OCR Interpretation

The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, January 20, 1900, Image 1

Image and text provided by University of Maryland, College Park, MD

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83016368/1900-01-20/ed-1/seq-1/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for

VOL. 51. WHOLE N°-1828.
Amy 321 N. GAY ST.
illUlilA BALTIMORE, Md.,
iL Stock of
Including a large assortment of
OOLF CAPES. In the latest up-to-date styles,
ranging in price from $2.50 to SIO.OO
made latest style saddle back, from $1.25 to $5.00
SKIRTS, a special to our regular customers.
A SIO.OO Skirt for $5.98
A first-class extra large size Comfort, satine cov
ered, pure white cotton, a regular $1.50 value,
for ~97c.
Also. Cut Comforts for only 25c.
And Silk Comforts only $4.50 and $5.00
Pure all-wool red, grey and white blankets, $4.50
Special 114 Blanket, white and grey only 98c.
Bet. High and Front Sts.,
muller bros;
Horse Blankets and Robes,
Hand Sewed Buggy Harness, Nickel (IQ flfl
or Irat. Rubber Trimmed <PIZ.UU
Hand-Made Hair Collars 2.00
Collar Pads, all Sizes 25c
Square Horse Blankets 75c
Large Size Horse Blankets, Fancy Pat- I Qfl
terns I.OU
5-A All-Wool Horse Blankets, Fancy •) Cfl
Patterns Z, Ju
lOJo..- .
———-{3JQ9AW I ■■—ll.
Secaad-Hani Harness and Bicycles
419 East Baltimore Street,
Near Gay Street, BALTIMORE, Md.
UJjsley & Co.,
Gay and Colvin Streets,
1ST"All orders carefully packed and delivered
to any railroad station FREE OF CHARGE.
Jan. 8.—12 m. _
President. Secretary and Treasurer.
Rooms 2 & 4 Piper Building,
Directors— John I. Yellott, A. A. Piper,
Elmer J. Cook, Osborne I. Yellott,
John J. Timancs.
liniiCV Tfl inikl On Mortgage of Real or
mUnCI IU LUAH Personal Property.
The Company is also engaged in the business of
Issuing the policies of well-known and reliable
Companies in any amount.
er"A share of the patronage of the public is
solicited. Jan, 6.-12 m.
If you want to make money plant BOLGIA
NO’S GARDEN SEEDS that have been saved
with great care. For eighty-two years we have
placed in the gardeners’ hands seed that has
proven true and reliable, causing many of them
to amass largo fortunes and make their homes
all that could be desired. Reliable seeds a farmer
must have to obtain these results, and reliable
seeds he can obtain at Bolgiano’s. The crop of
Peas and Beans has been a short one, but see Bol
giano before you buy. He is the seedman that shares
his profits with the farmers bv giving them low
prices with reliable seeds. Remember , before placing
your Spring order that Bolgiano's best seeds grotc,
and you can’t have a thoroughly successful year
(financially) without planting them. Others have
tried and failed ; don’tyou run the risk. A stitch
in time saves nlne.and to save many hours of hard
labor and toil that would otherwise go to utter
waste and you receive no return foryour honest
effort to make a livelihood. J. BOLGIANO 4
SON, 28 S. Calvert Street, Baltimore, Md.
Nearly 25 Years Life Y
Insurance Experience. Y
% 21 I N. Calvert St., Baltimore. %
R. & O. Corsets and Bralnerd A Armstrong Silks.
Oh ! they’ve swept the parlor carpet, and they’ve
dusted every chair.
And they’ve got the tidies hangin’ jest exactly
on the square;
And the whatnot’s fixed up lovely, and the mats
have all been beat,
And the pantry’s brimmin’ over with the bully
things to eat.
Sis has got her Sunday dress on and she’s frizzin’
up her bangs,
Ma’s got on her best alpacky, and she’s askin’
how it hangs;
Pa has shaved as slick as can be, aud I’m rigged
way up in G,
And it’s all because we’re goin’ ter have the
minister ter tea.
Oh! the table’s fixed up gaudy with the gilt
edged chiny set.
And wo T ll use the silver teapot and the comp’ny
spoons, you bet:
And we’re going to have some fruit-cake and
some tnlmDleberry jam.
And “rlz biscuits” and some doughnuts, and
some chicken and some ham.
Ma, she’ll ’polerglze like fury and say everything
Is bad.
And “sich awful luck with cookin’.” she Is sure
she never had ;
But, er course, she’s only bluffin’, for it’s as
prime as it can be.
And she’s only talkin’ that way ’cause the mln
lltor'a to too.
Everybody’ll be a-smilin’ and as good as ever
Pa won't growl abont the vittles, like he gener
ally does,
Anu he'll ask ma would I like another piece er
pie; but, sbo!
That, er course, is only manners, an’ I’m s’posed
ter answer, "No.”
Sis’ll talk about the church work and about the
Sunday school,
Ma’ll tell how she liked that sermon that was on
the Golden Rule,
And if I upset my tumbler they won’t say a word
ter me;
Yes, a boy can eat in comfort with the minister
ter tea!
Say! a minister, you’d reckon, never’d say what
wasn’t true;
But that isn’t so with ours, and I jest can prove
it, too;
’Cause when Sis plays on the organ so it makes
yer want ter die.
Why, he sets and says it’s lovely; and that, seems
ter me, 's a lie;
But I like him all the samey, and I only wish he’d
At our bouse fer good and always, and eat with
us every day;
Only think of havin’ goodies every evenin’!
And I’d never git a scoldin’ with the minister
ter tea! —Puck.
“Thank Heaven for that!”
I had just taken my seat in a ‘ ‘third
smoker,” and was opening my even
ing paper, when the above exclamtna
tiou caused me to look up in surprise.
The speaker—who when I got in had
hidden behind a stained and crumpled
newspaper—was a sallow-faced young
man of the “out-at-elbows” descrip
tion, and he spoke in a tone of such
fervency that I concluded he must
have some pressing appointment and
was impatient at the train’s stoppage.
I was about to ask him if this was so
when he anticipated me.
“Pardon my hagitation, sir,” he
said, wiping his brow with a colored
handkerchief, “but if you only knew
what I’ve endured this last ’arf
hour. ’ ’
Then I smiled, for I remembered
that a plump, good-natured young
woman with three small children,
each armed with a monster stick of
gaudily striped “toffee,” had got out
of the carriage at the last station ; in
deed, I had given the young woman
SuYtftfia’fwefe live distinct im
pressions of sticky fingers on my coat
“You don’t care for children?” I
“It wasn’t the childer, bless you,”
my companion returned. “It was
their mother. I nearly ’ad a fit d’rect
ly I saw ’er makin’ for the door, an’
I’d ouly time to ’ide behind me noos
paper, when hin she gets with the
The young man paused here and
drew out a short clay pipe.
“I used to know ’er, you see, sir,”
he resumed, helping himself to my
tobacco. “In fact, we were sweet
hearts. Lemme see, it’ll be eight
’ear ago now. I’d a good job at the
time as assistant to a pawnbroker,
an’ I should ha’ been there yet, an’
master of the shop —for old Flint’s
dead —if it ’adn’t been for ’er,” and
he frowned gloomily.
“She—treated you badly?” I ob
“No-o, I don’t suppose you’d say
that. What she did, she did simply
out of revenge. Ah, she ’ad me
proper. You see I was always what
you might call a practical chap. I
looked after number one, an’ one
thing I’d made up my mind —I meant
to marry well. I’d a good job with
a prospect of a rise. I was a smart
ish young feller. I could cut most of
’em out with the gals, an’ I saw no
reason why I should not marry one
with a bit of property, or even with
money in the funds. That was what
I meant to do. What I did do was to
get reg’lar gone on ’er d’rectly I set
eyes on ’er, which was one bank ’oli
day at Blackpool.
“It was at the Tower I dropped
across ’er. She was standin’ in the
ballroom —splendid place that, ain’t
it?—wateliin’ the dancers. She took
my fancy at once, for she was one of
the plumpisli sort, with rosy cheeks
and bright eyes an’ such a fringe,
right into ’er eyes, an’ she was dress
ed all in white, with a row of pearls
round ’er neck, a big ’at trimmed
with red roses, an’ yellow sand shoes.
I was no end of a toff myself, for I’d
just bought myself a reg’lar flash
get-up—white trousers an’ a striped
jacket, crimson an’ black, an’ a new
straw ’at.
“Well, I edged near ’er, an’ after
a bit I caught ’er eye. Thsn I smil
ed, an’—well, she smiled back. You
know the way. Then I went up an’
raised my ’at an’ asked ’er if she’d
’ave a turn an’ she said she ‘didn’t
mind,’ an’ in another minute we was
a trippin’ on the light fantastic.
“After hit was over I took ’er to
’ave a small lemon. Then we’d an
other dance, an’ after that we went
an’ sat down to cool. I asked ’er ’er
name, but she only laughed an’ said
she adu’t got one.
“ ‘But I know yours,’ she ses.
“ ‘Bet yer don’t,’ ses I, ‘What is
“It begins with a J —your Chris
tian name,’she ses. ‘Your other be
gins with a S.’
“Well, I stared then, for she was
! right, my name being Joseph Scar
“ 1 ’Ow, did you know it?’ ses I.
‘‘ ‘ ’Ow ? Well, do you know Miss
“ ‘Very well,’ I ses. ‘She comes
from where I do.’
“ ‘Yes,’ she ses, 'so do I.”
“ ‘Go on,’ ses I; ‘you’re a kiddin’
“ ‘O, well, you needn’t believe me
unless you like,’ she ses.
“Well, in a bit I found out that it
was the truth. She worked at Rib
bon an’ Chiffon’s, an’ the reason I
’adn’t seen ’er before was that she
lived a bit out of the town, an’ went
by train night an’ mornin’.’
“Well, I met ’er again the next
mornin’, au’ I spent the rest of the
week with ’er, for I was ’avin’ my
’olidays at the time. I spent a lot of
money on ’er, too, one way an’ an
other. I bought ’er hice creams an’
choc’laus, an’ I paid for ’er ’avin’ ’er
fortune told by the gypsies. They
said she’d marry a good-lookin’ young
man with hauburn ’air, an’ she said
afterwards it was very funny they
should say hauburn ’air, for my ’air’s
that colour, as I daresay you'll ’ave
Mr. Scarrett paused a moment here
to relight his pipe, and I made a re
ply that was polite rather than truth
“I think even the longest-’eaded
folk lose their ’eads at the seaside,”
he went on. “I know I lost mine,
for that same afternoon there was a
chap on the sands takin’ fortygraphs.
’E wanted to take us together, said
we’d make the prettiest pictur’ ’e’d
ever took. She seemed inclined for
it, an’ so we went in an’ were took,
’er a sitting down, me a standin’ up.
A bob it cost me. I thought it
was cheap at the time, but —well, it
was the maddest thing I ever did. Of
course, before the week was out I’d
reg’lar proposed to ’er, an’ that al
though I knew ’er father was only a
joiner an’ ’er mother took in sewin’.
“Perhaps you’d think as when I
got back to the shop an’ began work
again I should come to my senses
and back out, but not a bit of it. I
was ’arf orf my dot about ’er, an’ I
used fairly to look forward to Sun
days, when I took ’er walks. Very
soon I started goin’ to the ’ouse to
tea. Although they was what you
would call in ’umble circumstances,
they was very respectable, an’ they’d
a nice front parlor where me an’ Pol
ly used to sit on the sofa.
“Well, things went on pretty
smoothly-like for some time, an’
then, one fine mornin’, old Flint sur
prised me by tellin’, me ’e’d a niece
a-comin’ to keep ’ouse for ’im, ’is old
missis gettin’ too old to do much, an’
as she’d ’ad a fancy heducation ’e
said she’d be able to give us a ’and
with the books.
“Well, it was a bit of a novelty
this, to ’ave a lady clerk, but when I
told Polly she didn’t ’arf seem to
like it.
“ ‘She’ll be wantin’ to flirt with
you arf ’er time, I know,’ she ses.
an’’ then,"of course, she made me
promise not to carry on with ’er.
Girls is awful jealous one of another.
As for me, I never thought of nothin’
of the sort, for the fact was I’d got it
into my ’ead she wouldn’t be up to
much, for old Flint an’ missies were
not what you could call good lookin’.
“ ’Owever, as things turned out, I
was mistook for once, for though she
wasn’t anyways equal to Polly, yet
I’ve seen far worse-lookin’ gals. She
was big an’ tall, with black eyes —
fine eyes they were; an’ from the
very first she seemed disposed to make
’erself haffable. Of .course I always
did the polite to a lady, but I wasn’t
more than polite, though I could see
she was ready enough to take on ; an’,
what is more, it struck me that old
Flint ’ad no objection to it either, for
whenever ’e found us chatttin’ ’esaid
“I soon found I was right about
this, for one day ’e actually asked me
if I’d come to tea the followin’ Sun
day. As luck would ’ave it, Polly
couldn’t see me that day, aud ’er
mother an’ ’er were goin’ to see a
haunt who was ill, an’ so I said I’d
be very pleased. Of course I didn’t
tell Polly.
“It was a lot better evenin’ than I
expected. We’d a rare spread, chick
en an’ ’am, all sorts of cakes an’ jams,
an’ Too was reg’larly toffed up an’
looked better than I thought it possi
ble. After.tea she played for us, au’
she could play, all the latest comic
songs, an’ I gave ’em ‘When my ’air
began to curl.’ It fairly knocked
’em, the old chap especially.
“ ‘You must come an’ siug for us
again, Joe,’ ’e ses, when I was goin’.
‘Me an’ the missis is very fond of a
bit of real good singin’, an’ Loo will
always play your accompaniments.’
“A day or two after that the old
man draws me aside very confidential
“ ‘Joe,’ ses ’e, ‘that niece of mine
is a fine player on the pianny, ain’t
“ ‘Very fine,’ ses I.
“‘An’ she’s a nice girl, too,’ ses
’e, next.
“ ‘Very nice,’ ses I.
“ ‘An ’e’ll be a lucky man what
gets ! er,’ ’e ses.
“To this I said nothin’, but my
’eart jumped, for it occurred to me
what ’e was driven’ hat. A day or
two after ’e comes to me again.
“ ‘Joe,’ ’e ses, after a bit, ‘there’s
somethin’ I want to say to you this
afternoon, an’ as I’m a plain man I’ll
say it in plain words. It’s this —me
an’ the misses ’ave took a fancy to
you, an’ we want you to marry Loo.
She’s well worth marryin’, for when
we’re gone she’ll ’ave all there is.
Now, if you’ll say yes I’m ready to
make the business over to you, for
I’m thinkin’ of takiu’ things a bit
easier, an’ you can be married d’rect
ly. Come, what do you say?’
“Well, I could only stammer an’
’um an’ ’aw.
“ ‘Ah, I see I’ve taken you by sur
prise,’ ’e ses, so I’ll give you a bit to
think it over. Let me know by to
morrow mornin’.’
“I didn’t sleep much that night,
I’ll tell you. A poor beggar at 25
bob a week doesn’t get such a hoffer
every day, an’ I shouldn’t hesitated a
second if it ’adn’t been for Polly.
The business was a good one, an’
when the old folks pegged out I
should drop in for a big lump, I knew,
for the old chap ’ad money hinvested
in more than one concern. I was in
two minds, as vou might say. I lik
ed Polly the best; but then, when
you can get a wife with a bit of tin I
Well, I’d always plenty of common
sense, an’ the next day I told the old
man I was willin’. An’ then bless
me if ’e didn’t take me by the arm
an’ drag me to the parler !
“Loo’s’ere by’erself,’ ’eses. ‘Go
in an’ settle it at once,’ an’ there was
nothin’ for it but to do as ’e said, an’
when I came out of that parler I was
engaged to two girls.
“Pretty pickle, wasn’t it? An’ I
made up my mind I’d be out of it as
soon as I could, for if old Flint got to
know I knew ’e’d cut up rough.
“Well, I soon found this wasn’t so
easy. In the first place, Loo was one
of the jealous sort, an’ grew suspP*
cious if I couldn’t spend every eve
nin’ with ’er —which was impossible
when there was Polly to see. It was
a queer game I carried on for a bit.
I used to send notes, sayin’ I
was working late, an’ on Sundays I
said I’d to see a huncle who was very
“This acted all right for awhile,
but, of course, there soon came a time
when Polly got suspicious, an’ ©ne
day I gets a note from ’er, askin’ me
to come up on Sunday night. She
said she’d somethin’ particular to say
to me, an’ that if I didn’t come she
should come for me. Well, I told
Loo the story about the huncle who
was bad this time, an’ I wrote Polly
tellin’ ’er I’d be sure to turn up, an’
I decided I’d settle the affair one way
or another, for I was on quicksilver,
as you might say.
“Polly opened the door an’ led the
way into the parler. I couldn’t ’elp
wishin’ that she ’ad the tin instead of
Loo, for when it came to looks Loo
wasn’t in it. On this particular
night she looked better than ever, an’
I couldn’t’elp kissin’ ’er, though I’d
meant not to. ’Owever, she soon
stopped me hat that.
“ * ’Ere, don’t be a kissin’ me,’ she
ses. ‘I want an hexplanation, I do.
What about this Miss Flint you’re
a-mashin’ ?’
“‘Who told you I was mashin’
’er?’ I ses.
“ ‘Oh, come, Joe, that wont do,’
she ses. ‘I know all about it. You
can’t deceive me. I suppose it’s ’er
money you’re hafter?’
“ ‘Well, Polly,’ I ses, ‘l’ll be plain
with you. It’s'er money. You see,
I’ve been thiukin’ matters over a bit
lately, au’ I’ve come to the conclu
sion that I’m a doin’ wrong in askin’
you to wait for me, seein’ that I
’aven’t no reasonable prospect of get
tin’ married, an’ >-ou can do so much
this in a proper light, an’ let us part
“I’d found it jolly ’ard work to say
this, I’ll tell you, for I was afraid
there would be a scene, but to my
surprise she took it better than I
“ ‘I don’t want to spoil your chance
in life, Joe,’ she ses, ‘only tell me one
thing ; you don’t care for ’er as you
do for me, do you ?’
“ ‘Care for ’er as I do for you?’ I
ses. ‘You wouldn’t ask that if you
could see ’er. ’Er ’air’s the colour
of carrots, an’ she’s as freckled as a
“As I spoke there was a curious
noise in the corner behind a screen.
“ ‘lt’s only the cat,’ Poll ses.
‘She’s hafter a mouse. See, ’ere’s
all your letters, an’ presents; you’d
better take ’em with you,’ an’ she
’anded me a little parcel ready done
“ ‘You seem to ’ave known what I
was cornin’ about,’ ses I.
“I ’ad an idea,’ ses she, ‘an’ there
is nothin’ like bein’ in time. I think
you’ll find ’em all right. An’ now I
won’t keep you any longer.’
“Well, to say that ’er coolness
staggered me is to put it mildly, but
I did my best to carry it off in the
same fashion.
“You’re a sensible lass, Poll,’ Ises,
‘an’ I’m glad to see you look at this
matter in a proper light.’
‘ ‘ ‘lt’s no use cryin’ over spilt milk, ’
she ses. “’Ave you got your ’at?
I’ll let you out,’ ’an she led the way
an’ opened the door, just for all the
world as if she’d been lettin’ out
some ordinary visitor instead of the
man she loved an’ might never see
again. As I shook ’ands I was about
to kiss ’er, but she wasn’t ’avin’ any.
“ ‘I can ’ear the cat,’ she ses ; ‘I
believe she’s caught that mouse,’ an’
she slams the doof to, an’ I walked
off, feelin’ a trifle puzzled, as you
may say, for I never imagined Polly
’u’d give me up so coolly.
“ ’Owever, it was some satisfaction
to know I’d settled it. After all, a
girl with prospects like Loo’s was
better than a joiner’s daughter any
day. When I reached the shop the
next mornin’ the old man asked me
if I’d step into the parler a minnitor
two. I followed’im, wonderin’what
was wrong, an’ I wondered more
when I found Loo there with a look
011 ’er face that made me stare.
“ ‘What’s to do?’ ses I.
“Well, then she began, and what
she said fair took my breath away.
She knew all about Polly. In fact,
she’d been present at our interview
the previous evenin’. When she said
that, I stared at’er like one thunder
“ ‘You was there?’ I ses.
“‘Yes,’ ses she; ‘I was the cat.
I ’eard everything, an’ thank good
ness I did !’
“I didn’t say nothin’. It seemed
as if there wasn’t nothin’ I could say.
I just stood an’ listened like one daz
ed while they both told me what they
thought of me. Of course, I ’ad to
clear out at once, an’ clear out I did
that very day. Next mornin’ I ’ad
a letter from Polly. She said I’d be
glad to ’ear that the cat 'ad caught
the mouse. She told me other things,
too ; ’ow she’d gone to Loo an’ asked
to come an’ see ’er, tellin’ ’er she’d
open ’er heyes as to my real charac
ter. She also said ’er aunt was dead
an’ ’ad left ’er five ’undred pounds,
an’ that she thought she’d soon be
able to buy a sweet’eart with it. An’
so she did, for six months later she
married a well-to do grocer.
“ ‘You won’t wonder at my hagita
tion now, I daresay. The sight of
’er brought it all back, as if it ’ad
been yesterday.”
The train was stopping now, aud I
got out, leaving Mr. Scarratt to re
flect upon the bitter past. — Tit-Bits.
An automobile ride on her one
hundred and eigthth birthday was the
remarkable experience of Mrs. Sarah
Terry, of No. 545 North Sixteenth
street, Philadelphia, last week. Mrs.
Terry had been anticipating this event
for the past year, and her delight in
around Philadelphia in a
nhfseless carriage was unbounded.
She had ridden in one of the first
steam trains in the country, aud her
experience in an automobile was re
markable to one who had seen the
gradual development of steam and
electricity during her long life.
Mrs. Terry was born in Pemberton,
N. J., in 1791, her father being Sta
cy Doron, a soldier in the Revolu
tionary War, who died from the ef
fects of his campaings. She was adop
ted by a Quaker family named Cam
pion, who carefully educated her,
and, as she has spent many years re
siding abroad, she is an interesting
talker, especially on events which
happened years ago. To a casual
observer Mrs. Terry appears at least
thirty years younger than she really
is. She is remarkably well preserv
ed, and her carriage, which has al
ways been a distinguishing character
istic, remains as dignified and impos
ing as ever. She rises at 7 o’clock
every morning, and goes unassisted
down one flight of stairs to the break
fast table. She spends the day in
chatting with visitors, of whom she
has many, and in short naps in an
easy chair. Occasionally she is taken
out for a carriage ride by some mem
ber of the Revolutionary Society. At
night, precisely at seven o’clock,
Mrs. Terry is assisted to her room.
She sleeps but little at night. Her
appetite is good. Physicians say that
this marvelous little woman may re
tain life for more than one year to
come, for her physical condition is ex
My sister’s beau’s a feller ’at mos’ any one’d like,
He’s orf ul good t’ me, an’ once he let me ride his
He’d lef’ it standin’ by the gate, outside, an’ I
got on—
An’ maw lit in to scoldin’, but he took my part,
He said I wouldn’t hurt it, an’ I didn’t, neither.
But ain’t it mean to scold a boy ’fore comp’ny
V When I’m a-entertainln’ him while sis Is dross-
I in’ up.
He’s jes’ wrapped up in furrin stamps, post
marks, an’ tin tags, too;
I showed him mine, an’ he jes’ looked my whul
collection through.
Ho says ho “dotes” on bird eggs, an’ he handles
’em as If
He knowed ’ey’d break like ev’rything if onoe
’ey got a biff!
An’, say, ne listens to me when I tell him things
on sis,
’Bout her last beau, jes’ ’fore him, an’how I seed
’em kiss!
The feller, laughin’, says: “Oho, of knowledge
deep I sup”— . , ,
When I’m a-entertainin’him while sis is dressin’
’N’en sis she comes downstairs, “with face as
fair as any saint,”
I heard him say. soft like to her—he doesn’t
know It’s paint!
I’m ’most afeard to tell him, though I want to
mighty bad,
For he’s the tiptest-toptest beau ’at sis she ever
An’ ’tisn’t right to fool him. Gee! he tells such
bully things, , .
Of shootin’ bears an’ catermounts an’ all such
scary things; . ,
An’ me an’ him talk ev’rything, from porkypine
to pup.
When I’m a-entertainin 1 him while sis is dress
in Farrell Greene , in Leslie's Weekly.
“If,” said a man of mature years,
“I was going to give a word of ad
vice to a young man, one of the
things that I should say to him would
be this: Don’t be sick. That is,
don’t be an ailing man, not feeling
well, and all that sort of thing. Keep
your little ills to yourself. To tell
how bad we feel does not, as a rule,
awaken sympathy. As a matter of
fact—and it’s all right so, too—we
don’t cotten much to a man that wants
or expects to be coddled all the time ;
we like better the chap made of stern
er stuff, who doesn’t worry himself
over his little ills, nor worry other
people about them.
“This does not mean that a man
wants to say he’s well, when really
he is sick. That would be foolish, as
it would be for a man to work in such
condition. But uobody likes to see a
man going around with a woe-begone
expression on his countenance, and
the words ‘l’m ’way off today’ on
his lips, and if this is his habit when
-ever he isn’t feeling just right, why,
he thereby just counts himself out
of it.
“There’s a large stock of sympathy
on hand in the world, and it’s always
plentifully offered where it is really
needed, but there’s mighty little of it
expended on people suffering from
sniffles. The fact is the world isn’t
drawn much toward men that are al
ways ailiug; but it just hollers for
joy over men who are fit and able.
“Moral: Don’t make it a point to
tell people how miserable you’re feel
ing today. ”
“Hortense,” he said, “I loved yer
wunst, an’ Ido yit, but it can’t never
be. A gulft has come between us.”
“Honri! Honri!” the weeping girl
implored, “you must —you shall take
back them words I”
“I cannot!” he answered. “Our
fam’lies is no longer in the same class.
It is fate. We must part. I cannot
marry beneat’ me!”
“Oh, heavens!” she cried, “what
has come over him? You haven’t
got rich suddenly, because you’re
wearin’ them 88 clo’s you got last
winter. I must know the troot. I
will be brave. I’ll try and bear it.”
He gave her a parting kiss upon
her pale, chaste forehead, and replied :
“My Uncle Bill druv the carriage
what was hired to take Jeffries to his
hotel from the depot. But I’ll always
’member you wit’ tender feelin’s.” —
Chicago Times-Hetald.
Thomas B. Bryan, ex-president of
the World’s Fair, lawyer, capitalist,
scholar and man of affairs and socie
ty, has a personal acquaintance pecu
liar in its extent and nature. In
Chicago, his home city, Mr. Bryan is
known as the friend of young men,
and it is to be doubted if any other
man of advanced years is in closer
sympathetic relations with a larger
circle of young men than Mr. Bryan.
He states his view of the most gener
al and potent causes of failure on the
part of the young men of to-day as
“Chief among the causes which
bring positive failure or a disappoint
ing portion of half-success to thou
sands of honest strugglers is vacilla
tion The lack of an nnHeviatine ap
plication to one pursuit is a cardinal
weakness in the younger generation
of toilers in almost every line of ef
fort . The young men who keep their
eyes fixed on a definite goal, never
yielding an inch until their efforts are
attended with absolute success, are
not as common types as we might
wish. Indomitable will is a quality
of character that the young man of to
day may well afford to consider and
“It is also my observation that uni
form courtesy —kiudness of disposi
tion expressed in graciousness of con
duct —contributes, to a larger degree
than is generally appreciated, to the
advancement of the young man who
fosters this trait. On the other hand,
surliness and even indifference mili
tate against the promotion of the one
who is so unfortunate as to allow
these repellant forces to influence his
relations with others. Politeness is
so easy of acquirement and so profit
ably entertained that I marvel its cul
tivation receives so little serious at
tention. Certainly the failure right
ly to prize this element of chaaracter
gives the key to many a life failure.
“The disposition to look on work
as a task to be thrown off at the earli
est possible moment is a too common
failing, and is the reverse of that stal
wart faithfulness which attracts the
attention and approval of employers
and gains promotion and advance
ment for those who thus identify
themselves with the interest of those
whom they serve. It is with the
young man as with the farmer: he
best succeeds who plows deepest. To
scratch the surface of things lightly
is not enough to insure a bountiful
harvest. The crop of such a seeding
is failure. He who would win must
go deeper, must live more seriously
and with greater determination and
fixedness of purpose.” — Satin day
Evening Post.
wave a. w ixsu.
Since marriage is the perfect state,
writes John Strange Winter, in the
American Queen , why is it that we
poor mortals so often make the wrong
selection in the choice of a wife ? Is
it due to our system of seperating
young people just when they should
be growing up together; of allowing
boys and girls to meet as strangers
when it is most essential that they
should be well acquainted; of know
ing nothing of each other’s character
istics, and having only their feelings
to guide them; or, in other words,
when each is a mystery to the other ?
The women of to-day are better
educated on this subject than the
men; their ideals are higher, their
advisers are better. Men as a rule
are too self-confident; they believe
they “know it all,” and they are im
posed upon by the girls least worthy
of their regard or respect, who lack
character, intellect, and in fact every
thing but beauty and the art of impos
ing upon them. Few men are a
match for a designing woman; the
better the more easily is he victim
ized, because he attributes to the ob
ject of his affecti®n all sorts of impos
sible virtues.
The majority of unhappy marriages
are due to the lack of any fixed ideals
of married life, and in this respect
men are the chief sinners. They
marry because their friends marry, or
because they want a home, or because
they imagine they are in love with a
pretty face—all insufficient reasons
for taking upon one’s self the respon
sibilities of marriage before one has
met the proper mate. A happy mar
riage is the making of any man, and
the happiest people are the married
When a man contemplates marriage
seriously, and sets out to find himself
a wife, he should be worthy of one ;
he must not expect a foolish girl of
twenty to develop, even as the years
go on, into anything but a foolish
woman; a girl who is at the age of
twenty has not begun to realize that
life is not all frivolity will never re
alize it. However young the wife
men marry, unless there is the proper
material to work upon, they do not
make good wives. The right mate
rial is plastic, the wrong is liable to
ugly twists ; the right material is al
ways open to ennobling influences
that not only lift her, but have their
beneficial effect upon the husband.
The right sort of woman makes life
on this earth about as pleasant as it
is well we should have it.
A certain lady sat up till twelve
o’clock the other night waiting for
her husband to come home. At last,
weary and worn out she went to her
bedroom to retire and found the miss
ing husband there fast asleep. In
stead of going down town he had
gone to his room. She was so mad
that she wouldn’t speak to him for a
week. — Woman's Life.
A shark’s egg is one of the odd
est looking things imaginable. It is
unprovided with shell; but the con
tents are protected by a thick, leath
ery covering, almost as elastic as In
dia rubber. The average size is two
inches by two and three-quarter
1 inches, and the color is almost pure
' black.
Friendship is a plant that loves
1 the sun and thrives ill under clouds.
Could we but draw the curtains
That surround each other’s lives.
See the naked heart and spirit.
Know what spur the action gives.
Often we should find it better.
Purer than we judge we should;
We should love each other better
If we only understood.
Could we judge all deeds by motives.
See the good and bad within.
Often we should love the sinner,
AH the while we loathe the sin:
Could we know the powers working
To o’erthrow integrity;
We should judge each other’s errors
With more patient charity.
If we knew the cares and trials,
Knew the efforts all In vain,
And the bitter disappointment—
Cnderstood the loss and gain—
Would the grim, eternal roughness
Seem, I wonder, just the same ?
Should we help, where now we hinder?
Bhould we pity where we blame ?
Ah! we judge each other harshly.
Knowing not life’s hidden force;
Knowing not the tount of action
Is less turbid at its source.
Seeing not amid the evil
All the golden grains of good—
°*ti better
—Bessie IF. Smith.
An Ohio health society has recently
taken strong ground against the use
of the side-saddle. It expresses the
view that the side-saddle is uncom
fortable alike for rider and horse, and
unsafe ; that the natural way for wo
men as well as for men to ride is to
bestride the horse and urges that
hereafter women shall ride in that
manner, wearing the ordinary riding
trousers and the divided skirts.
This is certainly good doctrine,
says Forest and Sit earn, and we wish
the Ohio health society all success in
its effort to bring about this reform.
The side-saddle is uncomfortable for
the horse and for the rider. Hardly
any woman in ten can sit straight on
it, and the result is that the saddle
drags off to one side and is very like
ly to gall tie horse’s withers.
Far more important than this, how
ever, is the danger to which every
woman is exposed when she mounts
her horse. However skillful a horse
woman she may be, her seat and her
safety depend absolutely on the integ
rity of the saddle-girths. If these
break, a fall is inevitable for her, and
hampered as she is by the skirts, she
can do nothing to save herself. If
she is not a good horsewoman, if she
depends on her reins or on her stirrup
to hold her in the saddle, her case is
just so much the worse. For if the
stirrup breaks, and she becomes
frightened or losses control of the
horse, it takes but a little while for
her to be shaken out of the saddle.
Most girls and women are not at
home on a horse’s back, and a bolting
or shying horse is likely to unseat
them. If unseated they have not the
chance afforded to every man who is
thrown from his horse, that of simply
rolling out of the saddle and striking
the ground. Instead of that a woman
skirt and may be dragged about and
shockingly mutilated by the horse’s
hoofs, where a simple fall from the
horse would have given her no more
than a jar. Cases of this sort occur
with such frequence that it appears
singular that no one has as yet preach
ed the abolition of the side-saddle as
a reform whose importance would
justify a crusade.
The natural way to ride a horse is
astride the animal. It is in this way
that men ride everywhere; the wo
men, too, among savage or semi
civilized people, and children of both
sexes everywhere. The little girl,
when she gets her first pony, be
strides its bareback, as her brother
does, and gains confidence in herself
while riding in this position. The
young woman on the distant prairie,
who is obliged to ride ten miles into
town for her mail, rides in this way
until she reaches the very outskirts
of the town, when she changes her
position and uses the horn of the
man’s saddle for a pommel. In pro
portion to its use we believe the side
saddle to be responsible for more
deaths and accidents than any other
implement which is employed in con
nection with outdoor life. Its use
should be abandoned, and no doubt
will be before long, for this is an age
of progress in outdoor matters, and
women are eliminating from their lives
many of the antique conventionalities
which have nothing to recommend
them,except long-established custom.
There are today many young women
who, during their travels and their
hunting trips in the West, never think
of using side-saddles, and there is
thus, in some of the larger Eastern
towns, a nucleus of women who un
derstand that the man’s saddle means
freedom from fetters that they have
always borne, and from limitations
which are not only irksome but posi
tively dangerous.
. No woman who has ever ridden a
bicycle need be ashamed to mount a
horse astride, and it may be hoped
that the day is not far distant when
nine-tenths of the women seen on
horseback will be riding in the natural
and safe way. In support of our con
temporary’s contention we may quote
the views of La Belle el Derido, of the
Paris Nauveau Cirque, who rides with
divided skirts. She says :
“The side-saddle is ridiculous; it
is unsafe and frightfully ugly. No
woman has any hold over her horse
except by the use of a whip, whereas
a man can easily control it by the
force of his knees. Do you for one
minute mean to tell me that the pres
ent way in which a lady mounts is
elegant? She rides astride on one
side of the horse, that is all, instead
of on its back.
“Let me say at once that I detest
anything that is unwomanly, and,
even against my conviction, I never
dream of riding in the Bois save with
the side-saddle. But what a differ
ence that bowing down to the rules of
society makes ! You have no longer
that complete control of the horse.
You do not ride it; it pulls you along.
Frankly, I am at a loss to understand
why a lady who rides in knicker
bockers on a bicycle blushes at the
' idea of mounting a horse astride.
“Oh, never, never! The dress
1 should be loose and flowing; so loose,
in point of fact, that, once off the
. horse, no one should even notice that
’ the skirt was divided. Anything
mannish would be ugly and detesta
ble. lam only telling you what any
lady would tell you. So to speak,
the riding dress of a woman is that of
a man, with a long skirt spread over
it to hide the fact. The present way
in which a womau rides is trying,
insane and even painful. With a
divided skirt I have no fear of any
mortal horse that ever drew the
breath of the prairies of civilization,
but stuck up on one side it is another
When a woman lives in a city or
large town she generally tries to
change her dress or tidy up some in
the afternoon. For if she has no
help she wants to be fit to answer the
door, and anyway she might have
cans, in me country, it a wombm
lives a little back on a farm,
larly if she does her own work or ha?
children, it is nothing unusual to drop
in unexpectedly in the evening and
find her dressed in the same homely,
dark calico wrapper she has worn all
day. Then she feels a litte ashamed
of her attire and begins to murmur
excuses, ‘‘a hard day’s work,” ‘‘been
too busy,” ‘‘have so much to do af
ter supper,” etc., etc.
In the first place I believe decided
ly in dressing according to one’s
work. When a woman is doing
own housework a dress that will nor
show soil readily, that can be easily
laundered and of an easy fit is im
perative. But in very few cases is it
necessary to keep on the same attire
till bedtiife. Many say, ‘‘l have so
much to do after tea, I can’t be dress
ed up, ’ ’ and ‘ ‘ there is only husband, ’ ’
or ‘ ‘ husband and the children. ’ ’ Dear
wives and mothers, it is just for these
home ones, the husband and children,
that I would have you dress. De
pend upon it, the children will enjoy
seeing mother look presentable when
they come into the house in the even
ing, and I am sure you will see a dif
ference in the manner in which your
husband treats you, though it will
probably be unconscious on his part*.,
and if you are a wise woman you will
appear to notice it. Many will proba
bly say in spite of the above, “It is
all very well to read it in the paper,
but I cannot afford to dress up, or
soil my good dresses.”
But you can afford it if you’ll try
this plan : if you are in the habit of
wearing calico all winter, while about
the house, as so many do, you will
not need a thick gown. Buy some
pretty percale, red, blue, brown or
lavender, something not to light but
of a becoming tint, and make a plain
shirt-waist, having collar and cuffs of
the same material; a skirt of tlrtfc
ily washed when soiled. Tie a bit ol
bright ribbon around your collar. If
the waist is blue, try bright red.
Then put on a fresh apron and look
in the glass ! The change didn’t take
more than ten minutes. Your waist
when soiled can be cleaned as easily
as the morning wrapper could be, and
will not show soil any
your appearance is certainlynmp?./-
I know that good looks do not
sweep a room nor wash dishes, but if
you try this plan, you will be surpris
ed to find how often they will call
forth the pleasant tone and fond look
that act so like oil upon the wheels
of the household machinery.
Habits of thrift are generally com
mendable, but sometimes they give
cause for amusement without the per
son practicing them being aware of it.
This is the case with a well-known
clergyman, whose church is one ok
the most flourishing of its denomina J
tion in the city, and of whom the|
New Yoi k Her aid tells. |
This clergyman receives a salary ofl
§6,000 a year, and has in addition A
comfortable income of his own. H®|
is a liberal giver to many charities,
lives in a handsome brown stone
house and apparently has less reason
for economy than the average citizen,
yet he has one habit —perhaps, bet
ter, one idiosyncracy —that might
well be taken as an indication of pov
erty by those who did not know the
clergyman. With inborn Scotch
thrift the minister makes use of the
blank side of the . letters he receives
when they are written “on one side
He was asked recently to
an article for a magazine. In due
time the manuscript reached the edi
tor, each page of it written 6; the
back of au old lcCCei, aud it was OZ*y s
too evident that he had paid no at
tention to whether or not the letters
were of a personal character. The
letters furnished a rather curious com
mentary on the sort of letters a
metropolitan clergyman receives.
Among them were:
A notice from the general passenger
agent of a railway refusing his re
quest that a pass from New York to
Chicago be given to a poor brother in
the ministry.
A notice from an insurance com
pany that his policy had lapsed ow
ing to the non-payment of §156 pre
An appeal from a poor widow for
money to pay her rent and keep her
from being dispossessed.
A letter from a broker, who was
one of his congregation, advising him
to invest in a certain stock, as it was
certain to be “a good thing.” ,
A criticism of one of his sermons
from one of the pillars of the church.
A receipt showing that he had paid
for the license of his dog.
“There’s no use talking,” said the
man who sat on the piazza looUncr.
over his hotel bill, “Rip Van Winklfl
failed to appreciate his luck.”
“Yes. Fancy a man being allow
ed to stay twenty years in the moun
tains without costing him a cent.’.!—
A wise man neither suffeis himself'
to be governed or attempts to govern

xml | txt