish word. Phail
is a Hebrew word, meaniug 'wonderful.'
f Moreover, it is not the only Hebrew word
found in Ireland and dating back to that
I period."
Mr. MacPherson shook his head incred-
ulously, but attempted no answer to this
argument.
" What is meant by dwelling in the isles
of the northwest ?" continued Mr. Turner.
"And—you are a churchman—what do
' you mean when you read every pre-Ad
' yeut Sunday, 'The days come, salt . ttie
. MIS-ELL ASEOr 3.
PwNKSSMerS
THE CHEAPEST A>D BEST MEDICINE FOR FAULT USE IN THE WORLD
Instantly stops the mast excruciating pains: nevir fatla to give ease to the sufferer. For
SPRAINS, BRCISES, BACKACHK. PAIN IN THE CH. ST OK SIDE., HE.vDAOHK TOOTH
ACHB. CONGESTION. INFLAMMATIONS. RHKUMATISM. NEURALGIA, LLMB-jUO, SCI
ATICA, PAINS IN IHB SMALL OP THB BACK, or any other external PAIN, a few applica
tions act like magic, cau.ing the pain to instantly stop. All INTB&NaL PAINS. DIARRHEA,
DYSENTERY. COLIC SPASMS. NAUSEA. FAINTING SPELLS. NERVOUS*ESS, BI_EEr-
LRSSNESS, are relieved instantly and quickly cured by taking inwardly 30 to 60 dmps in ball
a tumbler ot water so c.nt. a Bon I*. „i,i by urutri.t.. With RaDWaY^S PILLS
Uwe ia no better CUKE or PREVENTIVE OF FEVER AND AGUE. .<.-_-
Pears' Soap
Fair white hands.
Bright clear complexion
Soft healthful skin.
" PEARS'—The Great Engiish Camplexiar aHP.-SnW fitrrilßii.-'
... T.—<« •v..,*ne-o__ _otf _________
/-*,_■ o g. ""natM uu-v__, __^3VH-_____________k.
*'.l -- Sf, ■ *.. _^.^fc______s __■_
BUi_l M '' *" *?yi~j£E^—^Sm*mmmW la. >' ■^>*^9?JlJ^___l
V_ _ JT M Wl' tW^ 3M $■• 7" W
\^jg <^ *" _\\._r »?-' ' |■*■■ -/ VV*^ mmaW
*j_n» 9o>M-OT-[a i_o a_________i^^^
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I— I™ **" ° — lZ tto-=!«*'«---,e*-c" J"S
—J ~^ _2 *: * i s**k ■■ **__5 .i.'lJS* « _■■•
_i P <d V _5 2«>«»-S=eiE s §
=_ "* | *go- £ HigSiisi I
3» •* o w tf. _o_f_:o?-^o
-_6 z w# _o«-^ E-ott "
For Sale by C. J. MACK, 618 J Street, Sacramento.
HUNTINGTON-HOPKINS COMPANY,
SPOBTINQ GOODS, SHOTGUNS, EIFLES, STANDARD
LOADED SHELLS, POWDER, BHOT, ITO.
Saoramento anci San Pransi»oo.
Lord, that they shall no more say, The
Lord liveth, which brought up the chil
dren of Israel out of the land of Egypt;
but the Lord liveth, which brought up
and which led the seed of the house of Is
rael out of the North country, and from
all countries whither I had driven them ;
and they shall dwell in their own land ?' "
"And* you think the Anglo-Saxons will
go back to, if they ever came out of, the
the East ?"
" Not at all. 'Two of a household and
one of a city.' There are excavations go
ing on now among the ruins of Tara. I
should not be surprised any moment to
learn by cable that the ark had been
found. Then Victoria would proclaim
herself the daughter of David, and would
issue a proclamation announcing to her
people their birthright—to be called the
children of Israel."
"I'd like to have this man's enthusi
asm," thought Mr. MacPherson as he
shook hands with the scholar; but he
only said, "I will talk with you again on
this subject," and took his leave. — From
" Tea Tephi in Amity," by A. B. Ward in
Harper't Magatine.
.
Bbecham'b pills act like magic on a
weak stomach.
WOLFF'S
A perfect Harness Dressing.
USED BT MKN, WOMEN AST) CHILrREN.
A SHINE LASTS A WEEK.
LEATHER PRESERVER.
A HANDSOME POLISH.
IS WATER-PROOF.
EVERY Household EVERY Cf. cc
EVERY Mechanic EVERY Slat's
SHOULD USE
OIK--OON
jfia. r*(.' O-ff f-M-J.V Smmm TRY '. : -
■>. ll Stain Old a new F'jrniture J~aV7iisU
wll Stain Glass Aft- Chinaware a ( f/ lC
/ill Stain Tinware game
vill Stain you n 010 Baskets time*,
will Stain Babvs Coach and
WOLFP _fc RANDOLPH. PtdfcMtelpttf-.
j4«_ .« Drug, Paint and House Furbishing St****.
SS
l^-* 1! __s®<&___l iv-V
Pulmonic
•syrup-
Fifty years of success 13 sufficient evidence
ofthe value of Schencks Pulmonic Syrup as a
euro for Consumption, Coughs, Colds, Hoarse,
ness Sore-Threat ic. It contains no opium; is
p'.easant to the taste.
For Sale by all Druggists. Price $1.00 per
bottle. Dr. Schcnck's Book on Consumption
and its Cure, mailed free. Address
Or. J.*P> <*s.-h<_nck&So.n. PSiila._Atp.ili_
rr 1-. _= 5S ■"*-__.-__ STMPTO-I*-M'l-I*
F_M. Ssi fl tr* or.: Int.r,.. lto_In«
VSt %* S'_ »». ->_. and .th-.eln_:: mortal
f**s ._iIT a fi*» „.>r«. _y
t__U_3 Ifl B <___ £jst-llfn_> If at
IKKjl' B !____-_ vP Slowed to cantmno
Gftl***^ tumor, form and
fiTCHiNG PlLES.ragJ{}i^:
IK-fop-STe IU-hi-n. _ndN.k.d.n_ Vsli
■ _^f^^J_iriSS-^s_^cir_3 _
I "^S :T.*,.V- „.f arte., 50 Mis-.-. 3 ■■«.«. |I.__
i _rii^_.w;V-.ivv-i7>'B - BCS. FUM-QUa, P_
*$* VETERINARY SPECIFICS
For Horses, Cattle, Sheep, Dogs, Hogs, i
AND POULTRY.
SOO Page BooU »v Treatmeot of Animals
aod Chart Seal Free.
..!__> < Fever**, Congest ior... I ii flfimiun tion
A.A.i Spinal Meningitis, Milk Fever.
H.B.—{.trains. Lameness, Rheumatism.
C.C.—-Distemper, Masai Discharges.
D.D.—But* or Grubs. Worms.
_.._:.--< nuib*. Heaves, Pneumonia.
F.F.—t'ol-c jr Gripes. Bellyache.
G.G.— Miscarriage, Hemorrhages.
11. H.--I'rinnry and Kidney Diseases.
1.1.—Eruptive Diseases, Mange.
J.K.—Diseases of Digestion, Parnlysis.
Single BotUe (over 50 doses), - - .«•
Stable Case, with Specific*. Manual
Veterinary Cure Oil ana _l_d!_-tur, 87.00
Jar Veterinary Care Oil, - - 1.00
Sold by Druggists; or Sent Prepaid anywhere
and is any quantity on Recsipt of Price.
HUMPHREY-" MEDICINE CO.,
Corner William and John S'J., New York.
f r~£S>STJMPH BEYS'
f^4g£*l HOMEOPATHIC f% f*
fIBUSPECIHC No 60
In use 30 jears. The only __coesfif-l remedj for
Nervous Debility, Vital Weakness,
snd Prostration, from over-work or other c_u_«_
VI por via), or S vials and large vial powder, for Ji.
Sold by Dr-_cust_, nr_.nt postpaid on receipt
of prlcc-HUMPHREYS' MEDICINE CO.,
Oo» ***. illiam and John Sts., N. Y.
SAUCE
(Ths "iVoucE-rrcKsanti-r)
Imparts tlie mcst delicious taste and zest to
EXTRACT fl| SO^PS,
Of s LETTER from f_ _,— «._
n MED 1 CAL GEN - s *ft G«A VI ES,
TLEXIAN at Mad- ;.<M _,_-._,
raa, to his brother ■ :>JI * tmmm |
at WORCESTER, _, ( aL „-_-.,. _,___ _.
May, 18.L /£. 7_V HOT_:COI__
LEA & PERRIXS' fe^ffl JIEATS,
that their sauce. U K^i^ia?
highly esteemed in n^t^Sr-! GA.T_l_,
India, and is in my Lt- '■ \a
opinion, the mast ««4 FfflM WEJ_SII»
palatable, as v.-eU "tasg^l*
ss the raost whole- H^BM BABEBIT-i
some sauco tkatisU _£« -
made." ViaP*^ 1C *
Signature on every bottle of Hie g-ntflne m origin*
KM IN DUNCAN'S 80-IS. NEW TOUB.
Nothing better for babies.
Full Cream. Full Weight.
Best en Earth. :
For sale by
0101-tS GKOCKK- AND DBPGGI9T3.
T WILCOX'S COMPOUND
JLNSY FI-LXiSI
Safe, Certain and Effectual. .'* '""Jf
_lSorbi»i__rß»a* ie. for "V. Oman's s,ife.
_t__r_."Wixcoi arsaru co., ihi.-.i. .-.
Soldby Ki_.__.GKAH V. CO..** acrHiiient*
f.S-TTS-lV
|A|ET A If MANHOOD
VW sr^ fin »*^ Early Decay and Abuso,
■ ■ mmV M ma -Siimpctency, Lost vigor, as 4
healthfnllyrestorcd. Varicocele cored. Parts enlarged*
strengthened. New Home Treatise sent free and sealed.
Secresy. PraC IL S. Bl*TT_. 174 Fulton ■_. X. v
IN THE SUPERIOR COURT. IK AXD FOR
tbe county ot Sacramento, in the Stato of Cal
ifornia. In the matter ot FRED MASON, an
Insolvent. The above-named FRED MASON,
heretofore adjudicated an insolvent debtor,
having applied to the Court lor a discharge
from his debts, according to tbe Siatute In
such ca.es made and provided, it Is hereby or
dered that notice be given to all creditors who
have proi-ed their debts to appear beiore this
Court, at the Court-room ot Dt>partment One
Ihereoi, on FRIDAY. the_'.td«y of November,
1890. at 1:3. o'c'ock P M , and show cause,
if any they can, why a di. charge should uot be
granted to the said debtor: and it is ordered
further that said notice be given hy mail and by
publication at least once a week for four weeks
in the Sacramento Daily .ecord-I'mo-v. a
newspafor nnbii.-hi d m said county.
Dated this 17th day o: October. 1«M.
JOHN \V. AK.MSIKO. G,
Judge of the Superior Couit.
Jo«nso_", Johnson & Joh.nsun. Attorneys to
>._.-^- "■•"if ~
CjEND THE WEEKLY UNION TO YOUR
, „__.___aia*.ae__..
7