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Alice Roosevelt and Her Social Set.
The president's eldest daughter, Miss Alice Roosevelt, will make her first bow to Washington society at the New Year’s reception, which is the most brilliant social event of the sea son. She is a most attractive young girl, a pretty blonde of medium height and build. In many respects she is thought to be very much like her father, or what one might call a fem inine edition of his strenuous person ality. She is greatly admired for her stability of character and sweet, un affected manners, being very bright and vivacious and a fine conversa tionalist. She is quite a musician, both vocal and instruental, and dis plays excellent taste in dress. In short, she is a most clever and sensi ble young woman, and quite an heir ess, too, as she inherits a large fortune from her mother, who was the first wife of the president. So many years have elapsed since there was a young lady in the white house that Miss Roosevelt’s presence will make it doubly attractive to the younger set this season. The young ladies of the diplomatic corps are but few in number—only six, namely. Miss Pauncefote, Miss Sibyl V ■ ' : t^KSsssl ,j||pi|ggßr i f ' ' ~* *' ’^*** Miss Alice Roosevelt. Pauncefote, Countess Cassini, adopted daughter of the Russian ambassador; Miss Diaz Gutierrez, niece of the Mex ican minister,- and her cousin, Miss Maria Duque, who will spend the win ter in the capital city. The daughters of the British ambas sador are given the title of honorable, and these young ladies stand at the head of the diplomatic set, their father. Lord Pauncefote. being the dean of the diplomatic corps. The Countess Cassini, who has so well presided over the official func tions at the Russian embassy, has just returned from Russia where she has been on a visit with the ambassador. Count Cassini, since June last. This is quite a pleasant surprise to the man- friends of the countess, as it was reported some time since that she was engaged to a Russian noble mam and would make her future home in that country. Miss Gutierres and her cousin, Miss Duque, are already familiar to Wash ington society, as they spent last win- CHANCES FOR LADS AFLOAT. The Way Boys Should Begin to Achieve Command of Ships. Sailor boys are no novelty on the Bowery and along the New York wharves, but comparatively few of the lads are Americans. The American boy doesn't run away to sea today. In the first place, few American ships carry boys, and then steamers have to a large extent driven out the sailing vessels, even from coast trade, and there’s not enough romance about a steamship to inflame the juvenile mind. Your real boy wants bellying sails and straining masts and wild hazards up aloft in bad weather. At least he thinks that’s what he wants when he has read the fatal number of sea stories and has reached the run ning-away age. What’s the use of running away to scrape paint and clean metal on a steamboat? One might as well stay at home and white wash the back fence and polish the fence and polish the front door knob. On the whole, it seems rather a pity that the sea dreams do not thrive in the brains of present-day young America. A boy may do things much less rational than going to sea in American ships, even though we haven't England’s merchant marine and a paternal government Isn’t keep ing a watchful eye on Yankee ship boys, as the board of trade does on the English apprentices. There's no use in a boy's making his sea debut on a steamer unless he has been through a training ship ex perience and is well on his way to an officer's berth. The officers of our steamers have had their early training on sailing vessels, have earned their I ter in the capital city perfecting them selves in the English language. They are both very clever and at tractive girls and were great favorites with the diplomats. Miss Gutierrez is also a belle in the Mexican capital, and President Diaz is her guardian. She is a tall, queenly brunette. Miss Duque is also a repre sentative of the Spanish type of beau ty, of a delicate . build, with wavy black hair and large, soft brown eyes. Miss Gutierrez is a very ardent sports woman, but evinces a great partiality for driving, while Miss Duque prefers tennis and wheeling. Washington society bewails the loss of two of the most attractive young matrons of the diplomatic corps. Mad ame de Wallant. the wife of the first secretary of the Russian embassy, and Countess Quadt, wife of the first sec retary of the German embassy, who last season fulfilled the duties of hos tess at the German embassy, the am bassador being a bachelor. Both of these ladies are on a European tour. From the cabinet circle society will greatly miss the Misses Hay, daugh ters of the secretary of state, who are in deep mourning for their brother, and who will, consequently, take no part in the gaieties of the season. Miss Helen Hay, whose marriage to Payne Whitney occurs soon, possesses decid jpd literary talent and spends her time ■ upon this work. Mis Knox, daughter of the attorney i general, is one of the most attractive ! young women in the cabinet circle. She is a particularly pretty blonde, about 5 feet 6 inches fn height and of rather slender build. She is spoken of as being a very clever girl and promises to be a great belle this win ter. She is still quite young, though her debut was made in Pittsburg last winter. Miss Wilson, daughter of the secre tary of agriculture, is another of the cabinet girls who has won a wide rep utation for her any fine qualities. She is a general favorite with both old and young, having divided her time equal ly. She very gracefully presided over her father’s home. Miss Root, daughter of the secre tary of war. is another very handsome and attractive girl, who will receive her full share of attention this season. She is very fond of horseback riding and can be seen almost every eveniHg riding around the suburban streets or in the country surrounding the city. Miss Long, daughter of the secre tary of the navy, is in deep mourning for her sister and will take no part in the social events. The department of the interior fur nishes three charming additions to the cabinet circle in the persons of the Misses Hitchcock, who will entertain a great deal this winter. From the resident set at the capital there will be quite a large number of debutantes this winter. Prominent among them will be Miss Helen Mac kay-Smith. Miss Anna Ewing Cockrell, daughter of Senator Cockrell, who has been studying in Paris for the past two years, and Miss Grace Bell, Miss Marie Fauntleroy-Bates, Miss Julia Goldsborough. Miss Stanton and Miss Bertha Hill. The social season this year must of necessity be short. The functions at the white house are suspended until January 1, and few if any entertain ments will be given by those in official j life until after that time. In spite of I all this, however, the season bids fair j to be very gay. able-bodied seaman title fairly by hard knocks and broad sea experience. Most of them went to sea as lads in the old days when modern prejudices hadn’t overthrown the tradition that the only way to make a man and a sailor of a ship boy was to abuse him roundly during most of his waking hours. They made their record as seamen and wandered the world over before the mast. Some of them were in trad ing vessels. Others were on whalers. Many belonged to the ranks of the New' England fishermen, who. for sea craft, yield the palm to no sailor of the world. They rose to officers’ ■ank. many of them being captains i cf small boats. Then they drifted I into steamboat service, where the pay was good, the trips short, the food fair, the life easy. Then, as now. It was easy for a competent Yankee with a decent record to get a good berth: for though even American ships are today forced to ship crews composed almost entirely of foreigners, the of ficers are usually Americans and the ship companies are eager to get American-born sailors. "Ive only two Yankees on my ship, said the captain of a vessel be longing to one of the most prosperous American coast lines, “but they are worth the* rest of the crew. The Swedes and Norwegians are good men. but they don’t think quickly. They aren’t the men for emergencies. I’ve been at sea ever since I was 14, and I’ve seen sailors all over the world, but there isn’t anything finer afloat than your old-fashioned Yankee sailor. And they’re dying out. worse luck. They’re dying out. That’s why Amer ican boats have to carry such riffraff as this. Why, even my officers are foreigners. The government ought to do something to get the Yankee boys to sea." "Would you send a son of your own to sea?” ’’Well, wouldn’t I! That is, if he wanted to go. There’s no use trying to make a sailor of a boy unless he loves the sea and hankers after it. If he does, his chances will be just as good at sea as they would be on land, and he'll be a healthier and hap pier than if he were selling ribbon be hind a counter or getting roundshould ered over an office desk.” “But we have so few ships.” “Ships enough. Ships enough for Yankee boys, if the boys would only come along, and the companies would see the advantage in shipping a lot of boys as the English do, and training them. I'd put a boy of mine on a sail ing vessel, one of the California boats or the Standard Oil Australia boats or a West India schooner or, if nothing better offered, on one of the long-shore schooners. If he went on a coasting vessel with short trips he could learn the business and show his metal, and then, if he was any good, he’d have no difficulty in getting a berth on one of the few big sailing vessels. Then, after he had made himself a good, all round. able seaman, he could branch off into steamer service, and it would be his own fault if he didn’t work into a second mate’s shoes and climb in them. “It isn't a bad thing to be captain of a boat in a good coast line. Now, there’s an old pal of mine. We were on a whaler together a 100 years ago. more or less. He’s captain of a good steamboat. He has a six days’ run and five days in port. He gets $l5O a month and all his expenses, and he has blamed little to do except in case of some unexpected emergency. Some men get more money. Some get less, but the pay is better all along the line than for the same amount of work on land and the life is a big sight more natural and free and happy. You don't lay up a fortune unless you save money and invest it well; but how big a percentage of the men on shore do that, and what sort of lives do the land lubbers live? Yes, sir. My son could go to sea. with my blessing. “I’ll tell you another opportunity our sailors have got now,” the captain went on. “I don’t think much of the job myself, but it’s soft enough. Amer icans are going in for yachting more every year, and they’ll keep it up, now they’ve started. Most of their crews are foreigners, but they want Ameri can captains and mates, and they pay well. I’ve a freind who has been mas ter of a big yacht for several years. He gets $5,000 a year and his keep, and the yacht is in commission only about five months of the year. The rest of the time she's in harbor, and the skipper lives in the port and looks after her. “There's whole colonies of yacht skippers and mates in some harbors during the winter season, with noth ing to do but draw their wages and keep an eye on their boats. Even on the small sailboats, if the owner goes in for racing, he wants a good man and will pay a fancy price for the right sort. Yacht work spoils a man for other sailing work, though. It’s too soft a snap. The ordinary man isn't good for anything else after he’s had a dose of it.” “Doesn’t the navy appeal to our boys more than the ordinary sailor’s life?” asked the reporter. “Yes, the navy snaps up the few boys who do want to go to ea. The idea of fighting catches them. I say it’s a pity. There’s mighty little chance to climb in the navy, unless you go in with an Annapolis billet. They make an awful row over Samp son’s saying that the navy can’t get its officers from the foc’sle, but he only said what all the rest think. It’s an easy enough berth, a place in the navy is, but there isn’t any future in it for the ordinary seaman.’’—New York Sun. COLOR MICRO-PHOTOGRAPHY. The want of a means of reproduc ing the colors of microscopic objects has long been felt and many attempts have been made to solve the problem, but so far without success. It, howeer, now appeals that by the Sangei Shepherd process of natural color photography the difficulties have been in a measure overcome, though the results cannot be printed on paper, but must le viewed as transparencies. Still they admit of a ready exhibition through a projection lantern or can be viewed directly by suspending them before a suitable white backing. An ordinary camera to which is affixed a repeating back that carries three plates Is all that is necessary to take these photo graphs. Immediately In front of these plate-holders there are placed color screens that are graduated to be of ex actly the correct absorption tint. Three negatives of the fame subject are taken, each with a separate color filter, and a print is then taken from each of these negatives. These are stained with a special solution and bound together to form a finished picture. If care has been taken the result Is -laid to be very fine. The Inconstant Sex. He—"l suppose it’s hard for a gill to get into the woman bachelors' club?” She—“O. no; there are always vacancies. The members are getting married all the time.”—Judge. Gov. William Gregory of Rhode Island Is dead after several months’ Illness. A FANTASY OF INDOLENCE, When summer comes. I’d like to be A sunken stake dowu by the sea. Where filmy spray comes laving To ease my thirsty craving, Where through the gloom Of night the breakers’ boom Makes drowsy music, while aloft The starlight soft Is sprinkled like an incense o’er the deep To lull the winds to sleep. Or else I’d like to be a mummy; A sacerdotal dummy. In some cool corner of a museum. Where tourists never come. Wrapped in rich garb, while spices faintly bring The friendly ghost of some Egyptian king. There, through the hours, I'd linger on the shelf. Majestic, by myself, Asking but hieroglyphs my mood to please. Which tell of chums asleep for cen turies. Or else a book. 'Twere fine to be r book, Avery ancient volume quite forsook So rare that few would hqed me And none would care to read me; Unto the babbling world completely lost Save through some catalogue that told my cost. Regardless of the hour's relentless flight— Careless if it were day or if 'twere night I'd doze in dusty and supreme content And think all wisdom ’twlxt my cov ers pent. —Washington Star. r r Storycftc “MOSTLY UNFINISHED LIKE.” "Ef you ever should care to marry, l think you would make a man very happy.” Steward's eyes, soft and shy, gazed at Miss Eliot admiringly. “Why, Steward?” “Bekase you ken write so fast.” He rested on the long hair-cloth seat that ran the length of the forward cabin table, his bare brown arms against the old plaid cloth supporting his lowered face. A way he often sat, like a faithful spaniel. Miss Eliot sat at the head of the table in the captain’s chair, where she could brace herself easily and proilt by what light fell from the skylight overhead, where Steward fostered a plant box containing a few geraui ums and a potato vine started at Angier. “Why, ef I could write like you, you wouldn' see me goiu’ as steward. I’d be making a thousand dollars ashore.” But Miss Eliot was not writing fast that morning. She was experiencing the brain stagnation of long periods at sea. There was nothing stimula tive in the lead-colored exterior mani fest when the outside world tilted up against the skylight; nor in the damp, soapy smell from the floor that Steward had been scrubbing. The wind was just enough ahead to give a disagreeable motion and to bear aft from the galley uncomfortable odors. She was disposed to let Steward en tertain, and satisfy her questioning sense of other lives gone down to the sea in ships. Lives always in some way out of the common, and breeding a kinship with others of the same sort, even if known only through narration. That floating gossip of the ships that runs its channels just as surely in the ailing world of similarity in constant change as other gossip runs ashore. “Were there ladies on the last ship you were in?” she asked Steward. “In the Sea Sentinel? Oh, yes, miss. It was then we had aboard Miss Brad ford I tol’ you about. She could write faster than you. She used to write for the papers an' when we would come into port there used to be a big bundle of them come out to her. an’ I used to see what was on them; an’ the captain would laff at her wher. she put in things about the ship, like ‘between decks’ when she ought to say ‘amidships.’ An’ there was the captain’s daughter. Miss Kvie, an aw ful nice young lady. They was both write for the papers, an 'when we nice young ladies. An’ I used to tell every one so, though sometimes they used to make me wild. So muen go ings on in port. But Miss Bradford sei t • come out after the company was gone an’ say, ‘Ge tme a towel an’ I’ll help you, steward,’ an’ she would put on one of my aperonß an’ hurry about, an’ it would make me laff to see her,—she was so little.” "Was she pretty?” “Well, she was a passably-looking young lady, an’ when she was dressed smart an' her eyes hinying she looked real nice; or when the color was in her face, like when Mr. Kerr used to come aboard. But she wasn't tall an’ fine like Miss Evie. They used to look nice when they went ashore to gether. An’ when they got new thirgs they used always to show them to me, dresses an’ hats, an’ when we was In France, lovely petticoats, shadowing and catching the light like clouds.” “And what about Mr. Kerr, Stew ard?” Steward was very cautious before he replied:— "Well, I liked him when he first came aboard, he was so smiling like; an' no matter who was there he used to wait until he could get near to Miss Bradford; an’ he woudn’t swallow more than one cup cf thffir tea unless she asked him. Then he would take it, fer I reckon he didn't think nothing about what it did taste like; an’ when he wasn't there Miss Bradford used to go about singing like she couldn’t help It, an’ she didn t look so troubled udiker as when sho first came aboard, or before she knew him. She would go out walking alone an’ she would come back along wlta him, an’ then Miss Evie would could out smiling, an' say to me Put a pTSTt on fer Mr. Kerr, Steward.’ “Then after dinner I would hear them all laffin’ in the cabin, an' the last minute Mr. Kerr used to come out laffin' to himself; an’ laffin’ all the way he wbs running up the wharf. Then the captaii; an' the ladies would fuss a 'ot more Man she used to be fore she knew him, an' Miss Evie would laff at her, an’ sometimes the captain would laff an* say he wasn’t going to have no earls ait ting round on his crackerboxes. An’ when he used to joke at the table the mate used to look sly at Miss Bradford, bekase she an’ Miss Ev?P used to joke with him about delaying the loading. The mate would be oq the wharf all day, an', of course, he seen how many times Mr. Kerr come aboard, an' Mr. Kerr used to tell him how he was go ing to scuttle the ship so that the cargo would be running out jes as fast below as it was stowed in above. An' every day the ship would go low&r down in the water; an' when she got so her plank was level instead of slanting down to the wharf, Mr. Kerr an’ Miss Bradord would stop an' look | at it; an' then look at each other, not | lading at all. Days when Miss Brad ford wasn't aboard—they used all to go up in the country visiting. He used to come down an' hang around the ship until a little fellar that used to be with him had to iaff at ffim to get him away. 1 used to see him get mad at the little fellar, though I knowed he liked him. He used to fix ul things for him like Miss Evie did er Miss Bradford. I know bekase l , seen t, an’ I used to see him and Miss i Evie laffln’ when they couldn't find Miss Bradord an’ Mr. Kerr.” "Was Mr. Kerr on a ship, too?” asked Steward’s listener. I "From the war ships, Miss. The fleet was stationed out there where [we was. Big white ships, like great i pond lilies, I used to think, when they | was floating in the sun, with their yel low brasses an’ their sides so shiny against the water." “His father was a lord, or some thing ike that, I think, from what 1 heard ashore; but he was jes’ as nice |as anybody then. That is, at first I ( used to think so. But when Mias Bradford used to look in her eyes like him. an’ then, if Miss Evie didn’t know, I would give him a napkin with a hole in it. 1 know from what I hoard them say one time that he didn’t ;lke what Miss Bradford put on the pa pers, an’ he didn' like it bekase she tol him she worked every day in the States in an office like men worked. 1 used to hear them talking up over my window nights, an’ sometimes there would be a lo to them dancing or. the house, an’ making the peraner go in the cabin, an' there was one lady from ashore that would sing fine at.' high about not being crosd*and things what couldn’ be.” "The nights were fine out mere. The lights in the harbor an 'the music from the ships. There was a big mountain, hangin gover the town, an' up on the top of It was snow like a clean tablecloth spread over it, an' the moon would shine on that until it made you feel creepy. It was so grand. I guess Miss Bradford would like to see that, mountain again. I know she an’ Mr. Kerr both loved it like you do love some fine places ashore. “Finally the mate tol’ Miss Bradford he would lose his'job If he didn’t get the cargo In beflre the next Monday, an' Miss Bradford asked him was it really Monday, an’ she didn't eat no more breakfast. Bhe looked like somebody struck her an’ she didn’ wan’ no one fer to know it." The precision of Steward’s English was air or variable In accordance with the brevity of his sentences and his emotion. “Next Mr. Kerr came hurrying aboard, looking like he couldn’t wait to find Miss Bradford. it was a fine bright morning, an’ he was stepping like It was made fer them two; hut as soon as he come In he looked quick at her, like he knowed what was the matter, an’ he didn’ let go of ner little hand at all. When he asked the eaptaln when she sailed, he stif tlll Monday. fened up a bit when he heard It whbii’ Then other people began to come in an' Miss Evie talked an’ laffed fast with them, so they wouldn’ notice how Mr. Kerr was looking at Miss Brad ford. He wouldn' take notice of no one else an' kep’ counting four days; fer that day was Thursday. An' I think he wouldn' swap them four days to have been the king of England. "They had a big party on the ship the next evening, an’ every little while I seen folks stop like they couldn' think of nothing else when they saw them two together. An’ every one pretending not to show how uneasy they felt, wondering what, was going to happen. “Every little while he would make her come outside wLh him to walk where the air was fresh, blowing up the bay: but I don’ think he said nothing rrrlous, fer jvery time I was out dishing the cream I would see blm walking like he couldn’t say nothing at all; an’ then she would tell him how she must go inside to be perlite to the other peope an' he would say, yea,’ she must. “Then I seen him very pale | n the light while she talked to the othe- peo ple. an’ I seen him handling some pansies as tender as if they were ner little fingers, though he was jamming his nlee gloves like they was bullets. She had on some pansies that he had fetched fer her, an' her dres3 was colored purple like them; excepting round the low neck an' the arms* where it was pink an’ floating like. “They was pink spots on her checks, an' a fire blazing now an’ then in her eyes like I have seen in a dog’s eyes often, but never but that one time in a lady's eye. When the rest was gone he come to her with the diamonds shin ing in his white shirt when the wind blew his dark cape back; an' his nice soft hat rolled tight in his hand; an’ Miss Evie handed him a shawl an he pulled Miss Bradford outside, an’ l | heard him say her name, ‘Constance,’ in a funny voice, like he couln’ sputa ■ clear, an’ yet slow, like he was tickled to hear himself dare say it. There was a gale come in sudden that night, an’ j the wind blew the door open in time ( fer me to hear him say low, but so it sounded plain, the cathedral at 12. Then he held her against the wind and set her over the doorslll like she was only a little girl, no matter about her long skirts, an’ she run across to her own room, where Miss Evie was wait ing on the bed, an' neither one of thorn came out to help me with the dishes that night.” "Next morning, when I went outside, I looked where the fleet al\.ays was, an' It was gone. Then I was scared, fer Miss Bradford, fer I didn’ think that she nor Mr. Kerr nor any of them knew his ship was going to leave be fore ours; so 1 stepepd about soft get ting breakfast so she an' Miss Evie might sleep till near dinner time. Twice the little fellar came aboard to see Miss Bradford, but I wouldn' lei him come in till the last time, when she called out happy-like, ‘Who’s there. Steward?’ an’ the little fellar called in to her pitiful like, '1 must see you when 1 ken, Miss Bradford.’ Pretty soon she stepped out in her red wrapper with her hair kinder loose like, but the little fellar didn' take lie notice of that, an’ when I stepped near the door lie was finishing, so kind t'utf it made me feel queer, 'An' let me help you, ef 1 ken, like I was your brother or hisn'.’ "He didn’ see me first, an’ when ht did he give me two sovereigns, so's to cook special delicate fer her on the voyage I reckon —though I didn' need no such inducement, nor 1 didn’ fciget either the sovereigns she gave me once when the bobbies was looking fer me in Port Adlalde. Pretty soon I heard Miss Evie go in Miss Bradford's room, an’ Miss Bradford tol’ her that (he fleet was gone on sudden orders; aa" when the captain came In fer dinner they was all dressed an’ waiting sir everything was like it always was only more heavy like, an' that. Is the way it was all the rest of the tlm that, we was there. Miss Bradford was jess us kind to everyone, ouly when some of the inen tried to com* round her more, 1 seen her look to ward the little fellar, an’ he always was near to her, quite, waiting fer her 100k —though everyone wouldn' notice that. He never said much to her, but 1 could see it pleased her to have him stand by like that, an’ that is the way it was until we left." Here Steward's zeal In narration dropped as quickly as it had run. On* sharp stroke of the bell indicated that noon was close, and mechanically he began gathering the table-cloths in his hands. “And then you continued the voyage?" suggested Miss Eliot, also gathering her paper and pencil. "On around the Horn. Such a voyage as I hope you neve: will see. Miss. There wasn’ but a few hours In the dsy that the ladies could be up. Much of the time, an' when they was up, there was nothing they could de but talk, an’ that was only about what they couldn' do anymore." "But Miss Bradford and Mr. Kerr — Steward, what about them?” Miss Eliot was feeling keenly the anticlimax that youthful nature and most fiction refuse to recognize fn 'he very face of human life Itself. “I don' know nothing at all about them now, Miss.” A final slap folded the cloth. “Why; don't you know whether or not they ever saw or heard from each other?" “No more than about, a heap <J others. Miss —” “But—why—" “it is the way with those you medt going to sea. Miss. Their lives ars mostly unfinished like.” THE FEBTIVAL TO COME. My brethren, we are free! The fruits are glowing Beneath the stars, and the night winds are flowing O'er the ripe corn. The birds and beasts are dreaming. Never again may blood of bird or beast Stain with Its venomous stream a human feast. To the pure skies In accusation steam ing; Avenging poisons shall have ceased To feed disease and fear and mad ness. The dwellers of the earth and air Shall throng around our steps In gladness. Seeking their food or refuge there. Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull, To make this earth, our home, more beautiful; / And Science, and her sister Poesy, Shall clothe In light the fields and cities of the free. —Shelley.