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I EDGAR MORETTE
[Copyright, 1599. by Frederick A. Stokti Company.]
CHAPTER I.
THE CABMAN'S FARE.
It was bitterly cold. The keen De
comber wind swept down the crowded
thoroughfare, nipping ihe noses and
ears of the gay pedestrians, comfort
ably muffled in their warm wraps.
Broadway was thronged with the
usual holiday shoppers and pleasure
seekers. Cabs with their jaded steeds
driven by weatlierbeaten jehus, and
private carriages behind well-groomed
horses handled by liveried coachmen,
deftly made their way through the
crowds and deposited their fares at the
entrances of the brightly-lighted thea
ters or fashionable restaurants. A
wizened hag. seated on the curbstone
at the corner, seemed to shrink into
herself with the cold as she turned the
crank of her tiny barrel-organ and
ground out a dismal and scarcely au
dible cacophony; while an anxious
eyed newsboy, not yet in his teens, shiv
ered oif the opposite side of the way,
as, with tremulous lips, he solicited a
purchaser for his unsold stock. One
could hardly be expected to open a
warm overcoat on such a cold night,
for the sake of throwing a cent to an
old beggar woman, or of buying a news
paper from a ragged urchin. Even the
gayly decorated shop windows failed
to arrest the idle passerby; for it re
quired perpetual motion to keep the
blood in circulation.
The giant policeman on the crossing,
representing the majesty of the law,
swayed the crowd of vehicles and pedes
trians with the authoritative gestures
of his ponderous hands, any gallantly
escorted bands of timid women through
the inextricable maze.
And withal, the cable cars, with their
discordant clangor, rumbled rapidly
to and fro, like noisy shuttles, shoot
ing the woof of the many-liued fabric
which is the life of a great city.
Presently from one of the side streets
there came a cab, which started leisure
ly to eross Broadway. The big police
man, with his eyes fixed upon an ap
proaching car, held up a warning hand,
to which the driver seemed to pay no
attention, for the reins remained slack
and the listless horse continued to
move slowly across the avenue.
Several people turned to look with
mild curiosity at the bold cabman who
dared thus to disregard the authority
of blue cloth and brass buttons. Their
surprise turned quickly to amazement
and dismay when t heir eyes rested upon
him; for his head had fallen forward
upon his chest and his limp body
swayed upon the box with every mo
tion of the cab. He seemed unconscious
of his surroundings, like one drunk
or in a stupor.
At. his side sat a young man closely
muffled in his overcoat, and with a
sealskin cap pulled well down over his
ears. His face was deathly pale. Those
who caught sight of his features saw
that his bloodless lips were firmly set,
and that his eyes glittered with a fev
erish light. lie carried one hand in the
lapel of his coat. With the other he
shook the inert form of ihe uncon
scious cabman, in an effort to arouse
him to a sense of the impending danger.
The situation flashed upon the
gripman on the car. Instantly he
threw his weight upon the brake
wheel. at the same time loudly sound
ing his gong. The policeman, too, un
derstood in a twinkling what was
•about to happen, and rushed for the
horse's head. But it was too late.
The cab was fairly across the track
when the car, with slackened speed,
crashed into it.
Just before the collision, the 3 r oung
man in the sealskin cap sprang from
the box to the street. He landed upon
his feet; but, losing his balance, he
fell forward upon his left arm, which
still remained in the lapel of his coat.
He must have hurt himself; for those
standing near him heard him groan.
But the center of interest was else
where, and 110 one paid much atten
tion to the young man, who, arising
quickly, disappeared in the crowd.
The cab. after tottering for an in
stant on two wheels, fell over upon
its side, with a loud noise of splinter
ing wood and breaking glass. Tho
driver rolled oflf the box in a heap.
At the same time, the panic-stricken
passengers on the car rushed madly
for the doors, fighting like wild
beasts in their haste to reach a place
of safety.
After the first frenzied moment, it
be came evident that, although badly
shaken up, the passengers had re
ceived no injuries, except such bruises
as they had inflicted upon each other
in their mad struggle to escape. By
this time a crowd had collected about
the overturned cab, and several more
policemen had come to the assist
ance of the first one. who was now
eeated serenely upon the head of the
cab-horse, a precaution seemingly
superfluous, for the poor beast,
though uninjured, appeared to be
quite satisfied to rest where he lay
until he should be forced once more
to resume the grind of his unhappy
existence.
The cabman had been rudely
ahalcen by his fall. He had lain aa
though unconscious for the spuce of a
few seconds; then, with assistance,
he had managed to struggle to his
feet. He stood now as though dazed
by the shock, trying to understand
what had happened.
"Are you hurt?" inquired one of the
policemen.
The man, mumbling an unintelligi
ble reply, raised his hand to a scalp
wound from which the blood was
flowing freely.
At that moment two men forced
their way through the crowd which
a circle of policemen had some diffi
culty in keeping at a distance from
the wounded cabman. One was a
middle-aged individual, who gave his
name as Dr. Thurston and offered his
services as a physician; the other was
a young man with keen gray eyes,
who saiil nothing, but. exhibited a re
porter's badge.
The physician at once turned his
attention to the cabman; felt him,
thumped him, pinched him; smelt his
breath; and then delivered his ver
dict:
"No bones broken. The slight
scalp wound doesn't amount to any
thing. The man has been drinking
heavily. He is simply drunk."
The horse had by Miis time been
unharnessed and the cab had been
lifted upon its wheels again.
The reporter stood by a silent and
apparently listless spectator of the
scene.
Dr. Thurston turned to him:
"Come aloug, Sturgis; neither you
nor 1 are needed here; and if we do not
hurry, Sprague's dinner will have to
wait fords. It is a quarter to eight
now."
seemed about to follow
his friend, but he stood for an instant
irresolute.
"I say, doctor," he inquired at last,
"are you sure the man is drunk?"
"He lias certainly been drinking
heavily. Why?"
"Because it seems tome —Hella, we
cannot go yet; the passenger is more
badly hurt than the driver."
"The passenger?" queried the phy
sician, turning in surprise to the police
man.
"What passenger?" asked the police
man, looking at the cabman. "Have
you a passenger inside, young feller?"
"Naw." replied the cabman, who
seemed to be partially sobered by the
shock and loss of blood. "Naw. 1 ain't
got no fare, barrin' the man wot was
on the box."
The reporter observed the man close
ly as lie spoke; and then, pointing to
the step of the cab, which was plainly
visible in the glare of a neighboring
electric lamp:
"I mean the passenger whose blood is
trickling there," he said, quietly.
Every eye was turned in the direction
of his outstretched hand.
A few drops of a thick dark liquid
had oozed from under the door, and
was dripping upon the iron step. The
cab door was closed and the curtain
was drawn down over the sash, the
glass of which had been shattered by
the fall.
One of the policemen tried to open
the door. It stuck in the jamb. Then
he exerted upon it the whole of his
brute strength; and, of a sudden, it
yielded. As it flew open the body of a
man lurched from the inside of the cab,
and before anyone could catch it tum
bled in a heap upon the pavement.
A low cry of horror escaped from the
crowd.
The cabman's passenger was a man
past middle age, neatly but plainly
dressed.
As IJr Thurston and a policeman
bent over the prostrate form, the re
porter shot a keen glance in the direc
tion of the cabman, who stood staring
at the body with a look of ghastly ter
ror in his bulgingeyes.
Presently the physician started to
his feet with a low exclamation of sur
prise.
"Is he dead, doctor?" asked the po
liceman.
"He has been dead for some time,"
replied the physician, impressively;
"the body is almost cold."
"Been dead for some time?" echoed
the policeman.
"Yes; this man was shot. See there!"
As he spoke he pointed to a red streak
which, starting from the left side of
the dead man's coat, extended down
ward and marked the course of the tiny
stream in which the life blood had
flowed to a little pool on t he floor of the
cab.
"Shot!" exclaimed the policeman,
who turned immediately to one of his
brother officers. "Keep your eye on the
cabman, Jim. We'll have to take him
in. And look out for the other man,
quick!"
Then, addressing the cabman, upon
each of whose shoulders a policeman's
hand was immediately placed, he asked,
roughly:
"Who is this man?"
The cabman was completely sober
now. He stood, pale and trembling, be
tween his two captors, as he replied sol
emnly:
"Before God, I don't know, boss. I
never saw him before."
The policeman looked at the man in
blank amazement for an instant. Then
he turned away contemptuously.
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1900.
"AT! righ*. young' feller," he said,
"you don't have to confess to me. But
I guess you'll have a chance to tell that
story to a judge ami jury."
Then he proceeded to examine the
dead man's pockets. 1 hey were empty.
"Looks like robbery," he murmured.
"What is it. Jim? Haven't you got the
other man?"
.Tim had not found the other man;
for the pale young fellow in the seal
skin cap had disappeared.
The reporter was stooping over the
body, while Dr. Thurston cut through
t[ie clothing and laid bare a small,
round wound.
"Here is another bullet wound," said
Sturgis. turning over the body slightly,
and pointing out a second round hole
in the back of the dead man.
He seemed to take great interest in
this discovery. He whipped out a
steel tape and rapidly but carefully
took a number of measurements, as if
to locate the positions of the two
wounds. Then he stepped into the cab;
and. striking match after match, he
spent several minutes apparently in
eager search for something which he
could not find.
"That is strange," he muttered to
himself, as he came out at last.
"What is it?" inquired Thurston,
who alone caught the words.
But the reporter either did not hear
or did not care to answer. He at once
renewed his search on the brilliantly
lighted pavement in the immediate vi
cinity of the cab; examining every
stone, investigating every joint and
every rut, prodding with his cane every
lump of frozen mud, turning every
stray scrap of paper.
"Well, doctor," he said, when at
length he rejoined his companion, "if
you have done all that you can wc may
as well go. It is one of the prettiest
problems I have met; but there is
nothing more for me to learn here for
the present. By the way, as I was say
ing when I interrupted myself a little
while ago. are you sure the cabman is
drunk? 1 wish you would take another
good look at him. The question may be
more important than it seemed at
first."
A few minutes later the physician
and Mie reporter were hurrying along
to make up for the time they had lost;
the cab and the cabman had disap
peared in the custody of the police,
and the cabman's grewsome fare was
jolting through Twenty-sixth street,
in the direction of a small building
which stands near the East river, and
in which the stranded waifs of thenew
world metropolis can find rest at last,
upon a stone slab, in the beginning of
their eternal sleep.
Broadway had resumed its holiday
aspect; the wizened hag at the corner
still patiently ground out her plaintive
discords; the tearful newsboy, with
his slowly diminishing armful of news
papers, continued to shiver in the cold
wind, as he offered his stock to the
hurrying pedestrians; the big police
man airain piloted his fair charges
through the mass of moving vehicles,
and the clanging cable cars started
once more on their rtiinbßng course,
"I MEAN THE PASSENGER WHOSE
BLOOD IS TRICKLING THERE."
as if the snapping of a thread in the
fabric of a city's life were a thing of
constant occurrence and of no mo
ment.
A few tiny dark red stains upon the
pavement were all that remained to tell
the story of the scene which had so
recently been enacted in the busy
thoroughfare. Presently even these
were obliterated by the random stroke
of a horse's hoof.
The ripple had disappeared from the
surface. The stream of life was flow
ing steadily once more through the
arteries of the metropolis.
CHAPTER 11.
THE WAGYOR
"What I mean to assert," said Kalph
Sturgis, with quiet conviction, "is that
every crime is its own historian; that
all its minutest details are written in
circumstantial evidence as completely
as an eyewitness could see them aye,
more fully and more truly than they
could be described by the criminal him
self."
The reporter was a man of about .°.O.
whose regular features bore the un
mistakable stamp of intelligence and
refinement. In repose, they wore an
habitual expression of introspective
concentration, which might have led
a careless observer to class IJalph Stur
gis in the category of aimless dream
ers. But a single flash of the piercing
gray eyes generally sufficed to dispel
any such impression; and told of keen
perception and underlying power. The
mouth was firm and kind, the bearing
that of a gentleman and a man of edu
cation.
"But," objected the host, "you surely
do not mean to express a belief in the
infallibility of circumstantial evi
dence?"
"Why not?"
"Because you must know as well as
anyone how misleading uncorroborated
circumstantial evidence is. 1 do not for
get what remarkable results you have
often accomplished for the Daily Tem
pest in detecting and following up
clews to which the official detectives
were blind. l!ut, frankly, were not
your conclusions usually the result ol
lucky guesses, which would have re
mained comparatively useless as evi
dence had they not been subsequent ly
proved correct by direct testimony?"
"Let me reply to your question by an
other, Sprague," answered Sturgis.
"When you draw a check, does the pay
ing teller at the bank require the tes
timony of witnesses to your signature
before admitting its genuineness?"
"Xo; of course not."
"Precisely. He probably knows the
signature of Harvey M. Sprague, the
depositor, better than he does the
face of Sprague, the artist. And yet
the evidence here is purely circum
stantial. I know of at least one ru
cent instance in which the officials of
a New York bank placed their im
plicit reliance upon circumstantial
evidence of this sort, in spite of the
direct testimony of the depositor,
who was willing to acknowledge th&
genuineness of a check to which his
name had been forged."
"I suppose you refer to the Forsyth
case," said Sprague; "but you must
remember that Col. Forsyth was
actuated by the desire to shield the
forger, who was his own scapegrace
son."
[To Be Continued.]
AN ANGRY FATHER.
He I'Ddrrtoak tn In 11 m l<l» ton School.
Toucher, Hut <i«t the
Worst ol It.
When Charles D. Folsom, the New
York lawyer, left Phillips-Exeter
academy. New Hampshire, fie had a
distinct feeling of pride that he was
graduated from the same school that
sent Daniel Webster to fight the bat
tle of life, and, because Webster's
second step was school teaching, and
because he needed the money, he
adopted this profession. From this
time, on, to use ,his own words,
all likeness between his own and
the great statesman's career end
ed, says the Philadelphia Saturday
Evening Post.
It was at Sanbornton Square, New
Hampshire. There were four giants
of boys in the school, all over 18 years
of age, and Mr. Folsom was only 19.
But he had the advantage of prac
tical physical training on his side.
One day the father of one of the
giants, who had a bail reputation as
a local fighter, drove up to the school
house with an ax and asked for the
teacher. He hammered on the door
for several moments, and when the
teacher appeared he returned to his
buggy. The irate parent said:
"Young man, did you lick one of my
boys yesterday?"
"I did, sir."
1 "Well, if you do it again I'll fix
you."
"Xo, you wen't," was the answer;
"I'll whip your boys so long as they
are under my charge and disobey the
rules."
"Well, we'll see." said the man. pre
paring to get out.
It just then occurred to Mr. Fol
som that this was his time, and ho
lifted the bed of the light buggy off
lithe wheels ripped it over. Into
the diteh rolled the man with the ax,
while the teacher and.'l 5 school chil
dren looked on and grinned. It was
too much for the man.and, adjusting
the buggy top, he rode quietly away.
Took u Costly .Nap.
To begin with, he's "a good fellow."
That's a phrase easier understood by
men than by women. It generally
' means —well, it means he's an all
round good sort in the male line,
says Uhe Philadelphia Press. The
other afternoon lie was feeling
pretty good. He had been quite
thirsty, if what he had taken was to
be judged as a criterion. And the li
bations left him in a thoroughly good
humor, and he felt at. peace with the
world. In this delightful mental and
physical state he bethought him of a
friend of his in Providence, It. I. And
he further thought that he would call
up that particular friend on the tele
phone. So he went to a Broad street
hotel, told the young woman there
who had charge of the 'phone that he
wanted to speak to Mr. So-and-So in
Providence, and wouldn't she kindly
call up the party. The girl did as she
was bade. "Party on the 'phone," she
said, and the man went into the tele
phone box, sat down and put the re
ceiver to his ear. And then he calmly
and sweetly dropped off to sleep.
When he woke up he owed the tele
phone company $33.00. He said he
wouldn't pay it —but he did.
Heady to Hack It I l>.
"Right ahead of us,'" resumed the
traveler who was narrating his experi
ences, "yawned the mountain pass—"
"Do you know," artlessly interrupt
ed one of the younger wo>men of the
company, "that, seems very queer to
me? How can a mountain yawn?"
"Did you ever see Cumberland Gap,
miss?" he asked.
And there were no more interrup
tions.- -Chicago Tribune.
'Twnn Painted Ilndly.
Wife—-We should have that back
shed attended to right away.
Husband—l spoke to Dobbs. the
painter, about it, and he says he's so
busy he won't be able to touch it for
a month yet.
"O, we can't wait that long. It
needs to be painted very badly."
"All right, then, I'll do it myself."—
Philadelphia Press.
FOP Ornament OuJy.
Yistior —Your smoking-room is beau
tifully furnished.
Mr. Hen peck—Yes; if only I were aV
lowed to smoke in it!—Tit-Bits.
HAD HER OWN WAY.
Lncia di Lnmmrrnnior Impersonated
by Little Adelina Pattt lu
Haven Treasc*.
Quite recently, at her dainty little
theater at Craig y Xos. Mine. Patti ap
peared as Lucia di Lammermoor. She
dispensed with a wig in this part, for
she has bleached her own raven locks
a fiery gold. This fact is significant
and recalls this same Lucia, these same
"raven locks" and a rare performance
of"The Bride of Lammermoor" in Xew
Orleans one night in the early '6os.
In the autumn of ISO 9 Adelina Patti,
then a slip of a girl barely 16 years of
age, with ropes of jet black hair and
the throat of a nightingale—the throat
which has since made her rich and fa
"OH, XO; IT IS NOT ABSURD."
xnous—sang for the first time in public
the part of Lucia in that tine old opera.
"The Bride of Lammermoor," to a Xew
York audience. As the Scottish hero
ine, of course, Adelina was compelled
to cover up her ebon braids with a wig
of flaxen hair. Later on she reached
New Orleans. In that city Patti, with
her sister (,'arlotta and her brother
Carlo, had spent her early childhood,
and she knew and loved nearly all of
those who came to greet her as an op
eratic star at the French opera house.
Just before the curtain rose on the
opening night Mr. Strakosch. who was
to conduct the opera, appeared in the
greenroom and was amazed to find the
bride of Lammermoor waiting togo
on the stage with her own black tresses
waving down her back, instead of the
pale, corn-colored locks, of the Scottish
lassie.
"Why, Addle, what does this mean?''
excitedly inquired the great impresa
rio.
"That I am going to wear my own
hair to-night," answered the budding
prima donna.
"But you must not. It is inartistic.
Inaccurate, absurd."
"Oh, no, it is not absurd." calmly
responded Patti. "My old friends in
New Orleans only know rne as a blaek
liaired. skinny little Italian, and not as
a golden-crowned Scotch girl. Besides.
I will not disguise myself to-night to
please anyone."
The distracted manager argued, pro
tested, threatened and cajoled, but
"Addie" stood firmly to her purpose.
A tremendous welcome was accorded
the youthful diva, but the audience
greeted Lucia not as a fair-polled bride,
but as their own "black-haired, skinny
little Italian."—Chicago Chronicle.
PRESERVING SEASON.
SnKKoiitlon ItoKardinif I'litMinj; l'l»
l'r-iit That Should Be llogiirdeil
by Wise Housekeepers.
In putting up fruit see that all the
essentials are on hand before beginning
work. Don't wait until the fruit is in
the preserving- kettle before running
to the corner grocery for sugar. It is
economy of time to buy sugar in 25 or
50-pound bags, for you will need it right
along, suggests a writer in the Wash
ington Star. See that all utensils are
in perfect order, that a supply of new
rubber bands is on hand and that the
cans and glasses are as clean and sweet
and cltar as soap and water can make
them. If ♦> very time a can has been
emptied it has been carefully washed
and dried and put away with its own
top screwed on this part of the work
will be greatly simplified. Yet, even
if cleaned before putting away, they
will need to be scalded just before
using. Have ready a small sharp-point
ed knife f(»r paring; a silver-plated
fruit knife ground to a fine edge and
kept expressly for this purpose is best.
Have a lia+f pound of paraffin on hand
for covering jellies, several long-han
dled wooden spoons, a ladle, a colander,
a bright tin strainer, a small skewer
or silver nutpick, several large bowls
end platters and a couple of large por
celain or granite kettles. Never use tin
vessels for cooking fruit, nor yet iron.
Brass, when thoroughly cleaned, is
pleasant to use, but its expense and
the labor necessary to keep it in good
condition preclude its adoption in the
ordinary kitchen. A plentiful supply
of cheesecloth and towels, and a large
mouthed funnel to use in filling jars
should also be iu readiness.
The size of the cans to be used may
depend largely on tiie size of the fam
ily. For a small family the pint-sized
jar is best for nearly everything, tak
ing pains to select those with wide
mouthed tops. Ilalf-gallon jars will be
found useful for large whole fruits.
Another Pot Theory Exploded.
The bottom has melted out of the
theory that the drainage caual lias any
•Hoot on Chicago's climate.
j WIVES OF PRESIDENTS.
| rrriiin.il Appearance of Hie 112 liarm
| inn American Women Who Have
ltulcii tlx- Wliite House.
Of mistresses of the white house on*
of the most popular was Mrs. James K.
I'olk. Like Mrs. Cleveland, she wu
a brunette, and of fine presence; it was
often remarked that not a crowned,
head in Kurope could queen it mor<»
royally than the wife of the republican,
president. i'oets penned verses in her
honor, and on the last Sunday of her
stay in Washington a clergyman ad
dressed her from the pulpit. She wai
treated with great distinction, and aft
er leaving the white hou.->e was visited
every New Year's day by the legislature
in a body.
.Mrs. George Washington also had
dark hazel eyes and brown hair. Shs
was not a beauty, but she had a good
form, rather below middle weight, and
her manners were frank and engaging.
She dressed plainly, and at a ball given
in her honor she wore a simple ru3seC
gown and white handkerchief about
her neck. One of her dresses, which sh»
herself manufactured, was of cotton,
striped with silk, which she obtained
from raveling.? of brown silk stocking*
and old crimson chair covers.
Mrs. Monroe was considered a beauty.
She was tall and gracefully formed,
polished and attractive in society. Mrs.
John Adams was never beautiful, but
she was of imposing appearance and
very intellectual.
Mrs. John Quincv Adams was famed
for her charming manners, and Mrs.
Andrew Jackson for her amiable tem
per and kind heart. Mrs. Martin Van
Buren. who died before her husband be
came president, was a pretty woman,
with modest, unassuming manners and
gentle disposition.
The first Mrs. Tyler was one of th»
belles of eastern Virginia, and was mo.-*
attractive in her striking loveliness of
person and character. The second Mrs.
Tyler was the first woman to marry a
president. Before her marriage sha
was.for the one season she spent there,
the belle of Washington.
A sparkling brunette was Mrs. Wit
i liam Henry Harrison. She was very
handsome, with a face full of anima*
tion. and her health, which was robust,
added a glow to her features, which in
creased her charms. '"Upon her coun
tenance." it is recorded, "nature had
been profusely liberal."'
Mrs. Thomas Jefferson was remark
able for her beauty. Her complexion
was brilliant ; her large, expressive evea
of"the richest tingeof auburn." Alittla
above medium weight, she was slightly
and delicately formed. She danced,
sang, played the spinnet and harpsi
chord and rode with great skill.
Mrs. James Madison was a pretty,
buxom woman, with a smile and a pleas
ant word for everyone. She had regu
lar features and sparkling eyes.
Mrs. Zachary Taylor was a quiet
woman, but had great strength ofchar-
MRS. ULYSSES S. GRANT.
aeter and the true spirit of the Amer
ican heroine, enduring patiently priva
tion incident to life on the frontier,
where her husband, as Maj. Taylor, was
stationed. She had no ambition beyond
making her home happy.
A blond of rare beauty was Mrs. Mil
lard Fillmore, with a skin of dazzling
whiteness and auburn hair. She waa
quite tall, with a fine figure and of com
manding presence. She is ranked with
the wives of the two Adamses as *
learned woman, and it was through her
that her husband asked for and ob
tained an appropriation of congress ta
buy books for the Svhite house. Up ta
that time there had been a Bible there,
and little more.
Another woman of rare beauty wa*
Mrs. Franklin Pierce. She also had
many accomplishments. She was very
refined and quiet, shunning society.
Mrs. Abraham Lincoln as a girl was
very attractive and she had many suit
ors. When she became the mistress
of the white house she was "fair and
forty." That she was the successor of
the popular and accomplished Miss
Lane was not a point in her favor. A 6
the first levee she appeared in pink
silk, decollete, short-sleeved dress ami
a floral headdress, which ran down ta
her waist and destroyed what comeli
ness simplicity might have given her.
Mrs. Andrew Jackson possessed tha
beauty of face a>, d form which ren
dered her mother one of the most beau
tiful of women. Mrs. (irant was a
blond of delicate figure, rather below
middle stature. Mrs. Hayes was of very
attractive appearance. Mrs. (iarfield
was noted for her tact, and her hua
band once said that he never had to ex
plain away any words of his wife.
Mrs. Arthur, who died before her hus
band became president, was known as
"the beautiful Miss Herndon with th«
marvelous voice" before her marriage.
Mrs. Harrison was fair as a girl and
possessed the blond style of beauty,
which also belongs to Mrs. McKinley.—
N. Y. Sun.
How to Make French Toast.
To make French toast plunge »
slice of bread into milk and then int-j
an egg, the white and yolk of whick
have been beaten together thoroughly
and seasoned with suit. i"ry a golden
brown iu butter.