PERSONAL.
The violet loves a sunny bank,
The cowslip loves the lea,
The scarlet creeper loves the elm,
But I love—thee.
The sunshine kisses mount and vale,
The stars they kiss the sea,
The west winds kiss the elover bloom,
But I kiss—thee.
The oriole weds his mottled mate,
The lily’s bride 0’ the bee,
Heaven's marriage ring is round the earth—
Shall I wed thee,
—Byard Taylor.
INDIAN SUMMER.
Fair Summer—flying from chill Autumn’s
breath— : :
Turned and looked back with longing restful
gaze, : a :
And saw the frest spirits, in their ‘work of
eath,
Despoil the fraits of her golden days.
But blithe October’s pencil moved among
The leaves and branches labyrinthic maze,
And touched the sumac with a crimson flame,
And swept the mountains with a purple haze,
Pleasant, in truth, it looked-—and Summer
smiled
And blew 2 kiss toward her one time home—
Then, laughing as a happy child,
She called her birds around her end was gone.
—Maud Burton, in The Ladies’ Home Journal.
DORA.
1.
Duncan Holmes (soliloquizing in
street car)—I don’t ‘believe 1n—
love at first sight, but I ‘believe in fate.
Ten minutes ago I was on the way
down town with the ‘fixed intention
of going in that direction and no other,
yet here I am riding up town, with not
the vaguest idea of stopping anywhere.
What induced me to change my mind
so suddenly ? I have never done such
an erratic thing before. What lovely
eyes she has!
Conductor—Change cars for Thirty-
fourth street ferry.
Puncan—Shall I'change cars ? Per-
haps I'd better.
A voice outside—DBananas ! Ten for
a quarter! Put ’em up in a bag for
yer?
Buncan—No, I'll stay where I am.
It is true, I saw Siesy Tomkyns in this
car as it passed me, but I would never
run three blocks for the pleasure of
talking to him. Much more likely to
run the other way. He is an uamiti-
gated ninny—every one knows that. I
was immensely relieved when he got
oft the car.
Woice at the ‘window—Ten for a
quarter !
Duncan—And then I got this seat
directly opposite her. How fortunate.
Wag there ever such a face? And
such beautiful hair! Tbe old lady
must be her grandmother—no, I don’t
want bananas. We were so near her
when we were hanging on that strap
together that she heard every word we
said. I could see that plainly. That's
Tomkyn's cue virtue, he gives a person
such opportunities for being brilliant,
(Car goes on.)
Voice in distance—Ten—quarter—
bag for yer
Duncan—It’s fate, that’s clear. It
is a little dark in the tunuvel, so now 1
can look at her without knowing it. I
have never seensuch a pretty profile
nor-such a lovely-smile. And what a
soft, sweet vosoe she has! I would lis-
ten to it all day. The old lady se-ms
to'be.a sensible sort of party. Why
does she not drop her fan or her hand-
kerchief, or do something to give me a
change of making myself useful?
Conductor—New Haven depot!
Duncen—Nearly every one is get-
ting off the car. A little
in the eountry would be agreeable,
perhaps. No, I'll stay in towa and go
up the avenue. What is the old lady
saying to her new’? Something about
the streets.
Old Lady— We must not go too far
up, Dora. You will have to ask the
conductor. (Looks reund anxiously.)
Buacnan «(raising his hat)—Can I be:
of any service, madam ?
Old Ladgy—Thank you. I want to
know where number—Fifth avenue is.
Buncan—I am not guite sure, but I
will ask thedriver. (Goes out on front
platform,)
Small Boy in the strect—Look cat
for the dog!
; ne stops and frightened cur runs
in.
Small Boy (gleetully}—There he
goes! Mad deg, mad dog!
(Lady passengers scream and rush
out the other door.)
Dora—Mon’t He frightened, grand-
ma. Wait for me or you will fall,
grandma!
Condueter—Well, I never seed such
a stampede.
Passenger (to Duncan)—The young
lady dropped her cape. There she
goes : you ean catch her.
Duncan (taking ¥ and rushing out)
—Fate is with me!
a1.
Duncan Helmes {smoking in his
room)—What a race I've had all the
afternoon with that fur cape! I dis-
tinctly saw her and the old lady get-
ting into a cab, and I ran blocks and
blocks to catch them. There was such
a crowd in the avenue that I could
hardly keep the eab in sight—I kaew
it by the blue curtain at the back. At
last it stopped ; I eame up breathless
making my best bow ; the door opened
and two gentlemen got out. There
were two cabs with blue curtains, and
I followed the wrong one. What a
dilemma I wae in. I was determined
to find her before an advertisement for
the cape appeared in the paper, for I
would not 1elish going to her as if to
claim “twenty dollars reward,” I
turned the cape inside out in hopes of
finding some clew to the owner, and in
the little pocket was a slip of paper
with three memoranda written in a
delicate, running hand: “Notepaper,
milliner, Charley's slippers.” How I
envied Charley, whoever he might be,
Her brother, 1 thought, and she was
going to order his slippers—a good, |
kind sister, There was nothing else in
the pocket except the handkerchief, I
have kept if as ga souvenir, There can
| be no barm
trip.
in such a theft as that.
Some day, when we are both old, I
shall hunt herup again and give it
back to her, and we shall laugh to-
gether over the mad-dog episode.
There is melancholy satisfaction in the
prospect, It is a pretty little trifle,
daintly embroidered in blue, with her
name in one
sweet, stately, name just suited to her.
This shall never leave ie until 1 give
it into her own hands. When that
time comes my hands will be wrinkled
and shaky and my hair white, her
blue eyes will be dim with years and
her voice cracked—bah! what is the
use of thinking of it? I don’t believe
in fate, but I believe in love at first
sight. Ah, me! James isstaying a
long time. I told him to ride both
ways, Whata mercy it was that I
did not carry out my first plan of ap-
plying for information at the house
in Fifth avenue to which they were
going. 1 should have looked a pre-
cious idiot. I had made up my mind
to relate the car incident in an off
hand way and to descibe the two ladies
hair and gray eyes, and all that, but
any one, at least any woman, would
have seen that I was in love and would
have taken infinite pleasure in enlight-
ening me. I thank my lucky stars
that I did not go there, but received
another inspiration when within five
yards of the house. I took one more
look at the cape and wae satisfied
that it was quite new and had the
maker's name inside the collar. 1
dashed over to the elevated, caught
the next train, rode down
town, and reached the fur
rier’s shop just as it was closing up.
The proprietor was very obliging, call-
ed up his men, had the matter looked
into, and informed me that a cape sim-
ilar to the one I showed him had been
made a week ago fora Mrs. ‘Charles
Botan- Married, married—Theodora!
He gave me her address. I shall
leave on Saturday and join mother and
the girls in Switzeriand.
Here is James. Well?
James—It's all right sir. The lady
described the cape exactly, so I gave it
to her, She was very much obliged to
you, and the gentleman gave me five
dollars, sir.”
Duncan—Yes; very well. Now I
want you to pack my small trank. I
am going to Europe. And, James
about what age is—er—the gentleman,
Mr. Botan ? Did he seem to be a fee-
ble, - delicate-looking sort of man at
all ?
James—No, sir. I took him to be
about thirty-six or seven—a little older
than yourself, sir.
Duancan—Y es.
against me !
Now go. Fate is
111.
Duncan Hoimes (in his married
sister's drawing-room to years later)—
It was certainly a strange coincidence,
to say the least. Soon after reaching
Geneva I saw ina New York paper
the death “suddenly,” of Charles Bo-
tan, at the address to which I had sent
the fur cape. Two weeks agol came
home, and while attending an after-
noon tea, here at Margaret's, saw sit-
ting in a corner, dressed in black,
Theodora. 1 went to my sister and
whispered, Who is she?’ “She?" re-
turned Margie, “in black ? Oh, that is
Dora Botan. Poor dear ! she has only
just left off her erape. You must meet
her; she is charming.” In another
minute we were standing before her.
Margie said, hurriedly : ‘ Dora, this is
my brother, Duncan Holmes ¥ou
have heard me speak of him,” and
then flew off to greet a new-comer. Ah,
what a delighuful half-hour. I pasaed
talking to her, listening, to her voice,
and looking into her eyes! She is not
much changed, though sadder than she
| was, and I fancied once that she had a
dim recollection of me, but that is hard-
ily possible. She did not speak of the
fur-cape incident nor of her husband.
JI have met her twice in the street since
then, and last Sunday I went inte
church with her. Bhe promised me
she would be here this evening, and
she has kept her word.
«(His sister shows Bora in.)
Dora—I am early, I see.
arrivals ?
{Duncan—No : there .are several per-
sons in the next room, but it is very
comfortable here.
Dora—I have not been anywhere for
80 long that I feel quite strange.
Duuncan—Yet, a musicale is not a
formidable affair. Have this arm-
chair, and I will take this one. Now,
I want to tell you a seeret.
Deora—A secret, Mr. Holmes?
Duncan—Yes ; and to restore to you
a piece of property of yours which ae-
cidentally came into my possession two
years ago, and which I have felonious-
ly retained and concealed wntil now.
Oh, you need not think this a joke, it
is solemn truth, Have you forgot-
ten?
Dora—Have I forgotten what?
Duncan—That we met two years
ago, you and I. There is recollection
written in your eyes, but you do not
quite place me.
Dora—I thought I had seen you be-
fore and heard you talk. Only yester-
day I was thinking
Duncan—Q@f me ? Thank you. Now
listen. I came uptown to-day in a
street car, and we reached the tunnel [
heard a familiar voice which give me g
thrill of delight. The words it said’
were unpeoetic and commonplace:
“Bananas! ten for a quarter. Put’em
up in a bag for yer?” In an instant I
seemed to see you sitting opposite me,
a sweel-faced old lady at your side.
She asked me where No.—Fifth avenue
was. Do you remember now? A
hunted dog ran through the car you
vanished from my sight. What is the
matter? There are tears in your
eyes.
Dora—Yes; I recoliect it all. It
was only a few weeks before my great,
great sorrow—
I did not
Hark, the
Shall we go into
Daucan—0Oh, pardon me.
mean to grieve you so,
music is beginning.
the other room ?
corner—Theodora; a |
Gaod-ev-'
ening, Mr, Holmes: are we the first]
Dora—No, thank you ; we can hear
very well here. Are you fond of music ?
Duncan—Yes; very. That fellow
plays well, too.
Dora—I am so glad you thought
dear grandma had a sweet face. It
suited her exactly. I nearly died when
I lost her, and now I am quite alone.
Duncan—Is she dead? I am shock-
ed to hear it. I had no idea you were
in mouring for her. (Aside.) Where
on earth is Botan, then ?
Dora—Your face shows you are
grieved. Thank you, I remember
that vou were very kind that day.
( nging begins.) That is a fire voice,
but I'm very tired of the song. Are not
you?
Duncan—I do not know it.
. Dora——Not know “Marguerite ?’/
Duncan—-Yes, yes; of course! Par-
don me, I was thinking of something
else. Iam glad we are not the have
another verse. It is time I restored
the rest of your propety to you. This
handkerchief has been all over Europe
with me.
Dora—Did I drop it in the car?
particularly the old ove, her short, white { But vo ; you have made a mistake. It
is not mine.
Duancan—Not yours? I found itin
the pocket of your fur cape, and it has
your name. Look, Theodora ?
Dora Indeed you mistake. My
name is Dorothea.
Duncan I do not understand.
Did not my servant go toyour house in
Seventieth street ?
Dora No; he could not have done
80, for I have always lived in Madison
avenue.
Duncan But he saw your—your—
Mr. Botan.
Dora Whoecan youmean? I have
no brother, and my father has been
dead for ten years.
Duncan But but do you mean to
say you did not lese your fur cape that
day ?
Dora Mr. Holmes, I assure you I
never had one. I begin to understand
now. The lady who sat next me in
the car had one on her lap.
Duncan Isee, T see; I was ona
wildgoose chase. But tell me, what is
your name ? Margie called you Dora
Botan.
Dora Here is my visiting card in
her card-basket look !
Duncan Miss Dorothea Boughton
Mise Dorthea Boughton ! Miss! Well,
well, what an absurd mistake I made!
Was there ever such a stupid ? Sissy
Tomkyns himself could not have done
worse. Let me explain from the be-
ginning.
Dora Hark 1
(Tenor sings.)
“For one brief space we met,
I looked on thee and loved, and loved thee!”
Duncan That is just my case.
Dora It is not polite to talk during
the singing.
Duncan For two years I have loved
you hopelessly, Dora Dora Dorothea.
What say yot ?
Dora Hush sh! Listen!
(Soprano sings.)
“Look, looki in my eyes
And ask, and ask no more !”
—Frank Leslie's Newspaper.
A duett,
How a Coat of Tar Feels.
People who read of tarring and feath-
ering by White Caps and others known
that the punishment is a very unpleas-
ant one, but few imagine how terribly
painful and dangerous it is. In Wy-
oming [once saw a man who had been
tarred and feathered, and, although he
fully deserved it I.could not help pity-
ing him. Hardened tar is very hard
to remove from the skin, and when
feathers are added it forms a kind of
cement that sticks eloser than a broth-
er. As soon as the tar sets, the vic
tim’s suffering begins. It contracts as
it cools, and everyone of the little veins
on the body is pulled, causing the most
exquisite agony. The perspiration is
entirely stopped, and unless the tar is
removed death is certain to ensue. But
the removal is no easy task, and re-
quires several days. The tar cannot be
softened oy the application of heat, and
must be pealed off bit by bit, sweet oil
being used to make the process less
painful. The irritation to the skin is
very great, as the hairs caunoy be dis-
engaged, but must be pulled out or cut
off. No man ean be cleaned of tar in
in a single day, as the pain of the op-
«eration will be too exerueiating for en-
«durance, and until thisds done he has
to sufler from a pain like that of 10,000
pin picks. Nuwmbers of. men have died
under the tortue and nonewho have gone
through it regard tarring and feather-
ing as anything but a most fearful in-
flietion.----8t. Louis Globe Democrat.
The Siamese Twins.
Eag and Chang, the twins, were born
in Siam in 1811, and came to the United
States 1n 1829, after which they were on
exhibition many years here and in Eu-
rope. They settled near Mount Airy,
NC, in 1854, where they died in 1874.
Chang died unexpeetedly while the
twins were in bed and had been dead
several hours before Eng awoke. The
latter received a nervous shoek at the
sight of his dead brother which termin-
ated fatally in about an hour. The
twins were connected in the epigastric
regions by a band about six or seven
inches long and about two and a half
in diameter. They were physiological-
ly distinct persons, having different
forms, strength and dispositions. Each
was married and bad several children,
none of whom exhibited any malforma-
tion.
Dry Goops.—An old lady from way-
back regions came to the city to do some
“trading.” Asshe looked around the
elegant store with vague wonder a dandy
floorwalker approached her.
“What can I do for you to-day,
madam ?”’ :
“I want to go to the place where you
sell dey goods.”
“It is right here, madam.
of dry goods do you want?”
“Dried apples, mister.”
‘What kind
That tired feeling now so often
heard of, is entirely overcome by
Hood's Sarsaparilla, which gives men-
tal aud bodily strength.
A Street Car Romance.
How the Loss of a Purse Led a Young
Man to Matrimony.
“Tickets |” shouted the smart young
conducior, as he elbowed his way
through the passengers standing in a
car which was being drawn swiftly up
California street.
iv was but half past five o’clock on a
Thursday afternoon that I found my-
self inside a car filled with men return-
ing from business, scattered among
whom was a sprinkling of members of
the fairer sex, who, encumbered with
their innumerable purchases and wrap-
ped up in cloaks, allowed only the tips
of their noses to appear over their long
boas of furor featuers.
It was one of those cold, fogg even-
ings that make pedestrians harry along
at top speed, while the policeman at the
corners of the streets tramp up and
down to keep themselve warm.
The ladies seemed to have great diffi-
culty in bringing their purses out of
their small muffs or from their deep
pockets, and a continuous string of apol- |
ogies were offered for involuntary el-'
bowings, caused by endeavors of their
benumbed hands to obtain hold of the
nickels for their fares.
“Why, where is my purse?
claimed asweet voiced lady of middle-
age, after a hasty search in her muff
and a hasty exploration of the myste-
rious aepths of the handsome gown she
wore.
“No, mamma.”
“Then some one must have stolen it,
or, perhaps, I have left it in some of the
shops—down at the White House, it is
very probable,
All eyes were turned in the direction
of the speaker, and the condtictor began
to look very knowing.
“Haven't you got any money?’ he
asked in a gruff voice.
“No; I have lost my purse, which
contained all the money I had about
me.
in the morning, or I will send the money
at once on returning home.”
“Can’t do it, ma'am,” replied the con-
ductor ; ‘‘you’ve got to pay now or get
out and walk.”
“Here, conductor,” Isaid, tendering
him a dime; and then turning to the
elder lady, I added: “Ivis the rule of
the company, Madam. The conductor
cannot givecredit to passengers.
vou will permit me to spare you the an-
noyance of having to get out at this
hour.”
“I am very much obliged to you,
sir,”” replied the lady, “and I accept
| your kind offer willingly. Will you be
| good enough to give me your address,
that I may discharge without delay this
small debt ?”’
“Oh, 1t is a mere nothing, madam,” I
replied. “I shall be very well satisfied
if you wili give the sum to the first poor
person you meet.”
| “Oh, no, not at all, sir,” said the lady;
“I must insist—"’
Under such pressure I could hardly
refuse, and as the car was now approach-
ing Hyde street, where I transterred to
the cross-town line, I took the three
transfers the conductor gave me, and,
confused by the deep interest of the
other passengers, now all eyes and ears,
d hastily drew out a card, and, raising
my hat, extended it, with two transfers,
to the lady: But it was the young girl
who, blushing deeply, took them.
‘The following day I had almost for-
‘gotten the incident, when among my
letters I found one--in an unknown
handwriting—bearing the city post-
mark.
I opened itand saw, at‘ached to the
top of the visiting card enclosed, five
two-cent postage stamps. On the card
was printed :
MR. AND MRs. JoEN G. CARMEN.
While underneath was written: ‘Mr.
and Mrs. Carmen present their compli-
ments and thanks to Mr. Paul Barnard
for his kindness and courtesy. Tues-
days. No. —, Pine street.”
I put the card aside on my desk, un-
-der a vase of violets, and 1t was not till
one morning, nearly a week later, that
I came across it again.
Now, every day you meet people in
the street cars whom you look at for an
instant with more or less attention ; but
in my case I had scarcely had a glimpse
of the mother or the daughter, and had
not the least idea if they were pretty or
otherwise. Krom their accent and
manner, however, there could be no
doubt they were of the upper world—
but, after all, of what interest, could
they beito me?”
Nevertheless, I did feel interest, so
why should I attempt to deny it ?
Their address had been given me, and
also their day at home. The address
was printed, but “the day’’ was written
in a mederr, angular “Enghsh hand.
Not so the lines of thanks; the hand-
writing there was the delicate, precise
kind that young misses were taught
thirty years ago. The mother had cer-
tainly written them.
But who bad written “the day ?”’
I became curious. How could 1 find
out? Yes, there wasa way But to
call on people with whom I had only
exchanged a lew words—almost on the
street, and who in a week might have
forgotien bth my name and my face,
was rather & delicate matter.
Then I should have to undergo the
torture of feeling myself an intruder, as
the servant would announce me in the
reception room where, perhaps, half-a-
dozen ladies, unknown to me, would
look me over from head to foot as 1 ad-
vanced, as if to ask :
“Who is this person, and where does
he come from ?”’
When I thought it well over, how-
ever, I reflected that there had been oc-
casion to talk of me, and, at the name
of Paul Barnard, Mrs. Carmen would
know very well who I was.
At all events, I determined to renew
the acquaintance, and so the following
Tuesday found me at the door of No.--
Pine street.
J must confess I did feel rather uneasy
when wy inquiry “Mrs. Carmen?”
brought the answer: “Yes, sir; shall I
take your coat, sir ?”” and I was present-
ly ushered into a handsomely furnished
room, where I proceeded to pull myself
together while awaiting Mrs. Carmen.
* * *
Since then some months have passed.
“Paul, what are you writing ?”’
“A little story. darling.”
“Let me see.’
“No, no—not yet.’
You
haven’t got it, have you, Ethel?’ ex- |
But my husband will pay for us’
I hope |
But she had looked over my should-
| er, and a small band soon esvered my
eyes, while an arm slipped round my
neck and her soft lips pressed mine.
“Oh, you naughty boy! But just
wait a minute.”
She disappeared laughing, and came
back quickly with 2 small blue sachet,
from out of which she drew two pink
street car transfers. -
“You see I've kept them safely—you
did not think I had thrown them away,
dear? The first Tuesday I eried all
nigtt. If you had not come the sec-
ond—"’
“Well, what would you have done,
Ethel ?”
“Shall I tell you ?”’
tyes.”
“You won’t be cross ?
have sent you one of them by post.”
“How jolly! And Mrs. Carmen—
did she know—"
“No, no, no. She was ever so sur-
prised when you calied. It was I who,
before closing the envelope, secretly
wrote at the foot of the card ‘Tuesdays.
| Are you sorry ?”’
(And then thereis the sound of kiss-
ing.)
Northerners Down South.
There is a large crowd of Northern
people constantly in attendance at the
Southern Inter-State Exposition in the
well paid for the expense of a trip. It
is, as we have heretofore said, really
the Exposition to see what the negro
has to show for his quarter of a century
| and it ought to be gratifying to all who
| desire to see the Union perpetuated to
| know that the white people and colored
| people are living together 1n pwace, and
working shoulder to shoulder for the
development of the Southern section of
the Union, For what is to the advant-
| age of one section is to the advantage of
the whole. We of this part of the
Union fought to keep the Southern part
from leaving the Union, and we suc-
' ceeded, The negroes were freed, and it
is gratifying to all to know that our
work was not in vain; but thereis a
great improvement over the old South;
that in every nook and corner of that
favored land peace and prosperity are
on theincrease. And one great pleasure
to us is the fact that the Southern peo-
ple are really in earnest in inviting us
to visit then and to join with them in
utilizing the great wealth they have in
the millions of acres of virgin lands that
have never been cultivated, but only
await the hand of man to make then.
produce the most abundant crops. It
is the greatest mistake to suppose the
South a great level flat country covered
with pines and scrub oaks. There are
mountains in North Carelina higher
than the White wountains of New
Hampshire. Northerners who visit the
Exposition are very much surprised at
what the South has inside her borders.
Telling a Cow’s Age.
Almost all farmers know that the
marks upon the horas of acow indicate
her age, but few know exactly how to
count them, At two years old a
wrinkle may be found forming at the
base of the horn, and as the horn
| grows during the following year, this
wrinkle becomes easily seen. Its full
development marks three years’ growth
At five years a second is fully develop-
ed, and after that one appears every
year, until at the age of eleven or
twelve the wrinkles are smaller and
closer and less conspicuous and some
of the earlier ones will have been worn
entirely away. Then itis time to kill
the cow, for she has outlived her use-
fulness as a producer.
The Code of Hara-Kiri.
A Way of Satisfying Honor Among
Japanese Nobility.
It is generally understood that hara-
kiri, or hara-wo-Kkiri is the solemn: prac-
tice of suicide among the Japanese no-
blemen --a practice most deeply rooted
in their ideas of honor and faithfulness.
The hara-kiri was first practiced on
the battlefield. If the defeated did not
wish to fall alive into the hands of the
enemy they thrust their swords into
their mouths or their breasts or cut their
own throats. Later the hara-kiri be-
came an institution of honor. WWho-
ever knew his cause to be lost either ex-
ecuted himself with his sword or allow-
ed his companions to do it for him, Tt
often happened that when a feudal lord
had performed his self execution his vas-
sals followed his example to show their
loyalty beyond the grave,
HIS MEMORY UNSTAINED.
My mother, who was a Japanese of
rank, often related to me a case of ha.a-
kiri which took place not so many years
agoin her own family. The nobleman,
occupying a government office, had
killed his bitterest enemy and was sen-
tenced to the hara-kiri. If he had not
belonged to the caste of warriors they
would either have beheaded him or sen-
tenced him to be nailed to the cross,
which would have brought dishonor on
his family, besides resulting in pecuni-
ary disadvantages. The hara-kiri, how-
ever, attached no dishonor to him or his
memory. The condemned man was
committed to the surveillance of a noble-
man in whose mansion the solemn self-
execution was to take place, Day and
hour were appointed, and the witnesses
elected by the government arrived.
The condemned man had begged three
of his friends to render him the last ser-
vice and they consented.
Subordinates called on the prisoner to
tell of the arrival of the witnesses.
They brought him robes of hemp on a
tray. He donned them quickly and
hurried to the reception room of the pal-
ace, where the sentence of death was
read to him. The prisoner listened to
it without moving a feature. Then he
retired once more to his chamber to
change his dress for the last time. At-
tired in white robes, he was led by a
solerun procession to the room where
the self-execution was to take place. A
large cotton cloth was spread on the
mats,
to prevent the
through the mats.
blood from
It was already dark
Well, I would '
city of Raleigh, N. C,and they are |
more interesting for the Nurtherners |
than a trip to the Chicago Exposition. |
Hundreds of people are flocking to |
of freedom. Right well have the color- |
{ed improved in their Southern homes, |
Over this a scarlet quilt was laid |
oozing | the foliage in gray-green.
and a candelabrem, giving a faint light
was placed in esch corner. Bghind two
white screens-a paid, a wash basin, a cen-
sor, a tray and a short sword lay hidden.
According to prevailing ruies, the per-
sons present stepped into the semi-dark
room and touk their pinces
Then the duties of the three assistants
of the prisoner began. The first
brought bim the sword on a short leg-
ged tabla, the hilt being wrapped in pa-
per. The prisoner receives the weapon
with reverence, lifting it with both
hands to bis forehead to express his es.
| teem. Then he laid it back on the ta-
{ ble and bowed to all present. He let
, bis upper garments fall down to. the
| belt, and stuffed them firmly under his
. kne_s to prevent him from falling back-
ward, which is looked on as a disgrace.
{ Then, while with a firm haad he seized
| the sword, and witha quick movement
| cut up his stomach, the second assistant,
| who stood on his left side, with one
| fierce blow severed the head from the
trunk. After rendering his friend this
terrible service he retired behind the
| screens, drew some white paper from his
belt and wiped the weapon ~ The third
| assistant then grasped head by the wuft
| of hair and presented it to the principal
{ government witness to show that justice
| had been fully satisfied. This was fol-
i lowed by deep silence. All present re-
tired quietly. On the floor lay the
body of the nobleman. Four servants
appeared and carried away the body and
cleaned the room.
The memory of the nobleman rve-
mained unstained. He had remained
loyal to his rank in death.
NOT FOR THE SHOGUN.
In 1869 a private secretary to the
privy council proposed the abolition of
the hara-kiri. Two-thirds ot the depu-
ties were against the proposition, and
in the speeches held on that occasion
they praised the institution as indispen-
sable to preserve the honor of the aris-
tocracy, and as aspur to morality and
religion. The man who advanced the
proposition was, as was expected, mur-
dered not long afterward.
Of course all Japanese do not share
the opinion of those deputies. In the
last change of gover. ment when the
shogun, completely defeated, had no
other alternative than to flee to Yeddo,
one of his councilors advised him to
have recourse to the hara-kiri as the last
means of saving his honor and that of
his family. The shogun ridiculed the:
advice and left the room in a rage.
The taithtul councilor retired to another
part of the palace and disemboweled
himself in proof of his earnestness. The
shogun is still living and enjoys a fat in-
come.
So much about the essential charac-
teristics of the hara-kiri. The changes
which this old national custom has un-
dergone cause the particulars concern-
ing it to be somewhat contradictory.
By the introduction of a new code of
laws, the hara-kiri has been abolished
and only noblemen who still believe in
the traditional code of honor of their an-
cestors, may select it as a mode of death.
— C. Sadalkichi Hartmann in New York
Sun.
Snap Shots tor Women,
Short jackets are set aside as quite out
of date.
Trailing street dresses are being very
generally pulled up.
Cure a stiff neck with a plaster of
mustard or warm molasses.
Cure a tickling in the throat with a
pinch of dry pulverized borax, placed on
the tongue and slowly dissolved.
The busy women will find it economi-
cal to use, instead of a dress braid, a
binding of corduroy or velveteen.
A tablespoorrful of ox-gall to a gallon
of water will set the colors of almost any
goods soaked in it before washing.
A new shade, called Thermidor-—-a
marigold yellow—is very fashionable in
millinery and satin dress pattern.
To remove coffee stains, put thick
glycerine on the wrong side of the arti-
cle, and wash out in lukewarm water.
Sift a tablespoonful of pulverized su-
gar over the top of two crust pies, bak-
ing, and see how delicious it tnakes them.
A little sugar added to beets, corn,
squash, peas, ete., during or after cook-
ing will improve them. particularly if
poor.
When meat is broiling it will cook
more quickly if a irying pan is turned
over it. Frying may be hastened in the
same way.
Sashes are made of India silk and
surah, fringed out atthe bottom, and
tied up high under the arms with large
bows in back.
The woman who can succeed in mak=
ing her face perspire freely every day
will in a very few months have a clear:
bright, tine complexion.
A new and delicious dainty is prepar-
ed by taking the stone either from dates
or prunes and substituting a bit of the
kernel of an English walnut.
In making custard, pumpkin or lemon
pies, it is better to partly bake the crust
before adding the mixture. so that it
mayjnot be absorbed by the paste.
Sou is the name of one of the new col-
ors in Paris, a brownish copper, just the
color of a well-used bronzed coin. It is
handsome in velvet, and effective in
fine wool materials.
These jottings are from the Home
Queen. Yellow stains, left by sewing
machine c1l on white, may be removed
by rubbirg the spot with a cloth wet
with ammonia before washing with
soap.
Another kind of embroidery that is
by courtesy calied ‘Oriental’ 1s done on
soft, faded-colored sateens with the ex-
quisitely colored Moravian cottons. Red
and blue are used on a dark dull-red
ground with good effect. The stitch
most commonly used in this work is the
herring-bone stitch of our grandmothers
now dignified by the name of “Turkish
stitch.”
A friend of Laurels in the States is to
be married immediately. One of her
trousseau gowns is a dream to judge
from the description. It is in soft,
white crepe-de-chine, embroidered with
silver and pale purgle pansies, and worn
with a pansy velvet Swiss belt and bre-
telles. The groups of pansies on the
dress consist of a silver une and a purple
overlapping each other slightiy, with
Does it not
" sound nice ?