Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, July 24, 1896, Image 2

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Democratic 11
Bellefonte, Pa., July 24,1896.
What is a gentleman? Is it a thing
Decked with a searfpin, a chain and a ring,
Dressed in a suit of immaculate style,
Sporting an eyeglass, a lisp and a smile,
Talking of operas, concerts, and balls,
Evening assemblies and afternoon calls.
‘Sunning himself at “At Homes" and bazars,
Whistling mazurkas and smoking cigars %,
What is a gentleman ? Say is it some one
Boasting of conquests and deeds he has done ?
One who unblushingly glories to speak
Things which should call up a flush to his cheek ?
One who, while railing at actions unjust,
Robs some young heart of its pureness and trust?
Scorns to steal money, or jewels or wealth,
But thinks it no erime to take honor hy stealth?
What is a gentleman ? Is it not Gne
Knowing instinctively what he should shun,
Speaking no word that can injure or pain,
Spreading no scandal and deepening no stain ?
One who knows Low to put each at his ease,
Striving instinctively always to please ?
One who can tell by a glance at your cheek
When to be silent, and when he should speak ?
What is a gentleman ? Is it not one
Honestly eating the bread he has won,
Living uprightly, fearing his God,
Leaving no stain on the path he has trod,
Caring not whether his coat may be old,
Prizing sincerity far above gold,
Recking not whether his hand may be hard,
Stretching it boldly to grasp its reward?
What is a gentleman ? Say, is it birth
Makes a man nobie, or adds to his worth ?
Is there a family tree to be had
Spreading enough to conceal what is had?
Seek out the man who has God for his guide ;
Nothing to blush for and nothing to hide,
Be he a noble, or be he in trade,
This is the gentleman nature has made.
— Young Folks.
If it had not rained that afternoon it-
would probably have continued ‘‘six’’ until
the end of the chapter.
It is in the ‘American Claimant,” I be-
lieve, that Mark Twain says there is a great
deal of valuable time wasted in the descrip-
tion of the weather, and so leaves it out of
his story altogether, after. supplying the
reader in the preface with short extracts
descriptive of the weather by notable writ-
ers from which he can choose at will par-
ticular description to fill such vacancies in
Mark Twain’s story. Now, in ‘‘The Amer-
ican Claimant,’”’ the weather was quite a
minor consideration, and neither the plot
nor the development of the characters de-
pended in the least upon it.
However, if it had not been for the rain,
I repeat, the ‘‘Seven Dresses’’ would have
remained ‘‘six,’”” and would have been so
in the deepest obscurity, for the title
would, in all probability, never have
adorned a magazine page.
If there was any one thing David Rhys
objected to over and above another, it was
a rainy day, and damp shoes were his
special abomination ; so, on that day, when
a particularly unexpected shower caught
him near The Flambeaw’s editorial rooms,
his first thought was naturally to seek
shelter, and enjoy a friendly chat at the
same time in the sanctum sanctorum, the
office of the editor-in-chief, his old school-
He found the arbitrator of the destinies
of hundreds of literary aspirants, busy over
a pile of papers, which he pushed aside
upon the entrance of his friend, proceeding
to enjoy his company and the fumes of a
good cigar with as, much complacency and
easy forgetfulness of work as though he
were not being cursed every moment for
his delay in announcing his decisions re-
garding certain manuscripts.
They talked of—what you will. There
were reminiscences of the past, comments
upon the present, and speculations as to
the future to be gone through with, so the
time sped by rapidly enough, until an
hour had passed. Still it rained, with ab-
solutely no indications of holding up, and
so David Rhys stayed on, bearing with
what patience he could muster his friend’s
many interruptions.
‘You can have no idea of the trials of
my position,” said the editor; ‘‘yet I
never get any sympathy. The greatest
trial of all is this sort of thing,”’ pointing
to a pile of manuscripts. ‘‘It is assuming
the character of fate, for the time being,
and in a small way, you know, and the
position is not always pleasant. It would
be delightful if I could offer financial aid,
or, at least, encouragement to all of my
despairing would-be contributors, but you
know how impossible that is. There is,
generally speaking, only ahout one article
out of every fifty thatis worthy of ac-
ceptance, and so, in spite of the piteous
letters that accompany many of them. I
to, reject the majority. I am
often at a loss to keep my human
sympathy from interfering with my judg-
ment. Here is a case that is especially
puzzling,” picking up a neat typewritten
manuseript. ‘‘The writer of this story is
a lady of birth and breeding who belongs
to a formerly wealthy Southern family,
and who now earns hy her unaided efforts
everything that supports her invalid moth-
er and herself. She had tried everything.
Literature seems to be her last resource. I
did not learn this from her, but—well, in
another way. Her story, ‘‘Six Dresses,”
has little or no literary merit. There is
some pathos, but the attempt at humor is
terribly strained. One cannot be truly
humorous when one sees nothing but trials
and privations in life. I cannot publish
the story, and yet I want to help her.
What shall I do about it? Here, read it
while I am gone,” he added, as an urgent
message summoned him.
“What a hore !”” thought Mr. Rhys,
settling himself down comfortably in the
editor's arm-chair. With attention given
more closely to his excellent cigar than to
the story, he read the first page.
‘Now, Jack, after the fashion of broth-
ers, would call me a romantic goose for car-
ing so much for this trunkful of old dresses ;
but women think differently on these sub-
jects, and I want to know what you will
have to say ahout the dresses and about
the story. For there is a story connected
with them—a love story, and naturally
there is a man in it.
“The packing is almost finished now, so
Marie may go downstairs, and I will tell
you all about it. I am going to sit in this
comfortable chair here by the fire (why is |
it that low chairs are so much more seduc-
tive than high ones?) and you can sit on
the stool at my feet. Certainly you may
see the dresses, hut they are hardly worth
looking at. Several seasons ago the sleeves
were not so voluminous nor the skirts so
stiff as now, and these seem very simple |
and out of vogue.
‘First let me give you a cup of tea ; and
you can amuse yourself with these choco-
lates if I bore you too long. It isa nice
day for story-telling. There is no fear of
callers in this storm, and we can have the
whole afternoon to ourselves. Turn so.
Do not look into my face, or I might have
stage-fright. Why do I not begin? Chiefly
hecause I do not know how. But I forget
that the dresses are to tell the story.”’
‘A monologue! Humph! Rather a dar-
ing thing for any but a finished writer to
Then he turned the page.
“First comes the little green wool with
the silver braid, and the marks of the big
pin where I fastened a bunch of white roses
when I first wore it. It was a Sunday af-
ternoon in May, and he afterward told me
that he thought I looked like a goddess of
the Spring. You see he was only a foolish
boy in many respects. Do not be im-
patient. Iam telling You the story now.
It was just after evening service that I met
him, there in front of St. Paul’s. His
cousin, who was an old friend, asked leave
to introduce him.”
The story began to be interesting, for
suddenly it was illustrated by a picture
that rose before David Rhys’s mental vision.
A quaint, old church, with dull-gray walls
and steeple, thrown into sharp relief against
the tender pink of the sunsetsky ;achurch-
yard, where the ‘‘graves in the grass’ were
covered with early spring violets ; the sil-
very gleam of a river that flowed there at
the foot of ‘‘God’s garden of sleep ;”’ and,
lastly, the vision of a girl walking between
those dark cedar thickets.
The remembrance was not a pleasant one,
and so he brushed it aside and read on:
“No, I do not know how to describe him.
After all, he was just a man. Jack was
with me that night, I remember, and he
said he had never seen me acknowledge an
introduction in so hopelessly awkward
a manner. Brothers are always brutally
frank ; and I was confused, because Jack
had heard me rave over the good-looking
stranger across the aisle. Oh, dear! why
will girls be so foolish and gushing ? It
always gets them into trouble. I do not
helieve that Jack will ever forget that.
‘Yes, the blue blouse is very dainty,
and he thought it becoming. This white
skirt goes with it. See the mud stains
about the hem. That is because I would
always insist, when we went canoeing,
upon scrambling down the bank in a wild-
ly independent manner. As Jack says, 1
have always heen awkward.
‘What glorious days those were on the
river ! He (I hope you don’t think I mean
Jack) was a great athlete, and took boyish
pride in his muscle. We used to paddle
up under the shadow of the willows and
read our German together. He had spent
a year abroad, and felt himself quite a
competent teacher ; so he would pronounce
a word, and I would repeat it after him.
We did not get on very rapidly, for every
word suggested a thought, and he and I
used to discuss evolution aiyl boating,
metaphysics and base-ball, with the gravity
of judges, and the impartiality of—well,
of a hoy and girl.”
He paused as he turned over another
page. He was beginning to feel quite a
sympathy for this unknown writer. So
she, too, had known the delight of study-
ing and reading under the shadow of wil-
low trees on a gently flowing stream.
Could he ever forget those summer days on
the Savannah, where the river was filled
with a golden light, and the woods with
the glory of Southern foliage ? Verily, to
live was a delight.
To half recline against downy cushions
that filled the canoe ; to be rocked by the
tiny waves just enough to give zest to re-
pose ; to breathe in the life-giving fra-
grance of the pines that stretched skyward,
tall and majestic, along the Carolina shore;
to listen to the music of a loved voice, and
above all, to watch the sunlight flicker
through the low-hanging branches and
change to gold the bronze of that beautiful
hair—that was the rapture of life. And
now this was the mere existence of life.
Why did that memory haunt him again,
to tantalize him with the sharp contrast
between past and present ?
He threw the manuscript impatiently
down, and walked over to the window.
The short winter afternoon was drawing to
a close, but the lights had not yet been
lighted and the streets looked dreary and
cheerless, with the rain still pouring in
torrents, and the few pedestrians hurrying
along, wet and bedraggled with the mud.
The prospect was cheerless enough, and
again he turned to the desk, and picked up
the story ; as well to while away the time
by reading that as in any other way, and
he had nothing to do until seven.
“It was all brought back so vividly to
me at the Southern Society’s reception to
Secretary Herbert, some time ago. There
was a great big Russian from the flagship,
who attempted to teach me his native
tongue as we came down the stairs from
the supper room. The place was so crowd-
ed that he was several steps behind me ;
and when we had to pause ; he would lean
over and whisper a Russian word, and I
would look up and attempt to say it after
him. Between times I would hear him
murmuring elaborate ‘compliments in
French. I think it pleased him that the
only word of his language I already knew
was douschka (darling). But I grow as
erratic as Jerome’s ‘Novel Notes.” I must
go back to my story. This cap was his.
Mine blew away one day, and he put this
on my head and begged me for the forfeit
kiss. I was so indignant that I would not
go out with him for a week. Then he
asked me to go to a hop at the Academy,
and somehow I could not refuse.’’
Mr. Rhys yawned, and looked impatient-
ly at the clock. The story was decidedly
a bore, and the editor had beerf gone an un-
conscionably long time. Then his eye
caught the name ‘‘Georgia,’’ and with a
half-awakened interest he read on.
“It was one of those warm, sultry nights
that can exist only in Georgia. and only in
June, so the ball-room soon grew too op-
pressive for comfort. My chaperon was
lenient, and gave me permission to stroll
out under the trees.
“I can see those grounds so well now,
lit up by the Chinese lanterns and the
girls’ bright dresses. There were flashes
of zig-zag lightning, and now and then the
distant growl of thunder.~ I remember
that particularly, because thunder-storms
always made me nervous.
‘We soon got tired of walking, and sat
| down on the old wooden steps of the side
| entrance to the chapel. We could just
| hear the music ; and probably the correct |
thing for me tosay would he that the re-
| frain had sung through my brain ever since.
| But it hasn’t. To tell the truth, I have no
| idea what it was. I only know that it was
| something bright and catchy, and that I
was vaguely sorry I had missed that dance.
| *‘Then I forgot all about it, for he began
| talking to me in the sweet, tender way
| that always made me serious in spite of
| myself. He was telling me that he loved
| me, and begging for one word of encourage-
‘ ‘Be honest with me, déar,” he said.
‘It seems to me that I have heen patienta
long, long time.’
“T remembered how well he had looked
in the ball-room that night, how thought-
fal he had been for me during all these
weeks, and how, for a moment, I could not
see his face for the happy tears that filled
my eyes.”
The manuscript fell to the ground, and
the reader buried his face in his hands.
The present had faded away, and he was
living again in the past. Ah! those old
chapel steps in the moonlit garden of that
Georgia town! How beautiful she had
looked in her airy white gown, the moon-
light turned to silver ; and how madly he
had loved her—had loved her only! But
who was this woman whose descriptions so
plainly brought to memory scenes he had
thought forgotten ? Again the papers were
caught up. The name signed was ‘‘Ra-
melle,” a nom de plume that told nothing.
What more had she to say ?
“] would be honest with him. Just
then I started to get up, and found that
something was holding me down. The
thin silk of my gown had stuck hard and
fast to some resin on the steps. How un-
romantic ! When I finally got away, I
leaned against the chapel and laughed and
laughed until my sides ached. No wonder
you smile. He did not seem to appreciate
the joke, however, and stood frowning
upon me until a sudden shower sent us
flying toward shelter.
“You can still see the resin stain on the
white silk, and the dark spots on the gold
fern leaves that were left by the raindrops.”
With almost a shudder, he recalled the
editor's words, ‘‘a strained attempt at
humor.” Strained, indeed. Then he
read on, feverishly.
‘After that he was very distant and cool
for a long time—all the rest of the sum-
mer--until he heard I was going abroad,
and came to tell me good-by.
“We were to leave early in the morning,
80 everything was packed up, and I had
only this blue serge traveling suit to wear
that last evening. Yes, the folds do need
shaking out. Strange, that leaf must be
from this very tree here--the one that
shades the veranda. I remember we stood
just under it. It was early in September,
and all the French windows were thrown
open to tempt the breeze. Iwas feeling
sad at the thought of going away for such a
long time, and I suppose something in my
manner encouraged him to talk again as he
had done that night on the chapel steps.
‘Everything would have gone well, but
Lilly came to the window just then, and
insisted upon his taking one of the choco-
late caramels she had been making.”
‘Those carainiels were nota success—
Lilly’s never are—and these were unusual-
ly sticky. Still, he was brave enough to
try one, and foolish enough to attempt to
talk at the same time. The result was
that his teeth stuck together with that
caramel ; and for a moment he could not
say a word, which was manifestly unfortu-
nate, I struggled hard with my desire to
laugh. I almost prayed that I would not,
but tne sense of the ridiculous was too
strong in me, and I could not have kept a
straight face if my very life depended upon
it. My ringing. peals of laughter brought
them all to the window to ask what was
the matter. Remember, I was hardly more
than a child. We went back to the house,
and he soon left, in spite of my contrite
and pleading looks.
“I did not see him again, and his few
letters were strained and unnatural. It
was spring when I came home, and I met
him one day in front of St. Paul’s, where
we had met the first time. There wasa
flush on his face and he started toward me;
but I was angry that he had not written
differently, and so I told myself that the
flush and the light in his eyes were the sun-
set reflection, and that he was moving to
avoid the press of the crowd. Then I was
provoked at myself for having thought he
was coming to speak to me, and that made
me refuse haughtily to recognize him at
Where had this author heard the story ?
Could she have told it ? No, impossible !
Could she have written it herself ? He re-
membered that the editor had spoken of
the direst poverty. Could it be that she
was trying to sell her very memories to
buy the necessities of life ? But the story
meant more than this—it meant something
to him that suddenly filled him with a wild
hope. Perhaps the sequel would tell the
‘‘The consciousness that I was looking
my best helped me. I wore this dress.
The embroidery came from Persia and it
was made up in Paris. How well these
rich tints bring out your bronze hair and
ivory complexion. You must try it on
presently. I remember taking a girlish de-
light in the thought there were palm leaves
on it, and that meant victory. Throw it
across the lounge, dear ; it is too pretty to
be ill treated.
‘A few nights later I went to the opera,
and wore this crimson silk. The opera
cloak goes with it. No matter if it does lie
crumpled on the floor, for I hate the very
sight of it. Only, of course, because it is
frightfully unbecoming. Something on the
stage that night brought back a forgotten
river scene, and I could not hear the orches-
tra for the lapping of the water against a
canvas canoe and the measured splashing
of the paddles. The prima donna’s musical
Italian changed to German verbs conjuga-
ted in a boy’s rich tones. I grew dizzy and
faint and shut my eyes. I opened them
quickly, however, when I neard his name.
My chaperon was saying : ‘He is caught at
last, I see. He is going to marry that
pretty little Miss Bondurant. Then I saw
him across the house in the hox witha very
lovely girl, and he was looking at her with
the expression he used to have only for me,
I don’t know what happened just then.
‘Why, I believe I am almost going to
sleep. It is getting dark and the fire has
nearly gone out. Sitstill ; I will draw
up the shade. It is time to dress for dinner
and I have not put away these things yet.
The silk balls are falling from the fringe of
the opera cloak. I did not know what I
was doing that night, and must have twist-
ed Why, what is the matter, little
girl ? Your tea is cold and—lookout !—
you have scattered the chocolates all over
the floor. What! Crying! And forme?
Don’t bury your head so far down in the
pillows, or you can’t hear what I have to
say. Sobbing still ? You absurd child,
there is no such thing as tragedy in the
world. How Jack would laugh at you.
Don’t you know that I would not give up
one of my gowns from Worth for all that
half-worn pile ? Indeed, indeed, I am not
a heart-broken woman and there are no
white hairs in my head.”
Kuowing the truth, how terrible to him
was the pathos of it all. Could it be that
she still loved-him ? Then poverty, pov-
erty, poverty ! How the words rang in his
ears | And all this time he had had money
in plenty ; more than he knew what to do
There were a few more lines of the story,
| ment.
“It was then it came to me how much I |
really cared for him.
but he did not read them thé editor came
in. David Rhys grasped him excitedly by
| the hand.”
‘“Tell me her name ?”’ he demanded.
‘Katherine Mortimer,” the editor was
surprised into answering.
He was still more surprised when his
friend said, suddenly :
“I will give you a hundred dollars for
this story and the author’s address.”
ot “Why, -what are you going to do with
it 2 .
“I am going to have it changed to
‘Seven Dresses’ and the seventh is going to
be a wedding dress. That is all.”’—Frank
Leslie’s Popular Monthly.
The One Issue of This Campaign.
The sole question upon which the con-
test for four years’ control of the Federal
Government will be made, in November, is
whether our money system shall he based
upon gold and silver, or upon gold alone.
The Republican party has declared for the
gold standard, while Democratic party
has declared for independent and
equal bimetallism, at the present ratio.
The Republican party wiil be reinforced
by Grover Cleveland and his adherents,
and by foreign and domestic bank-
ing institutions of New York and the
other great cities, with their clients. The
Democratic party will be reinforced hy the
earnest advocates of free coinage, without
regard to previous party affiliations. The
temporary calm which is following the
storm at Chicago, affords a favorable op-
portunity to present the facts which under-
lie the controversy. In doing this, we will
state only what is accepted history.
In 1873 a small number of gold opera-
tors in Europe and America succeeded in
securing the closing of the mints of the
United States to the coinage of silver,
which, equally with gold, is named in the
Constitution as a money metal. Until
that time the mints of the United States
had always been open to the free and un-
limited coinage of both metals on equal
terms. Without a suggestion from any
portion of the people, and without notice
to them, without any debate on the sub-
ject in either House of Congress, or the
slightest reference to this mighty and far-
reaching change in the law, silver money
was struck down in the United States by
the stealthy insertion, where it would not
be noticed, of a provision in a bill of no
general interest, to which it was not ger-
mane, and which purported to he a mere
revision of the laws governing the mechani-
cal and administrative operations of the
This perfidious legislation was the culmi-
nation of years of effort on the part of the
great money lending and debt owning
class. It doubled every debt, by reducing
the value of the property of every debtor
one half. The world’s total supply of each
metal being about equal in coin value, the
demonetization of silver reduced the vol-
ume one half, and doubled the purchasing
power of the remaining half. The quanti-
ty of all money is the measure of the value
of all property. The less the quantity of
money, the more property each piece of
money will buy. These are familiar axi-
oms, which none in good faith deny.
The confiscation of one half of all prop-
erty other than money, for the benefit of
those only who deal in the latter, was not
instantaneous. Values did not fall to one
half at once ; they commenced falling grad-
ually, and the decline has continued ever
since and is still continuing. Gold is the
only property which is not daily deprecia-
ting in value, and is therefore hoarded by
its owners instead of being invested in the
varied enterprises by which employment
could be given to the millions now in en-
forced idleness, and profits to the investors.
Business is paralyzed, and gloom and dis-
content prevail to an alarmiug extent.
Efforts to restore free silver coinage have
only been baffled by temporary expedients,
which have been reluctantly supported by
free silver representatives in Congress in
their desire to prepare harmony in their re-
spective parties. If they had acted to-
gether on this one question, just once, as
the advocates of the gold standard have in-
variably done, they would have prevailed
in 1878. The Bland-Allison act of that
year restored the legal tender quality of
the silver dollar, but limited coinage ; the
Sherman purchase act of 1890 increased the
amount of silver to be purchased and
coined, but the command to coin it was
construed away, and the accumulation in
the treasury of bullion thus caused was
given as the reason for the repeal of the
law, which was accomplished in 1893.
Having removed from the statute book
the last enactment that provided for the
coinage of any legal tender silver money,
the enemies of bi-metallism deny the legal
tender quality of the four hundred and
thirty millions of silver dollars now in ex-
istence in the payment of public obliga-
tions. The Secretary of the Treasury, fol-
lowing the example of his immediate prede-
cessor, and with the approval of the presi-
dent, refuses to use silver dollars for re-
demption purposes, although by law every
obligation of the Government is payable
either in silver or gold at its option.
The operations of the Treasury are thus
as fully based on gold as though the legal
tender quality of the silver dollars had al-
ready been abolished by law. We are told
that ‘‘the endless chain’’ at the Treasury
Department will continne to revolve so
long as the greenbacks or Treasury notes
are presented for redemption. Neither
gold nor silver is circulated in this country.
It is never demanded except for export.
For this purpose it will be needed so long
as we buy more than we sell. So long as
our railrcad bonds held in Europe are
forced upon our market for whatever they
will bring in greenbacks, just so long will
these greenbacks be presented at our
Treasury for redemption on foreign account.
It is not the fear of silver coinage that
frightens the holders of railroad bonds, but
the failure of the railroads to earn the money
with which to pay interest either in gold or
in silver. These reduced earnings are
caused by the low prices which make pro-
duction and manufacture unprofitable. Jt
will be vain to hope for a balance of trade in
our favor while the discredited bonds of our
railroads are a leading article of import.
The Republican party has eagerly sup-
ported the policy complained of. It has
zealously upheld the Administration in the
policy of gold redemption and the nullifica-
tion of the law which makes silver a legal
tender. It has professed to believe that
the drain on the gold in the Treasury is
the result of diminished revenues,
though not a dollar of revenue is payable
in gold. Its gold financial leader has re-
cently publicly declared his approval of all
the bond purchasers. The gold proceeds
of bonds sold do not leave the Treasury,
except in exchange for paper dollars to an
equal amount. The revenues of the Gov-
ernment, with the proceeds of the bonds
added thereto, during Mr. Cleveland's ad-
ministration, have exceeded all the expen-
ses of the Government by nearly two hun-
dred millions of dollars. This vast surplus
now in the Treasury is totally ignored by
the Republican leaders who claim that the
Treasury is bankrupt because of insufficient
revenues. They have labored to add to
the brwdens of taxation despite the exist-
ence of the surplus above named, the oh-
al- |
ject being to treat the greenbacks that have
accumulated in the Treasury as permanent-
ly retired. This still further contracts the
currency, adds to the stringency in the
money market, and causes a further de-
cline in prices.
For all these evils—by which the ac-
curacy is contracted, the bonded debt in-
creaded, values diminised, business enter-
prises crushed, farm products rendered not
worth the freight charges to market, and
general ruin menacing the country—the
remedy is in the hands of the people. The
consent of the goverened is about to he
asked for a continuance of this state to
be asked for a continuance of this state of
things. The reply will be as becomes a
free people fully aroused to the wrongs
they are suffering. The Democratic party
is everywhere preparing for the contest.
Independent men outside of the Democratic
party are preparing with equal energy.
In union there isstrength. The opponents
of the gold standard constitute a vast ma-
jority of the people if they will act to-
gether. :
The Democratic party has pledged itself
to the cause of free silver coinage at the
ratio of sixteen to one, without consider-
ing the policy or the advice or wishes of
any other nation, and places the success of
this cause at this time above all other con-
Its candidates for the suffrages of the
people will not have the support of the
gold syndicate and bond brokers, who trust
only those who have been licensed by them
to continue the old familier method of pal-
tering in a double sense to the voters they
intend to betray. They are men free from
the influences which have created the con-
ditions under which we suffer.
The Democratic party earnestly invites
all who favor the restoration of silver fully
to the place it occupied prior to 1873, to
join in the great work which can alone re-
store the country to the prosperity which
must be the destiny of a great people of un-
limited resources, abundant energy, na-
tional pride and patriotism.—Cincinnati
A Whole City Will Move.
Community of 20,000 Persons to Make Its Home in
a New Spot. ?
The greatest exodus that the world has
ever seen since the children of Israel de-
parted out of the land of Egypt—nearly
3,000 years ago—will soon take place in
All the inhabitants of a city of over 20,-
000 population, the capital of one of the
largest and richest states of that country,
will, in a few days, abandon their homes
en masses. What makes this wholesale
exodus more remarkable is the fact that
these 20,000 people will move in a hody
into a new city, which for two years has
heen in process of erection for their oc-
cupancy, and which is as yet untenanted,
save by the artisans and laborers who are
putting the finishing touches to the miles
of streets and the spacious public buildings
and private palaces.
The city which is on the point of being
thus abandoned to the wild beasts which
swarm in the forests about it is Ouro-Preto,
the capital of the mining state of Minas-
Geraes, in the southeastern part of Brazil.
It was founded nearly two centuries ago
by the gold seekers.
Ouro-Preto had been unique among cities
for several reasons ; one heing that it has
but a single street. and that several miles
in length. The town is built along a nar-
row gorge in the mountains, known as the
Sierra de Minas-Geraes, a part of the mighty
chain which rises far back from the east-
ern coast of Brazil. Though it lies some
5,000 feet above the sea level, the air is al-
ways so damp that everything not kept in
air-tight cases becomes mildewed ‘within
a short time. There is no such thing as a
carriage of any description in this moun-
tain city, and even riding mule-back is
dangerous, for the single street which
twists and winds for miles is probably the
roughest in the world, there being hut few
level stretches of more thar a dozen yards
in all its length. A portion of it lies along
the edge of a deep chasm, at the bottom of
which roars one of the mountain torrents,
which help to make the great Rio de
Francisco. :
Another remarkable thing about this
town is fully half of the inhabitants have
lived of late years in the exhausted gal-
leries which the miners have hewn out of
the rock along the mountain side in search
for gold. The other dwellings are perched
at varying heights up and down the sides
of the varying steep spurs, which jut into
and sometimes almost across the narrow
The new city which the people of Ouro-
Preto are having built for them will be the
direct antithesis of the old. Though the
town has been the capitol of the province
and state for many years, and its inhabi-
tants are wealthy, they recognized the fact
a few years ago that the time was near at
hand when they would have no occupa-
tion of revenue. They, therefore, met in
council, and it was decided to find some
place where they could employ their ac-
cumulated wealth to advantages. It was
thereupon decided that a committee of the
citizens should search for a spot favorable
for the location of a new city ; that this
new town site should be in a fertile region
in the lowlands of the province, which
would offer every advantage for the com-
merce and communication with the in-
terior, and the coast by water and by rail,
and that upon such a spot being found a
town should be built there. which, when
completed, would be at once occupied, and
the old-city utterly abandoned.
The new city which has risen is built on
the plan in vogue in all South American
towns, and has a great central square or
plaza in the center. It has an extensive
park and artificial lake and other orna-
mental waters. At one end of the town,
which will continue to he capital of the
state, an imposing palace for the president
has been constructed, and not far distant
are the botanic and zoological gardens.
There are two theaters already built. The
principal buildings, such as the extensive
offices’ which will be occupied by the go-
vernment, the law courts, the cathedral,
the railway station and several of the large
hotels, have already been completed, and
many of the more imposing private resid-
| ences are ready for occupancy.
| One of the first enterprises it was de-
cided to engage in was that of slaughter-
ing cattle, and therefore extensive abat-
toirs have been constructed in the out-
skirts of the city.
soon as the site was chosen, brings the new
| city into direct ‘communication with the |
| central Brazilian line. The city will be
| lighted by electricity, and the most improv-
| ed methods of draining employed. A tele-
| graph line extends to Rio Janeiro, and a |
| fully equipped telephone system will be
| one of the future city of Minas’s conven- |
iences.—New York Journal.
His Wife's Family.
Ferry—Your wife comes from an old
family, does she not ? .
Wallace—Yes. And also numerous.
The railroad, built as |
Austria is the only country in the world
which never places a woman in prison, no
matter what crime she commits.
Instead of being locked up the female
malefactor is sent to one of a number of
convents, devoted to the purpose, and is
kept there during the time for which she is
sentenced. The courtyard stands open all
day long, the only bar to egress being a
nun, who acts as doorkeeper, just the same
as in the ordinary convent.
Horizontal tucks, usually in clusters of
five, across the bust and continuing around
the sleeves is a modish favorite trimming
for silk waists and thin summer gowns.
A flufiy white parasol carried with a
shirt waist is decidedly incongruous.
Xever wash your face in water more than
twice a day, especially where it is impossi-
ble to procure at a moments notice distilled
or even rain water. You can soften water
by means of a lump of borax or a teaspoon-
ful of strong ammonia in the water jug.
but the fae must not be left dirty. Have
a bottle of cream of cucumber, and hefore
going into the sun just dab the face over
with it very lightly. Do the same on re-
turning, but this time wipe it off directly,
and see the dirt you remove with the cream.
If you follow this advice this summer you
will know naught of sunburn, freckles or
undue redness of the face.
There were one or two noticeable feat-
ures in the frocks seen lately. The shoul-
ders were cut slightly longer than of late ;
there were foot trimmings for the skirts
and pretty, quaint changes in the sleeves
suggestive of favorite styles of long ago.
An Irish poplin of delicate silver gray con-
firmed the report that the hox-plaited skirt
was to be revived, the skirt being compos-
ed of four double box plaits, one in front,
one at the back and one on each hip, so ar-
ranged as to produce an effect like the
godet skirt. :
There was a full foot ruche of the poplin
with a narrow centre row of sable fur. The
sleeve was another ante-bellum revival of
two medium-sized puffs from the shoul-
der midway to the elbow ; the remainder a
*‘skin fit,”” huttoned on the inside from the
wrist to the bend of the arm, with tiny
buttons of silver and bronze, and finished
| with a cuff wrist of golden brown silk em-
| broidered with silver and edged -with a
| border of fur. :
| The waist was ornamented with an odd,
| three-cornered stomacher of brown, em-
| broidered with silver, and finished with an
‘edging of sable. The waist, laced up the
| back over two rows of buttons correspond-
| ing to those on the sleeves, not larger than
| good sized glove buttons, and placed close
| together. A broad, high band of the gray
poplin showed at the front of the neck for
the space of about four inehes, where it
met an equally high and slightly deeper
turned over collar of the dark brown, edg-
ed with a narrow silver cord, while the
gray band in front had a delicately em-
broidered tracing of the silver. Above all,
so high that it would brush the chin, was
a little band of the sable.
Notwithstanding all persistency to the
contrary, the skirt is getting narrower, and
this is synonymous with saying that it is to
be trimmed ; tucks and volants with nar-
row lace belong to the light bastistes and
muslins ; ribbons braids in application,
borders, etc., to the heavy ‘stuffs. The
stiff skirt disappears, and with it the folds;
it is simply pleated all around, the pleats
forming a point in the front breadth.
A remarkable feature is the preference
for small jackets on the waist—principally
the zouave jacket, reaching barely to the
waist-line. The little sleeveless jacket
harmonizes either with the skirt to con-
trasting sleeves and front parts of blouse,
or else it consists entirely of lace or em-
broidered fabric, of batiste or gauze with
volant edge. The supplement is the corse-
let or ribhon belt, which must stand in full
contrast to the costume ; for instance,
black to blue or green, white to gray or
brown, ruby to black or white.—Dry Goods
Chronicle. ’
In these days of self-culture, when not
to belong to a club or class is to acknowl-
edge oneself something of a back number,
would it not be well for women to give
some thought to the training of their
voices ? It is proverbial that American
women have harsh voices and ‘are prone to
nasal tones—a serious blot on their ’scut-
eheon !—but within the past decade the
reproach has become less generally deserv-
ed, for by travel and contact with Euro-
pean women, whose voices are charmingly
modulated, the observant American has
awakened to a sense of her deficiencies, and
‘thereby taken means to overcome them.
But the stay-at-home may train her ear
and voice also. In order to do so it is only
necessary to listen, and one soon realizes
that the average feminine voice is, to put it
mildly, anything but agreeable.
How many women do you know who
have soft, low, well-modulated voices ?
How many on the contrary, are there
whose every tone vexes the ear and rasps
the nerves ?
And when one does meet that rare pro-
duct—a woman with a beautiful speaking
voice—how quickly one remarks it ; how
one lingers on her accents and listens to
her slightest word. Ah, it’s a great charm
—greater far,.and more enduring, if wom-
en could be brought to realize it, than a
faultless complexion or a pretty figure ;
though neither of these gifts are to be dis-
pised !
To remedy these vocal defects, of course,
one may go to a specialist, there is a spec-
ialist by the way, for everything under
heaven nowadays ; one may take lessons
from a voice culturist, but the busy wom-
an has no time, perhaps, for that luxury, so
she must, perforce, depend on her own ef-
Let her begin, then, by listening to her
own voice ; a thing she never really did
until now ; and, ten chances to one, she
will be shocked and surprised at its tones,
as indeed, most of us would be could we
really hear our own voices as others hear
Then, once having heard it, single out
its defects and endeavor to correct them : if
it be loud. as is the national defect, lower
it, lower it, lower it, till it falls softly and
soothingly on the ear, and let me whisper a
secret, the lower yon speak the more atten-
| tively people will listen, and that’s a lot
gained—to a woman!
Then there are the tricks of inflection—
don’t end all your sentences on the up-
ward grade ; let vour voice drop ; and
and above all, don’t talk too fast. It’s a
little thing, this ; yes. but it marks the
difference between culture and lack of cul-
! ture. Take a lesson then from our trans-
atlantic cousins ; listen to their voices and
see whether you, too, can’t cultivate these
same low throaty tones—‘'so excellent in a
| woman !" You can, you know, if you try,
| and the results are well worth tha effort.