The united opinion. [volume], January 16, 1885, Image 1

About The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970

Image provided by: University of Vermont

                
Kg See "Special Offer to New Subscribers, on 4th Paye.JEj
TSAMPLE COPY
gtoe United pinion,
Publiahed Every Friday, by
HARRY E. PARKER
BRAdI'OUD, VERMONT.
I'bltuarles and Keaolullous 4 cents a lino, Kead
Ini aotloes 10 eenla a lint, each innertlun.
All purely buaiiieaa noilori publiahed In oar
euiiins euiumn, and all adverttneineau ol
o.,rolie, Hahhttli schools, falra, eaouralona, .
where money la expeotrd to be realisedwill be
olmrged at our regular ratea, Udiloriat notlcMOl
ueb affulra will be published free.
Terms ot Subscription,
Job Printing
nail limn ili!icuted promptly and at the low-'
oat prior Our fnclMriw are auch aa enable us n
do every kind of printing In the belt manner poist
ble, 11 you want
Potters, Commercial Work, Color Printing,
Single coplet,
One year, (In advance)
4 eents.
$1.60
Rates of Ailvertialng.
Bnalneae Card, ion 1 year,
M oolumii yeiir,
H oolumn 1 year,
loolumn 1 year,
i 00
SOi 00
04 Ou
ieo oo
Established, June 1806. BRADFORD, VT., FRIDAY, JANUARY 16.1885. New Saries, Vol. IVjKo. 11.
Soglo!litaoinoee triul. BalUlMi-noe In even
particular jruaraiueuil. Mull orue Himiptlv Mlsa.
DARK DAYS
BY HUGH CONWAY.
I
Author of "Coifed jBacfc."
CHAPTER I.
A PRATIR AND A VOW.
When this story of my lire, or of such por
tions of my life as present any out-of-tho.
common features, is read, it will be found
that I havo committed errors of judgment
that I have sinned not only socially, but also
against the law of the land. In excuse I can
plead but two things the- strength of love,
the weakness of human nature.
If those carry no weight with you, throw
the book aside. You are too good lor mo:
am too human for you. We cannot bo
friends. Read no further.
I need say nothing about my childhood
nothing about my boyhood. Let me hurry
on to early manhood to that time when the
wonderful (1 roams of youth begin to leave
one: when the impulse which can drive so
ber reason aside must be, indeed, a strong
one; when one has learned to count the cost
of every rnsh step; when the transient and
fitful flames of the boy have settled down to
a steady, glowing fire which will burn until
only osims are left; when the strength, the
nerve, tho intellect, is or should be at its
height; when, in short, one's years number
thirty.
Yet. what was I then? A soured, morose,
disappointed man; without ambition, with
out care for the morrow; without a goal or
object in life. Breathing, eating, drinking, as
by instinct. Rising in the morning, and
wishing' the day was over; lying down at
night, and caring little whether the listless
eyes I closed might open again or not.
And why? Ahl to know why you must sit
with me as I sit lonely over my glowing fire
one winter night. You must read my
thoughts; the pictures of my past must rise
before you as they rise before me. My sor
row, my hote, my love mus.t be yours. You
must, indeo.l, he my Tory self.
You may begin this retrospect with tri
umph. You mav go back to the day when,
after having passed my examination with
high honors, I, Basil North, was duly en
titled to write M. D. after my name, and sat
to work to win fame and fortune by
doing my best toward relieving the suffer
ings of my fellow creatures. You may say,
os I snid then, as I say how, "A noble
career; a life full of interest and useful
ness." You may see me full of hope and courage,
and ready for any amount of hard work;
settling down in a large provincial town,
resolved to beat out a practice for myself.
You may see how, after tha usual initiatory
struggles, my footing gradually grew
firmer; how my name became familiar; how
at last ' I seemed to be in a fair way of win
ning success.
Ycu may see how for a while a dream
brightene I my life; how that dream faded
and lelt gloom in its place. You may see
the woman I loved.
No, I am wrong. Her you cannot see.
Only I myself can see Philippa as I saw her
then as I see her now.
Philippa aslsaio her then as I see her now.
Heavens 1 how fair Bhewas! How glorious
her rich, dark beauty I How different from
the pink-white and yellow dolls whom I have
seen exalted as the types of perfection!
Warm Southern blood ran through her
veins and tinged her clear brown cheek
with color. Hor mother was an English
woman; but it was Spain that gave her
daughter that exquisite grace, those won
drous dark eyes and long, curled lashes, that
mass of soft black hair, that passionate,
impulsive nature, and perhaps that queen
like carriage and dignity. The English
mother may have given the girl many good
gifts, but Her beauty came from the father,
whom she had never known; the Andalusian,
who died while she was but a child in arms.
Yet, in spite of her foreign grace, Philippa
was English. Her Spanish origin was to
ber but a tradition. Her foot had never
touched her father's native land. Its lan
guage was strange to her. She was bnrn
in England, and her father, tho nature of
whose occupation I have not been able to
ascertain, seems to havo spent most of his
time in this country.
When did I learn to love her? Ask me,
rather, when did wo first meet? Even then,
as my eyes fell upon the girl, I knew, as by
revelation, that for mo life and her love
meant one and the same thing. Till that
moment there was no woman in tha world
the sight of whom would have quickened
my pulse by a beat. 1 had read nnd heard
of such love as this. I had laughed at it.
There seemed no room for such an engross
ing passion in my busy life. Yet all at once
I loved as man has never loved before; awl
as I sit to-night and gaze into the fire I tell
myself that the objectless life I am leading
is the only ono possible for the man who
loved but failed to win Philippa.
Our fiist meeting was brought about in tho
most prosaic way. Her mother, who suf.
fered from a chronic disease, consulted me
professionally. My visit, -first those of a
doctor, soon became those of a friend, and I
was five to woo tho girl to the best of my
ability v
Philippa and her mother lived in a small
house on the outskirts of the town. They
were not rich people, but bad enough to keep
tho pinch of poverty from their lives. The
mother was a sweof, quiet, ladylike
woman, who bore her sufferings
with resignation. Her health was,
indeed, wretched. The only thing
which scorned likely to benefit her was a
continual change of air and scone. After
attending her for about six months, 1 was
in conscience bound to indorse the opinion
of her former medical advisors, and tell her
it ffc"l' 1.9 well for her try another
change.
My heart Was heavy as I trove this
vice. If ndopted, It meant that Philippa
ana j. must part.
But why, during those six months, had I
not, pissionateiy in love as I was, won tha
young girl's heart? Why did she not leave
ma as my affianced bride? Why did 1 lol
nor leave me at all?
Ilia answer is Bhort. She loved me not
Not that she had ever told me so in words,
Dal never sjkal her in words for her love.
But she mast have known she must have
known! When I was with her, every look,
every action of mine must have told her the
truth. Women are not fools or blind. A
man, loving as I did.fwbo can conceal the
true state of his feelings must be more than
mortal.
I had not spoken; I dared not speak. Bet
ter uncertainty with hope than certainty
with despair. The Kay on which Philippa
refused mv love would be as the day ot
death to me.
Besides, what had I to offer her? Although
succeeding fairly well for a beginner, at
present 1 could only ask the woman I made
my wife to share comparative poverty. Anil
Philippa! Ah! 1 would have wrapped Phil
ippa in luxury! All that wealth could buy
ought to be hers. Had you seen her in tha
glory of her fresh young beauty, you wouid
have smiled at tho presumption or tne man
who could expect such a being to become
the wifo of a hard working and as yet ill-
paid doctor. You would have felt that she
should have had the world at her feet.
Had I thought that she loved mo 1 might
perhaps have dared to hope she would even
lien have been happy as my wite. Hut slw
lid not love me. Moreover, she was ambi
tious.
She knew small blame to her how beau
tiful she was. Do I wrone her when I say
that in those days she looked for the ift of
rank and riches from the man who loved her?
She knew that she was a queen among
women, and expected a auoen's dues.
(Sweoiest, are my words c,ruel? Ihey are
the eruelost I have spoken, or shall speak,
gainst you. Forgive them !)
H were friends-gTut friends, bucli
friendship is love's bine. It buoys false
holies; it lulls to security; it leads astray ; it
is a staff which breaks suddenly, and wounds
the hau l which leans upon it. So little it
seems to need to make friendship grow' into
ove; and yet how seldom that little is
dded! The love which begins with hate or
dislike is often luckier than that which
egina with friendship. Lovers cannot be
rimds.
Philippn and her mother loft my neigh
borhood. They wont to Loudon for awhile.
heard from them occasionally, and once or
twice, when in town, called upon them.
imo went bv. I worked hard ut my pr
fession the while, striving, by sheer toil, to
rive away tho dream from my life. Alos!
strove in vain. To love Philippa was to
love her forever!
One morning a letter came from her. 1
tore it open. The news it contained was
grievous. Her mother had died suddenly
Jhilippa was alone in t!io world. So far us
knew she hid not a relativo left; ami i bo
heved, perhaps ho ed, that, save inyselt
the had no friend.
1 needed no time for consideration. That
afternoon I was in London. If I could not
comfort hor in ber great sorrow I could at
least sympathize with her; could undertake
he management of the many business de
tails which are attendant upon a death.
Poor Philippa! bhe was glad to see ni".
I rough her tears she flashed me a look
ratitude. I did all I could for her, an i
staved in town until the funeral was over
hen I was obliged to think of going horn.-.
what was to become of the girl?
Kith or kin she had none, nor did she
leiition the name of any friend who would
willing to receive her. A9 I suspected.
ho was absolutely alone in the world. A.-
soon as my back was turned she would have
no one on whom she could count for sym
pathy or help.
It must have been her utter loneliness
hich urged me, in spite of my better judg
ment, m spite ot the grief which still oppress
ed her, to throw myself at her feet and do
clare the desire of my heart. My words I
cannot recall, but I think I know I pleaded
eloquently. Such passion as mine gives
power and intensity to tho most unpracticod
speaker. Yet long before my appeal was
ende 1 I know that I pleaded in vain. Her
eyes, her manner, told me she loved me no:.
Then, remembering her present helplesi
condition, I checked myself. I begged her
to forget the words I had spoken; not to
answer them now; to let me say them again
in some months' time. Let me still be her
IrienJ, and render her such service as 1
could.
She shook her head; she held out her hand.
The tirst action meant the refusal of my
love; tho second, the acceptance of my
friendship. I schooled myself to calmness,
mut we discussed her plans for the future.
She was lodging in a house in a quiet, re
sectable street near Regent's Park. She
xpressed her intention of staying on here
fur awhile.
"lint alone!" I exclaimed.
"Why not? What have I to fear? Still.
I nin open to reason if you can suggesi
another plan."
1 could suggest no other. Philippa was
past twenty-one and would at once succeed
to whatever money had been her mother's.
This was enough to live upon. She had no
friends, and must live somewhere. Why
my frame or mind be gay or grave, Philip
pn was always present
Now and then she wrote to mo, but her
letters told me little as to ber mode of life;
they were short Iriendly epistles, and gave
me little hope.
Yet I was not quite hopeless. I felt that
I bad been too basty in asking ber for her
love to soon after her mother! death. Let
ber recover from the shock; then I will try
agpl'i, Three months was the time which
in my own mind I resolved should elapse
tofc-r? I again approached ber with words
of ioVJ. litres montnsi now wearily they
Jraczed themselves awayi
Toward the end of my SolMmposed term
of probation I fancied that a brighter,
gayer lone muimesveu iiaeu in rninppa's
lettws. Fool that I was, I augured well
from tins.
Telling myself that such love as mine
must win in the end, I went to London, and
once more fbw Philippa. She received me
kindly. Although her garb was still that of
dsep mourning, never, I thought, had she
looked more beautiful. Not long after our
first greeting did X wait before I began to
plead again. Mie stopped me at the outset
"Hush," she said; "1 have forgotten your
former words; let us still do friend."
"Neverf 1 cried passionately. "Philinoa.
answer me once for all, tell me you can love
me!"
She looked at me compassionately. "How
con I Lest answer your' she said musingly,
"the sharpest remedy is pernaps the kind
est Basil, will you understand me when 1
say it is too late?"
'Too late! What can you mean? Has
another "
The words died on my lips as Philippa,
drawing a ring from the fourth finger of her
left hand, shovied me that it concealed a
plain gold circlet Her eyes met mine imploringly.
'1 should have told yon before1," she aaid
Kcrny, and bending her proud bead; "but
there were reasons oven now I am pledged
to tell no one. Basil, I only show you this
because I know you will take no other an
wer."
for aome days, so I stayed, trying by a
course of what is termed gayety to drtva
remembrance away. Futile effort! How
ninny have tried the same reputed remedy
without success!
Too late!
Has an-
hoiild she not stay on at her present 1!,.
nigs? Nevertheless, I trembled as I thought I risked no expression of love or regret
i this lieautiful girl all alone in London thought of my grief should jar upon
U hy could she not lovo me? hy could
she not be my wife? It needed ail my selr
lestraint to keep me from breaking afresh
into passionate appeals.
As she would not give me the right to dis
pose of her future I could do nothing more.
I bade her a sad farewell, then went back
to my home to conquer my unhappy love,
or to suffer from its tresh inroads.
Conquer it! Such love as mine is never
nnnnnnml Tt im m nmn'a lifA Pt.,'1:
was never absent from my thoughts. Let I1 had made n"xemmto to stay in town
What can you meant
other "
I rose without a word. The room seemed
whirling around me. The only thing which
was clear to my sight was that cursed gold
bund on the fair white hand that symbol of
possession by another! In that moment hope
and all the sweetness of life soemod swept
away from mo.
Something in my face must havo told her
how her news affected me; She came to
me and laid her hand upon my arm. I
trembled like a leaf beneath her touch.
She looked beseechingly into my lace.
"Oh, not like that!" she cried. "Basil, I
am not worth it. I should not have made
you happy. You will forget you will find
another. If I havo wronged or misled you,
say you forgive me. L -tm hear you, my
true friend, wish me happiness."
I strove to fcree my dry lips to frame
some conventional phrase. In vain! words
would not come. I sank into a cuair and
covered my face with my hands.
The door opened suddenly and a man en
tered. He may have been about forty years
of age. He was tall and remarkably hand
some. Ho was dressed wiin scrupulous
care; but there was something written on
his face which told me it was not tne race
of a good man. As I rose from my chair he
glanced from me to Philippa with an air of
suspicious inauirv.
-Dr. North, an old friend ot my momer s
and mine." she said, with composure. "Mr.
Farmer," she added; and a rosy Dlusn crepe-
round her neck a she indicated the new
comer bv th name which I felt sure was
now also her own.
I bowed mechanically. I made a few dis
jointed remarks about the weather and kin
dred topics; then I shook hands with
Philippa and left the house, tho most miser
able man in England.
Philiona married, and married secretlyl
How could her pride have stooped to a clan
destine union! What manner of man was
he who had won her? Heavens! he must be
hard to please if he cared not to show his
conquest to the light of day. Curl sneak!
coward! villain! Stay; he may have his
own reasons for concealmont reasons known
to Philippa and approved of by her. Not a
word against her. She is still my queen;
the one woman in the world, to me. What
she has done is right!
I passed a sleepless nirht In the morning
I wrote to Philippa. I wished her all happi
ness I could command my pen. if not my
tongue. I said no word about tho secrecy
of the wedding, or the evils so often conse
quent to such concealment. But, with a fore
boding of evil to come, I begged her to remem
ber that we were friends; that, although
I could see her no more, whenever she
wanted a friend's ahl, n word would bring
me to her side. 1 used' no word of blame.
No
pon the
happiness which she doubtless exjiected to
find. Farewell to tho one dream of my life!
Farewdl, Philippa!
Such a passion as nun? may,
matter-of-fact, unroniantic days,
anachronism. No matter whether
patby or ridicule, 1 am but laying
true thoughts and feelings.
1 would not return to my home at once.
I shrank from going back to my lonely
hearth and beginning to eat my heart out
WINTER IN CALIFORNIA,
in these
seem an
t o sym
bnro my
And (hit was her husband Fhilippa'a hug-
band?
Four days after my interview with Phil
ippa 1 was walking with a friend who knew
every one in town. As we passed the door
of one uf the most exclusive of the clubs I
saw, standing on the steps talking to other
men, the man whom 1 knew was Philippa's
husband. His face was turned from die, so
I was able to direct my friend's attention to
him. ,
"Who! is that man?" I asked.
'That man with the cardenia in his coat
Is Sir 5rvyn Ferrand."
WMis uof wnatisne? W bat kind of
a man it. he?"
"A baronet. Not very rich. Just about
the i-snal kind of man you see on those
steps. Very popular with the ladies, they
tell me."!
"Is he married?"
"Ho veil knows! I don't f J never heard
of a Ltnlv Ferrand, although there must be
several wo ore morally entitled to use the
desigimttn."
And ibis was her husband Philippa'
busbaii'll'
I clinked my teeth. Why bad he mar
rfed uui'-r a fai-e name? Or if she knew
ilmna it by which she introduced him to
mo wJ lilsn. why was it assumed? Why
l..d't7V hiorAage toon cUiiUesliner .Not
only Sir Mervyn Ferrand, but the noblest in
tne land should be proud of winning Philip.
pa! The more I thought of the matter the
more wretched I grew. The dread that she
haj been in some way deceived almost drove
ua'mad. The thought of my proud, beauti
ful queen spme day finding herself humbled
tothe dust by a scoundrel's deceit was an-
giiish. What could I do?
My first impulse was to demand an expla
nation, then and there, from Sir Mervyn
Ftrrond. Yet I had no right or authority
bo to do, What was I to Philippa save an
unsuccessful suitor? Moreover, I felt that
she had revealed hor secret to mo in confi
dence. If there were good reasons for the
concealment, I might do her irretrievable
harm by letting this man know that I was
aware of his true position in society. No, I
could not call him to account But I must
do something, or in time to come my grief
may be rendered doubly deep by self-reproach.
'i'lietiext day I called upon Philippa, She
would at least tell me if the name under
which the man married her was the true or
, lie. .Na one. Alasl I found that she had
ie:t her home the day before left it to re
turn no morel The landlady had no idea
whither she had gone, but believed it was
her intention to leave England
After this I threw prudence to tho winds.
With some trouble I found Sir Mervyn For
r a mi's town address. Tho next day 1 called
on him. He also, I was informed, had just
left England. His destination was also unknown.
I turned away moodily. All chance of
doing good was at an end. Letthe marriage
bj true or false, Philippa had departed, ac
companied by the man who, for purposes of
his own, passed under the name of Farmer,
l.ut who was really Sir Mervyn Ferrand.
I went back to my home, and amid the
wreck of my life's happiness murmured a
prayer and registered an oath. I prayed
that honor and happiness might bo the lot
of her 1 loved ; I swore that were alio wronged
I would with my own hand toko vengeance
on the man who wronged her.
For myself I prayed nothing not oven
forgetfulnesi. I loved Philippa; I had lost
her forever! Tho past, tho present, the fu
ture were all summoned up in these words!
The Effect of Diet on tho Tenth.
Exchange. 1
According to a Hartford, Conn., d en
list the extensive and almost univi-rsal
use of tonics and sedatives, in, the form
jf iron and bromides, and the general
use of fine flour and non-bone making
food materials, aro what support the
vast army of dentists in this country. It
is a curious fact that the effect of Amer
ican food upon tho teeth of emigrants
who have been used to a coarser and
perhaps a more wholesome diet, is more
marked than upon the teeth of tho sous
jf American ancestors.
How tha Weather Differs from Winter in
New England.
San Francisco EuiHIi.J
After Thanksgiving, winter. In the
Atlantic states, cast of tho Hudson,
Rood sleighing is expected at this date.
Here nothing moro than a few white
frosts indicate that winter has come.
There have been frosts in the low
lands during the past week. Last
night th.o trust cropt up on tho hillsides a
little, ma crystals lay on tnoplanK side
walks in the suburban towns and sparkled
as the rays of the rising sun touched
thorn. For a moment or two there were
niillio.is of diamonds, then small drops of
water, and thou nothing. But tho frost
makes crisp mornings, and a coal or
wood fire most en joyable morning and
evening the wood lire especially. More
over, the frosts help to color tho foilage,
although in this country tho deciduous
trees drop the greater part of their foli
age before tho frosts come. The soft
maples, elms, whito birches and locust
trees, which have been naturalized here, I
ror tne most part, nave cast their loaves,
1 et tne maples take on a wreath of color
before the leaves fall; so the frost does
not do all the coloring. Even the
eucalyptus, which casts its leaves at
midsummer and continues dropping
tnem until late in autumn, has a wealth
of color which is hardly noticed. The
coniferous trees prevail so largely in
California that tne hign colors of decid
uous trees which grow on the hillsides
and mountain slopes of eastern states
are rarely seen here. Yet in every dell
after the first frosts have come in this
latitude, one may find patches of color
shading off from gold to scarlet, with a
great- many subdued tones, which
artists, who are good colorists, do not
fail to notice. The firs and the pines
clothe many of tne mountains in eternal
green. When they are bare, they are as
desolate as in Spain until the vernal
season sets in.
The first rains have already come,
uui tno winter rains nave not yet ap
peared. There is a sort of hush between
the autumn and winter. If one goes to
the wood, he will hear hardly any other
sound than that of the harsh and ob
streperous bluejay. Here and there will
be a tapping on the trunks, and an oc
casional sriuirrel descends to see what
provision in the way of acorns therm
may bo left on the ground. In the open,
wlieiy the ground ia sctt, thero' urc the
tracks of tho sneaking coyote. Even
owls cease in a measure to hoot in the
winter season, and tho mournful sound
of doves has altogether ceased. A great
silence has fallen upon tho woods.
There is hardly a singing bird. The
linnets in the suburban gardens, which
two months ago were so active in feast
ing on the ripe fruit, beginning even
earlier with cherries, and continuing
until the last npe pear had disappeared,
have become siient also. JNo more
songs and no more depredations, for the
good reason that thore is nothing to
steal, and the pairing season has not
begun. The white frosts are the fitting
introduction of winter. They precede
the heavier rains.
The trade winds have died out. They
will not prevail in this latitude before
the middle of next May. Some are un
kind enough to say that it is a pity that
they should ever prevail, but these
winds aro the Lord's scavengers, sent up
as so many messagors from the salt
ocean to deliver the city from plagues
and pestilence. San Francisco has not
been a clean city from the day of its
foundation. There is Oriontal dirt, and
Occidental dirt. It has come to be a
foreign city. Merchandise fills the side
walks, and in many places crowds the
pedestrian into the street. Offal is
thrown there. The six months' trade
winds of summer and the six months'
rain are the two sanitary agents which
keep watch and ward over the city. The
most dangerous weeks of the year, on
tho score of health, are those when
neither tho trade winds nor tho rains
prevail. The winter season being less
pronounced in this latitude, there is less
disposition to store np anything All
the season is open, and even now the
bees are making honey, or aro going to
rob other hives. For in this state even
the bees have caught tho spirit of the
monopolist. They get a part of their
honey honestly, and, as to the rest, they
do not scruple to get it dishonestly.
OH, HAD I KNOWN I '(
Harriet Prescott Spofford.J '
If I had thought so soon she would have died
He said, I had been tenderer in my speech
I bad a moment lingered at bar side,
And bold her, ere she paste I bevond mi
reach,
If I had thought so soon she would have died
That day ?he looked up with her startled eye
Like somo hurt creature wher the woodi
are deen,
With kisses I had stillo 1 those breaking sighs
Wilsf hisses closed those eyelids into sleep
That (lay she looked up with her startled eyaa
Olt, had I known ibo would have dio 1 so soon,
Love had not wasted on a barren land,
Live llks tboe' I'ivers un lor t irrid noon
Lost on the de'iert, pours 1 on ton the sand-
Oh, bal I known she would have dio J so soon
SOCIETY o.T WASHINGTON.
How to Get into the Whirl of the Offi
cial Circle -Feeding the Multitude.
'Ruhamah" in Glube-Denioerut.
Matrimonially, Washington is tb
poorest, market in the country, as manj
of tliedeluJod ones have found before
'the first season was half over, and while
to a certain extent anybody can get into
society here, and go to tho public recep
tions ut the While House, and c.ill on
every o.lieial family, the privilege?
cease (.hero. A bar is set against those
not in oilieial life that can only be lifted
by winter residents of great wealth, who
will entertain the o.lieiah.
A very frank and a very vulgar woman
bluntly asked a prominent so.-ioty ma
tron how she should manage it to get
into the whirl of the official circle, and
the astute matron answered; "Feed
them! Spread your tablo well the firsf
time, and all Washington will bo eager
to come on the next occasion." That
ambitious soul was simply the wife of a
rich retired tradesman who came here
to spend her money, but without official
position, or relative in office, she had
a weary and expensivo up-hill
struggle, and had to take many snubs
and buffetings from those who feasted
and danced in her house. It was bettor
that their fortune from trade was ac
quired in another city than here, for the
richest of tho Washington merchants
have no standing in what is distinctively
known as Washington society. A man
may make his fortune in lunk. old
clothes or street-sweeping, any place
else, and with his money come to con
gress, and gain entrance to the great
social circle for hi? taratfjy but if he
made his money here society would
scorn him utterly.
mere was a woman here once, the
wife of a western statesman, who. a
domett years bofore her appearance at
Washington, managed a launarr and
hotel and drummed up her patrons at
the depot from her omnibus steps. She
was familiarly known by her first name
everywnere. together the couple ac
quired a fortune, and, taking a house as
soon as they reached Washington, they
fed the multitude and won their way by
terrapin and champagne to tho place the
ambitious wife coveted. Her grammar
was beyond all parallel and her language
not always marked with propriety.
Though her manners lacked the
repose and polish of tho Vere de
Veres, every one flocked to her house
when it was open, danced for her fa
vors, ate and drank of her abundance
and went away to ridicule her. Foreign
ministers and attaches would go there,
but on'y the unmarried men, as the la
dies of tho foreign circle did at least
draw the line at the ex-laundress.
After a season or two the statesman's
wife broke down and, plaintively savins
"I have overdone," retired from active
ite, and felt the keen sting of disaD-
pointmcnt and what she called ingrati
tude at tho way she was passed bv. over
looked and forgotten, when no longer
able to minister to those who had rioted
at her expense so long.
Gladstone's Last Chore.
Chicago Tribune.)
Tho English prime minister's duties
do not end with the close of the daily
sessions of parliament, whon the tired
members are at liberty to tako them
selves off to bed. On tho contrary, be
fore seeking rest he must write to the
queen, giving her nn oiicial lvpt rt ol
the proceedings. Those letters are
couchod in the third person: ".Mr.
iihidstone pit-suits his duty to hit maj
esty, etc.." and ln'V ',-,ii'.-iys replies,
nsiinily di-tate ! to a wturV. i ho run
in the third iv-.ni.
Common brown sugar may be the
sweetest, but loaf sugar is more refined.
The Child in Literature.
Atlantic Monthly.
There was a time, just boyond tho mem
ory of men now living, when , the child
was born in literature. At tho same
period books for children began to be
written, mere were children, indeed,
in literature before Wordsworth created
Alice Fell and Lucy Gray, or breathed
the line beginning,
She was a pnantom of delight.
and thero were books for the young bo
fore Mr. Lay wrote "Sanford and Mer-
ton ;" especially is it to be noted that
Goldsmith, who was an avant-couricr of
Wordsworth, had a very delightful per
ception of tho child, and amused himself
with him in tho "Vicar of Wake
field," while he or his doublo enter
tained his little friends in real lifo with
tho "Keuowned History of Goody Two
Shoes." Nevertheless thero has been,
since the day of Wordsworth, such a
succession of childish figures in prase
and erse that we are justified in believ
ing childhood to have been discovered at
tho close of the last century. The child j
has now become so common that we
scarcely consider how absent ho is from
tho earlier literature. Men and women
are there, lovers, maidens, and youth,
but these aro all with us still. The
child has been added to the dramatis
persona of modern literature.
An Art Well Worth Acquiring.
Titus Munson Coan in Harper's Weekly.
The cure of sleeplessness depends
upon the cause; how various the causes
are we have seen. I will not enumerate
the devices for procuring slumber in tho
ordinarily healthy; they are very numer
ous, but none of them have any general
application. Ono counsel may be given,
for it is not hackneyed; it is this: Learn
to sleep in the daytime. This art is one
which everybody has not acquired'
People there are I know sucti
people who aro wise enough to
eat when they are hungry,
but who have never attained that higher
reach of wisdom, to sleep when they are
sleepy. But occasions come to all of us
when we need to be able to sleep in the
daytime at will. Have you failed to get
your needed sleep, whether because of
work or watching, sorrow or pleasure?
Then repose in the daytime is the re
storative needed. There is great virtuo
in naps even in short ones and the
art of napping in the daytime, if vou
have not learned it already, is one to be
learned without further delay. It may
require a little practice, but nature is
on the side of the learner.
And lastly, here is a bit of philosophy,
written by a wise man and a physician,
Dr. Frank Hamilton. Let mo honn that
at least one of my readers, if only one,
will be wise enough to profit by its wis
dom: "Gloomy thoughts prevent sWn
The poor and unfortunate magnify and
increase their misfortunes by too much
thinking. 'Blessed be he who invented
sleep,' but thrice blessed Yu
who shall invent a cure for thinking."
The Cost or It.
Since the bombardment of Alexan
dria tho British have spent on their
Egyptian armament 22,000,000 pounds
sterling, the income from which at 3
per cent, would be more than $3,000,004
yearly.