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IN FAIR WOMAN'S WORLD.
GOSSIP ABOUT FEMININE MAT TERS. Miss Prescott, a Maine Poetess, Wears a Bloomer Rigr. Made by Herself—Mrs. Logan's Early Days—Admiration of Ameri can Babies. She Wears a Bloomer Rtg-. A place in the ranks of tin4 women who Have pronounced ideas upon the subject of dress must be given Miss Emeline Prescott of Hallowell, Me. Not only does she have, ideas, but she has the courage to live up to them, in spite of twenty-live years of com ment and criticism. Miss Prescott pre sents a picture so striking that even those most familiar with it never cease to stare and wonder. When the Bos ton Globe correspondent culled on her at her home she wore trousers of blue checked gifigham. a short jacket of the same and a sack coming below her knees. Each of her sucks, by the way, coni ains eight pockm. Miss Prescott was born in 1S2S at New Sharon, Me., the eldest of eight children. When a child she wore pant ellettes and she clung to that style as lone as possible. "Then I put on long dresses" she said, "and I hated them heartily, never liking to be hampered with skirts. In my younger days, at home on the larra, I was a veritable tomboy work-Mi in the iields, rode bareback and every Other way. We had a pet cow whose back I would ride on anywhere I chose. Oh. yes, I was an out-and-out boy for Out-of-door sports of all sorts. When went to Franklin, N. H., and there met several wearing the bloomer cos tume, I immediately became one of its Warmest enthusiasts and gladly adopt ed the rig, and now," she added em phatically, "the nearer I can dress Ike a man the more comfortable 1 am and the better I like it." "Have you ever worn a long dress since?" was asked. "Yes, once, a few years ago, while visiting a sister. I had on a new suit, and while helping her get dinner for company I put on one of her old dresses and I was in perfect misery all the while couldn't move with the odious thing weighing me down. I wore it just one hour." Miss Prescott cuts and makes all her own suits, each requiring about ten yards. She has her house trousers, her street trousers, summer and winter trousers, every day and Sunday trous ers. In the winter she weal's a fur cap on her head and in the summer a white straw sailor, with a band of rib bon for trimming. Miss Prescott is good-looking and intelligent, and. while her strange costume might create won der and amusement, her kind face and her manner win respect and many friends. She carries a bag of wonder ful construction and proportions, con taining pins, needles, laces, jewelry, etc., but makes a specialty of the sale of salve, which she has sold for thirty five years and amassed quite a fortune from it. She has twice been engaged to be married. One of the accepted beaux Miss Prescott did not care for, and the engagement was the result of a mutual agreement between the two families, so the son quietly went We*t and finally married some one else. Miss Prescott's other affianced was the one she loved. He died of consumption and she has never since been willing to receive attention. Miss Prescott is a genius in all the various kinds of work about the house. Including the rawing, cutting and piling of wood, and is no novice in the art of carpentry, having laid floors and walks that an expert might well be proud of. Besides these accomplishments she is a poetess and has had several poems published. Like herself, they are original and strik ing. Mr*. Logon') Early Hays. With me the memory of the Christ mas holidays of my child and girlhood will ever be one of the most sacred and sweet of my life, from the larks of the school children, when I was one of them, In barring In or out the teacher till he or she gave us a holiday and a treat, to the blessed Christmas morning when we all flew into father's and mother's room screamiug "Merry Christmas!" to find the thirteen pairs of well-tilled stockings hanging around the broad old fireplace and to receive the warm embraces of *?iOse revered aud indulgent parents, say» Mrs. Logan In the New York Herald. I can never forget the happy hours that followed In displacing our treasures and coming to the table to see father and mother open the numberless packages that we used to prepare for them! The hours that we brothers and sisters spent in planning and executing our surprises for mother, father and each other, with the merry episodes, mishaps and suc cesses and pleasures, will cling to us evermore. The madcap fun we used to have sleigliriding, and the merry daneing and candy pulling with the troops of boys and girls tlitf.t were our friends! How well we remember the sparkling wood fire in the ample old fireplace, with rows of apples toasting before it, the great dishes of popcorn, popped in a covered kettle, so white and fresh and tender the swreet, rich nuts and the crystal cider for the even ings when we assembled in each other's homes for a good time and to play games of forfeit and chance! For genuine pleasure those times have never been surpassed by the stately oc casions of maturer years, and more than once our hearts have longed for those happy days. Admiration for Americun Babies It is now American babies who are commending themselves to foreign eyes. An Englishwoman visiting this country x-rites home for publication: "You could not imagine anything more quaintly delightful than American small children and babies. They, up to four, wear the dearest little close caps of all colors, but generally white—the queerest, prettiest clothes—all just touching the ground. It is easy- to see where Kate Green a way got her models for her quaint pictures. They are ex actly here. Then the baby carriages— nothing approaching our clumsy per ambulators. They are all of either bent wood or good wickerwork, yellow ish white, like bamboo, and open work all around on perfect springs, aud most of them rock up* and down when not being wheeled, and have fixed, large parasols overhead In all colors and pretty devices. Half lying under this bright shade is a round-faced, pale, very pretty, piquant baby with unu sually dark eyes, with an expression in them as there was nothing they didn't know a tiny white silk cap on its tiny head: rings secured to its wrists by a ril bon on its fat fingers the dainiest white pillows, white fancy coverlets over its little body and an air of cushions and ci.ziness aboul it. Such is the America! baby." This is very delightful, even though it sounds as if the American baby were a species newly discovered by intrepid explorers. Fanlilon Can't be Forced. From the first beginnings of the his tory of dross, which date from the gar den of Eden, there is no instance of the deliberate adoption of a costume. No person or body of persons has ever said, "Go to, we will now make a fash ion." and has made ft. The history of dress is the history of the accidental and the incidental. It does not require a very long memory to look back over the futile efforts to force fashions, sup ported by the most unanswerable ar guments, on the unoffending women of this country. The New York Evening Sun instances bloomer costume, which was organized and promoted by Mrs. Amelia Bloomer, now a hard-working woman in long skirts out West. A few years ago the divided skirt, Avliicli Lady Barbertou has for twenty ye:ys tried to coax English women into, was busily taken up and eloquently promulgated in this coutry. A number of outwardly well-clad women were really persuaded to put it on. It proved to be not only ugly but a nuisance, and the same women not only discarded it, but put on tights it is easy to go down hill. The promoters of the divided skirt now call themeslves a national council, and have put forth another scheme of dress for women. National is a large word. It is pretty safe to say that unless the national council is backed up by the army and navy there is very little hope that their costumes, even those unqual ifiedly supported by reason and anat omy, will be adopted by the women of the country. Neither reason nor anat omy has ever had much to do in en forcing a fashion. The Young Girl at Home. The world, to young girls just leav ing school, sometimes takes on much i the same aspect that it might to a but terfly who found that he must return to his chrysalis. School was a place of bright com panionship, of endeavor, or *ewards, of social joyousuess and now to go to some dullness, to some work, to no companionship of mates and hilarity, to tasks new and possibly uncongenial, it seems but a gloomy prospect before her. Yet to make home pleasant to those within it, to lighten the burden of those who have been bearing them, maybe found as cheering in the end as any mere pursuit of pleasure for the sake of pleasure. If, on leaving school, every young girl could appoint herself a fixed task in the house and family, she would soon find herself deriving a wonderful sat isfaction from the effort and the ac complishment. If this one, for instance, would undertake the care of the par lors, the dusting, arranging, vase filling, the overseeing of the general order and attractiveness—even in a household where there are plenty of servants all the people in the house, as well as herself, would find the advantage of it. Thing:* to Remember About Sleeping Sunlight is good for everything but feathers. The best number of persona to each bed is—one. Away with heavy hangings, either above or below the bed. Beware a dusty, musty carpet bet ter sweetness and a bare floor. Do not fail to provide some means for ventilation during the night. Keep the head cool while sleeping, but not by a draft of cold air falling upon It. If a folding bed must be used, con trive some way to keep It aired and wholesome. Let the pillow be high enough to bring the head in a natural position no more or less. Thoroughly air the sleeping rcom every day air the beds and bedding as often as possible. A dark, out-of-the way, unwholesome corner is no more fitted for a sleeping room than a parlor. A feather bed which has done service for a generation or two is hardly a de sirable thing upon which to sleep. —Good Housekeex»ing. How to Bwve Strawberrie*. Little Individual side dishes that have so long accompanied the usual dinner set, making twelve of its one hundred and forty-four more or less pieces, are no longer suitable for use in a really tasteful table service, either for fruit or vegetables. Vegetables are to be cooked suffi ciently dry, so that they can be placed upon the plate, and fruit—that is, ber ries—are dished up into larger saucer shaped dishes, varying somewhat in shape and size or, still bolter, they are passed around the table, each person helping himself upon an ordinary des sert plate previously placed before him, eating them with either a fork or des sert spoon, both of which have been placed at his disposal and for his choice, according to whether he prefers his berries with cream or without it. If berries -are served with their hulls on lliey are eaten from the fingers, each one dipped separately into sugar on the side of the plate. Women of Their Period. In the great: momentum of the women movement, which gains new victims every day, one is inclined to overlook the fact that H-oraan was a power morally, socially and intellect ually in the fifteenth century as well as the nineteenth, that the doors of uni versities were open to her not only to study but to teach within their sacred precincts. In the University of Sala mancfi she had a place, and when Isa bella of Spain desired to acquire the Latin tongue it was to a woman that she turned for a tutor. In Italy, even in the thirteenth century, a noble Flor entine lady won the palm of oratory in a public contest with learned doc tors from all over the world. THE WE ITERS OF HUMOE. FOIBLES OF HUMAN NATURE FURNISH THEM TEXTS. A Louisville Woman Who Preferred Death to a Discovery of Her Decrepit Stockings—A Sail or's Attempt to Blow—The Test at the Hen-roost. She Had Holes In Her Stoeltlngs. One of the most estimable women of Louisville, and one whose friends would never suspect her as the one re ferred to below, is subject to smother ing spells and confidently expects to die during one of them. Several days ago, while sitting at her front window en gaged at some light needlework con versing with a neighbor, she felt one of the spells coming over lier. She called to her friend to sum moo Dr. and then fan her. The friend sent for the family physician, and in no time he was at the house. Meanwhile, the suf ferer was sure she was dying. "Oh, Mrs. she sobbed hyster ically, "I know I am going this time. I am dying, I am dying. Good-by, Mrs. ." The doctor at once began the applica tion of the usual restoratives, but they seemed of no avail. The sufferer ap peared! to be gradually losing her breath, and the doctor believed she was expiring. He tore away her ruch ings about her neck and called to her friend: "Mrs. take off her shoes, please we must enliven her circulation some how." The doctor got her neck free enough, but when the friend lifted one foot to remove the shoe the sufferer kicked her friend's hands with the oth er foot. The doctor did not notice this, but. thinking the friend could, perhaps, not undo the buttons, he reached down and picked up one of the patient's feet. The sufferer, evidently in her last gasps, kicked him also, but the doclor was determined. "Mrs. he said, "your shoes are too tight. They must come off." "Don't, doctor." gurgled the patient, "don't, doctor, I'm dying." "I know it, Mrs. he said, "but those shoes imyt come off." "Oh, no, doctor," was the feeble pleading. "But I say yes," answered the now frightened doctor, "and I'll take them off, too." "Oh, doctor, please don't, please don't—" "I'm sorry, 'Mrs. but—" Raising herself with a powerful effort the patient, pale as death itself, gaspeif. "Please don't take Silas was badly frightened. "Fo' de Lawd. boss, doan' do dat." he pleaded. "Ise gwinter tell de troof. I wuz (i'ir, boss, but I wuzn't dar tor steal no chickens. 'Deed I wuzn't. boss. I done got 'ligion las' week, sail, an' I jis' wuz down dar 'mongst dem chickens ter see ef I had de real powah ter 'zis' temptation, boss. Da's what I wuz doin' dar. boss, an' lliank de good Lawd, boss, I done got erway safe."—Detroit Free Press. 1 off my shoes, doctor —my stockings are full of holes." The effort seemed to bring back the life to the sufferer, and in half an hour she was as well as ever, with a new pair of stockings on, fully ready for the next "spell."—Louisville Courier Joumal. Te«(l«gr HI* Strcnftli. I was sitting out in front of the colonel's store in a Kentucky town, when a colored man came up to the pump with a bucket in his hand. "Here, Sile," exclaimed the colonel, "I've been looking for you." "Yes, boss what yer want?" respond ed Silas, coming before the colonel like a culprit. "Wasn't that you I saw fooling around my chicken coop last night?" "'Deed hit wuzn't, boss." "No lying, you black rascal it was you and I can prove it. What were you doing there?" "Nothin', boss." "Weren't you trying to steal a chick en?" "'Deed I wuzn't, boss." "Now look here, Sile, I want to know about this, and I'm going to. If you don't tell the whole truth I'll hand you over to the law." Not In the Millionaire Clnsa. "I want my hair cut like Mr. Vander bilt's." said a countryman, throwing himself in the barber's chair. "Which Mr. Vanderbilt?" inquired the barber. "Which one? Why, I'd never thought of that. There is mor'n one, ain't there? Which is the richest?" "Probably Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt," said the haircutter, dubiously. "Ah! That's the one I meant. Cut my hair like his. I'm going home to Rutherford, N. J., to-night and 1 want to create a sensation. There's nothing like following in the path of the rich." Then the barber began to hack away at the countryman's head. After awhile his patient gave a start. "Hold up!" he exclaimed. "I believe this doesn't suit my style of beauty. Perhaps, after all, you had better make me look like Mr. Astor." "There isn't enough hair left," de clared the barber. "Isn't, eh?" He gazed at his reflec tion in the glass very affectionately for a few moments and then answered sadly: "I guess you're right. Do me up like Bob Ingersoll or Abe Hummel. The Vanderbilts and Astovs ain't is my class."—New York Herald. Hi* Latest Murine Dl«anter, He is skipper of a coasting schooner, but he had a week off, and as "dad was laid up with rheumatiz." he turned to and helped out on the spring plow ing. He found it an altogether differ ent job than plowing the briny. His hitch was a yoke of oxen with the old mare on ahead, and this was a com bination that he had never handled be fore. However, with a boy to drive, he pitched in heroically. When the crash came, it was a de moralizing one. One ox got his leg over the chain, whirled around, and slipped down a side hill. The other ox flopped over its ma*e with a crash, and the mare was pulled down on her haunches and sat like Tovrzer on'a door-step. When the captain went to the rescue he was kicked about ten feet by one of the prostrate, struggling oxen. The panic was complete, and the captain flew into the house as rapidly as wind would allow. Here's how he breath lessly sized up the difficulty to dad: "Say. the larboard ox is on the star board side, the main brace is bottom side up, the rigging is all by the board, and the old mare's gone down stern foremost. What in blanknation are ye going to do about it?"—Lewlston Jour nal. MlMtnken Identity. New York Hotel Clerk—If I am not mistaken you and your wife stopped here about a year ago. Mr. Porkpacker— Yes, just about a year ago. New York H. O.—She seems changed somewhat. Mr. Porkpacker—Yes, a little. New YTork H. C.—She is a good deal stouter. Mr. Porkpacker—'Very likely. New York H. C.—And her hair IB darker. Mr. Porkpacker—Right you are, but let me tell you in confidence she is not the same wife. Her Artful Sag-Rev* ton. "Licenses are very expensive," re marked an Oakland youngjjian to his best girl. "Why, they only cost 50 cents apiece." replied she. "Fifty cents! Great Scott! Where can you get a liquor license for 50 cents?" "I was thinking of a marriage license, dear," explained the girl, coyly. "O-o-o-o! Shall I get one next week "Well, the 1st of May will be soon enough."—Pittsburg Chronicle Tele graph. Extra Hazardou*. Applicant for Insurance—No sir I neither drink, chew nor swear I don't go to the theater or attend balls and liave.no evil associates. I am at home always by 10 o'clock am a Sunday school teacher and my morals are above reproach. I never had a day's sickness in my life. Agent—That is an extra, extra haz ardous risk, young man, and we can't take it. "What!" "No. The good die young, you know."—Life's Calendar. School for Scant. I. Mrs. Murray Hill—How hideous Miss Blakely looked in that bonnet. Mrs. Manhattan Beach—I thought it was very becoming. At least the trim ming was very appropriate. Mrs. Murray Hill—I didn't notice the trimming. Mrs. Manhattan Beach—The bonnet was trimmed with ivy leaves. Ivy is very appropriate. It only clings to old ruins. The Ruling: Passion. "So Scribble, the reporter on the Daily Hooter, has got married." "Yes, I was at the wedding at the Little Church Around the Corner." "Was Scribble nervous?" "Nervous? Not much. While the minister was praying Scribble yanked out a note-book and took down the prayer in shorthand for the afternoon issue of the Hooter." Modern Architecture.* Visitor—What is that heavy, gloomy looking building over there? Resident—That is a theater and pleas ure resort. Visitor—And what is the graceful, airy, gothic structure to the right? Resident—That is the jail.—Chicago News. Young America. The Father (sorrowfully)—Tour ab sorption in social gayety grieves me. At your age such a life had no fascina tion for me. The Son (condescendingly)—At my age you probably lacked the fascina tions which I inherit from my mother's side of the family.—Pittsburg Bulle tin. Her Lofty Ainu First Society Girl—One of my slippers is a perfect wreck. Second Society Girl—Why, I wonder how you could have done it. First Society Girl—I don't know for sure, but I suspect that I tore it on the ga's fixtures at that last champagne supper.—Town Topics. Trials of Actor*. Said one: "The greatest misfortune that can happen to an actor is to lose his voice." To which an actor replied: "No, sir our greatest misfortune comes in when we have to play the part of a king or au emperor on the stage and go to bed without supper."—-La Margher ita. Had to be Tlppeil. Photographer—Now put a pleasait expression on your face. Waiter—1 don't see how I'm to do it, unless you tip mo with a dollar bill. Just What He Needed* "Don't you think it a little dangerous for you to go fishing when you are feel ing so badly?" "No. The doctor said a stimulant WDM just what I needed."—Inter-Ocean. Politely Sarcastic. She—So you're fully determined to marry her, are you? He—Absolutely. She—H'm! Don't you ever feel sorry for her?—Detroit Tribune. ffiusll}' Accounted For. Joslah—I noticed a powerful smell of smoke in the church, did you? Maudy—Law me, Josiali, don't you know all those city churches use pipe organs.—Chicago Inter-Ocean. Cautte for Tear*. "Dear me," cried mamma. "What la the baby crying for?" "He's mad at m\ mamma," said Mol lie. "1 was trying to make him smile with the glove-stretcher." Harper's Bazar. JACINTHA'S LOYE STOliY, By Mary Kyle Dallas. Jacintlia'B pet canary sung merrily in its gilded cage and pecked at the ,ump of white sugar sparkling between the bars, and at the cuttle-fish sus pended by a pink cord, and at the bit chickweedi peeping through the wire wxrk at the top of the cage, or now md then hopped down to the lowest perch and drank from its glass basin, if ting its head heaven wrard as though were thanking God, and then, flying ligher again, sang long and sweetly, juite happy in a world a foot and a aalf square, little, prison-born being, svho had never even wished to fly sky svard. But as for Jacintha herself, she sat oeside her window, restless and miser ible. She also had a gilded cage. An up per room In the most expensive hotel possible—dainties to eat—all she chose to buy of dresses or jewelry. But she lated the city streets, the din of traffic. She, who had lived where wild, green plains spread about her, and over all i great space of sky, blue or cloudy by turns—still always the sky. There the little towm lay, and great, bright flowers opened to the golden sun, and in their gay dresses the girls (at at their doors, or walked with arms around each other's waists down to the market place, where old women sat selling fruits and vegetables and pip Kins and baskets, and butter made as Hebrew women made it in the old Bible times, by sliak|ng the milk in *kius fastened between two sticks. Where men brought donkeys to sell and servants waited for masters, and little yellow tortillas were baked and sold aud ears of hot corn. Or on Sun Say they went to church and saw the blessed pictures of saints and angels on the wralls and said their prayers. Oh, the pretty village' How strange to think that there was not a wall of all those that used to look as white as snow against the dark-blue sky, now standii^. One night, as they slept In their hammocks, the air seemed to grow hot as a furnace, and the earth quivered beneath them, and shrieks md groans were heard from all the lit tle homes. The earthquake had come, and all the white houses toppled down, and even the beautiful church fell, and In the morning her parents and her lit tle brother Leon were dead. They lay half-covered by rubbish. Almost every one in the town was crushed to death even the old padre lay with his erucilix in his hand amongst a crowd of poor folk who seemed to have been praying. Sick and faint and wounded, Jacintha sat watching the faces of her deal ones, and thinking of Jose, who must be dead also, or he would have come to her, for she knew he loved her dearly, until she lost consciousness. When she seemed to awake she was In a place she knew nothing of. A handsome, middle-aged lady sat near her a stout old gentleman rubbed his chin with a gold-lieaded cane a fair young man was there also. "No one left belonging to her all dead," she heard the lady say, in En glish, which Jacintha knew very well, because an old gentleman who tad once boarded with her parents had taught her. "All alone in the world, and so beautiful! When we heard what the earthquake had done, we drove down—my son and I—to do what good we could at the Posada, which still stood, for it was a stout old buildi-ig, and a little out of range. They told is of this girl—she is named jacintha. She would have married some one named Jose, but he must have been killed. The house where he lived with his mother was a mere pile of stones. Parents, brothers, betrothed husband, all gou|—I was so sorry for her that I brought her away. And she will get well, doctor?" "Oh, yes," said the doctor—"yes, mad ame I see no reason why not. And in three or four days it will be safe for ner to travel, since you are so anxious to leave this place." "Yes, indeed! A place where the ground may open and swallow you any day,'' the lady replied. "I rhall re turn to New York and stay there." Then the doctor and the young man went away. Jacintha was too wTeak to do more than cry softly to herself. But one after the other the faces of her dead seemed to rise before her her mother, her father, little Leon, handsome Jose-dead, dead, dead! the earth-mounds above their bosoms dead! Oh, how could people die—how c»nld it be that they who were so hopeful, so bright and brave, were nothing and could be found nowhere any 'onger? The terror of the thought, the desola tion, pierced her heart again and again, like a veritable dagger, and soon she tossed about in a high fever, calling ill those lost ones by name, reproaching them with having left her, begging Jose, good Jose, to come back for her, because she knew not how to find the way to them. Oh, miserable hours—but that was not two years ago, and how good these strangers had been to her! How Mrs. Everiou had cared for her as for a daughter, and dressed her in fine clothes, and taught her what to do, and given her masters in music, and the fashionable way of dauging. lie fore that she danced well enough for Jose. And her son, Mr. Ralph Everton, so kind, so handsome, so like a prince, had asked her to marry him, and his mother had not cried out against it, but told her that she would welcome her as a daughter. "Every night Ja cintha prayed for both, and she was willing to marry Mr. Ralph, since he wished it. It was a high honor, as she well iuiew, but she should never love him as she had loved Jose. No one would ever be like Jose to her. "All men were as shadows," In her eyes, but Air. Ralph was good and hand some. She would be all she could to him—and poor Jose was dead. Yes, Jacintha was again betrothed. She sat at this window, with its great glass panes, aud thought it all over, as she listened to the song of the bird —Ralph's gift—and inhaled the perfume of the roses he had brought her, and caught the Hash of the diamond on her linger. The diamond set in Ralph's be trothal ring, and she knew that she was ungrateful, but slio hated everything— tne crowded streets, the strip of sky far up between the house roofs, the caged bird, the flowers, the gem. "And, oh, they have been so good t« me! Keep me from hating also Ralph and his mother, as if they were my jailers," she prayed. But, oh, for the white walls of the little town oh, for the dear old home oh, and alas! for Jose—dear, lost Jose. Past memories rushed back as they sometimes do. She could not bea? them. She must go out into such ail as was to be found in the stifling city In order to breathe. In her black lace dress and large, plumed hat. a red rose in her bosom, she walked swiftly onward. It wai almost as though she fled from seme accusing phantom. She had just real ized that in a week she should marry —marry another, not Jose. To be sure, he was dead, but was she sure that up there In heaven th^ might not know all about those they loved and left here? Perhaps Jose awaited her there, not knowing thai she was false to him. She walked more swiftly, finding It hard not to moan or scream. "I should not have promised myseb to my kind friend's son," she thought. "Yet how7 could 1 seem so ungrateful?" She half decided to go back and tell them that she would not, cotdd not, b« any man's wife, since Jose was gone. She paused before a shop window and seemed to stare at the stuffs dis played there—satins and velvets ol lovely tints, laces, ribbons, long, stream ing fringes, rich with gold or jet. But she saw nothing but the white walls of her lost home, the blue sky oi Mexico, the rich, dark face of Jose, with eyes like stars. Suddenlya man paused near her. She did not notice him. He came closer he touched her arm with his hand, and brought her to a sense of where she was and what she was doing with a start and shiver. "Pardon," he was saying, "I must be mistaken but the resemblance—I was obliged to ask—you are so like a friend of mine that—" Jacinta lifted her eyes to the speak er's face and uttered a cry. "Jose! Jose!" she screamed, "is it pos sible that after all you are not dead?" "Jacintha—it is Jacintha!" he cried. He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips—then his face grew grave. "I never saw you dressed like this," he said. "I could not believe my eyes, you are so fine." His eyes asked a question from whicb his lipe refrained. "The heart is the same underneath the satin, Jose," she whispered. "II beats for you alone." They walked on arm in arm. He in his picturesque costume, she in hex fashionable dress. Peoule stared at them they did not know it. She told him her story he told hei how he had gone away upon a little journey, the niglit of the earthquake, and returning, had found the place a wreck, and liis mother dead under the stones of their home. They had told him that a kind lady had taken Jacin tha away, but they coxdd not remem ber the lady's name, or whither she went. He had, afterward, been told that Jacintha had died also. How wretched he had been! Bui lately, some one had appeared whe knew that the lady lived in New York, and believed that Jacintha had not died —so he had come to this great city tc search for her. He had found her. "Are we to part again, Jacintha?" he asked. "Never!" she answered. "Oh, how good God has been to me, Jose." That niglit a boy brought a little note to those who waited anxiously at the hotel for Jacintha. These were the words it contained: "You have been so kind, so good tc me, my soul thanks you. I shall praj for you every day. But my Jose lives and he has found me—he is my be trot lied. When .you read this 1 shall bf his wife. 1 love him. Mr. Ralph could not care for a wife whose heart belong ed to another. Adieu! may God bless you. Your ungrateful —"Jacintha." Ralph grieved for a while, but he long ago found a lovely woman whe did not think her home a gilded cage, who gave him all her heart. As foi lacintlia, she dwells with Jose in theii lit He white adobe house under the blue sky of Mexico, and thanks heaven foi her happiness. Won His Way With Logan Carlisle Every official in Washington just no* is besieged by people In quest of office and the treasury department has prob ably more than Its share of them. Of ficials know how It is themselves, how ever, and their good nature is almosl superhuman. Among the extra well balanced ones is Logan Carlisle, chlel clerk of the treasury, and- to him lasl week came a youth from Indiana whe wanted to know about a place that h« had in view. "It's this way," said the young man after some talk "I'm like the man who had his leg cut off by a locomo tive." "How's that?" inuired Logan. "i In need of immediate atten tion." "Oh, in that case," laughed Logan "you'd better go to the Emergency hos pital." "Well," exclaimed the youth, makinj a low bow, "here I am." And Logai agreed on the spot to attend to hil needs at the earliest opportuidty. A Mean Fellow. First Broker—Of all mean, despicable dishonorable fellows, I think Quotem li the worst. Second Broker—You don't say! Whai has he done? First Broker—He made a big pile & that last flurry, and now he's going tc retire from business and live on tin money, instead of giving his old, tru» and tried friends on the street a fail chance to get it away from him. Warning llim. Head of Firm—Stockley & Co. art the biggest customers you have in St Louis, aren't they? Thammaker—Yes, sir. Head of Firm—I expect to be then next week, and I will make them i friendly trip. Thammaker—You'd better not. made them a present of that box cigars you gave me to take me on mj last trip.—Clothier and Furnisher,