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Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, September 16, 1886, Image 1

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" ' W. . « . . ----'• - * » » 9 ^
Volume xx.
Helena, Montana, Thursday, September 16, 1886.
<Tl(.c iilcchly ^(raU,
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"Tliis midnight and the full orbed moon"
Shines brightly on tlieijniel street ;
This place which hums w itli life at noon.
And sounds with tramp of hurrying feet,
Is -dent now. no human tone
Breaks pn the dull and chilly air ;
Naught but the night wind's hollow moan
Sweeps o'er the pavement, bleak and bare.
But no: behold on every hand
A multitude: they pass us by 1
They move along a silent hand
\\ ith speechless lip and sightle-s eye :
Their shadowy footsteps yield no sound ;
Their cheeks nr*- pale and dumb their tread ;
Who are ti(ev walk this weary round?
These are the shadows of the dead..
These once were ou» familiars all.
Our fathers, mothers, brothers, wives,
Those whose dear memories still recall
All happy thoughts of joyous lives:
Tlieir friend, more than a brother de-r.
Who breathed for us his latest sigh .
That fair and loved one by who«e bier
We stood and wept and longed to die.
In lift they lived for u- alone : v ••. }
In life their hearts we linked with ours ;
1 »ear eyes ' how are you turned to stone
Whose tears for us once fell in showers?
Speak hut a word, bestow one glance
On those who love your memory still ;
I.et one kind smile hut fall by chance
To make the old time pulses thrill.
They lieed ns not. our words are vain ;
They yield us neither glance nor smi'e:
Listen! the hollow sounding main
Is lapping gainst the distant isle;
But no fond sounds of greeting come
From lips so dear in days of yore ;
Nature still speaks, but these are dumb ;
They are but shadows, nothing more.
Dear shadows, unsubstantial forms.
We eunnot clasp, we cannot hold ;
Vain is the human love which warm*
For that which in the grave lies cold.
The fondest yearnings of our hearts
Are lost on that which death hath spoiled :
And love which lives where life departs,
Grasps but a shadow and is foiled.
<i holy and eternal Truth ! Thou art
An emanation of the Eternal Mind.
A glorious attribute, a nob.'«part
Of uncreated lieing. Who can find.
By diligent searching—whe «-an lind out thee,
The Incomprehensible, the Deity ? i
The human mind is a reflection caught,
From thee, a trembling shadow of thy ray.
Thy glory beams around us. but the thought
That heavenward wings its daring flight away
Returns to where its'fliglit was first l>egun.
Blinded ami dark beneath the noonday sun.
The soul of man, though sighing after thee,
Hath never known thee, saving as it knows
The stars of heaven, whose glorious light we
The sun, whose radiance dazzles as it glow's—
Something that is beyond us, ami above
The reach of human power, though not of hu
man love.
Vain philosophy may strive to teach
The secret of thy being. Its faint ray
Misguides our steps Beyond the utmost reach
Of its untiring wing the eternal day
Of truth is shining on the longing eye.
Distant, unchanged, changeless, pure and high,
And yet thou butt not lefthyself without
A revelation. All we feel and see
Within us and around forbids to doubt.
Yet speaks so darkly and mysteriously
Of w hat we are and shall Is- evermore,
We doubt and yet believe, and tremble i
adore._ _
The sun-god's parting shafts of gold
Quivered and fell on field ami wood.
And silent, as in hours of old,
1'pon the river bank we stood.
Did not that waning glory east
A charm upon the flowing tide.
And give us back the Summer's past,
_Tlie bloom that fled, the light that died ?
Silent, and tilled with strange delight.
We watched the sunset brightness fade,
And felt the first cool breath of night
Creep up through mist and mellow shade.
It whispered of a time of rest.
Of pain outlived and labor done.
When all the things we count the l>est]
Ami lived for, shall be fairly won.
And even in life's rugged ways
These happy thoughts of pea«-e return,
For we have learned to fix our gaze
Beyond the liounds which men discern.
We know not where God's river flows,
Nor where its wavesshall wash onr feet.
And yet each foretaste of repose
He gives us is divinely sweet.
Important Cases in Which Mistakes
Have ffeen Made.
(London lancet.]
There is reason to fear that mistakes are
not uDlrequenty made, even hv skilled
observers, in the recognition ot drunken
ness, by what may be called "apparent in
toxication." The unsteady gait, the con
gested face and neck, the vacant eye, with
drooping lid, and even the spirituous
breath of apparent intoxication, may one
and all be the effects of disease or dis
turbance of function, which has no neces
sary connection with the abuse of alcohol
in any form. A melancholy instance of
blundering in respect to this matter may
he cited from the life of the late Col. Her
binger, who was accused of intemperance
during his field service at Tonqnin, bnt
happily acquitted. Prof. Peter, who had
opportunities of studying the case of this
diseased officer shortly before his death,
elicited that he was suffering from a
malady of some years' standing, which
produced cerebral autemia with such gid
diness that he could scarcely sit on his
horse. Similar cases are by no means un
common, and while it is more than ever
necessary to denounce the practice of per
mitting police officers to determine whether
a man or woman is drunk or the victim of
disease, it is requisite to go much further
than this and to call the special attention
of skilled practitioners in medicine to the
possibility of being mistaken by erroneous
impressions on this subject.
Settling the Vase Question.
The editor of an art journal says the pro
nunciation of vase depends upon its price.
One costing twenty-five cents he would call
v-a-s-e; one costing $25 he would call
v-a-h-z-e, while the Morgan peachblow
thould be called v-a-w-z-e.—Norristown
'---- —■
[For the Herald.]
"You must take a trip this summer, dear,"
said Mrs. Leighton, as she passed a cup of
tea to her daughter.
, "You are surely in time with your sugges
t km," sai d Laura with a slight laugh, Rim
ing to the stormy March scene outside.
"\Yhat possessed you to think of that just
now, Mother?" she added, dropping the
sugar from the tongs contemplatively
"The letter I got from Mrs. Ila/en this
morning, I suppose. She sjieaks of longing
to get hack to Newport again. And well
she may. Their house there is magnificent !
Oh girls, things are so different from what I
had planned!"
Poor Mrs. Leighton was a little incoherent
in her agitating reminiscences, and she
sighed profoundly, as she wiped her eyes,
and answered Madge's request for cake, by
passing the pretty silver basket.
"But you must take a trip this summer, as
I said before, Laura, your salary is raised,
and I spoke early, so as to suggest the propri
ety of saving all we can, and so you can de
cide where to go. You are not to go to any
farm house, but to a regular resort—sea shore
or mountains—"
"But is'nt Madge to go too?" interrupted
Laura . "I don't want to go alone; and just
think of the money it will take, at the most
economical rates!"
Mrs. Leighton shook her head. "No we
can't afford to have Madge go this year.
You must have some sort of a chaperon , of
"Now mamma," interrupted Laura, "let
me plan ! You and Madge and I can go a
little while to some quiet place, for what it
would cost me alone at a popular resort."
But little Mrs. Leighton was a resolute wo
man, on occa-ion, and this was an occasion.
Laura had been teaching three years, and
was getting worn out and jaded looking; if
she did'nt rest and rejuvenate, she would
surely become a regular old maid teacher.
Madge laughed, and even tired Laura
smiled, as Mrs. Leighton added firmly.
"You are a dear noble girl, and have done
your duty, and more. Madge shall have her
turn —yours comes first."
Laura did not argue farther, and it was con
sidered settled. Mrs. Leightun forthwith
overhauled the entire wardrobe of the three,
and the best was selected for Laura's use.
She sent for guide-books, and they spent
many hours studying the most desirable
Laura would not go to Newport, because
several of their former stylish friends had cot
tages or mansions there. She would not be
patronized. She did not care to go to Bar
Harbor, and she decided not to go to Mar
tha's Vineyard or Nantucket. She said she
would like to go to Chatauqua, but her Moth
er said—"No summer schools for you my
dear. Recreation and re-t is what you
So Laura told her mother to select a place,
So Laura told her mother to select a place,
but she found it impossible to decide between
the attractions of mountains, lakes and sea
shore. So the spring glided away, and
when [une roses perfumed the air, and com
mencements were all the rage, Laura's school
closed, and she was still undecided where to
spend her summer.
Their own ouiet village home seemed the
most desirable resting place to her, but Mrs.
Leighton was determined to have Laura taste
of the life she was destined for, liefore her
father failed and died five years ago. Peo
ple of sense had admired Laura's step, when
she left the boarding school where each
year's expenses were a small fortune, and
took a two years' Normal course, and secured
a good position in a vallage graded school.
Some had bewailed her hard lot, but she was
happy in her work and independence, and in
i the care of her mother and sister.
But [une was passing and Laura must get
off, so Mrs. Leighton announced one morn
ing at breakfast.
Laura laughed, and said—"Well, I'll
leave you to decide to-day, perhaps 1 -hall
get an inspiration, for I guess I will go up
to the city, take lunch with Sue, and get her
to help me match that silk. Will you go
"1 am sorry, but I agreed to go to Em
ma Warren's and take tea," said Madge.
Laura carried out her intentions. Ten
o'clock a. m. found her stepping aboard the
train, and in less than an hour she was in
Boston. She had been there only occasion
ally, since they moved away, and the sense
of familiarity and of strangeness made her
uncomfortable, until she reached her cousin
Sue's and awaited the answer to her ring.
Sue was the wife of her father's favorite
nephew, and she had been taken into their
hearts most cordially. She had been mar
ried six years, and two little ones claimed
her care. She was a devoted mother, and
people laughed at her anxieties.
The house was a stylish one, on a good
street, and furnished handsomely and artistic
ally. • *
Charlie was doing well in his profession,
and it was a happy home.
A neat maiden opened the door to Laura,
and exclaimed—"Oh, Miss Laura! How
pleased Mrs. Glenn will he to see you ! 1
will tell her."
She led Laura to a little reception room,
and left her.
Laura glanced around and was about to
run up to Sue's room and surprise her, when
a voice arrested her attention. It was Sue's
but husky and full of tears.
What could be the matter?
Evidently she was with some one in the
library, which was across the little hall.
The heavy portiere hid from sight, hut did
not exclude all sound.
She was saying—"But what can 1 do,
Doctor? I can't take the children on such
a trip this time of year, and if I could, I
should'nt be able to nurse Charlie. Poor
boy ! I have no one to leave here. The
nurse is a good one, but—Oh dear!"
She broke down, anti Laura heard sobs.
Sue was in trouble, Charlie must be away
from home, sick. - 0
She hastily crossed the hall just as the
maid returned from a fruitless search for Mrs.
Glenn in the nursery.
"Mrs. Glen is in the library, I am going
in, Noah," said Laura.
"All right Miss," said Noah, and tripped
I^ura raised the portiere ami beheld Sue
lying back in a big chair with her handker
chief to her eyes, while good Doctor Jones
looked at her in distress.
As Inura advanced a step into the room,
Sue glanced up. In an instrnt she was
across the floor, and was kissing Laura anti
dragging her toward the doctor.
"Miss Leighton !" he said in surprise.
"Laura Leighton, I do believe!" cried
Sue delightedly. "Now Doctor, she ll help
us think!"
She turned to I-aura and her eyes over
flowed again, as she said shakily, "Charlie
went to Chicago on business, and is sick at a
hotel. He had me telegraphed for, and Dr.
James just brought it. Now what am I to
do? Charlie is sick among strangers, and
there are my two babies—
"Go to Charlie, it is your duty," said
Laura promptly. "Thd children are well, I
suppose, and I will stay here, and oversee
the nurse, in my ignorance. But I'll be
faithful Sue."
Sue stared at Laura in wonder and de
"Will you dear?" she asked incredulously.
"Madge wrote you were going away for the
summer, and I imagined you belle of some
ball roonr" No dear, you ought to go—1—"
"But I prefer to stay here," said Laura
firmly put quietly, "I have not decided
•where to go, and it will be a pleasure to help
you if you will trust me."
"Trust you ! You are an angel in brown
linen !" laughed Sue hysterically.
"And perhaps Charlie will be able to
come home soon, and Miss Leighton can go
on her trip yet," said Dr. James. "But go
now, Mrs. Glenn and rest a little before train
time, I'll call for you."
lie took his hat and bowed himself out,
and Laura went with Sue to her room.
There were only three hours before train
time, and Laura used her utmost exertions
and all her wits to get Sue off in good
shape, on time, for the distracted little wo
man was continually stopping preparations to
pet the children, and bewail the necessity of
her trip.
"Don't wo ry, Sue!" said Laura sooth
ingly, "I shall stay right here, and write to
Madge to send my things." And so when
-he left home, Sue felt things were as well
arranged as possible, under the circum
"Oh, I forgot!" cried Sue, with her foot
on the carriage step, "Brother Horace is
coming home from Italy—expect him any
lime. If he comes before we get back, take
care of him for me."
She sprang in, kissed her hand in farwell,
and was gone.
It was after three p. m. Laura wrote an
explanatory letter to Madge, and asked her
to have her clothes sent her. She insisted
her mother and sister should consider her as
having the best kind of a vacation.
* She sent Noah with her letter to a box,
then went up to the nursery, and romped
with the bright-eyed Harry and curly-haired
Dinner was served at the usual hour, and
Laura felt lonely at the table where she had
been accustomed to Charlie's gay banter,
and Sue's witty retorts. — _1~
At the children's bed time, she went to
the nursery, and after Mabelle was arrayed
in her pretty nightdress, she held her, while
nusre subdued frolicsome Harry.
As Laura sat in the fading twilight, sing
ing to sleepy Mabelle, the sweet German
lullaby song, she heard stealthy steps in the
hall, then a sudden opening of the door, and
a tall manly form stood in the room. The
next instant he was behind her little camp
rocker, and clasped her and Mabelle in a
fond embrace, while he exclaimed in low
laughing tones—
"Ah, little sister, I've taken you and the
babies by storm, have'nt 1 ? Got here a little
sooner than I expected!"
Laura, with a struggle regained her free
dom, and turning, faced the stranger. Then
he saw his mistake; his face crimsoned, and
he stammered,
"I — I beg pardon ! 1 supposed 1 was in
Mrs. Glen's nursery—I am her brother, just
home from Europe ! Thought I would take
her by surprise—thought you were—my sis
ter !"
Laura, though blushing with confusion,
had, by this time partially recovered her
compo-ure, and said —
"1 presume this is Mr. Dayton ! Yes, this
is Mrs. Glen's nursey, but she is away, and I
reign in her stead—for a while."
Mr. Dayton, w ith gentlemany courtesy, re
stored the little rocker, and he took another
chair while Laura explained who she was,
and why she was there.
Then the gas was lighted, and as the chil
dren slumbered to sleep, Mr. Dayton and
Laura adjourned to the drawing room. At
his request she played and sang, and al
together, they spent so pleasant an evening,
she forgot to apologize for her plain street
dress, and he forgot to notice it in his admi
ration for the bright, intelligent face, and ex
pressive Pansy eyes.
The acquaintance,- begun in an unusual
manner, developed into a warm friendship,
in their mutual care for the children. Hor
ace declared it was his duty to attend to his
sister's children, so nurse had an easy time,
while Horace and Laura with the little ones,
sauntered on the common and in the garden,
or drove out on charming country roads.
They were both almost strangers in the city,
and rarely met an acquaintance. On one of
their drives, about a month after Sue's depar
ture, Laura said, "I should'nt he surprised to
see Charlie and Sue any day, as Charlie is
doing so well."
"And then what shall we do ?" sighed j
Horace dismally. "Sue will surely take
these tots off our hands, and—
"Oh, I shall go home," said Laura, unless
mamma orders me off somewhere," and she
related her vain effort to find a suitable re
sort for her vacation. "My coming here was
a Providence—for me," she added, "for it
stopped the W'orry."
"And a Providence for me," said Horace
softly, "for it has given me a chance to fiind
a true woman, one I want for my wife!
Will you be mine, Laura?" he asked in sud
den anxiety, as her eyes drooped, before
his gaze. She did not reply, and he gently
lifted her chin, and met in her beautiful eyes,
the answer he wanted.
"Uncle Horace!" cried Harry—"What
you doin' ? You only got one line!"
Horace laughed, and Laura reached him
the other line, as he turned about for home.
When they drew up before the door, an
excited little woman in a traveling dress,
ran down the steps and caught first one, and
then another of the little ones, and bestowed
hugs and kisses promiscuously on the young
people, while the pale invalid smiled in the
door way.
Sue was delighted with the result of
Laura's generosity, and, to tell the truth, so
was Mrs. Leighton and Madge, when, a few
days later Horace accompained Laura home.
They were to be married Christmas, and
when he left, Horace said, "We'll take
Laura's trip next summer."
F. A. R,
One Was Quite Enough.
"No," said the henpecked husband, a« he
scratched his bald head, "I am not a believer
In Mormon ism, not by a long chalk."
"Why not;" asked the Mormon sympa
thizer with whom he was conversing.
"Because," replied the hen pocked man, "I
don't believe in having two wives. 'No map
tan serve two masters. ' "—Boston Courier.
Theodore Stanton Tells About the Palat es
Inherited by the Republic From the
Monarchy and Empire—The Etiquette
That Prevails in Official Circles.
[Special Correspondence.]
New York, Aug. 20. —The Kreuch presi
dent, tlie French cabinet ministers and the
other high state officials, such as the presi
dents of the senute and chamber of deputies,
the prefect or governor of the department of
the Seine, in which Paris is situated, and the
director of the Bank of France, are so well
housed that they can entertain in a way be
fitting their public station, no matter what
their private fortune may be.
In Washington a member of the cabinet
often lives in a hotel or in some house whose
rooms are so small that he would find trouble
in acconunotiat ing a whist party, not to speak
of the multitude that always res)«»lids to a
public reception. About the same thing is
true of the official world of London. But in
Paris the situation is quite different. The re
public lias inherited from the monarchy and
empire a large number of palaces, some of
which were constructed centuries ago to lie
the residence of princes of the blood, while
others are of recent origin, and were built for
this or that ministerial department. Thus,
the Elysée, where President Grévy lives, dates
from 1718, ami lias liad as master or mistress
Murat, Mme. de Pompadour, the great
Napoleon, who retired here after Waterloo,
and hero signed his abdication; Wellington,
Alexander I anil Alexander II. Louis
Napoleon, when president, resided in the
Elysée, and it was in this same palace that ho
planned and executed the coup d'état that
made him emperor. The president of the
chamber Is lodged in a wing of the Palais
Bourbon, and the home of the Prince tie
Condé; w hile the Petit Luxembourg, the resi
dence of the president of the senate, has
sheltered Louis XV11I, Napoleon and his
brother Joseph.
When Gambetta became president of the
council a few years ago he created two or
three new portfolios, and forthwith the gov
ernment provided the titularies w ith suitable
official homes. For example, t lie minister of
commerce was installed in the former embassy
of Spain oil the quay facing the Tuilleries,
and thus it happens that M. Lockroy, the
present minister of commerce ami a member
of the Victor Hugo family, a plain man of
advanced democratic principles, is living in a
mansion elegant enough for a prince.
But the high officials of the French Repub
lic are not simply provided with a roof ami
four walls. The same generous state fur
nishes the houses in the coinpletest fashion.
Carpets, curtains, chains, pictures, dishes,
kitchen utensils, liveried servants, bed linen,
everything, in short, except what the minis
ter wears and eats, is given him. When he is
offered a portfolio he has simply to |>aek his
trunk, call a cub and drive to the palace of
which he is henceforth the master, and when
the ministry of which he is a member falls he
has only to pack the same trunk, take another
cab and return to his old quarters, in each
ministerial department there is u special bu
reau charged with the business of looking
after the material wants of the minister, buy
ing rar]it ts when necessary, mending weak
backed chairs, discharging or hiring servants,
etc. It has been said, and jierliaps with some
truth, that one ot the causes of the frequent
change of ministries in Fi ance is the easo
with which a minister can take lip and lay
down the household [»art of his office.
Besides giving them a furbished house, the
state also provides a decent salary for its
ministers. Lader the empire they used to
get 100,000 franca. T<>-day the sum is re
duced to 00,000. But this is a large salary
when you take into account the above men
tioned perquisites. President Grévy receives
in all 1,200,000 francs. No wonder, then, that
there is no end to social festivities, and that
a man who is poor out of office can give en
tertainments when in office that only million
aires would undertake in private life. For
instance, M. Goblet, minister of public in
struction, invited several thousand people
last season to a musical and dramatic enter
tainment w here the leading singera and actors
of the capital held forth, and where the re
of the capital held forth, and where the re
freshments were offered on the most elal>orate
and bounteous scale. I have seen balls at the
foreign office where they give you at supper
whole bottles of champagne, which you set
on your table and use as you might at your
own house or in a restaurant. At the Elysée
balls the buffets are besieged from 10 o'clock
until daylight, and an appreciable hole must
be made in M. Grévy's salary, large though
it be.
The etiquette that prevails in French official
circles is in many particulars very simple,
though a little more rigorous than that of
Washington. A lady may go to public re
ceptions in any kind of dress, but a gentleman
will not be admitted if he has not donned a
"swallow-tail" and a white neck tie. Some
bucks had the doora of the Elysée shut in their
face a year or so ago, 1 «cause they wore pink
neckties, for some reason or other.
An English female esthete of the Oscar
Wilde school, created no little sensation last
winter at one of M. Grévy's receptions, but
the ushers never dreamed of stopping her at
the entrance door, liecan.se she was not in low
neck and had discarded the regulation bustle.
But let any man thus venture to disregard
the l.chests of the tyrant Fashion, and he will
never be able to shake hands with the president
of the French republic. The advocates of
woman s rights should make a note of this
concession in favor of the fair sex.
In order to go to an official ball or musical
and dramatic entertainment a ticket of invi
tation is necessary, and it is often very hard
to get one, unie s you ai e on good terms
with the American legation, or have friends
in the chamber or senate. Tliere was such a
demand for tickets to M. Goblet's entertain
ment, which has already been mentioned, that
the rather small parlors of the minister's
house were so full that nine-tenths of the
guests could neither hear nor see anything. At
M. Grévy's balls you are packed us tight as in
an elevated railroad ear when the surface
roads are on a strike.
M. Floquet, president of the chamber of
deputies, is an advanced democrat. So
when he was chosen by his colleagues to the
high office which he fills with signal ability,
he decided to give a more popular tone to
official society. Consequently, ho announced
through tho public prints that there would
be dancing at his receptions, and that no cards
of invitation would be sent out. Now there
is a line big ball room at the president's, and
his wife is very rich, so that good music and
good refreshments are never lacking there.
No wonder, therefore, that at the third ball
of the series, when the existence of this free
dancing party had bean bruited throughout
Paris, there was such It jam that the demo
cratic M. Floquet dared not venture on a
The French are improving in their manner
of dancing. They have always been loud of
this graceful amusement; but the waltz, the
most elegant of steps, has been until lately
very badly executed in all French ball rooms.
The Boston, that slow, beautiful movement
which characterizes the American waltzers,
Is beginning to gain ground lu France. At
Pau last winter the Boston was taught in the
dancing schools, and at the last Elysée ball I
noticed more than one French couple indulg
ing in the transatlantic step. The French
round dancers never used to "reverse," but
would go round and round like a top until
weary and bew ildered, when they would rest
and then begin again their wild whirl. Now
they reverse some, I am glad to say, lor their
•wn sake.
There is one class of French society that
never appears at these official gatherings of
the republie. I refer to the so-vailed nobility.
Outside of the members of the diplomatic
corps, who are of course required to be pres
ent, you rarely hear announced a duke or a
duchess, u count or a countess, even a baron
or a baroness; and yet the upper classes of
this country have a plethora of "titled peo
ple," many of whom have no more right to
their noble name than the late fount Johan
nes. Some of these gentlefolk are the genuine
descendants of famous old families, have edu
cation, culture and wealth, and would Ijo
brilliant acquisitions to the often rather hum
drum republicans of both sexes, who crowd
the official drawing rooms. But they will
have nothing to do with the present order of
things, which, say w hat you will, is a great
source of weakness to the republic. They are
waiting for the return of king or emperor,
and if they do not work actively against "the
powers that be," they at least exert a powerful
influence passively against the consolidation
of republican institutions in this country.
These social gatherings, therefore, teach a
lesson in current politics, as well as give
amusement to the governing classes of democ
In the contest between low-neck and high
neck dresses it may be said that the repub
lican ladies of France rather lean toward the
high necks. By this 1 do not mean to say
that you do not lind bare shoulders at the re
ceptions and balls which have just been dwelt
upon. Un the contrary, tho large majority of
the ludit-s [»resent w ould almost put to the blush
Adam and Eve after the mémorable apple
scene. But when you compare the ladies of
one of these republican gatherings to the
ladies fourni in the drawing room of the noble
aristocrats, you then see what progress has
been made by tho former toward banishing
the nude from society. From this point of
view it may be a good thing that the fashion
able aristocrats stay away from republican
entertainments. If they aontinue to do so for
a few more years, and if the republic does not
fall in the meanwhile, who knows but that
the high-necked dress may finally get the
upper hand and relegate its rival to the bal
let and the bodies of the demi-monde. If this
occurs in Faris the low-neck cause will bo
lost throughout the whole world, ,tor the
French capital is -till the pope of fashion.
Theodore Stanton.
In the suburbs of a quiet little town in
Westchester county a colony of our colored
brothers has established itself, and withclam
ming. whitewashing and general chore pur
suits the little clan is flourishing. There art
a few morally black sheep in the eoinniuuity,
and one of them got himself into a corner the
other day in this manner:
George Smith, one of the selectmen of the
town, has an unusually fine collection of
blooded fowls and has been very much an
noyed by midnightexcursion parties from the
"Black Hills." His brother Frank, who re
sembles him wonderfully in peraon and speech,
is a state game commissioner. They were walk
ing in the w oods last Sunday, when they came
upon one of the bad darkeys, who was lying
on a moss-bed asleep, with a lino string ot
quails partly concealed under his coat. A
gentle kick aroused him, and he scrambled to
his feet. "IV hat have you got under your
jackets" asked the town councillor, while his
brother stood behind a tree. Don't you
know that it is tho close season for all garnet"
The coon looked around uneasily, lingered
his shirt front up and down, and blurted out:
"Say, boss, ef you'se Mistah Frank Smith,
dem's chickuns. Ef you'se Mistah George
Smith day's quails. Which is yerf"
They let him go.—Tid-Bits.
How to Catch Trout.
Let me give you a [winter for an impromptu
method of catching trout, which has recently
come to my notice. It is not only time-sav
ing but humane and economical.
Go off into the solitude of the mountain
fastnesses, where there are purling brooks
which you have reason to believe abound in
the speckled beauties. Carry with you an
old pair of trousers, with the end of the legs
carefully tied with string, and having fas
tened the open end of these over the outlet of
one of those deep, mysterious holes in which
the trout love to bask, whip the stream, from
twenty feet above down to the trousers, and
if you don't bag a mess of the prettiest fish
imaginable the gentleman who first explained
this method to me is unworthy of an honest
man's confidence.
It may be well to call attention to the fact
that this is a fish story.—Life.
The Little Folks.
"Why, Mattie, you have put your shoes on
the wrong feet!" "What'll i do, mammal
they're all the feet I've got."—St. Louis
A teacher, in catechising her class of boys
at Sunday school, asked, "Who was the
strongest man?" A little chap of eight years
answered, without a moment's hesitation:
"Sullivan. Now ask me who is the best
rower."—Harper's Monthly.
A schoolma'am at the Chase house has the
following juvenile composition among her
schoolhouse manuscript: "A codfish is the
only Annymal that ain't got no neck. There
ain't but one kind of a fish in the world that
lives on the land and Flys round in the air,
and that is a fish hawk. A codfish has a large
mouth, and my Sunday school Teechers got a
large mouth toe. Two kids got fiteing in the
vestry one day and one of era pulled quite a
lot of Hare out of the other kids Hed and the
Superingtending pounded one of his Eers
with a book and so they quit. A fish would
look funny if they had legs and could run."
—Squirrel Island (Mass.) Squid.
Tue doctor is hastily called to the bedside
of a sick man. "Alas!" he murmura, as he
takes the hand of the patient, "there is
nothing to be done. His hand is already
green." "But, doctor," returned the wife,
"my husband is a painter, and that is the
reason his hands are stained." "Oh, well,"
replied the doctor, "that does make a differ
ence, to be sure. He really has some chance.
If be were not a painter he would be dead in
five minutes "—French Fun.
Certain Ancient Customs Which Boston
Refuses to Abandon.
[special Corrcsportlence.]
Boston, Aug. 23.—The Boston Lancers es
corted the governor the other day out to
Harvard college commencement. The lan
cers wear red coats, flat topped helmets, a
long white drooping feather, besides their
trousers and other corporeal appurtenances.
They are armed with poles. On each pole is
a red flag. Every lancer is packed about on
the street by a horse. It is a very old mili
tary organization. Boston is proud of them.
They look pretty and are as useless as they
are pretty. In modern warfare they might
get within 100 yards of the enemy's line be
fore the last lancer was surgically operated
on anil tunneled through by a ball from re
peating l ilies. Their principal use is to pro
tect the governor when he is hauled through
the streets on college commencement days.
They fill the bill in Boston that the lord
mayor's coach does in London. Here that
coach would readily pass for a circus chariot,
and the newly elected mayor, in his purple
robe, as one of the principal performers.
Another medkeval Boston institution are
the lire alarm I »cl Is. Thor ring simulta
neously, though unies apart, whenever a
hysterical woman "smells somethin' burnin' "
and turns on the lire alarm. To live near a
Boston lire bell is to be woke up from one to
three times per night from tnree to five times
a week. This both tries and develops an
evangelical patience and resignation. A
mania prevails here for bell ringing. In
many of the suburban towns within fifteen
miles of Boston they start the church bell
regularly at 'J o'clock at night, as they have
done tor the last 200 years. There is no
reason for their doing it, except that they
have always done it. It-is a necessity, cus
tom has made it so. In one village, through
the exertions of certain progressives, this
bed-time ringing was stopped. They were
obliged to resume it. The conservatives
couldn't sleep without their y o'cloc k peak
The chimney sweep is another mediaeval
feature here. He can be found and hired
from a certain dingy cellar in Brattle street.
He can be seen alter operating on some old,
aristocratic, blue blooded chimney, like a pur
gative, to clear it of soot, returning to his
hole with his long brush, Ids short brush, his
scrapers and himself, a walking mass of soot
and dingiuess and a terror to light summer
dresses and the wearers inside of them as he is
wormed toward them by the convolutions of
the midday crowd on Tremont street.
I know here in Boston a large business
house whose head did all he could to discour
age a stranger from engaging in an enter
prise requiring a certain service from that
house. The stranger was assured that there
was no money in it, that scores of others had
in the same way tried and failed. The stran
ger by Lis pei-sistency carried ids point and
the result is un increase of business to said
The head of the firm in this instance did
not know t hat the stranger was the agent of
a conqiany with half a million of capital, and
that the proposition made him was but one of
several entering wedges, and that the afore
said company, for good reasons, desired as
little publicity as possible in their transac
The head of that firm imagined at the time
that lie was the dog and the stranger the
taiL lie lias since found out, from a finan
cial standpoint, that ho is the tail and the
stranger the dog. Still, as there is money in
it, he swallows his conceit and allows himself
to be wagged when the clog, by virtue of su
perior power, is pleased to send an agitation
to the caudal machinery. And this is the me
tiiæval Boston business man.
When you aie very "sharp" to outwit a
bulldog, look slntrp that you don't run plump
on a bull.
There's a great deal of damaging conceit
here as well as elsewhere, on the part of busi
ness men. Y ou will be told here in various
ness men. Y ou will be told here in various
ways that you don't know anything about
business unless you are strictly in the lines
of the business world, and tbis before that
business world has had any chance of testing
your capacity or incapacity. 1 know of one
very strict business man here who is always
talking of having things done in strict busi
ness fashion, who will show by his answer to
another's business letter that he lias forgotten
w hat w as w ritten him, if, indeed, ho ever
really got hold of it. I know of a great cor
poration, having scores of branch offices here,
whose employes, in self-protection, are
obliged at times to pro! st against the care
less method of sending unknown and un
authorized persons to collect moneys daily
due, without written or <-rs from headquar
ters. Pi; ax tick Mulkuku.
Where the Butions lame From.
The minister's wife sat on the front porch
mending the clothes of one of her numerous
progeny. A neighbor passing that way
stopped in for a friendly chat A large work
basket half full of buttons sat on the floor of
the porch. After various remarks ef a gos
sipy nature the visitor said:
"You seem to be well supplied with buttons,
Mrs. Goodman."
"Yes, very well, indeed."
"My gracious I if there ain't two of the same
buttons that my husband had on his last win
ter suit I'd kuow 'em anywhere."
"Indeed?" said the minister's wife, calmly,
"I'm surprised to hear it, as all these buttons
were found in the contribution box. I thought
I might as well put them to some use, so I—
what, must you go I Well, be sure and call
again soon."—Merchant Traveler.
The Social Favorite.
Yes, he has a massive forehead and a man
ner débonnaire, and his lips seem framed to
utter little trifles light as air. He's an artist
without question, and is bound to make his
mark in whatever line he chooses his fine
talents to embark; he has such command of
language, and his smile so very sweet every
damozel entrances, who declare it is a treat
to keep still and simply listen to whate'er he
has to say when discussing any topic, whether
grave it is or gay. What's his name and his
profession! To what tastes does he incline?
Well, he's chiefly known, my lady, as the
"slugger of the nine."—Life.
Diplomat!«) Peddling.
CoL Bowser met Jenks the other day, and
asked him what he was doing for a living.
"Selling a deodorizing powder."
"Last time I saw you you were selling an
insect killer to be sprinkled on the floors."
"I know; now I'm going around to the
same houses selling this disinfectant to get
the smell of the insect powder out of the
house. Next week I'll loom up with a mix
ture to drive away the smell of the disinfec
tant."—St. Louis Whip. ___
It Is rumored that The Congressional Rec
ord is to suspend. This comes of trying to
publish a funny paper without any advertise
The czar will give each Siberian exile an
Btr a slug of tallow un bis birthday.—Life.
A .Scrap from Prentice Mulford About
[Special Correspondence.]
Boston, Aug. 30.—Able and interesting
writer-are increasing at a rate alarming to
those 'ong in the profession. "Everybody"
now writes and almost everybody writes
well. New literary stars of second and
third class magnitudes are constantly
appearing in the horizon. A new con
stellât ion rises, sets and starves about
once in seven years. The average pay on
newspapers may be $13 a week. When the
literary horse is worked out, he or she goes
off in a corner and dies quietly and miser
ably. Of late people's writings are most
valued who have done something worthy of
note and can tell of it. An ex-Confederate
or Union general who tells his story
m a magazine probably gets as much for it as
the mere Bohemian receives for half a year's
work in telling other people's stories. An
article from Jay Gould or John L. Sullivan
would bring the average Bohemian's yearly
salary. This is as it should be. People want
that those who have done something should
tell themselves how they did it. The mem
writer who can do nothing but write is really
now a mediaeval institution. Besides, tho
profession, as connected with new.-papers, is
not respectable. To be known as a "news
paper man" or "correspondent" is to be prac
tically tabooed in fashionable and business
circles. A "newspaper feller," male or female,
is regarded as a sort of spy or eavesdropper,
ready to pounce on any bit of gossip, real,
manufactured or inferred, and sell it for a
price. Uf course, the public wants tho gossip,
still they are disposed to regard its collectors
as sate only when they are poaching on
other jieople's preserves. These observations
are intended only for the latitude of Boston.
Prentice Mulford.
Brother Gardner on Advice-Giving.
De longer I lib on top dis airth fie harder I
im convinced dat de man who profits by your
idvice gibs you no credit fur it, while de one
who loses by it am your enemy. I has reached
dat pass in my private life w liar, in case a
Babur steps in to ax my opinyun about de
weather lor the nex' twenty-tour horn's, I
dudge de inquiry an' turn de conversashun to
hard cider as soon as possible. If I predict
rain an' hit it, dar' may be too much fur his
beans or not 'nuff fur bis'taters, an'he am
sartin to lav - it up agin me. If 1 predict rant
an' it doau' come, fte loses confidence in my
judgment an' holds me in contempt.
Fur de las' twenty y'ars i hev been seekin'
de happy medium, au' dat's de chief cause of
my bein' hump-backed an' bow-legged, an'
liver all ujtsot. I doau' want to be so good
dat a pusson dares to come au' steal my hens
in the daytime, feelin' dat I'll forgive him, an'
I doan want to be so bad dat none ob de nay
burs will dare to come in an' borry soft soap,
kuowin' dat I like to lend. In tryin' to strike
de happy medium my hens hev all died of do
pip an' none of de borryed soap has bin re
I want to treat all my nayburs alike, but
w hen Johnson comes in an' abuses Smith, an'
Smith comes in an' abuses Johnson, de happy
medium w hich I search aroun' fur makes en
emies of boaf, bekase I doan' agite with
If I pray so loud dat my bazoo flouts out on
de night air to de ears of de nayburhood,
someljody remarks dat wind power religion
may be all right to trade mules by, but it
doan reach de gates of Heaben. If I pray in
sieh a low voice dat nobody bars it, remarks
sieh a low voice dat nobody bars it, remarks
are made to de effeek dat I has cooled off a
good deal since payin' dat bill fur three
months' pew rent.
My left hand naybur has chill'en who am
de terror of Kaintuck. He comes ober to me
in de gloamin' an axes what should be done.
De happy medium would be to buy a mad
dog an' turn him loose in de back yard, but
de suggestion makes de man my enemy.
My l ight hand naybur has chill'en who am
50 good dat dey lay down an' let dai'selves be
robbed an' pounded. He wakes mo up in do
rnawnin' to ax my advice, an' when 1 tell him
to pack dem off to an idiot asylum he doan'
speak to me agin fur six months.
Do medium which we should strive fur ma>
de divided up as follows:
1. Be deal iu nayburhood quarrels.
2. Be dumb as to men's faults unless you am
in de witness bijx.
3. Be silent wlien you can't praise.
4. If you advise at all, agree wid de ideas
of de pussons askin' it.
5. A blind man am nebber brought into
court fur a witness.
Ö. Wisdom am not in knowin'such a power
ful sight, but in keepin sheton what you doau'
know.—Detroit Free Press.
Beware the Freezer.
It is a thankless task to warn young people
of the evils of overindulgence in cooling
viands and drinks during the heated term.
Young people w ill be young people, but not
very long if they keep on gorging that insidi
ous foe to health and life, ice cream. There
is death, and, what is worse, premature old,
age in the freezer. A single teaspoonful of
ice cream dropped upon the tongue of a rat
tlesnake w ill kill the man that drops it just as
quick as the rattlesnake can get a crack at
him, which will be while he is measuring the
ice cream.
Fifteen grains of strychnine, mixed with a
freezerful of ice cream, will kill as many peo
ple as a young man can stand treat for.
A dog shut up in an air tight iron box for
six weeks and fed upon nothing but ice cream
will die.
A young man named W. S. Thornton pro
lurnptu» »usly declared that he could live on
Ice cream. He ate fifteen cents' worth, and
defiantly ordered another dish. While wait
ing for it, lie heard a noise out in the street,
and going out to see what caused it, a
steamer on its way to a fire knocked him
down and ran over film. An ambulance was
summoned, and while waiting to be conveyed
to the hospital the wretched youth died of old
age.— R. J. Burdette in Brooklyn Eagle.
He Needs bat One Thing More.
We are told an affecting story by a gentle
man from Peoria, Ills. A little dog had ono
of his legs badly crushed under a loaded dray.
A young physician picked up the suffering
animal tenderly, carried it home, and found
that only amputation could save its life, which
was done in a very skillful manner. The
sagacious dog, it appears, did net forget the
great service, for one day when the physician
called, some months after the surgical opera
tion was performed, it hopped up nimbly on
its three pins and nipped a good big piece out
of the calf of the Good Samaritan's leg. Now
ho only needs thu hydrophobia. — Cincinnati
a m m as mg as a Barn Door.
Editor—Miss Devereaux is quite musical?
Host—Yes, very much so.
Visitor—Does she sing in English?
Host—She does, and I'm-sorry she
doesn't sing in Kalamazoo or some other far
away place.—American Musician.

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