aS ww } ae AN AUTUMN PICTURE. EE f_——— Dora Reap GOODALE. Sky deep, intense and wondrous blue, "With clouds that sail the heaven's through And mountain slopes so broad and fair, A maple or an ash tree seen In glowing color, bright and rare. Green flelds, where silvery ripples fade, ‘With cattle resting in the shade: Far mountains’ touched with purple haze; That, like a veil of morning mist, By gleams of golden sunlight kissed, Soems but a breath of by-gone days. And clover which has bloomed anew Since shining scythes did cut it through, And corn fo s with the harvest fair, And golden-rod upon the hill, And purple asters blooming still, And sunlight meited into air, A Young Wife at Richmond. Mr. Thomas Bilbury is the junior partner in the great firm of Bilbury, Blackthorne & Co., tea merchants of Calcutta and London. The senior part- ner is Mr, Joseph Bilbury, his father, who has a very nice house at Kew ; and until a year or two ago there was a third member in the firm in the person of Thomas’ uncle, Mr. Babbington Blackthorne, the Calcutta representa- tive of the establishment. But, unfor- tunately, Mr. Blackthorne, like many Englishmen who live in India, drank too much Scotch whisky and Bass’ ale, and ate too much curry and too many “Bombay ducks ;’’ the result being that at the age or fifty-five his liver declined to bear the strain put upon it, and col- lapsed, leaving its owmer so weak and ill that he had barely time ere he died to telegraph to his partners in England a brief notice of his impending fate, This alarming despatch arrived at a particularly inopportune moment. Mr, Thomas Bilbury had on the day pre- vious, married a very charming young lady, Lydia Lapples by name ; and the intelligence of his uncle's sad condition necessitated that the newly-made hus- band—who, by the way, had only be- come acquainted with his bride about six weeks before marriage—should, without a moment’s delay, take the train for Dover, cross to Calais, and thence go by the quickest route to Cal- cutta. The affair was pressing. Mr. Blackthorne’s death would certainly throw the business into confusion, and any hesitation on the part of the English partners might imperil the future of the firm. “Go at once, my dear boy,’ wrote Mr. Joseph Bilbury to his son, who was in the Isle of Wight, **and send your wife to me, I will take care of her, and see her settled in your new home at Richmond. I would go myself, but my gout won't allow me. And, above all things, take care of your liver.” There was no help for it. Mr. Bil- bury, Jr., felt that he must go; so go he did, putting the best face on the matter, and bidding a very leng and tender good-bye to his poor little wife, He escorted her across to Portsmouth, put ber into a London train, kissed her, saw her off, and then took the next train for Dover. She settled down in her new home on Richmond Hill; and he for many months afterward worked hard at his affairs of his dead uncle, and from time to time sending home reports of his progress, and love-letters to Lydia. Two years, in fact, elapsed ere he was able to return to England, and then he returned, as he had gone out, at a moment’s notice. Unforeseen cir- cumstances suddenly left him free; and, unwilling to lose a day, he took the first homeward-bound steamer, which, so it happened, was also talking to Richmond a letter, written a few days earlier, in which Mr. Bilbury, among ether matters, regretted to his wife that the pressure of business would not leave him at liberty for at least a month, He traveled home without adventure, landed in due course at Dover, arrived in London late at night, and, without having written a word of warning to Lydia, hurried on next morning to Richmond Hill. Why he did not write or telegraph, we cannot say; perbaps he thought his sudden appearance would agreeably surprise his wife ; or perhaps he was too excited to be able to think at all. But inany case, he neither wrote nor telegraped a single word of prepara- tion, It was a fine sunny morning in Sum- mer ; Mr. Thomas Bilbury had scarcely seen his new home, which he had taken in a hurry immediately before his wed- ding ; and he was walking eagerly up the short carriage drive leading to the house, when, happening to cast his gaze toward the upward the upper windows, he caught sight of a fair, white-draped figure which was watering some flower- ing plants that stood ina row on the sill, He at once recognized the figure as that of his wife, and was about to utter a cry of salutation when he suddenly became conscious that she did not re- cognize him, for with graceful modes ty she withdrew from the window and disappeared as soon as she became con- scious that he was watching her. An idea struck him. It wasa foolish, but not wholly unatural, one. He would i pretend to be some one else—a friend, | say, of her husband’s—and would ask to see her as such, Of course the would at once recognize his voice ; but then the surprise, and the consequent pleasure would be the more complete if he thus deferred them. He knocked, thérefore, at the door, and to the ser- vant who appeared announced that he had just returned from India and de- sired to see Mrs, Bilbury. He gave no name, but he was admitted and hown into the drawing-room, where, = some perturbation eof mind, he awaited the advent of the wife from whom he had been so long and so cruelly sepa- rated. “I suppose that she will know me,’ he reflected, as he stood with his back to the window; ‘‘but it is true that I went away, and that I have become considerably tanned. However, the beard ought to make no great difference, I suppose that she would know me if she saw me in my shirt-sleeves, or with both legs cut off at the knees. On the other hand, she thinks I am still at Cal- cutta. for she must have had my last letter this morning. I hope my sudden appearance here won't upset her, I must be careful,” Here his thoughts were switched aside by the unmistakable sounds of rustling skirts in the passage without ; and as the door opened he involuntarily turned and wazed intg the garden, at the same time coughing nervously. “May I offer you a chair? I am afraid that you will find the open win- dow too much for you,” said a soft voice behind him. “Oh no: not at all!" he returned, facing his wife for an instant, and then hastily resuming his survey of the gar- den. Mrs, Bilbury did not in the least re- cognize her husband. ‘‘Do let me or- der a fire to be lighted,’ she added. “Oh no ; not for world !”* ejaculated Tom, as he turned slowly round, con- scious at last that even his nervousness was no excuse for his rudeness, ‘But the fact is, Mrs." — “My name is Mrs, Bilbury !"’ “Oh! thank you—yes! The fact is, Mrs. Bilbury, that I am not yet en- tirely reconciled to abominable English climate. I-—ah-—that is to say a man who has existed in groves of mango—ah—and has lived on curry and chutunee—ah—with, the thermome- ter standing doggedly at a hundred and two in the shade, is—ah ; but 1 dare say you understand !"’ “Oh perfectly, Mr, = 1 think I have not the pleasure of knowing your name. "’ this “Who am I 7" thought Mr, Thomas Bilbury. * Myname,’’ he said, after a slight pause, ‘is Tilbury.” “What a curious similarity ?'’ said his wife. *‘Yes: I can readily believe that people coming home from India find this climate very trying at first, even in Summer. My husband writes than the heat in Calcutta has been ex- cessive, Possibly, Mr, Tilbury, you may have called to give me some news of him? I hope so. 1 thought that his last letter was not written in very good spirits.” “That is satisfactory,” thought Mr, Bilbury., ‘“The lapse of two years has not altered her love for me.” “Yes ' he said aloud ; “I can give you some news of him, for, a month ago, I was at Calcutta.” “Indeed ? How delightful! Do sit down, Mr. Tilbury. It is delightful to meet any one who has seen my husband go recently, for I gather from what you say that you have seen him. How was he ?*’ Mr. Bilbury was by this time much exercised in his mind as to what to say next. On the one hand, he was afraid to declare himself for fear of frighten- ing his wife ; on the other, he rather enjoyed the situation. He therefore determined for the present to retain his incognito, “He was,” he said with deliberate hesitation, ‘‘as well as could be ex: pected.” “As well as could be expected 7’ re- peated Mrs. Bilbury with alarm. ‘‘Do you mean that he has been ill “Well, not exactly ill,” prevaricated Tom, who had not yet quite made up his mind as to what he should say. “But I do not understand you, Tell me, please, What has happened to him 2” Mr. Bilbury wondered what the end would be. He heartily wished that his wife would recognize him and settle the difficulty by throwing her arms round his neck. “Nothing very serious,’’ he said. “I dare say he has told you that he has be- come very fond of tiger-shooting ?"’ “Ah, tigers! Tell me, Mr, Tilbury, tell me!” “Well, he went out tiger-shooting one day as usual-—ah-he was accompanied only by his servant. They entered the jungle ! Suddenly, and without warn. ing, a huge female tiger sprang upon your husband and bore him to the earth, The native fled for assistance ; help ar- rived ; and the victim was found faint from loss of blood, with his right arm torn out at the socket, his left eye des- troyed, and the calf of his left leg—ah —deeply scored by the cruel claws of the ferocious monster.” “Dear me, how alarming I’ com- mented Mrs, Bilbury ; but the exclama- tion seemed so out of proportion to the gravity of the story that Mr. Bilbury felt seriously disappointed. ‘That fully accounts.’’ continued Lydia, * ‘for his bad spirits, His right arm’’'— “Yes, torn out at the socket, Mrs. Bil- bury. He has learned to write with his left hand.” “Ah! dreadful. destroyed ?"’ “Yes ; he wears a glass eye, poor fel- low.” “It must be agony! And his leg deeply scored by the cruel claws of the ferocious monster! Terrible misfor- \ tune! And when you left him, Mr, Tilbury, how was he? Will he sur- vive 2? A new light seemed to break upon Mr. Bilbury. Did his wife want him | to survive ? He felt by no means sure | of it, | “It is impossible to say with certain- ty,” he said ; ‘‘but you must hope for | the best. Let me beg of you, my dear | Mrs, Bilbury; to keep up your spirits.”’ And his left eye “Indeed ! gotten me.’’ Then he had not quite for- “Forgotten you ?"' repeated Tom, his feelings for an instant getting the bet- | ter of him. **Oh, no! I think that it is the lot of but few women to have a hus- band so utterly devoted to her.” “And of but wife'’— “So charming,” said Mr, Bilbury, fin | ishing the sentence. “Oh, Mr, Tilbury! Of course you will stay to Do; Y ou woman bates solitude few men to have a But excuse me. | luncheon. | know to please me. that a | » less than I will just | And | Mrs, Bilbury rose and quitted the room. | Une moment, smallpox. go and give the necessary orders. ’’ “Well, this is awful!’ reflected her | husband as soon as he was left alone, “She doesn't recognize me, and appar- | ently she doesn’t She reminds me that there are | as good fish in the sea as ever came o1 seem to care for me | much. of it. That, 1 means if would only die and a Suppose, ii liberate her she would promptly marry some one else, | A nice instance of the faithlessness of women, leave her Perhaps I should do well to | at never let know the truth ; but I can’t love her still ; indeed, I'm afraid I love | her more than I ever did. No, 1 will see this affair to the end. If I~ faithful, I will find her out, an once, and her | T 1 do that, 1} he is un th BL fren i His meditations were cut short by the | return of his wife, who informed him | that she had ordered some luncheon, | and that he must meanwhile do his best else in the honse except the servants. This style of conversation made Tom more | and more reckless; and at once he launched out into an account of an im- aginary moonlight picnic at Aden, where—so he let it appear—he had broken the hearts of several charming girls, and upon the whole had behaved in a highly reprehensible manner. “It must have been very delightful,” said Mrs, Bilbury. “I wish I bad been there! Sometimes we have very pleas ant evenings here. Of course I know every one in the neighborhood, and, as a married woman, I ask whom I like to my house. You must come some night, Mr. Tilbury, and sup with us after wards,” By this time Tom was perfectly fran- tic. “I’m afraid I shan't be here for long," he said bitterly. “I am going abroad. 1 cannot rest anywhere,” “You are worried, I see,” said Mrs. Bilbury. “I can sympathize with you.” “Yes family matters and disappoint- ments you know.” “Disappointments | But you are young ; and if you will excuse me, not bad-looking. Perhaps you have merely lost your heart to one of the yonng ladies at Aden.” “Oh, no,” he replied. *‘And, to tell the truth, I am doubtful whether any woman would be worth worrying about,” “Don’t be cynical,” said .Mrs, Bil- bury with a smile.” “Perhaps you ex- pect too much from women." “I expect sympathy, fidelity and con- sideration,’ answered Mr, Bilbury, gravely. “BHT the probable death of your hus- band I’* added Mr, Bilbury, “Oh, I am philosophical, We were only together for two days, we only knew each other for a few weeks, Whatam I to him? What is he to me? Life is still before me.” “That is rather plain speaking,’ thought Tom. ‘I wonder whether she would like to get np a flirtation with me, I will draw her on a lit " “Hal” he sald aloud, ‘‘you have happiness within your grasp, and you can make another happy. It is not every man who is so fortunate as to meet with a woman like you. Now to amuse her, as there was no one 1 confess that 1 have been : in my experience. But if I thought that I might hope for your sympa- thy! m= “Surely, Mr. Tilbury, it would be unwomanly of me to refuse it.” “This,” thought Mr. Bilbury to him- self, ‘“is my faithful and devoted wife |” yet he was unable to refrain from seat- ing himself beside Lydia and putting his arm round her waist. ‘“‘Dear Mus, Bilbury,”” he said, *'I love you ! Do you, can you love me #"’ She gave a scarcely perceptible gesture of assent ; and Tom, now thoroughly convinced of his wife's untrustworth- iness, sprang up and confronted her, “Mrs. Bilbury,” he said, would your husband say to this ? have disgraced him! She looked up, and held out her hands imploringly. ‘what You “Ah! if you were only a good woman!” And he approached her and took her by the hand. instant he stood thus; then he raised the hand and kissed it, and finally he kissed his wife on the cheek. “Are you going, Mr, Bilbury ?"’ asked, “Yes: I had better go; it is for the (rood- For an she We could not be happy. slowly he away to stood, painfully the door, regarding her, “Good-bye I'' she echoed. in another “Hut. » continued voice, “Tom!” repeated Mr, Bilbury, start name was Tom ?V “You did, you foolish fellow, about “And he cried, you EKnow me, quickly Lydia ?” 10 all as he “You returned her. have known me “No: | told me that tremendous story about lid not know you you the tiger. There was no mistaking you By this time Mr. and Mrs. Thomas ere embracing each other so that very the conversation rendered fragmentary and therefore, almost disjointed. It is, impossible to chronicle what they said ; but it is certain that they forgave each and it is a matter of notoriety has since been no happie Ch LF es — Scraps. ~The fashionable tendencies are 80 running to enlargement, that it is feared see the fe. —The editor of a French newspaper, speaking of the dedication of a new cemetery near Lyons! said that “‘M, first individual who was buried in this delightful retreat.’’. -A voung lady and gentleman, taking a romantic strole together the other evening, walked into a well which some one had carelessly left uncovered, Their emotions were {00 deep to reach the sur- ~The new western weather prophet is proud of his name-Straw, and the editor of the Boston Post, who evidently has some faith in weather prophets, thinks he can tell which way the wind will blow, — “Mau should always be gracefal,” says Dr. Armitage; and the doctor will please rise and explain how a man can be graceful when he steps on an orange peel while carrying a basket of eggs. ~“Yes, gentlemen,” said the bar- room orator: “my father could raise finer cabbage and bigger beets than any man in this section,”” and the orator wondered why everybody laughed. «There was a reward offered the other day for the recovery of *‘a large leather lady’s traveling-bag.'’ Whether or not the large leather lady has got it back has not yet been stated. ~An American lawyer is now attor- ney general of the Sandwich Islands, If in two years he doesn’t own the entire country and hold the king's note for a large sum, he is no credit to the Ameri- can bar, ef —— He Tages THE ODDS, —“Drap dat million. Jeemes, drap dat water- million. Don’t ye know dat de cholery isin Europe ?'' ‘No, is dat a fac?" “An’ it's gwine to come here,” “Is dat 807" It is fur a fac’, an’ water. millions am de wussest kind ob fruit to bring on de cholery. Han® dat million ober heah, I'se done had de cholery wunst, an’ I ain't afeered.” “Does folkses hab de cholery often #'' “Neb ber but wonst, nebber but wonst. When it strikes a nigger he's mos’ly done dead de fust clatter,” “Don’t it kill dem as don’t eat watermillions ?"' “Yes, it do, but it’s wusser on dem as eats de frait, If he hab de water. million habit ye stan’ ten to one todie.” “Well, Uncle Mose, I'se jes made up my mind ter take de odds," Twas Sift- nye, ’ - For the Fair Sex. —A pretty material for evening dresses is Melbourne foulard. It makes up very stylishly in cream color, with draped scarfs trimmed with wide loops and ends of ruby velvet, ~The economical will be glad to learn that silks will be cheaper than ever in the fall, as thousands of pieces of last years silks have lately been purchased at Lyons at cost price, ~The only wraps which young girls wear are the pelerine pelisse, the pale- tot, and the Carrick, which last is a double cape with a ruche around the neck, and fastened with a bow of ribbon, — Little girls of from 4 to 8 frequently wear the Louis XV jacket with large revers forming a collar, and pockets in the same style. Under the loose walist- coat is worn a plaited skirt, ~—It is not at all likely that the Jer- sey will remain a fashionable garment, for it has already become common ; but it has made a certain place for itself, and will remain through fluctuations or fortune as the basque and the polonaise and the blouse waist have done. The Jersey is easy and delightful wear for a good figure and fer informal occasions, It fits like a glove, yet admits of much freedom of movement; its elasticity does away with all sense of binding or pressure ; but for this very reason a round, flexible, graceful form is an in- dispensible qualification in the wearer, and no angular or made-up figure should ever attempt a **Jersey.”’ Domestic Goods. The American manufacturers come to the fore this season, surpassing all previous efforts, and fairly rival those of foreign manufacture in magnificence and beauty. The superb brocades on ottoman grounds are strewed with sprays of shaded roses and other flowers, On black satin grounds enormous jar- diniere designs are in high relief of cut velvet on plain velvet, The American satin marveilleaux, satin armures, ar- mure Dijons, plain satins and velvet, gros-grains are equally elegant of the above described shades, These are all duplicated in delicate colors for evening toilets, such as a brilliant golden olive, manila, eglantine pink, light blue, creamy white, the pale milky way, and maize, The odd conceit of uniting two mate- rials in the way of placing the figured fabric below and the plain above will be revived, with also the fashion of wear- ing plain velvet basques with a different skirt. Some of the new fabrics for the cold season are excessively coarse and rough, like blankets. Wide stripes ac- company the plain goods. Ribbons. Two kinds of ribbons are used-—the very narrow satin ribbons for garniture and the very wide for sashes ; there is a medium width employed for belts, but these hardly count. The “happy thought” of clustering very narrow satin ribbons in different shades and colors as rosettes, bows and groups of loops with ends, has revived that for- merly highly favored kind of garniture, and given it a stimulus unknown be- fore. Four hundred yards has been put, it is said, on one dress, and that may not represent the maximum, since the furor has only just set in. It is more than probable, however, that it will soon expend itself, as the violence of a storm is its own prophecy of speedy abatement. In sash ribbons are some new styles of unexampled beauty. The exquisite late patterns seen in brocaded silk and velvet upon some rich fabrics, have been transferred to elegant ribbons with great success, entirely covering ruby and rese-pink or wine-colored sur- faces with a frost-like tracery which perfectly reproduces the rarest fabrics, There are other ribbons which are bro- caded so as to represent the finest hand embroidery of a conventional kind ; and still others in duchesse satin with a striped centre of moire in the solid color, Interesting. -S8ponge is woven into cloth in France. — We have now a scientific gentleman of advanced researches and conclusions, who holds that the earth is mot liquid, as commonly supposed, with a crust a few miles thick around it, like a cream cake, but a solid body, as hard as an ivory, steel or glass ball, ~The engineer of the gas-burning lo- comotive, which was tried last week, in New Haven, says that he has, at times, put out the fire on trips with loaded cars going up grade, let her run forsome time on the strength of the accumulated steam, and then relit the jets in time to keep the engine working, «The telephone has been successfully used in France to communicate between a vessel being towed and one towing. The wire was carried along one of the hawsers, and the circuit was completed through the copper on the bottom of the ships and the water, Conversation was carried on distinctly, ~Among the recent improvements gr in fire escapes is to be found the ex- tension ladder, patented by Mr. Joseph Spangler, of Rock Island, Ill. The invention consists in contrivances for raising and lowering, and for locking and unlocking the ladder. A seat is arranged on the upper end of the sec- tion to enable the ladder to be used as an elevator to facilitate the ruscue of persons unable to descend by the ladder, The ladder is also adapted for the use of painters, builders and others, : How RAISINS ARE PREPARED. —A strip of land bordering on the Mediter ranean, somewhat less than one hundred miles in length and in width sot ex- ceeding five or six, is the raisin-produc- ing territory of Spain. Beyond these boundaries the muscatel grape, from which the raisin is produced, may grow and thrive abundantly, but the fruit must go to the market or the wine press. When the grape begins to ripen in August the farmer carefully inspecta the fruit as it lies on the warm, dry soil, and one by one clips the cluster as they reach perfection. Inalmost all vineyards slants of masonry are pre- pared, looking like unglazed hotbeds and covered with fine pebbles, on which the fruit is exposed to dry. But the small proprietor prefers not to carry his grapes so far. Itis better, he thinks, to deposit them nearer at hand, where there is less danger of bruising, and where the bees and wasps are less likely to find them. Day by day the cut bunch- es are examined and turned, till they are sufficiently cured to be borne to the house, usually on the hill top, and there deposited in the empty wine-press till enough has been collected for the trimmers and packers to begin their work. At this stage great piles of rough dried raisins are brought forth from the wine-press and heaped upon boards, One by one the bunches are carefully inspected, these of the first quality being trimmed of all irregularities and imperfect and deposited piles by themselves. So in turn are treated those of the second quality, while the clippings and inferior fruit are rece ved into baskets at the feet of the trimmers and reserved for home consumption. A quantity of small wooden trays are now brought forward, just a common raisin-box and about and inch deep. In these papers are neatly laid so as to lap over and cover the raisins evenly de- posited in the trays, which are then sub- ected to a heavy pressure in a rude press. After pressing tke raising are dropped into the boxes for mar- ket, berries in the size of ———— I Apr Signs of Autumn. When the fashionable sample-room dispenses soup to customers at noon. When the pique scarf is cast rudely aside for one made of satin with a patent-leather finish, When it gets so cold that trout won't bite, and anglers are obliged to tell pickerel lies for a change, When the turkey struts around and wonders why in the world his food has been improved and muiti- plied, When members of street bands give up the midsummer troubadour act and When the pumpkin-pie blossoms on the pantry shelf until the small boy comes along and cuts it down in its bloom. When the young lady looks up to speak to her brother in the apple tree, has her back hair broken down by a descending apple. When the forest is spoken of as being ablaze and wrapt in haze, and the whole business is summed up in the term “melancholly days.” When the divine fragrance of the sausage and the pork chop float through the house like an angel’s dream, and tell the sad-eyed poet that cold weather food is about due, and that shortly the roast duck and the dittogoose will be in full blossom. And When the small boy howls because his father won't allow him to go bare- footed any longer ; but the small boy takes his shoes off after he gets out of sight, and carries them under his arms, and is as happy as a king to thing that he can run over sharp stones and dance on ash-heaps covered with broken me- Then we may know autumn is here, —« Puck, A ¥Ew months since, when a train passed Fargo, a wealthy passenger was struck with admiration over the tender manner in which a young lady left her aged grandmother along & path near the track. Seeking an introduction, the man of riches married her in a few weeks, and now every time a tin pulls into that burg at least a dozen maidens can be seen trotting their old grandmothers up and down the track. ~The National turnpike over the Alleghany Mountains, from Cumber- land to Wheeling, the nearest approach to u perfect road ever seen in the United Staten, cost $1,700,000 or $13,000 &
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