Two W ays of Putting a Case,
HOW MOTHER SAID IT,
The baby has gone toschool! Ah me!
What will the mother do,
With never a call to button or pin,
Or tie a little shoe ?
How oan she keep herself busy all day,
With the little “* hindering thing away
HOW TEACHER BAID IT,
Another baby here! Ah me!
What can a teacher do?
As if T hadn't trouble enough,
Here's more of it in brew,
I wish its mother, alack-a-day,
Had kept the “ hindering thing ” away
Rochester Union,
All for Nothing.
Happy the man whose far remove
From business and the giddy throng
Fit him in the paternal groove
Unquestioning to glide along,
Apart from struggle and from strife,
Content to live by labor's fruits,
And wander down the vale of life i
In gingham shirt and cowhide boots, |
{
He too is blessed who, from within i
By strong and lasting impulse sii
Faces the turmoil and the din i
Of rashing life ; whom hope deferred
Bat more incites ; who over strives,
And wants, and works, and waits, until |
The multitude of other lives i
Pay glorious tribute to his will,
3 i
To,
i
But he who, greedy of enown,
18 too tenacious of his ease,
Alas for him !| Nor busy town
Nor country with his mood agrees ;
Eager to reap, bat loth to sow,
He longs monatrars digo,
And looking on with envious eyes,
Lives restless and obsonrely dies,
VOLUME XIV.
HEditor and
CENTRE
HALL, CENTRE
CO.,
nh
24, 1881.
SI HT IY
A A ST
rR eT
NUMBER 46.
’
riage. Before long it came, and he
lounged discreetly in the porte cochere,
“Giuseppe I" called the countess, in
that cooing way that always set Thorn
wishing to be an 21d serving-man. Then
seeing the man's prostrate form, she
gave a little ory, and going to him in
sweet womanly fashion, turned up his
rongh face, and said, “Oh, the poor
Giuseppe i8 ill—Terosa!” This last to
her maid, who might have heard through
one of the open windows, but did not.
“Teresa, help me. Poor Giuseppe I”
This was Thorn's time. Advancing,
he said: “Pardon me, signora, but I
have a little skill. I can help the
Are you adootor, signore? I thought
“A painter,” said Thorn, secretly
“No I am, but so poor a one that
“0h, he is an old and faithful ser.
“ Leave him to me, and in a short
A QUEER THANKSGIVING.
said Thorn, formally.
Reluctantly she went. Thorn moved
“It's the loneliest old place in Rome, |
this Palazzo Comparini,” said Thorn, |
an American painter, to Giuseppe, the
porter. Giuseppe always lounged at a
door that led from the coart-yard into a
darkness and a dampness supposed to be |
his apartment
haired and bent, and after the fashion |
of the Italian lower orders, felt almost |
past work at fifty, but certainly not past |
the pleasures of conversation.
“Qerto, signore, the palace is lonely |
enough nowadays, but the Comparinis |
used to be rich, and kept up a great |
state. No grass in the court then, no |
mold on those marble steps, nosilence, |
no foreign painters on the top } floor |
(without offense to you, signore). Then |
the young count—ah, well, he was a |
rare one "here the old porter fell to
laughing—*‘and a gay one, and a care- |
less one. He went to Paris, and, whew! |
away went the money. The villa was |
sold, the property on the Corso was |
sold, the palace at Naples was sold, and |
back came the count, as merry as ever, |
and got married. Married a young wife, |
and then away went ber fortune. Paris |
aga'n; horses, gambling, betting, and |
worse. Five years ago he died—died |
merry, too. A pleasant man was the |
count.”
* Very pleasant man,” said Thorn
grimly. * Then he squandered every-
thing ?*
* Except this palace; and that vo 1d |
have gone if he had lived.”
** How abont his wife ?” i
“Well, her father gave her some- |
thing more, and then here's the palace |
yet. Wait, signore.”
Giuseppe shufled off toward a young
lady who had just entered, and who
beckoned him from the staircase. She |
was a little person, with a low brow and |
wonderful lignid Southern eves and a
row of small teeth like, as Thorn men-
tally remarked, sweet corn. She had a |
dimple in one cheek only. You couldn't
ask a mate in the other cheek, for such |
a dimple couldn't possibly be repeated.
she had s small straight nose anda {ull
mouth; the was brown, and she cas
quick, yet langnid. She talked with
Ginseppe in lively fashion, yet leaned
against a pedestal, like a weary nymph
in a picture. All this Thorn noted
Then he caught Giuseppe’s name as she |
pronounced it, with that gentle separa- |
tion of the syllables, as if for lingering
more tenderly on each.
* What a lovely name the old wretch |
has!” he thought. As the little lady |
tripped lightly up the stairs he was very
glad to ask the old wretch, and right
eagerly tho, ** Who is the signorina ?’
“‘ The Countess Vittoria Comparini.” |
* Does she live here 7°
“Of course. On the second floor.”
*! Does she—does anybody—does she
have many visitors ?” stammered Thorn, |
adding, to Limself, * Confound this |
foreign tongue ! it won't let afellowsay |
what he means.”
Giuseppe caught the meaning pretty
surely, for he answered: ‘Certainly, |
signore, the countess sees her own
friends.”
“ Yon mean the {oreigners—that is,
the Romans.”
“1 mean the Romans, not the for-
eigners. LadiesJike herself, and gen- |
Hosen like the count, her late hus-
“
Giuseppe was white- |
* Well—yes, signore,”
with polite hesitation,
“Here's a genuine old world crea- |
ture,” thought Mr. Thorn, not a little
amused, ‘untouched by republicanism,
commuuism or nihilism. Pray that his |
mistress is more modern, and so, access-
ible.” |
A vain prayer it seemed, for in pay- |
ment of a month of cold sentinel duty |
on the marble stairs, often an hour at a |
time, Mr. Thorn had met the Countess |
Comparini but twice. Once she passed |
him with a slight bow and downcast |
eyes as he politely lifted his bat; and |
one morning she looked up with a |
“Grazie, signore,” as he restored the |
prayer-book that she had let fall on re- |
turning from early mass. This wasn't |
the American way of getting on with a |
lovely woman, so Thorn applied to an
Jalidn fellow at tue banker's who talked
said Ginseppe, |
~ “Posseeble to know the Countess |
Compariui, my dear fellow? No. The
countessa is of an old house, She likes
not the foreigners, Imposseeble, my
dear boy.” ee]
“Is it?” said Thorn, and shut his |
teeth in good New Ergland fashion.
“We'll see.”
Then he lounged about town for days,
making acquaintances among the nobili-
ty. Counts and marquises in plenty he
came to know, for Thorn was only pleas-
ing a Bohemian fancy by lodging in an
old palace, and could aflord to stand
dinners for even the hungriest nobles in
Italy. But no luck. Invariably he
found the Countess Comparini inap-
proachable, frequenting a small circle,
but not inclined to foreign society.
Sometimes he saw her piquant little
face on the Pincian, as she drove alone
in an open carriage, and then he went
home and laid the maddest schemes.
He even knocked some mortar out of
the solid wall in his apartment, and told
Giuseppe that he required, as a tenant,
to see the countess about some repairs.
‘‘ The signore will go tothe agent on
the Corso,” said Giuseppe.
At last Thorn became horribly jealous
of this old porter, who was sure of a
smile and a pleasant word, or perhaps a
little confidential talk, as the countess
would come in from her drive. Gloom-
ily pondering Giuseppe’s good fortune,
an idea struck the American. The
countess was out. Giuseppe was some-
thing of a connoisseur in wines. Now
Thorn had a certain flask containing a
certain liquid that might easily be called
American wine. Giuseppe, without
much persuasion, swallowed a good pint
of whisky straight, and swore it was
better than Montepulciano. Soon he
lay senseless in the court yard, and
then Thorn coolly sauntered into the
street waiting for the countess’ car-
the countess’ anxious face at the door
Be sure Giuseppe's
Teresa, the maid, who did not under.
stand the symptoms, was allowed to
approach him ; and be very sure that
wera conveyed every few
messenger.
invalid became conscious.
Daring the evening the
Then Mr.
quaintance, franchised at one lueky
bound, reposed his six feet of American
pluck and expedient on an ancient
Comparini sofa, and secretly laid down
before the lady's dainty little slippers
all his honest New England heart.
Now Giuseppe, too, was indebted to
his illness, and obeying the order to re-
main indisposed for several days. |
nore
like several weeks, so common had it
grown for the countess to say, “A
riverderla, Signor Torn.”
“ Thorn, if you please, signora.”
Then, with a violent exertion to ful.
fill the rules ol enunciating ‘‘th,” the
troublesome combination would some
how slip away in a laugh, and the
never say that foreign name of yours."
“Try my first pame— Worthington.”
“ Vortinton, Is that right?”
“ Whatever you say is right.”
“Ah! your Italian improves.
can make compliments already.”
In truth, Thorn got on wonderfully
in Italian. With so much practice, no
wender. Not only haa he much to say
n his own account, but the countess
was insatiable in her curiosity about
his home and the ways of the American
people.
“ How strange and how foreign! Ah!
an Italian could never like such things,”
she would exclaim.
“Then you do not like anything
foreign, countess ;
A little shrug for answer, and a little
elevation of the eyebrows, that might
mean polite reluctance to offend, and
might mean bashful hesitancy to speak
a flattering truth.
“ And do women speak,” the countess
sked, “in public in America ?”
“Oh, yes; that's common.”
“ And their husbands, what do they
say ?”’ ’
“That if a woman has ideas or opin-
ions, she bas a right to express them.”
¢ An Italian wouldn't like that, And
You
“Most women marry without any.”
* Jtalians wouldn't like that,” laughed
“But if a wife has property, it is
protected so the husband shall not |
squander it. Would the Italians like |
that 7”
“JI think the women would,” and
the countess looked thonghtful.
Thorn felt he was striking home and |
making progress; but the countess see- |
ing him dare to look happy again, |
started her raillery again. “Now tell |
me about your festa days. What do
you do at Easter 7”
" Nothing much where I live. Some |
people eat a few eggs or put a few |
flowers in the churches.”
“ How sad! No Easter!
have a carnival 7”
“Not where 1 live.
“No carnival! But « n Italian would |
die without the carnival. Pray what do |
But you |
"”
“We have Fourth of July.” |
* Forterhuli—and what is that 2”
Thorn explained in few words, add-
ing: “We make all the noise possible ;
send off fireworks all day andall night;
but it’s very hot and disagreeable.”
“It must be dreadful. But you have
holidays. There's Christmas,”
“Oh yes; we go to church then.”
“Stand up and hear prayers?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have Thanksgiving.”
“ Tanksgeevin ?”
“Yes ; that's a great day in late No-
vember, when we have turkeys.”
“Turkeys! where ?” and the countess
opened her soft eyes so wide that Thorn
quite lost himself in their brown
depths.
“Where ?
sure.”
“Turkeys, and little trees, and a great
noise on a hot day, and no carnivall
I could never like American ways.” The
countess shook her head with decision,
and for the rest of the evening smiled
upon a stout, middle-aged marquis, who
had a waxed mustache.
For weeks Thorn haunted the old
salon, meeting the stout marquis at
every call, while Countess Vittoria be-
stowed her favors evenly. If she ad.
mired Thorn's last picture, she admired
the marquis’ new horse; if she let the
marquis play with her fan, she let
Thorn steal a flower from her bouquet.
When she was not present, the marquis
glared at the American, and the Ameri-
can whistled softly to bimself and
looked over the stout gentleman's head.
He was tall enough to do it in an aggra-
vating way. At last matters came to
a crisis when Thorn sang a love song to
Vittoria’s own guitar, and poiuted the
words very dramatically. The marquis
followed him out, and on the stairs said,
very red and short of breath: * You
will fight me, signore.” :
“Why ?” demanded Thorn, guietly.
“Youn know why. The Countess
Com Hig
Oh, on the table, to be
ini.
“Well?” and Thorn leisurely lighted
a cigar. “I don't quite see your point.
If you are an accepted suitor of the
”
“1 fancy I am to be so favored,” re-
plied the marquis, fiercely.
“Then I esteem the countess too
highly to injure her future husband.
On the other hand,” continued Thorn,
with provoking calm and distinctness,
+ if you are not an accepted suitor—"
“ Well, suppose I'm not?” blustered
the , rather betraying weak-
ness in his haste. shiick
“Then, Signor Marchese, you are
less than Boning to me. I YR
waste the time walking out to a re-
tired spot to shoot you down.” .
“Then you won't fight
“No.”
The marquis was purple with rage by |
this time, and exclaimed: ** Coward !"
At the asord Thorn asked: * Have
you pistols
“1 have!” and a valet was beckoned
who presented a pair, “Ha! you will
fight, then !” sreered the marquis,
Thorn made no reply, but examined
one of the weapons,
“Do youn observe,” he said, still!
smoking, ‘‘the forefinger of that
statue ¥' It was a cast filling a niche at
the foot of the long flight of stairs, As
he spoke he fired, and the finger, shot
off, clicked as it fell on the marble
stairs, The marquis had just time to
note that, when the American said:
“ Now this is for calling me a coward,”
and delivered a blow right between his
enemy's eyes which sent that titled gen
tleman rolling downstairs in a sense.
less heap. Then Thorn went up to his
rooms, the cigar still alight.
Now Teresa, the maid, had overheard
this and the npext day the
countess said : * An Italian would have
had a duel with that gentleman, Signor
I'orn.”
“We don't shoot fools in America;
we whip 'em,” answered the young man.
“ Your ways are not like ours,” sighed
the countess, with a mock regret, for a
smile was playing iu that one nnmateh-
able dimple.
““ Countess, could you never like our
ways
soene,
“ They are so singular,” she answered,
evasively.
“ Could yon never like an American ?
a man who loves you sincerely, who will
make of yon a plaything, not a
household ornament, buta companion,
a friend, a wife ¥'
not
“It is all too strange,” and she spoke
low. “IJ could never get used to you.
You are so—"
““ Well, so what ?"
““So tall and so blonde, and"
So ugly.”
“ No, but so different from us. And
our name—I could never, never pro-
Vortintor Torn."
“I will pronounce it for you; I will
do everything for you." He approached
her, and she took fright,
“No, no, signore; don't ask me. 1
couldn't—1 couldn't.”
“Then your answer—" said Thorn,
growing very white,
“ My answer is
* Good-night, and good-
e. I have lived at Rome so long only
the hope which you have just blast
»d.”
“Do you go soon?"
‘1 shall stay merely for a celebration
that my countrymen enjoy at this sea-
son, and which I am pledged to attend.”
“1 know,” said the countess. “It is
November.”
He went off bravely enough, leaving
the little woman standing with her
pretty head on one side and her eves
cast down,
It ought to be easy for a young fellow
of fortune, cf talent, of many resources
both within and outside of himself, to
shake off the thought of a little woman
standing with her eves cast down. To
that end the American occupied him-
self during the days that intervened be-
fore the Thanksgiving dinner. Besides
having promised to be he
feared his absence, coupled with break-
ing off his known intimacy with the
v
»
44
onnee it,
no.
nna
couniess,
by
n
resent
present
Oil
Countess Vittoria, would give rise to
remark and set gossip all agog.
One, two, three times twenty four
hours went slowly round. It was the
eve of Thanksgiving day; it would be
his last evening in the Comparini pal-
ace, his last but one in Rome. Poor
Thorn was seized with a desire to see
once more the face that had cost him so
much divine misery, to look vnee more
into the eves that had banished him-—a
foolish, inconsistent impulse known
only to lovers. Half unconsciously he
tramped out into the great hallways
and up and down the cold staircases,
imperfectly lighted by wretched oil
lamps. There was confusion on the
floor where the countess lived. People
men seemed carrying in great boxes,
He could hear Teresa's shrill voice call-
ing on the Madonna as they stumbled
awkwardly under their burdens. The
noise ot arrivals went on for a long
distinctly, the place was so large and
the walls so thick. Yet there was the
last some serving-men went out in a
to eat.”
“ Enough for them all to eat.” It
was a party, then. Perhaps more had
come than were expected, and the care-
ful Teresa had to make provision duly.
In a moment Thorn convinced himself
that the stout marquis, who bad proba-
bly recovered from his tumble, was
being entertained by Countess Vittoria's
most winning smiles. In his excited
mind he could see them both; that
waxed mustache (how he hated it!);
and Vittoria—from her dainty foot to |
the topmost braid of her little head, he
could see her, too—see her smile and
coquet and bandy compliments with
that detested fat fellow he had knveked
downstairs. Thorn raged, shut him.
self inthe studio, walked np and down
all night, and looked like a specter in |
the morning. Toward noon he fell !
asleep, and waking with a start at §
o'clock, he got up to dress for the din-
ner, heartily wishing it all over. Trying
to cogitate some verse, or toast, or epi
gram for the occasion, he spied among
the brushes on the dressing-table a
dainty envelope. Evidently Giuseppe |
had brought it while he slept. “The
Countess Comparini's compliments, and
she would be happy to see Signor |
Thorn” (the h very carefully written)
“at 5 o'clock.”
Thorn vowed he wouldn't go; then,
ried his toilet. He whisked out a
Cologne water about, still swore he
wouldn't go and be tortured anew, hasti-
ly left his rooms, and marched straight
down to the familiar great door on the
the little antechamber, The drawing
room was closely shut. From another
entrance the countess advanced to meet
him. Bhe was charmingly dressed, but
very gentle and shy,
She hoped she saw the signore well.
“That could hardly be expected,” he
answered, all resentment gone, as he
looked down upon the tender, girlish
little creature who was so dear to him.
“I have been,” she faltered, “think.
ing very seriously since we talked the
other day; and last evening—"
Thorn braced himself to hear she had
accepted the marquis at the party.
¢ —last evening I made up my mind.
I-11 want you to feel at ody so I
arranged a little surprise. I hope you
will like it.” Here she opened the
drawing-room door. ‘They make a
dreadful noise, but it pleases me—for
your sake.”
The tears were in her eyes, she was
ready for his arms, yet Thorn stood in
mute amazement, The Comparini draw-
ing-room was half filled with tables,
and on every table was a crowd of goh-
bling, screeching, flapping, living tur-
keys, some tethered, some cooped, but
all joining in the dreadful din.
““ What is the meaning" Thorn be
The countess broke down completely
“It's the custom of your country on
this day--youn told me so—turkeys on
tables," she sobbed, “I'll try to be a
perfect American,”
“ You're a perfect angel," said Thorn,
some strange law of hydraulics,
down an American-ont waistooat,
“And do you feel very much at
she asked, in a happy whisper,
“1 nover felt so much at home in my
life,” hie answered, clasping her closely.
“1 knew you would, I'm so glad I
did itall right. The men found it hard
to fasten so many of them on the tables,
though ; and the feeding, that was
ran
Thorn laughed very much. * For
pity's sake, have them taken off,” he
said.
“No; they shall stay. I don't mind
the noise, Ah! caro, when these
things gobbled so frightfully all night
long, 1 said, I will love them, for this
is the custom of his country -—perhaps a
part of his religion.”
** Dearest,” said Thorn, as well as he
could through the flutter and ecackle
around them, “love has sll customs,
all religions, and all countries for its
own. Nothing is hard, or strange, or
foreign to hearts that cling together
like ours.”
t was not until the next vear, when
met a party of her hus.
band's compatriots, that she found out
the real use of the great American
turkey.
— A
Spartan Esdurance,
In a sketch of Byron's friend, the
late Captain Trelawny, who was
wounded while helping the Greeks to
fight for their independence, the Lon
don Temple gi this account of
the remarkable endurance which he
h mw yes
And then began an exhibition of en-
durance and will that must remind
readers of a scene that has but lately
closed on the otherside of the Atlantic.
From the first day he was wounded,
Trelawny determined to leave everything
nature, Were Scarce in
Greece, and able ones did not exist at
at all, and the maimed man had more
faith in his own constitution and the
splendid untain air than fifth-rate
surgery. He had been hit by two balls
between the shoulders, one wound being
close to the spine. One of the bullets
found its way, by a tortuous avenue, into
his meunth, and, as he bent his head, fell
with several teeth to the Br und, the
socket of the teeth was broken and the
right arm paralyzed. He neither lay
down nor quite sat down, but placed
himself in a leaning posture against the
rock, and there he remained for twenty
days. No portion of his dress was re
moved; no extra covering worn, He
refused to be bandaged, plastered,
poulticed, or even washed; nor would I
move or allow any one to look at my
I was kept alive by yolks of
eggs and water for twenty days; it was
forty days before there was any sensible
diminution of pain; I then 1
to have my body sponged with spirit
and water, and my dress partly changed.
I was reduced in weight fiom thirteen
stone to less than ten, and looked like a
galvanized mummy.”
It is a wonderful record of more tian
Spartan endurance. He next tells how
he attempted to take solid food and of
he agony of moving his shattered jaw.
He tells, with grim humor, how he ‘re
fused all wishy-washy or spoon-food
and stuck to wild boar, which in turn
stuck to me; it splice d my bones and
healed my flesh.” But his right arm
was still paralyzed, and after waiting
three months in all, and little progress
made, he determined to see a surgeocn,
for until the ball was extracted, the
arm would never regain i's muscular
force. A Klephte surgeon was brought,
and was told that unless he cured the
Englishman he would be killed, Tre.
lawny bared his breast, the leech made
an incision with a razor and began
searching with his finger and thumb
for the ball, But it was not to be found,
and the wounded man carried that bul.
let in his body till him death. It may be
mentioned that the Greek surgeon was
not called upon to pay the penalty of
his failure, much, doubtless, to his sur-
prise and delight.
to Doctors
mo
$e
submitie
eaeaesemt—
Death in the Kerosene Can,
Fatalities attributable to pouring
kerosene on the kitchen fire to hasten
its burning seem on the increase, We
during the past six weeks.
evidently needs instruction.
the general idea
Bridget
She has
that kerosene will
ling. And she means to handle it care-
fully, Bit she supposes—and some
better-tanght people share the error
that if she is very prudent in what ste
does with this mysterious, inflammable
oil, all will go well.
Now the danger of explosion lies, not
in the oil itself, but in a vapor which is
formed from it, which Bridget cannot
see, and therefore, naturally enough,
disregards. The foe lurks in the upper,
or empty part of the can, not in the
lower part where the oil is. Kerosene
nary conditions, Indeed, the legal test
of quality is that the oil shall not emit
vapor at a temperature
below one hundred degrees of the ordi-
nary thermometer. As it stands iu the
18 not
any
general
80 very dangerous. Bat
volatile liquid of this
nature—aleohol, benzine
share the peculiarity—when taken up
into the air by evaporation, may form
agement a little oil is poured from the
A space filled with con-
beneath.
upper part of the lamp as the quantity of
burning at the wick; and it is this vapor
grate or stove already somewhat
lain to Bridget that the peril lies in the
invisible atmosphere so easily formed
over the oil, not in the oil itself; and
that no eare taken of the visible oil will
avert it.— New York Tribune,
Effects of Brain Work,
M. Gley, a French physiologist, has
been investigating the effects of brain
work on the circulation of blood. In
his experiments he has found that when
he applied himself to a difficult sub-
ject, upon which he had to concentrate
all his energies, the rhythm of the heart
was far more accelerated than when con-
sidering somme atter with which he was
familiar.
The ag te of income liable to in-
come tax in England has risen from $2,-
525,000,000 in 1870 to $2,890,000,000 in
FOR THE LADIES,
News and Notes for Women,
United States,
Senator Bayard's wife is an invalid,
and rarely goes out or receives calls,
A lady at Pekin, 111, has given birth
to a boy on every Fourth of July dur
ing the last four years
There is a young lady in Keokuk,
Towa, who is six feet fourinches tal, and
she is engaged to be married
The widow of John
Cretzer, who
to be Uncle Bam's oldest pensioner.
she is 108 and was married in 1801,
Ladies who come in
monds and furs, are said to support the
majority of New York fortune tellers,
late convention in
their hair
Mrs, General Lew
Wallace wore hers ent short. Julia
Ward Howe wore a white cap, black
silk basque and plain skirt; the Rev,
Miss Oliver, pliin black
skirt and basque; Luey Stone, black
silk, trimmed in velvet; Mra,
Clay, black satin with brocade, real lace
and diamonds; Mrs. Gongar, wine-col
ored silk, with embossed velvet over
skirt; Mrs. Fuller, black silk and bro-
trimmed in jot; Mrs. Haggart,
cashmere; Miss Eastman, black
who attended the
Louisville, wore
back smoothly.
cade,
black
silk,
Fashion Notes,
Dark gloves are preferred even with
light dresses,
Chine broecasdes are new and as lovely
as they are novel,
Novel and exquisite fancies are shown
in made up lace goods.
Artificial flowers for household deco-
rations are made of porcelain,
English
feathered
walking hats, Derbys and
turbans are all fashionable,
Bleache d beaver, that looks like « 1d
gold, is the most fashionable favey fur.
Black undressed kid gloves are em.
broidered with silver for full dress oe
Casions,
The china erape kerchiels with chen
ille fringe are shown in |
and colors,
3 hi
HACK, While
Bustles are imperative with the pres
ent style of dresses to keep the drag I
168 1h place,
of
LaDy
cheviot
TOWsS of
Tailor-made costumes
cloth are finished with
wachine-stitehing.
Arne d'Auntriche sashes, tied very low
on the skirt, and fastened by Irish dia-
mond buekles, will be much worn with
ball toilets,
Velvet stripes are exhibited in black,
and very dark shades of ruby, clive,
plum or seal brown, alternating with
those of white moire,
“ Lapland" plush is now a variety of
that material which bas a long furry
gray and white pile, and is designed es-
pecially for heavy ¥ winter cloaks,
Some of the French bonnets have no
trimming except a beaded insect or
bird, or a beaded diadem, but their
material is expensive enough to make
New chatelaine bags are made of
fine imported feathers. In the center
of the bag is set the tiny head of a
bright bird. They are suspended from
the belt by a slender chain of old silver
COLus,
Old Valenciennes lace, outlined with
gold thread, is just now quite as fash.
ionable a dress trimming as gold.
wrought Spanish lace, many ladies pre
ferring the Valenciennes patterns to
those of the large Spanish designs,
The newest lace is the Oriental, which
a fair imitation of lin, and is
about as dear as the Breton lace was in
its early days. Itis worked by a needle,
although the needle is propelled by
machinery, and its effect is better than
that of the woven laces.
The chief feature mn winter millinery
18 mech
double shadings. There is an upper
and under hue of opposite dyes. For
example, a plume with the flukes show.
ing a deep marine blue has the under
flukes in scarlet, Velvel chapeanx are
popular, They are adorned with beads
and more ribbons, and often the trim.
ming is composed entirely of ostrich
tips and plumes,
The novelties in winter jewelry are
sure of receiving favor.
are artistic and odd. Cameo sets are
beautifully executed, presenting a num-
ber of new styles; the medallion pat
tern is much liked. In carrings there
are several rich styles executed
“rolled” gold, the * campania” bell,
with filingree works on the surface, is
greatly admired. Hoop earrings are
again fashionable—the antique models
are preferred. Chatelaines of * dull”
jeweled settings,
Quakers,
Quakers, as a sect, says an exchange,
their own in this country, especially at
the West.
years show that 461 members have been
added by request during that time,
while 111 have become
birth, Dadueting 303 members who
have left the society, the net increase
more than a thousand members within
a year, and now has 20,000 members.
The unusual numbers of additions by re-
quest in the New York yearly meeting
Indiana yearly meeting is largely at-
visory
SO — 535555
A Curious Castom,
The Japan Weekly Mail states that in
been the custom to disinter the dead at
leges to confer the degree of A. M. on
their alumni of three years’ standing,
on the supposition that wherever they
are, their intellectual march will be on-
ward and upward, As Rinkin was rav-
aged by cholerain 1878, the government
of Japan naturally objects to the resur-
rection of the dead for cleansing pur-
poses, and has issued an edict forbid -
ding the ceremonial. The Rinkinans,
however, ara obstinate, and to wash or
not wash is the question now agitating
the minds of the living, and possibly
the dead, subjects of the mikado.
The average age of the justices of the
United States supreme court is sixty-
one years. Justices Waite, Field and
Miller were all born in the year 1821.
A Mental Freak.
A Dayton (Ohio) correspondent of the
Cincinnati Gfazetic tells this queer story:
the Mount Anburn female seminary was
bri ge.
of entertainment, near midnight, and
there being vo street cars at the
to run, they were walking to
hilltop, Just after they crossed
bridge a couple of roughs made
of some vulgar and insulting lan
the
gua
the ruflians stabbed him to death and
A full
ae
ticulars were published in the Gasente
and other dailies the next morning,
giving the names of the professor and
sonally to the writer of this article.
At the time of the murder I was liv
ing in Piqua, Ohio, and the Cincinnati
dailies reached the city then as now,
near noon time, Reaching my residence
about 14 o'clock I stepped into the yard
to see if the paper bad arrived, and not
finding it I threw myself on a lounge
in the dining-room to wait for dinner,
I dreamed I had in my hands the Com-
tion was attracted to the headlines
read through quite carefully, reading
all the names and circumstances as there
deeply interested. As soon as |
awoke, being called to dinner, I stepped
into the yard and found my
paper had arrived. Judge of my sur.
prise on opening it to find the exact ao
count of the murder just as I had read
it in my dream, and so far as I could
recollect giving the same language 1
had read in my sleep, and occupying
just the same amount of space
paper that I had found in my dream
While sleeping, 1 had read
correctly the name of the professor and
the ladies, although 1 nave recol.
lection of ever having heard of them
before. This has ever been to me a
mystery whieh I could not comprehend,
unless the theory be true, sometimes
advanced, that the mind took a step out
side of the body and went down street
no
¥ wl
have been related.
Struck by Lightuing,
A strange from Union
county, Arkansas. Three young men
were sitting on their horses in the road,
discussing the probabilities of rain
from a clond which just then was rising
in the west. The youngest of the group,
named John Freeman, referred to the
drought and remarked that 1 God who
would allow his people to suffer this
couldn't amount much. As he was
speaking this the boys were encircled
with lightning and the speaker stunned
thougl
=i his
unscathed,
glory
GOINGS
io
verely,
were Recovering, he re-
newed the subject, bitterly reviling the
Supreme power. Instantly a bolt of
lightning flashed from the cloud over.
head, snd the young man fell dead in
Nearly eggry bone in his
body was mashed to 4 jelly, while his
boots were torn from his foet and the
clothing from his lower extremities,
The body presented a horrible appear
ance, being a blackened and mangled
of humanity. His companions
stunned and thrown on the
The
young man
occurred the next day, and attracted a
large crowd, the larger portion of whom
were drawn thither by the rumor of the
strange events preceding the death of the
deceased. When the body was deposited
in the grave and the loose earth had been
thrown in until the aperture was filled,
and while the friends of the dead man
vet lingered in the cemetery, a bolt of
his tracks.
RRS
iAass
were
had passed lengthwise through it. No
ope was injured, but those present scat.
tered, almost paralyzed with terror. The
incident excited a great deal of atten:
tion, winisters and religious peoph
generally holding that the young man
was the victim of the wrath of an of-
fended God, while others asserted that
the case was simply a wonderful coinei-
dence, having no connection with causes
either physical or supernatual,
One Way to Quench Thirst,
The agony of thirst at sea—when
a crew of their supply of fresh water
vot enjoy. As Coleridge in his “ An
“Wate
r, water everywher
And not a drop ,
to drink !
Kennedy
away, had an opportunity of making the
experiment. With great difficulty he
to follow his example, and they all sur-
vived; while the four who refused and
drank salt water became deliricus and
died.
In addition to putting on the clothes
while wet, night and morning, they may
Captain Kennedy goes
“ After these operations we
uniformly found that the violent drought
went on, and the parched tongue was
“After bathing and washing the clothes
nourishment,”
Topnoody.
Mr. Topnoody was quietly reading
waper at home the other evening,
gide of the room sewing.
down at last and said :
“I've just been reading of Anna
Dickinson appearing as Hamlet, and I
am free to confess that I don't think it
proper.”
“ Why don't you?" said Mrs. Top-
noody.
“ Because, I don’t like the business
of women wearing the pants, either on
the stage or elsewhere, that's why.”
“Oh, don't you?" replied Mrs, Top-
noody, with a slight flush of sunset on
her cheeks. ‘Well, I can tell you,
Topnoody, if all the men were uo better
adapted to wear the pants than some I
know, either the women would have to
wear them, or the tailors wouldn't have
to make anything else but coats and
vests,” and Mrs. Topnoody locked at
Mr. Topnoody in such a piercing and
significant way that he twisted uneasil
in his chair, and at last got up to see if
the doors were all locked. — Steubenville
Ferald.
A man who will ‘steal a march,” will
not hesitate to ** take a wa'k,”
He put it
| TATTOOING AS A TRADE,
i
The Men That Like to See Figures on Thelr
an Old Operator.
| street, says a
| framed sign bearing an elaborately ex-
| ecuted and vividly colored goddess of
{ words underneath :
| Here by Martin Hildebrandt.” Ascend.
| ing a narrow stairway and turning to the
| small room.
| was at present tattooing a man, but
| would be done directly. Under the La-
| pression that the reporter was a ous-
| information handed bim a book which
| she said contained the designs her hus.
| human epidermis,
The book was a curiosity in itself. It
| contained about fifty erndely executed
{and highly-colored drawings and de-
{ signs, There were goddesses of liberty
| coats of arms of the United States,
{ England, France, Germany, Spain,
| Italy, Bweden, Denmark and Russia;
{ anchors and chains; a foll-rigged man-
| of war firing off a cannon; ships of all
{ kinds; the flags of different national
lities; a ballet girl with a very short
| skirt and very muscular limbs; a Venus;
{a willow-surrounded tomb with the
| words, “My mother,” on its face;
| butcher's knife and cleaver crossed;
| blacksmith's hammer and tongs; mer.
{ maids sitting on a rock playing on a
{ lyre; Masonic emblems; burning hearts,
| eagles, lions, ete. Underneath each
| design was the cost of having it execut.
{ ed, the prices ranging from twenty-five
| cents to 83,
| customers of the shop preferred realis.
{tic pictures to asllegorieal hints,
and a heart pierced by an arrow
| cost only twenty-five cents, while the
| design of a jauntily-clad sailor embrae-
$d.
| While the reporter was still admir.
| ing these * works of wrt,” the * artist”
| himself entered. He is a short, thick.
| set man, some fifty years of age. He
| was very willing to give information
| concerning his peculiar trade, Seeing
| his book of designs in the reporter's
hands, he hastened to assure him that
{ “them's not all the designs I kin make
by a good deal; I kin tatoo unything a
| customer calls for.”
“1 suppose sailors are your chief
customers ¥"’
*¢* Dh, no, mechanics, tradesmen and
{ing a short-skirted female cost
| do most of my tatooing on. Ihave cus.
| tomers from all over the United States,
| all kinds of people, and have even had
| gentlemen come to my door in their
{ private carriages. 1 am the only man
i
{in the city who has a permanent place
| of business. Theres an old fellow who
goes round among the sailors on the
docks, but his trade isn't big.”
““ What designs are the most popu.
lar 7"
“Well, that's all sccording to taste
{ or hobby. American sailors like god-
desses of liberty, sailors of other na-
| tions the coat-of-arms of their country.
An Indian waving a tomabawk is a great
faverite with some tars. Then I've put
many kpives and cleavers on butchery’
| arms, hammers and tongs on black
smichs'. Masonic emblems sro always in
demand. Bometimes there sre sailors
| who want the initials of their sweet:
girls afterward have their names or ini-
of the fellows who 1sed ‘to run wid
tures of a fireman with a speaking tram-
pet at the mouth on their hands or fore-
arm. Young men have the coats-of -arms
of their country or state put on. A de.
sign of a willow surrounded tomb with
the words, ‘To the memory of my
{ men,”
designs on any one person
“Yes, I've tattooed one man from
head to foot.
Washington's tomb on his breast, and
| smaller figures of flowers, leaves, ete.,
{ on the rest of his person. He exhib-
£40 a week, Another man I almost
covered with pictures was a Spaniard
| about fifty vears of age. He brought
| pattern. They were almost all of
| religions character,
ithe Virgin Mary and thirty-three
angels. A large pictare of the erunel.
| fixion I put on his breast. Then there
was the picture of a blind man led by a
land saved from falling over by an
| angel. Three mermaids 1 tattooed on
| one side, a rooster and cat respectively
| figures on his arma.”
| “Did he go into the show business,
| too 7"
| “No. I asked him if he intended to
do so, but he said no; then 1 asked him
his reasons for having himself tattooed
| all over, but he wonldn't tell me.”
| “Do not many boys come to you to
| be tattooed 7"
“Sometimes fathers bring their boys
and have their name or some mark put
on them, so that they can be recog-
nized when stolen or lost. A sea captain
was lately drowned in the East river,
and his body was only recognized by an
with the Army of the Potomac I put the
arms and breasts, and many were recog-
or wounded. I learnt my business from
an engraver with whom I served on
during the Mexican war.”
for your work ?"
“The winter, as the work dries
quicker ; but I'm busy in the summer,
as there seems to be more money
around."
“With
ing?
“With six neadles tied together in a
line, one much higher than the others.
The wounds are very slight, and heal in
a few days. The Burmese are the only
nation who now practice tattoing.
They use a hollow instrament contain-
ing the India ink, something like one
o' them ere fountain pens.”
what do you do the tattoo-
erased
“No, it is impossible to remove it.
See here'—showing his right hand,
covered with the design of a ship—*"1I
had a gathering here some time ago, and
mt a poultice on that ateaway the skin.
Vhen the new skin came there was the
design as plain as ever. 1l've made as
much as 830 in one day. I've been in
the busiiess for the last twenty-five
years.”
“Do you ever have any women ous-
tomers ?"
“ Very rarely. 1've had some, though,
who had their lover's or husband's
names surrounded by roses and other
flowers, put on their arms,”
Mr. Hildebrandt's business is evi-
dently well known in the neighborhood,
for as the reporter was stepping out of
| the door he was accosted by two small
| boys, with the question: * Bay, mister,
| wot did yer have put on yer arm? A
| ship or yer gal's name?”
Story of an Indian Captive,
General John R. Baylor fornishes
the Ban Antonio (Texas) Fepress with
| the following incident eovnected with
his late visit to Corpus Christi, where
he met a Spaniard by the name of Tito
| Rivers, whom he rescued from the
| Comanches a quarter of a funley afta:
In 1856 1 was United States Indian
agent at the Comanche reservation on the
Clear Fork of the Brazos, then Throck-
morten county. One day I found a note
| on my teble from a boy, who asked that
| he be taken from the Indians. Soon
afterward the boy walked into my office
with a bunch of turkey feathers fastened
‘to the top of his head, and his faco
painted and dressed in the -Jndisn
costume, and said he was the boy
who left the note on my table, I asked
bimawhere he came from, snd he said
that his father was & Spanisrd, and
| lived in the mining town of Tapio, in
the state of Durango, Mexico. Hespoke
Spanish and also Comanche. [I didnt
| believe that he had written the note,
and to try him asked him to sit down
at my desk and show me how he could
write,
boy. Questioning him as to how he
came to fall into the hands of the In-
dians, he said that his father owned a
pack train, and one day he went out
with the mules and the men in charge
of the mules and camped. The Indisus
came on them and took him into cap.
tivity. After hearing his story I sent
for the Indian who claimed to own the
boy, and when he came I told him I
{ must have Tito. He replied that I
eould not, and I told him I would or
we would fight. He said that fightit
would be then ; the boy eonld not go,
I went to see General Robert E. Lee,
who was then lientenant-colonel of the
Second United States cavalry, at Cam
Cooper, and who had been station
there to protect the Comanche camp.
While there, Chief Cateman, of the Co-
manches, who had heard of the object
of my visit, came to see me and said
that be wanted no trouble between my-
' self and the Indians, and that if I won
| give up $100 worth of goods I conld get
the boy. 1 gave him an order on the
sutler, and be was given the goods, and
the boy was turned over to me. I sent
the little fellow to my house ani be
lived with my children for about two
years, being treated as one of the family.
Afterward I met Major Neighbors, who
| then lived near San Antonio, on the
Salado. Major Neighbors ssid he
| wanted him, and if I would give him to
{ him he would send him back to his
{ mother, I turned him over to the
major, but he didn’t send him back to
| his mother, and the war came on and
{he went into the Confederate army.
i The boy was twelve years old when I
| took him, and the Indians had captured
him when nine, having had him three
years. He spoke the Cemanche lan-
guage perfectly, and I nsed him as in-
terpreter. Major Neighbors left the
| boy on his ranche on the Salado, near
San Antonio, sud the boy entered the
Confederate army when about sixteen
vears. Upon returning from the war
lace, oun the Cibolo, fifteen miles
north of San Antonio, and from
there went to Galveston and thence to
Corpus Christi. While with Captain
boy. I went to Corpus Christi to see
the boy, Tito Rivera, now cashier of
the bank of Davis & Dodridge in Cor-
pus Christi, and one of the most respect-
{able men of Corpus.
Miss Mollie Woodward, and now has
one boy and two little girls, and the
best of my visit was that the little
| children came about me threw their
arms around my peck and exlled me
grandpa. Rivera is a man now about
thirty six years of age and is a magpi-
ficent-looking man.
Bees in California,
We give from an exchange the fol-
| owing interesting arc unt of bees in
California : The extent to which honey-
making is carried on to the foothills of
these extreme sonthern counties is
informed apiarists place the number of
three counties of Los Angeles, San
There are at least six hun-
dred men wholly engaged in saving
| honey this season, and an average exp
is assured. Last year the honey erop
of San Dieze county amounted to 1,291,-
800 pounds, and this year will
larger. The total crop of Ventura,
Los Angeles, San Diego aad San
Bernardine oounties will not fall
short, if it does not exceed, 3 000,030
pounds this season— ut least that is the
opinion of well-informed apiarists
The growth of this business has been
| very rapid, and may now be said to be
| 200,000.
%+.7
Who profess to be friends of the he
Are much like the bad dog thai stole
thirty years
lawsuit for its possession
| in dispute was whether the sal .
{was coal or asphalt, or whether
: should be ranked as a highly
| ous coal or a highly carbonized
| tum, Muay experts and mes Gf
| were called as
fact, unique. It broke with
| choidal fracture and a Blassy
| It could be ignited with a match
melted in burning. It was
| christened Albertite,
| since known to
| About 280,
{ from the
| came 50 thin as to be un
was worth $18 to $21 on board vessel at
Hillsboro’. According ;
| Sun, the capital stock
| $240,000 sometimes
| high as 250
fouling yometinids
| pense
work. A
§
material
| New Ireland, another settlement
. same county.
tia do with their tub? They must
| a new bottom, or all their coop
| will be lost labor. The bottom of
the number of bee colonies, now so nu-
merous along the southern coast range.
In 1877 there were twenty-twe bee
ranches in this southern region; new
there are not less than five hundred.
Five years ago the crop of honey was
| little in excess of home consumption;
' now several large ships can be loaded
with the crop of a favorable year.
The bee keeper usually lives upon
government land, not hecause he is
unable to purchase what land he re-
becanse the wild sage, button sage,
sumac and other honey flowers and
shrubs are found growing luxuriantly
where land considered wor. hless for
| grazing or cultivation is left un-
| claimed and undisturbed. In almost
| any accessible gulch, gully and walley
where water can be had-—for bees use
much water—and where the white
sage blossoms, a bee mnch may be
| discovered. They are solitary places,
| veritable hermitage, where intruders
| from the outside world never find
| way. Many of them are very beautiful
| little rural gems, set within a bower of
roses and honeysuckles; some are
merely a shed among rocks and bush,
devoid of taste or comfort. The bee-
raisers cultivate a sort of free-masonry
among themselves, and aid and advise
| each other when called upon. The
soon become accustomed to their soli-
tude, and gradually accumulate a com-
petence. There are a few exceptional
| cases where men have failed in bee-
keeping down here, but they are few
and not often found. No one should
attempt to keep a bee ranch buta lover
of solitude. It requires close care
and attention, much patience and little
capital.
Ns os 00
A father with marriageable danghters,
like a maiden with sensitive skin, often
dreads the winter, because it brings so
many chaps on his hands. —Zoledo
American,
The well-known poplar tree ted
by Marie Antoinette B the ples of
Petit Trianon at Versailles been
blown down.
To — I —————— :
“1 am drassed to kill,” as the recruit
said when he donned his uniform.
ohns,
land, drifting at the rate of
one-half miles an hour toward the p
between