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iillil • -• • ♦ -< • ^ m te -'«Ci. Volume xviii. Helena, Montana, Thursday, March 13, 1884. No. 16 f'D .. R. E. FISK D. W FISK, I. J. FISK, Pub!inkers und Proprietor*. Largest Circulation of any Paper in Montana -—O-- Rates of Subscription. WEEKLY HERALD: One Year, (in advance).................................. Î3 00 Six Months, (In addance)............................... 2 00 Three Months, (in advance).......................... 1 00 When not paid for in advance the rate will be Four Dollars per year^ Postaffe, in all cases. Prepaid. DAILY HERALD: City Subscribers, delivered by carrier,81 50 a month One Year, by mail, tin advance).................?12 00 six Months, by mail, (in advance)............... 6 00 Three Months, by mail, (in advance)........... 3 00 *»-All communications should be addressed to FISK MHOS., Publishers, Helena, Montana. DIVMOM) DICK'S LARIAT. nt I.V V. BITTES, THE COLORADO COWBOY. I iiy more stories of Di'mond Dick, Bc-ides that yarn of the wolves at bay ? },% id* ss vour gizzard, they crowd so thick That i might rattle them oil'all day. What waS the inooniest thing he done? Well Kichard wasn't a moony man ; Kept his wits handy, every one, .Struck pay-dirt without wasting a pan. They called him rash, but he wasn't that— » ,iol he was as a gob of lead, And under that flopping yaller hat He carried a wonderful level head. You've been down there on the Rio Grand', Where they've built the Espanola bridge. That akutes across the alkali sand And over the water to the ridge ? Well, five years since the bridge wasn't there, The Denver and Rio didn t run, _ There was only sand and river and atr, And a dobe pueblo flat in the sun. Dick and I were herding it then For Sancho Jimmy—rot his hide! Three hundred steers, and only two men, Ou a ranch six miles and a quarter wide. The gramma skirted the edge of the dunes, And the river ran six miles away ; J tell you, boys, we had lively tunes Driving to water twice a day. Those wide'horned brutes were an ugly lot ; Couldn't head them, we let them run And the way thev swooped when the day was hot. Down to the river, was lots of fun. They were sloshing along one Bcorcby day, lake wild huU buffaloes, over the sand. When we saw a baby right in their way, Fast asleep on the edge of the Grand. I knew it meant death, my heart flipflopped, I spurred to turn them, but, true as I'm born. Those Mexican tl 'ers would never have stopped* If I'd been Gabriel tooting his horn. What did Dick do? His spurs dug deep. His broncho flew, and 1 saw him wheel, With his lariat whirling the daisiest sweep. Mis teeth set tight, and his eyes like steel The loop swung out thirty feet away. Hovered, and settled down on the sand, Making a noise where the baby lay, And then Dick reeled in, hand over hand. And yanked up the child and rode like steam, As the cattle rushed on, hot and thick; And the baby woke with a healthy scream, Safe in the arms of Di'mond Dick Well, it was only a Pueblo brat, A pi'son Mexican-lndian snake. Hut Di'mond Dick didn't think of that— He'd saved a life, with iiis own at stake. And I somehow thought, with a choky wheeze, Of Christ's own promise by Galilee— "As you have done to the least of these, To a little child, you have done to me." THE NEWSPAPER ENGLISH OF THE FUTURE. Picked up a paper here to-day, And, by my conscience, I must say, Thai they do write in tlie funniest way. Some time ago, over my cup, Went sound asleep—just woke up; Must have l>ccn—well, let me see— Eighteen hundred sixty-three. Cows came along—bells would tinkle— Housed me up—a second old Winkle ; Fell asleep by their say-so. Nine and thirty years ago. About that paper? T was struck All in a heap, sir; just my luck ; Mi-sSusan Smiller will elocutr Next Thursday evening." I stood mute : Never, in all my life, had heard Of such an outlandish, barbarous word. Kloeute? Klocute? 1 declare ! I bit nip whiskers and pulled my hoir ; Looked in my Webster, it wasn't there, bave the thing up in wild despair— • s aid to myself—"It's mighty quair. Pretty near choked myself with rage ; I'aper set forth on another page— Wonderful piece of local news— "People up town are going to enthuse ," And then this thing gets worse and worse. "To-morrow the citizens a universe." "July Fourth, happy to state Folks are all going to déclarait." Think I'd lietter shut up shop— "Mr. A. B. Is a philanthrop !" And then, look here, why bless my eyes. What in the world is " btimarckiset " Eyes of mine, can you be trusted? "Coal'oil factory all combusted !" " t'i.cumtren •/■ your favorite fruits!" "Mexican Empire n rotates !" ■ hid since the days 1 went to school. What sort of a thing's a "perpendicide ?" Heading along, why, bless my fate. Mere's a man who is going to orate. Why, what on earth's this paper about? I'llgo stark mad if I don't find out. Must be French, and yet I vow 1 never beard of the word till now. Folding the paper, undecided, bless me, some one's homicided. Oh, my coevals, show to me Tlw good old English of '63. Laid down the paper right away, For by my conscience, I must say That they do write in the funniest way. —--- ET1TAPHS. Here lies tnc body of Susan Lowder, Who burst w hile drinking a seidlitz powder. Called from this world to her heavenly rest, She should have waited until it effervesced. Amanda Jane has gone to rest ; She's laid her head on Abraham's breast. To tell the truth, and not to shame. It's awfully rough on Abraham. When dear papa went upto Heaven, Wlmt grief mamma endured ! And yet that grief was softened, for Papa he was insured! This stone was raised by Sarah's lord— Not Sarah's virtues to record, For they're well known to all the town— Hut it was raised to keep her down. She once was mine. But now, oh Lord, 1 her to thee resign. And remain, \ our obedient humide servant. Mammy and I together lived Just two years and a half. She went first, 1 followed next, The cow before the calf. I nder the sod Ami under these trees I.ieth the lardy of Solomon Pease. He's not in this hole But only his pod ; He shelled out his soul And went up to his God. [Written for the Herald. 1 "Alls Wei? That Ends Well." "But, father, you know I am pledged to Val." " Nonsense, Claire ! What is the use of bringing up a dead man to stand in the way of your duty ? " " I do not know that tie is dead, father,'.' returned the fresh young voice steadily ; "and I love him too well to marry, even if he were a man I could respect, and that man is not Alfred Hastings.'' The angry father ceased pacing the door, and confronted his daughter. " Well, it \ al. Harvey is not dead, he is a scamp, and in either case he could never marry you, and I say you skull marry Alfred Hastings !" Claire'Wilton was not a coward, and she returned her father's gaze unlliuchingly, while she exclaimed with a ring of scorn in her voice : " Isn't it rather unusual for American fathers to take such measures?" " Why do you force me to it, then ? " asked Mr. Wilton more calmly. " You have encouraged Alfred and so have I. He is young, rich, handsome and well connect ed, and he has it in his power to help your brother to the position he wants. There is no reason you should refuse him, and I say again, marry Alfred Hastings or leave my house and earn your own living ! " choose the ' latter," returned Claire with uplifted head and flashing eye. "I would rathel earn my living the rest of my life than live with a man 1 did not love ! It is a pity you forget to enumerate the rest of the characteristics of the desirable young man ! Drunkard, gambler and worse ! Gladly I choose to take care of myself! " "Much you know about work," muttered her father, while Claire, with Hushed cheek and tearful eyes, turned to leave the room. "Remember, I expect you to leave the house within an hour. I'll have a car riage here to take you anywhere you wish to go." Claire hastened up-stairs to her own beautiful room and Mr. Wilton rang the bell so vigorously that Jerry came running in haste to see what was wanted. "Jerry, get a hack at once ; Miss Claire wants to go out." "The carriage is home, sir," ventured Jerry respectfully. "Miss Grace and her mother came back some time ago." "That's nothing to you," thundered the irate master. "Get the hack, as I told you !" "Yes, sir," answered Jerry meekly, dart ing into the hall. He stopped in the kitchen to inform cook that something was up. "If Mr. Wilton was in the habit of speakin' to me so I wouldn't scan' it, but I reckon somethin' has disturbed him terri bly." Mr. Wilton sat down in his big chair to recover his equanimity. "Little fool !" he muttered. "Girls are so headstrong. They meed a firm hand. .She'll think better of it and give in before the hour is up." But Mr. Wilton did not know his daugh ter Claire, and while he, in the library rubbed his hands in complacency at the thought of breaking her will, she was busi ly engaged in selecting the plainer and more serviceable articles of her wardrobe and packing them in her trunk. She took her jewelry and what money she had, for she had no idea what she should do. A low tap at the door aroused her from the reverie into which she had fallen, sit ting on the floor beside her open trunk. Her sister Grace entered, her eyes red with weeping. ' Must you really go?"she said. "I was in the back parlor and heard it all. I don't blame you, but it is awful ! I couldn't do as you are doing." "I know it," answered Claire, returning to her packing, "but I ean't marry Alfred Hastiiugs or any one else. It seems as if Val. is alive and I shall see him yet." Grace only smiled sadly, and slipped a heavy purse into her sister's hand. "Take it," she whispered, "mother got it for you. She is with father now, trying to coax him into better humor. She bade Claire a loving, tearful good bye, and went to her own room with her grief. Claire was soon ready to go, and attired in her traveling dress she went down stairs with a firm step and closely drawn lips. "Really going?" questioned her father. "Certainly, sir ; you told me to," replied Claire, with a sudden hope that he would withdraw his command. But he merely said : "I made it conditional, you know. If you won't give up, neither will I." ''There is nothing more to be said," answered Claire, biting her lip to hide the quiver. "Oh, John !" cried the mother, "don't send our daughter away !" But he answed briefly : "Say good-bye, if you want to. I hate scenes." He rung the bell and directed Jerry to bring down Miss Claire's trunk. Mrs. Wilton and Claire parted after a passionate embriM*e, and soon the homeless girl found herself in the back. "Where to, Miss?" asked the drive, beud ing down as he gathered up the reins. ''To the Central Depot," she answered after an instant's hesitation. She bought a ticket for Philadelphia. She had no definite idea or plan. Her thought was—"Val's home was in Phila delphia," and as the train rolled swiftly over the steel rails she leaned back and let memory recall that happy summer nearly two years ago. She and Grace had gone with friends to a seaside resort, and there became acquainted with Val and Gertrude Harley. There was a mutual attraction, which ripened into love and culminated in an engagement, sanctioned by her father, when he learned that young Harley belonged to a respectable and wealthy family in Philadelphia, and that he was about to enter into business as junior part ner with a well established house in New York City, and would board not far from the Wilton's home. All the fall Val. was Claire's devoted attendant. He remained in New York constantly except a week when he was called home to attend his sister's funeral. Her death saddened him greatly, but Claire's sympathy helped him bear his loss. There came a time when Claire needed sympathy, but none availed to comfort her. Val. was expected to accompany her to a lecture. She was dressed and waiting, but he did not come. Claire never saw him again. He had mysteriously disap peared. The detectives of the city and of Philadelphia used their best endeavors, but he was gone and could not be found. Well, Claire was nearly distracted and the family lawyer at Philadelphia wrote that the shock had completely prostrated Vais mother. It was just a year after the detectives gave up tracing Val. that Mr. Wilton turned iiis daughter out doors because she would not marry Alfred Hastings, who was all that Claire and her father had said. It was probably obstinacy, and a desire to rule that led Mr. Wilton to such ex treme measures, but the effect was all the same. Claire took a hack on her arrival at Phil adelphia, and ordered the driver to take her to the best hotel. The porter took her name and conducted her to the parlor to wait until a room was ordered for her. "Here are the morning papers, miss," he said, handing them to her as he left the room. She mechanically took them, but as her eyes fell on the long columns of "Wanted," she commenced eagerly to read them, with a vague hope that something might suit her. But she felt competent for a very few things, and she was about to drop the papers when she caught sight of another kind of want: Wanted—An intelligent American girl a* maid and companion to an invalid lady, who will spend the summer at a quiet seaside resort. Ad dress, until Friday, Mrs-, No. —. Claire started up. "That's for me; just such work as I can do, and it will take me away from the people I know. I must have a new name—let me see, Carrie Wil son will do." The porter appeared with the informa tion that her room was ready. She fol lowed him up to the floor above, where an elegantly furnished room awaited her. "Will you please call a carriage for me immediately ? I want to go oat as soon as I get the dust off." "Will you havesome lunch first ?"queried the porter respectfully. "It is 4 o'clock, and—" "Sure enough!" exclaimed Claire. "I had forgotten I had no lnncb, and am really hungry. Send np a cup of tea." But it was with difficulty she swallowed the fragrant tea and delicate slices of bread and butter, and she was relieved to be in the hack and on her way to the number given in the advertisement. The place proved to be in the most aristocratic part of the city, and the house had an air of comfort and elegance not often seen in the costly, showy mansions of New York. "You may wait," she said to the driver. Ringing the bell she was shown at once to the room of the invalid. The servant eyed her curiously, not knowing where to place her in the social scale. Her drcoa and bearings proclaimed her a lady, bat he was sore she was not one ot Mrs. Ross's ac quaintances. Judge his surprise, then, when after ushering her in as, "A lady, ma'am, to see you," he heard her say, "I called, Mm. Ross, in answer to your adver tisement. I am wishing for employment." Then he discreetly shut the door and walked off in a daze. Mrs. Ross, a pale, gentle lady of middle age, stared at poor Claire as hard as a polite person could do so rude a thing, and finally said : "Is it really so ? Thank the Lord ! I have been tormented with all sorts of people to-day, but you'll suit. You may stay on your own terms.'' Claire smiled, and said : "It will not be difficult to arrange terms, I fancy. What I want is a home and work to keep my mind employed." Mrs. Ross looked at her with surprise and curiosity, and Claire told all she thought necessary—how her own home was closed to her because she would not marry a man she could not love. Mrs. Ross was evidently interested, and said : "Stay here, my dear : I won't be hard on you. I've seen trouble, too, but we may be very happy together." She sent Carson back with the carriage to settle Miss Wilson's bill and to bring her trunk, and Claire, or Carrie, as she called herself, after indulging in a hearty cry of relief, proceeded to the room given her, adjoining Mrs. Ross's, and made ready for dinner. The few weeks before starting to the sea shore were spent very quietly, and Claire's helpful, womanly ways won Mrs. Ross's warm love. She enjoyed the sweet music Claire would make in the lengthening twilights, and as she listened blessed the providence that sent her there. As for Claire, she was peaceful if not happy. Early June found them boarders at a pretty cottage in the quiet seaside village chosen by the physician, and Claire, whose duties were fewer as Mrs. Ross gained strength, found much leisure which she spent in rambling on the beach or climbing the rocks, against which the waves beat ceaselessly. The view of the ocean was grand, and Claire never tired of old Neptune, for his moods were so varied. Even the monoton ous dash of the waves was music to her, and she loved to distinguish the parts of the wonderful harmony. One day. returning from her daily bath, she met the errand boy with the mail. Taking it from him she carried it to Mrs. Ross, and turned to view a half opened rosebud hanging on the bush outside the low window. A strange sound caused her to turn around suddenly, when she beheld Mrs. Ross grasping an open letter, while she gasped for breath, and held her side as if to quiet an incontrôlable pain. Claire sprang for the bell, bat Mrs. Ross motioned her away, and exclaimed faintly : No, dear—its—only good news! Come here." "It is Val., my dear boy—safe and well— coming to-morrow." So absorbed was she that she did not observe Claire's start of astonishment and remarkable expression on her pale face, so she was quite unprepared to see her fall in a dead faint. Now the bell was rang most vigorously and in the midst of the bustle that ensued, Claire opened her eyes. She pressed her hands to her head for an in stant. and then exclaimed wildly : "Did you say my Val. is alive and com ing here?" "Fwr Val.," exclaimed Mrs. Ross, in as tonishment. A sudden thought struck her, and she added excitedly : "Surely you are not Val.'s little Claire?" "Yes. yes, I am! cried Claire, hysterical ly ; 'and you—?" she asked, rising on her elbow and looking earnestly at Mrs. Ross. "I am his mother, and, oh, my dear, to think we were both mourning for the dear boy !" "But," said Claire, "tny Val's name was Harley.'' "His father's name, my dear. Mr. Ross was my second husband. Did Val. never speak of his step-father ?" "I don't know," said Claire, wearily. And then these two loving women talked of Val. and his disappearance, which his letter said he would explain. He had written first to nrenare his mother One oar^raoh read i paragraph read svmnatliize | \tS little my mue 1 "I know, mother, you with me in my new sorrow Claire is not at home and they do not know where she is. Her father made her leave home because she was too true to her love to marry one he chose." After lunch Claire went out ou the rocks j to think it all over. How long she sat there, lost in thought, she did not know : but. hearing a step, she looked up, and Val. stood in front of her, with his blue eyes smiling through unshed tears. He had been to the cottage, and the un selfish mother sent him to find his loved one. Claire sprang into his outstretched arms, and that greeting almost paid for the long months of suspense and sorrow. Af ter a little they sauntered slowly to the cottage, and there Val. told Claire and his mother the strange story of his capture by some counterfeiters whom he had dis covered. and who were so afraid he would inform the authorities that they set sail on a vessel tiound for China, taking him with them. He had a long sickness, during which the men disappeared, and on his recovery he came home at his first oppor tunity. Claire and Val. were quietly married on their return to the city, and Mr. Wilton observed : "All's well that ends well." _ DELL. Broncho Sam as an Equestrian [Bill Nye.l Speaking about cowboys, Sam Stewart, known from Montana to Old Mexico as Broncho Sam, was the chief. His special delight was to break the warlike heart of the vicious wild pony of the plains, and make him the servant of man. There may be joy in a wild gallop across the boundless plains, in the crisp morning, on the back of a fleet broncho ; but when you return with your ribs sticking through your vest, and find that yonr nimble steed has returned to town two hours ahead of you, there is a tinge of sadness about it all. Bronch Sam, however, made a specialty of doing all the rid rog himself. He wouldn't enter into any compromise and allow the horse to ride him. In a reckless moment he oiferered to bet $10 that he could mount and ride a wild Texan steer. The money was put up. That »et tied it. Sam never took water. This was true in a double sense. Well, he climbed the cross-bar of the corral gate, and asked the other boys to turn out their best steer, Marquis of Cftieensbury rules. As the steer passed out Sam slid down and wrapped those parenthetical legs of his around that high-head, broad-liorned brute, and he rode him till the fleet-footed animal fell down on the buffalo grass, ran his hot red tongue out across the blue horizen, shook his tail convulsively, swell ed up sadly and died. It took Sam lour days to walk back. A ten dollar bill looks as large to me as the star spangled banner sometimes, but that is an avenue of wealth that had notoc curred to me. I'd rather ride a buzz saw at $2 a day and found. • Paper Cars. A technical journal on car building says: "We do not expect to see either passenger or freight cars built entirely of metal. There are many serious objections to metallic siding, but paper compounds, or paper in some of its forms, will doubtless be used instead, although for many years wood, from its cheapness, will hold its own against any other substances. We do not apprehend that there will be any con siderable difficulty in using substitutes for wood in covering cars, but so long as the wood is the cheapest and is sufficiently strong and endurable to answer the pur pose, we must content ourselves with spec ulation in regard to the future. When strawboard can be obtained at anything like the price of wood the siding of pas senger cars at least will be mach better made of paper than of wood. The size of the sheets, which is easily obtainable, and the firmness with which they can be fas tened to the posts, are some of the great advantages in its favor. We suppose, from what we have heard of strawboard and straw lumber, that in time a single panel, extending from the door, around the cor ner and te the center of the car, and reach ing from the window sills to the bottom, can be used to good advantage. Such a construction would, of course, greatly in crease the strength of the car, would be entirely free from splintering in case of collisions, and would show several other material advantages. How* Diamonds Are Cnt. "There are three processes necessary to be gone through with between the rough stone and the diamond as you see it here," replied the jeweler. "First, a piece of stone the required size must be cut off. To do this we use a circular saw made of sheet iron, and without teeth. It is worked like a wood-worker's saw, and two men stand at the treadle. One man holds the stone to be cut tightly against the edge of the saw, while other, using a small leather dipped in oil, applies diamond dust to the edge of the saw. The saw is made of very ductile metal, and the particles of diamond dust becoming set in it, soon wears through the hardest stone. Now the piece of diamond passes to the catting table, upon which is strapped a wheel running parallel to the top of the table. The stone is fastened by cement to the end of a stick six inches long. The lapidary takes the stirk in his right hand and holds the stone firmly against the wheel until one facet is ground down. Diamond dust and water are constantly applied to the wheel. The table and other facets of the stone are cut this way, and the stone is then removed from and readjnstéd to the stick before the lapidary cats the under sides, callets and remaining facets. The ..tone is manip ulated the same in the third, or polishing process, as in the entting process. The wheel, however, is composed mainly of tin, and tripoli and rotten stone are used in the polishing process. A WONDERFUL WOMAN. A Retired Belle at Leadville»»>I)oes Anybody Know Her Name! Lead VILLE, February 1*2.—Few persons know that in the city of Leadville, Col., there lives one of the most celebrated women of her day. Men at fashionable watering places raved over her beauty and varied accomplishments. President Bu chanan is credited with saying : "The only woman I ever loved well enough to God bless her." And that little I . . „ , ,, . IT . man 01 lntellect > Alexander II Stephens : " The beautiful, accomplished, and thoroughly good woman I ever knew. Worth her weight in diamonds." Colonel Tom. McCook, the evening before he was killed in battle, said to a comrade : "I feel sad to-night ; why, I cannot tell. Per haps it Is my last night on earth. I was thinking of my old college days in Ala bama and the most attractive woman I ever met. Well, it is all past : we are both married, hut I wish she may never know a sorrow." General Pat. Cleburne, having a premonition of his death, asked this lady to write his obituary if he should fall in battle the next day. The battle of Frank lin and Cleburne's death have passed to history. The touching little poem that came out in the Memphis Avalanehe by this lady and was so extensively copied by Southern papers is still remembered : Brave Cleburne is bleeping Where night clews are weeping And pale leaves are falling Like gift gems around ; Where sad winds are sighing And sweet flowers dying To mingle their Breath With the ashes they love, e'o. In I860 the Prince of Wales and suite were in St. Louis. A lovely young girl passed Barnum's hotel. "See! Look, my Lord!" the Priuce exclaimed, addressing Lord Lyons ; isn't she exquisite ?" For months touching little poems were published in the Louisville Journal and highly praised by its editor, George D. Prentice, who spoke of her as a remark able woman, full of genius. Parepa-Rosa heard of her voice and asked her to sing. The great prima donna threw up her hands in ecstasy, exclaiming : "Madam, what a shame for pride to keep that voice from the world !" This wonderful woman, with so many gifts, has for fifteen years lived in quiet re tirement, forgetting and almost forgotten by the world that once did her such hom age, in a perfect bower of beauty (her cot tage), adorned by lovely paintings and sculpture from her hands and from Euro pean masters. One painting by Titian, an heirloom from her husband's family, hangs on the wall and Is beyond value. Many etching's, taken from southern Utah, lie around. She has traveled for a year in Utah, and re lates many interesting anecdotes of the Mormons. Her husband is one of the most noted lawyers on the Western coast— a man of great erudition, the son of ex United States Senator Geo. Goldthwaite, Alabama's most noted and beloved son. Judge Goldthwaite is the Criminal Judge of Lake county, and his wife, the subject of this sketch, is a well-preserved woman of about forty, looking near thirty, retain ing much of the original beauty of heart and person that made her such a favorite with the sterner sex in years gone by. A happy, model wife, she seldom visits, re tains a few cultured friends and seems to have forsaken the lashionable world that once adored her. Influence of Female Society. It is better for you, says Thackaray, to pass an evening once or twice in a lady's drawing-room, even though the conversa tion is slow, and you know the girl's song by heart, than in a club, tavern or in the pit of a theatre. All amusements of youth to which virtuous women are not admitted, rely on it, are deleterious in their nature. All men who avoid female society have dull perceptions and are stupid, or have gross tastes, and revolt against what is pure. Your club swaggerers, who are suck ing the butts of billiard cues all night, call female society insipid. Poetry is insipid to a yokel ; beauty has no charms for a blind man ; music does not please a poor beast who does not know one tune from another; and as true as epicure is hardly ever tired of water-souchy and brown bread and butter. I protest I can sit for a whole night talking to a well-regulated, kindly woman, about her girl coming out, or her boy at Eton, and liking the even ing's entertainment. One of the great benefits a man may derive from women's society is, that he is bound to be respectful to them. The habit is of great good to your moral man, depend upon it. Our ed ucation makes us the most eminently sel fish men in the world. We tight for our selves, we push for ourselves, we yawn for ourselves, we light our pipes and say we won't go out. We prefer ourselves anil our ease : and the greatest good that comes to a man from a woman's society is, that he has to think of somebody besides himself, somebody to whom he is bound to be cod stantly attentive and respectful. Borrowed Dramonds for the Opera. [Chicago Tribune.] It was a in a certain establishment on a on a prominent street down town, distin guished hy|three gilt ball suspended above the entrance. A well dressed young man entered and addressed the proprietor: 'Can I rent a pair of earrings for my wife to-night?" "No, sir ; I'm not in that business." "Not if I put up the full value ?" "No, sir ; I don't rent out my goods." "I was told that you did. But I guess it must be a mistake," said his visitor as he turned to go. "It is a mistake," was the rejoinder. Then to the reporter, now his sole com panion, the pawnbroker con tinned : "I do sometimes rent out things, hut I don't know that fellow." "Rent out jewels ?" "Certainly ; to people I am acquainted with, and whom I know are good. I have rented for an evening diamonds worth thousands of dollars; bracelets, earrings, necklaces, l>esides all kinds of other orna ments. I don't make a business of it, but I do it occasionally, and it pays." "Is there much of a renting demand?" "Yes; all the time I have calls; and just now, the opera being here, I have a good many—more than I want" "From whom ?" "That's telling. But I will say that most of the aplications are for articles of jewelry worn by women. As I told you, I only let articles go out when I know the borrower, and charge only a fair percentage for their use. Three pairs of first water earrings of mine were tented for the opera last night. Tite parties who wore them are responsible, or the stones wouldn't have left the store. There's no romance about it ; only a desire to shine, that's all." I «"Are you the only person that rents out jewels?" "You'll have to go around among the people who keep them for sale and inquire. Between yon and me I don't believe 1 am. In fact, I know I am not. If you want to wher f - v0 " coa do it ,. if wil j, rent almost any article ol wearing apparel, j or bit of personal ornament, or furniture, pictures, china, mourning garments, or al most anything for a limited period, I don't believe you will have any trouble in dis inquire around. It is a peculiar feature of metropolitan life that isn't old enough in Chicago to be openly advertised, as it is in London and New York. Still it exists, a lusty iufaut, aud it will liecome a distinct business as it is iu those two eities just as soon as people lind out they can for a small consideration shine for a night in borrowed plumes, aud as long as human nature is human nature that will never he unpop ular. I j , ! j I j • FREAKS OF FANCY. The first lightning calculator Franklin. -Benjamin Followed soot—The sweep who fell down a chimney. A man of many bumps.—The chap who put ou roller-skates for the first time. A spanking team—The energetic mother and quick-tempered school ma'am. "This is a dead give-away," said the Florida man as he shipped a deceased alli gator to a friend in the North. Two Connecticut lovers have just made up after a quarrel which took place fifty years ago. Of course he gave in. A Vermont town has a young ladies' society called "The Odd Girls." Well, leap year is the time for them to get even. It being leap-year, men who advertise for proposals should exercise caution in stating definitely what they want them for. As cucumbers are now sold at fifty cents each it is yet too early to ring in the old twist about the doubling up of the popula tion. A New York paster preached the other Sunday on "The Shameless Age." It was probably a hit at some of the sixty year old ballet (lancers The winter has l)een severe, and gener ous people will do well to remember that a few tons of coal never come amiss in the stocking of a Chicago widow. Said the Indiana man : "Yes. he gave the turkey, and so put me under obliga tions to him, drat his pelt! Why, I had it all arranged to steal it that right, aud then I'd have owed him for no favor." "The singer," says an exchange, "who understands the management of his breath is apt to be a succcessful artist." The singer whose favorite song is "Won't Go Home Till morning," uses cloves and cardamon to manage his breath. " You see,'' said a lawyer iu summing uj. a case where one party had sued the other on a transaction in coal—" you see, the coal should at once have gone to the buyer—" " Not so," interrupted the judge," it should have gone to the cellar.'' "-'early all the hotel men," says a New York paper, "are now willing to admit that fiats are hurting their business." And we had always supposed that they had made most of their money off the fiats. Well, well, what shan't we learn next? A Germon writing in one of the Berlin papers of his campaigns makes the follow ing remarkable statement : " In this bat tle we lost the brave Captain Schule. A cannon hall took off his head. His last words were, ' Bury me where I fell.' " At a theatre in Dublin a gentleman re quested a man in front of him to sit dow n, adding sarcastically, " I suppose that yon are aware, sir, that you are no* opaque." " I shall sit (Iowd when it suits me," was tlie responee, " and if you want to handle my name, mind it's not O'Paque at all, but O'Brien. i j j \ j I ! Fresh Fashions. than Green cloth is said to wear lietter any other color. Large plaids and small checks will be equally fashionable in the early spring. * Aprons are now worn by fashionable ladies everywhere except in the kitchen. Button gloves are again coming into vogue. Ladies are getting tired of the Foster hook. Little bolsters of satin or silk, daintily scented, make the latest satchel for hand kerchiefs or laces. Neck chains are altogether out ol fashion, and women who have handsome ones are converting them into bracelets. Crush bags, for holding cloaks and wraps at evening parties, are made of colored serge with a spray of flowers or very large initials worked in one side. Long jeweled hair-pins thrust in the hair, and called "Mascottes,"' are fashion able. They are straight, crescent, or fancy shaped, and studded with Rhine stones or pearl beads. Are Ministers Paid too Much. Rev. J. P. Newman. Two other sources of danger to our na tional life are our excesses and the superfi ciality of our social life. Wo indulge in too much luxury. Any people less young, less strong than we must have sunk into decadence beneath the luxurious excesses we indulge in. These excesses are, how ever, telling upon ns and corroding our sources of vitality. Then, as to onr social life. What is the education of a fashiona ble young lady ? A little music, a little French, a little crochet work, a limited amount of embroidering, etc. As for socie ty, there is a shoddiness in fashionable society in this country which is simply dis gusting to persons of true refinement. Let ns now take a few figures. Our national wine bill—or, in plain language, our rum hill—amounts to $800,000.000 a year. The annual amouut spent in dry goods and clothing is $330,000,000 ; in schools, less than $100,000,000; in breadstuff's, $450. 000,000; in pnhlishing and printing, $00, 000,000; on lawyers and criminal. $90,000, 000. On the clergy, the poor clergy—the clergy, who preach to saint and sinner, who we are dependent on to save our sonLs—on them we annually spend—$12,000,000. Clergv, $12,000.000; national rum bill, $800,000.000 ! Just think of it ! THE WICKED ELEA. His Appearance on the Huai ds. Theatrical i Baltimore Sun.l A recent discovery in connection with theatres in this city is most laughable, and will result iu much iuu to the audiences in the luture unless some actian is taken at once on the part of managers. It seems that many ot the liest theatres of the city have become infested with Ilea-'. It is be lieved the tieas have been brought to the theatres on the pet dogs of actresses and by the dogs used iu plays, and they have multiplied and replenished iu the places of amusement until they are a formidable army. It is said that when a theatre has not hail a performance for several days the tieas become hungry, aud when the next company arrives upon the stage the tieas take possession of the memliers too quick. Some aver that the tieas are divided off into squads, each squad with a leader, and each squad is assigued to one particular actor or actress, as the case may lie. Fleas are uo fools, and it would uot be strange >f they had a choice as to which member of a company should be assigned to them, Of course it is impossible that the boss tieas shake dice to decide which shall have first choice for his squad, and yet it may be that ihe fleas know nothing of dice, and go upon the principle of first come first served. While the flea is not human, we must give the insect credit for knowing the difference between the taste of a young and beautiful actress and an old man or woman. The flea Is no fool, whatever else may be said of him, and any person with any heart at all will feel for the young and tender actress whose part compels her to go upon the stage of a flea-inlected theatre, with a low-necked dress, bare arms, or stockings that are perforated by fashion on the instep, or which have not attained their growth as to height. Such a person has got much beside her part to attend to, and her mind must be constantly occupied in devising means to mash ileus aud give it away to the audience. An actiess can, if she feels a flea graz ing around, suddenly place her hand on her heart, and while the audience is look ing at the expression of pain on her lace, she can let one or two lingers wander down where the flee is and paralyze him, and the audience will think that R is a gesture that is in the play. But there are places on every person where a flea might walk arm-in-arm with another flea, sipping the life-blood and becoming intoxicated, where no gesture laid down in a play would fit. Suppose Mary Anderson, while trying to haul Romeo up to the balcony so she can see if he has been chewing cloves, feels a tiea crawling down her back. She can clasp her hands behind her hack, and, while saying, "Wherefore art thou, Born eo," she can everlastingly dig her nails into the opening in the corset and kill the flea, anil the audience would be none the wiser, while if she backed up against the railing aud scratched her back on a scene, it would be noticed and commented on, to her dis credit as an artist, aud, besides, she might push down the scenery. Again, if a flea should be exploring the vicinity of her waist, while it would not be admissable for her to create a gesture that would fit the case, she could by the poetic license that is granted all great geniuses, lean against the railing, on the point where the flea was, aud while giving taffy to Romeo, she would make the flea think he had got into the wrong pew. And yet in that scene if a few fleas should get among her stockings, as is almost certain to be the case, Mary would not have any excuse by any act or gesture in the play, to pay any attention to the Ilea and she would have to go ou with the play and die game. In opera it is ditl'erent. The costumes are such that the hunting of flees is mere pastime. Especially is this the case in the opera of " La Smunambula," where the sleep-walker is attired with a candle aud a garment that has always been highly j recommended as the proper costume for \ the pursuit of fleas. It supposed that actors are impen ious j to the intiueuc of fleas, hut such is not the I case. Booth, Barrett, Jefferson and Mc ! Cullough are nervous as women, aud we ! may expect any evening to see Booth as Hamlet drop his sword and roll down his black tights, while the ghost is telling the old story, aud catch a tlea and crush it be tween his two thumb-nails, pull up his stocking, and tell the ghost that he will make it red hot for his mother and the uncle who poured melted sealing-wax in the ghost's ear. In the play of "Francesca da Rimini," when .Lawrence Barrett starts home from the army to kill his brother and his wife for being too numerous, and he is all excitement, it would look strange to see him sit down on a stump and go to catching fleas before an audience, and yet this is what the stage is (oming to if fleas and dogs are now quarantined. It would look queer to see Jefferson, w hen he rises up on the stage after twenty years' sleep, go to hunting round his decayed and mil dewed leggings for fleas, anti to see Mc Cullough as Othello stop on the way to murder Desdemona and search for fleas. This would be going from the sublime to the ridiculous, and then Sun mentions these possibilities that managers may see what is liable to happen unless they cause insect .powder to Ire freely used on the stage and cause all dogs brought by ac tresses to bring a certificate from an M. D. that they are free from fleas. It takes a manager of nerve to stand up before an actress who has gall enough to carry a dog, or one who has married a husband for the purpose of carrying her dog, and com plain that the dog or her husband is full of fleas and must be quarantined—hut it has got to be done. Let the fleas and dogs go- _______^ All That Glitters is not Gold. [Detroit Free Press. | She stood for a moment at the- corner of Woodward and Michigan avenues, seeming undecided, and a pedestrian heard her mutter: "I cannot stau i the tyranny of my lather ! I will pawn the diamond ring my lover gave me Christmas Eve, and with the money I will tly to the stage and become an actress!" She hastened up th# avenue, entered a pawn shop and hastily thrust the ring un der the nose of the proprietor. "Glass stones—worth about $3!" he said, as he returned it. She made a jump for the door, and as she headed for home she wildly gasped : "I will not tly to the stage and liecome an actress, and call mvselfGqjrtie Lee ! No ! I will return home, and if the old man continues his tyranny let him beware of Baris green and rough ou rats."