A QUEER VIOTURE,
The happy mother sits
With folded Lauds, her weary work all
done,
With the last smiling of the harvest sun,
And lists, her eyes love-1it,
To the low pratile of her eldest born,
Whose cheek is dewy as the early morn.
In homespun garb of gray,
The father Sitting by the window wide,
Unfolds his paper with an honest pride,
And in his homely way
Reads of the pomp of state—its wealth and
Arte—
With scarce one envious longing in his
heart,
Upon the lowly steps
grandame watches for
Oa,
While murmurs of somae half-remembered
tune
Drop from her faded lips;
She dreams again of olden days more fair,
The the coming
hair,
O baby, glad with play.!
O mother, knowing not the heart's recoil!
O father, wearied only by your toil !
O grandame, old and gray !
Wonld that the quiet of your day's decline
Might hush the throbbing of this life of
mine,
ME. BULSTEAD'S SURPRISE,
Mr. Bulstead’s third and last letter
bore the Oxford postmark; as he opened
it he frowned. His niece, who had
long ago noted that particalar letter
with apprehension, helped him in haste
to the hottest and choicest kidney on
the dish. Maggie knew well that of
were far from welcome.
kidney.
my patience once too often! Bill after
bill have I settled during the last three
months, expecting each to be the last;
and . forsooth, listen tn this, miss! To
500 lawn-tennis, £12 108. to rackets, as
to half a ton of whiting, £4; tctal £2
Good gracious! I say, does the youug
scapegrace live upon whiting?"
**Oh it must be a mistake uncle!”
“Mistake, indeed!
have a bili of £2 10. for dog-collars?
bill, and Symonds’ bill for horse-hire!
your stars, young lady,”’ cried the old
gentleman, abandoning the indignantly
satirical for the savagely personal tone,
to this extravagant nephew of mine,
Now 1've done with him, and so have
you.
flushed face and looked from the wiu-
dow with eyes that saw little of the
square outside through
But, like a wise girl, she kept silence,
and the kind-hearted old gentleman
after storming ouce or twice up and
down the room began
glances at the gracelul
Mr. Bulstead loved before and above
the cause of his present auger it was his
iiece, Maggie Lloyd.
“Well, well,” said he,
to lus now cold kidney.
dear, give me another cup of Lea,
a ton of whiting—the lad
gone mad!”
“It mnght have gone in worse things
than whiting,” she suggested humbiy,
but with a humorous quiver at the cor-
ner of a pretty mouth.
“So it might; that's true.
sitting down
Half
must have
ne
UE,
7"
The old
faced than most Londoners, *'1'll tell
you what, Maggie, I'll give you one
the 11 o'clock train, giving him no no-
tice, and see for myself what s rt of life
he is living. If he isdoingz nothing worse
than wasting money 1'il forgive him;
but if I find the young fellow igs as
vicious as some of those Oxford sparks,
why then"—and Mr. Bulstead’s voice
assumed a quite unaccustomed tone of
nephew Tom.”
Maggie trifled with the teaspoons, her
eves bent upon the plate. Her uncle’s
irritability was little to be feared; it
was more than neutralized by his kiod-
on rare occasions, and in some matters,
a wan of great obstinacy; and, loving
her consin with all her heart, she dread-
ed ihe result of her uncle’s projected
trip. Tom would be doing nothing
To move her uncle from his resolve,
once expressed in this way, she knew to |
be beyond even her influence; the more |
as the old gentleman, who had a few
mouths before forbidden an express en-
gagement belween the cousins, was a |
little inclined to tedent ‘any influénce |
she might try to exert in Tom's behalf, |
*‘1 shall not want any more tea, |
thank you, 80 you may go to your mu- |
sic lesson if you like. 1 shall just go to |
the Atheneum for an hour, and then |
to Paddington. I'll leave orders about |
the carriage and then if you like you |
can meet the six o'clock train with it, |
When Mr. Bulstead reached his club
he found to his disgust, ti:at his favorite |
chair was occupied by a bishop. Hdd |
it been any ove cise, he would not have |
scrupled at attempting to oust him by |
one of those forms of strategy so well |
known in club rooms; but as it was he
ran his eye over the Times *‘all stand-
ing,’’ and took his seat in a cab not in
the best of tempers. “Half a ton of
whiting!” he muttered to hiroself, in
tones of freiful speculation, as he passed
through Park lane,
He felt a little like a spy as he hur-
ried across Canterbury Quud, and made
with all speed for the bottom of Tom's
staircase. The scout, old “Dot and go
one,” as he was called from his Wooden
leg, in vain essayed to detain him. Up
went Mr. Bulstead two stéps at a time
to the second floor, where, above the
left hand door, appeared, in white let-
ters upon a black ground, his own name.
le knocked sharply, and hardly wales
ing for some one within to uiter what
might or might not be ‘Come in,”
ihrew it open and entered. Lounging
upon one of the window seats, in flan
nels and a cigarrette in his mouth, was
a young fellow whose good looking face
than handsome, Iie was alone and got
up without much appearance of flurry.
“How do you do uncle? I thouxht it
was you crossing the quad. Take a
seat.
that you were coming?’
Mr, Bulstead took the proffered seat
and panted as he looked round. The
stairs were steep and us wind was not
80 good as it had been,
“I thought I would come upon you a
bit by surprise, Tom,” he said, without
any circumlocution, *“The fact is, it Is
that whiting that has brought me,”’
“Whiting, uncle!” ejaculated Tom,
with his first show of surprise.
“Half a ton of whiting!” murmured
his uncle, irresistibly impelled to dwell
| upon the mystery, ‘‘Half a ton of whi-
| ting! Avy, here it is.” And he flourish-
ed the bill under the other’s nose,
with a serious face,
believe, and the old gentleman glanced
| suspiciously round the roow,
| tainly was not the room of a hard-
| Wess hard-reading student; but
{it. He turned his glance again upon
| bill with a broad smile genuine enough
| “Well.” said Mr. Bulstead, ‘‘what
have vou to say about? Half a ton of
| whiting, you know, Tom?"
The young man laughed loudly.
©] am not at fanlt this time, sir; it is
in to me as secretary, I gave
week. and why they should have had
| the impudence to send it in to youl
can’t imagine.”
“mph! but how about the whiting,
Tom! What is that for?"
«Marking out the grounds, sir,”
“Of course it is, Tom!
| of me.
boy,” said Mr. Bulstead pleasantly.
The mystery of the whiting was cleared
Yup; but somehow it had made him sus-
picious.
“Now, said Tom, ‘will
you come
{and by the time we come back lunch
{ will be ready.”
Was the dust of that whiting stil in
Mr. Bulstead's eyes? Atl any rate, it
seem to him that his nephew was pecu-
linrly and restlessly anxious to get him
{ out of the rooms,
“Yes, Tom, certainly. Where did I
here it is, thank
the—dence—18-—
{ put my umbrella? Ah,
you Why—what
that!"
If it had been another half ton
whiting piled upon the sofa, the old
gentiemant’s face could not have grown
| darker. The thing lying half hidden by
the sofa cushion was a lady’s parasol—
a dainty, tiny, wicked-looking sun-shade
| of gray silk; and by it was a glove too,
too ‘apparent French kid. Mr. Bul
steal's worst fears were confirmed with
a vengeance: all along he had feit that
there was something wrong; this was
of
half feared he should find it
ton of whiting indeed!
fellow’s confused face, he thought the
worst of him,
“Well, sir,”
i real sorrow
—ttoan
he said—and there was
as wall Anger in
you explain this ‘with equal
48 the tone
ease?"
“No, I cannot, si t
say whose they
be ni
where
he added
are, or to
room? Fie, si fiel On
owner is pow, 1 suppose?’’
suddenly recallin
| attempts to delay him at the foot of the
stairs, aud marking the doors that led
to two inner rooms.
“1 cannot account for them.”
» And will not, I suppose?’ *
“You can put it that way if you like,
sir. All I can say is that
your
their
I give you my word of honor, 1 am; and
| I can’t say more,"
The old man was a little impressed
by the younger’s earnestness. Tne ob-
noxious articles might have been left
| there innocently, of course.
“Then let me have a look into your
other rooms, young man, if you wish
me to believe you,"
springing, as the other advanced, to-
He was cooler
bit confused,
back against it. now,
The old gen-
he
“Don't be a fool, Tom!" he cried
imperatively,
you.”
““There’s nothing to forgive.'’
“Then open that door, You won't?”
“No.”
“As I live, if you don’t before I
count three, I'll eut you off without a
shilling. Now sir: one, two- it’s your
done with you now, sir—I've done with
you—I've done with you!" And, clap-
ping on his bat, with ferocious haste
and shaking steps the old gentleman
ran down the stairs, and, his heart full
of sorrow and anger, made for the sta-
tion,
“Al, Tom, Tom! A minute later he
orened the inner door and looked rather
anxiously at the half frightened, wholly
pretty face that appeared at it,
“Ind you hear anything?” he asked.
“No, but do let me get away. Iam
80 nervous, dle was very augry, wasn't
he? Yes. What was it about, Tom?
Billa?"
*Yes,” was the somewhat halting
reply; bills and other things. I dare
say he'll cool down. If you hear any-
thing against me, you won’t believe it,
will yon?
“0 Tom, how can you ask!"
“Then there is no harm done,” an-
swered Tom, bravely and gallantly.
And after reconnoitering from the win-
dow, the two left the rooms,
To return to Mr. Bulstead, senior,
It was a great trouble to him. Look-
ing back upon that half-ton of whiting,
he wondered how that could have made
him angry with the lad. If he would
only have kept to that he could have
forgiven him a ship-load of whiting.
But this was a different matter, and
the mote (he old gentleman thought of
was rather manly and straight-forward
it, the worse it appeared to him, Sill
| he was a just and fair man; he had ro
him in
IIe would
profligate, as he termed
thoughts, with a shilling.
ance, but near his house or near Mag-
gie he would not have bim,
He made this last
had forbidden him
announcement was received with a
woman's strongest remonstrances—
silent tears, Altogether things were
rather gloomy that June in Fitzroy
Square,
One morning Mr. Bulstead, made up
the house, The
brella in the stand.
time time to find it,
“Bless the umbrella!’’ he cried
length, tumbling among the heap. ‘Is
No! Nor this. Why, what's
Well, I am dashed!”
| that it?
this?
| stronger one, and one which seldom,
| even in moments of irritability, escaped
him. But now, at the sight of a sun-
shade in the umbrella stand, he solemu-
fed!”
Then he stood in
minutes whistling softly to himself.
This done, he went rather slowly and
{ thoughtfully up to the drawing-room,
| and stood on the hearth-rag.
“Were you at Oxford when 1 was
there on the 23th of last month?”
“Yes,” answered
frightened, and yet relieved at getting
| the matter off her mind. She had not
| confessed simply because she was afraid
of increasing her uncle’s anger against
| Tom. **Yes, I was, uncle, You said
| you were going to put Tom to the test,
and I
something to displease you.
warn him."
the
was there?”
| %Yes, It was foolish of me; you fol-
lowed me so closely and 1 was afraid to
Tom put me in the Scout's
Hole, as he called it.”
“80 you deceived me between you?"
said he harshly.
“Na, sir; I did. Tom knew nothing
my coming. Ie was afraid for me,
not for himself.”
“Did he tell you
about?”
‘* After you were gone?"
“Of course!” Mr. Bulstead,
poking the fire vigorously,
“+1 think.” said Maggie timidly, for
was Tom's favor that was nt
stake. “‘he said it was about bills, He
had nothing to do with
Oxford.”
| face you,
of
what I was angry
snapped
now
sider it, I suppose, gadding about to
young men's rooms. Y ery well
you seem inclined to mix yourself up
with his affairs, you will write to him
at once and tell him to come up to
town and call here. When you are
| both together I'll tell you what I think
of it. A pretty pair of fools!’
And Mr. Bulstead f
of the room without much outward
heat and an apgry expression of coun
tenance,
Since
his exit with awe, and opined that there
had been stormy wes 8, WAS
amazed to hear him utter with an audi-
ble chuckle as he reached the darkest
wnele of the staircase, "Good lad! Good
ad!”
Tom of course, «
the Western
and when they were
Bulstead told the culprits whal
thought of No happier trio sat
| down te dinner that day in London
{ than the party presided over by our
friend's butler. Somewhere in the old
gentleman's nature was a large lump of
I upsi
ame up a8 fast as
would bring him;
both together Mr.
(x reat
he
t
lew
Tom's gallantry, Maggie's deception
was forgiven. In no long time he did
| visit his lawyer, but it was upon busi-
| nees more pleasant both to himself and
to that professional gentleman.
|a really paying piece of work,” the
| latter has often been heard to say in
| contidence, “‘give me a marriage set-
| tlement.”
HR SR O——
Old Churel at Breda.
In stately splendor from the old
houses of the market-place rises the
| noble Hervormde Kerk (Protestant
Church), with a lofty octagon tower,
and a most
Dutch spire. Here, as we wanted to
see the luterior, we first, were puzzled by
our ignorance of Dutch, finding as
everywhere ia the small towns that the
natives knew no language but their own.
But two old women in high caps and
gold earrings observed our puzzledom
trom a window, and pointed to a man
and akey—we nodded; the man pointed
to himself, a door and a key—we nod-
| ded; and we were soon inside the build-
ing. It was our first introduction to
Dutch Calvinism and iconoclasm, and
piteous indeed was it to see so magnifi-
cent a church thickly covered with
whitewash, and the quantity of statues
which it contains of deceased Dukes
and Duchesses of Nassau bereft of their
legs and petticoats. Ouly in a grand
side cuapel on the left of the choir, the
noble tomb of Engelbrecht 11, of Nassau,
general under the Emperor Maximilian
(1605), remains intact, The guide
lights matches to shine through the
transparent alabaster of the ligures,
that of the Duke represents death, that
of the Duchess sleep, as they lie be-
neath the stone slab which bears the
armor of Engelbrecht, and is supported
by figures of Umesar, Hannibal, Reguius
and Philip of Macedon; that of Cesar
is sublime, The tomb of Sir Francis
Vere in Westminster Abbey is of the
sane design, and is supposed to be
copied from this famous monument,
Quiside the chapel is the tomb of Eu-
geibrecuit V, of Nassau, with all his
iamily kneeling, in quaint head dresses,
The other sights of the church are the
brass font in the Baptistery, and a noble
brass in the choir of William de Gael
len, Dean of the Chapter, 1539, It will
be observed that here and alinost every-
where else in Holland, the names of
the saints which used 10 Le attached to
the churches have disappeared; the
buildings are geuerally known as the
old church or new church, or great
chureh.,
Washington
The older shop-keepers of Washing |
history is made, and have caught rome
|
For years they have furmshed the great |
men of the country with necessaries |
sonal expense. Dut their unusual class
culture of a certain sort. They are re-
One could not spend sn afternoon |
more pleasantly than in chatting with |
the gray-haired proprietor of a certain
their idles hours within No
has |
its walls.
Washington
Few have such a store
be found there,
jut the young men in these shops are
not eo well informed as the old shop- | taken to Canton
Several blocks west of the historic
book store, 18 a hat store, more ambiti-
ous and less distinguished than it used
to be. Two other hat stores, further
attract more fashionable people,
Le
live in the central
But it is still a successful estab-
lishment, and, while *‘‘viewing with
not
thy
ments and to its dead customers, In its |
wi dow is a hat-an old-fashioned bea-
ver—labeled “Henry Clay's last hat,’
which is eyed with reverent interest by
all the Kentucklans who come Lo town
Recently two rather distinguished Ken-
1408 went to look at it,
They were allowed to do so by the
who also treated
them tiduvits of information
about the past glories of thestore He
told them men of the
beMum and ante-bellum period brought
their hats at this oid and reliable estab-
ise .
“This was the hat t!
just before his death. He had not really
worn it. He died,’ continued the clerk,
y
hi across the way, in that
to choice
that all the grea
at Clay ordered
sopig
suble house,
, 1 guess not,” put
1 “Clay diad at the
1, down here a bit.”
id the clerk, “th
Webster who «
re
in one of the
'
{
Na-
AL'S 80,
od
Dar fied i
USE ac
“Oh, no,"
“Daniel
Massachusetts,
“Well,” said the cornered clerk, fair-
rude treatment of
his treasured “somebody
died in that old house across Lhe street,
anyhow."
“Very likely,’
ans, “Good
Was
i ws the street,
said the other Kent
Webster died at
*
uckian
his home in
ly desperate at this
’
sald 1
morning.’
oth Kentucki-
mss A A
Cyrothia Parker's Life,
ong ago thers
rth paper an
a
| wanted to
‘
mother, {
appeared
advertis
¥
omanche
ograph of lus I
‘arker, and asking as a special
ha i knowing where §
bad would ¢ UNIcA
F. Corning. of )
y, saw the advertisement,
+ wrote to the nawspaper in
he could furnish the pic
He happened know that an
old daguerreotype of the woman was in
existence in Waco, and taxing this to
he had several copies made,
which was sent to the chief.
Cynthia Ann Parker was the heroine
of one of the most touching romances
of thie Texas border, Her parents and
t anyone }
Lem
and at
question Laat
ture, to
artist,
i
an
Parkers lived on an exposed
and, though formidable in
Indian warfare,
from ralds by savages.
About the year 1840, when
Comanches swept over that part of the
the |
| as the spoils of a hostile general, a coat
which seems to have belonged to a lieu-
property, and eventually some of them
were killed, and Cynthia, then © years
was taken prisoner.
without avail. Several times paities of
brave men invaded the camp of the
redskins and searched for the child;
were lost in the effort to mturn her to
her family, Every device was resorted
Some-
that she had been killed, but finally a
the effect that a white girl had been
seen with a roving band, and search
would be renewed,
When Cynthia was taken captive the
savages placed her in charge of theird
women, and the child, finding she was
the wild life which she led, and to look
upon the Indians as her natural friends.
When her clothing was worn out she
adopted the savage costume. She
learned their language, took part in
their games, and eventually, having
become @# sturdy woman, she joined
them on some of their raids, Tea
years after her capture found her the
wife of the war chief of the tribe,
apparently as contented with her lot as
any of the other women who weie her
constant associates.
Some years after her marriage, when
the Comanches were at peace with the
settlers, a party of white men entered
their camp one day and found the
missing girl, now grown out of their
recollection almost. Two or three
children played about her knee, looking
very much like the other youthful
aborgines, save that they were neater
in appearance and much more carefully
watched by their mother. When they
questioned her they found that she had
almost forgotten her native tongue,
and it was with the utmost difficulty
she could make them u She
inquired after her relatives, and asked
many uantions about the white people
generally; but in reply to a suggestion
that she should accompany them to her
i arried, had a good husband and nice
She had made their home her home,
other than a prison to her. They left
story far and wide,
For a time the interest in her case
was revived, and many old settlers who
ened to make war on the
and take her away from them.
that Cynthia would stav with the
only after the most emphatic protests
by the men who had seen her in her
savage home that her would-be deliver-
foree,
unexpectedly, Deing out with a war
party of the Comanches in the fall of
1958, she was cut off from the braves
in some manner by Gen. L. 8, Ross, of
with several other women At first no
| one recognized her, but after being
Yan Zandt eounty,
some close observers expressed the
opinion that she was a white woman,
Then the story was circulated that she
was Cynthia Parker, traditions of
whose fate still existed, and her broth-
ers and venerable grandfather were
sent for. The brothers
long and earnestly, but could not re-
member her,
identified her as the stolen girl, and she
finally admitted that he was right.
There was great joy over her recovery
on the part of her relatives and her
friends, but not so with her. She vain-
ly tried to escape, and passed many
hours mm tears. She had with her at
the time of her capture her youngest
hild, 2 years of age, the two eldest
having been left at home. The little
one had a smwatiering of Spanish, and
the mother that language, as
well as the Indian tongue, fluently, but
neither knew anything Eng
After a while, Cynthia and her (
accompanied her brothers i
home, in Parker county, where she and
the babe soon pined away and died.
Her two boys who had been
th the tribe grew be stalwart
handsome in form and feat
and more than ordinarily inteil-
18} now th f
e chief of
ynanches in t
spoke
of
to th
left
to
gen ie of them is
the Ci
a man of great influence with both the
indians and t d i
hose guidance his
prog:
remen bers
ne wiles,
tribe
decided 45 i
aff nately,
and kis advertisement in Fort
Worth paper was tl hav-
ing heard that just before she died she
had her pict He
where e likens
but, deters ing to fiad it, or a copy of
it, if x +. advertised 1n the Texas
papers until he found it. He expressed
great joy when the picture was placed
¥
in his hands.
nis mother
ie result of his
ire taken, did 1
+. 1 2 er 4
VO 100K iol
fo
4
EID]
a
Banta Anna's Captured Coat.
The Mexican
the {oll
Minister has addressed
wing letter to the Secretary of
War of Mexioo, to which as yet he has
received no answer,
“1 noticed a short time ago that there
was at the Patent Office, Interior De-
partment, on exhibition, a coal
an inscription which read verbatim as
follows: Coat worn by General Sa
Anna, This coat was captured
Captain Robordeau Wheat, command-
ng General Wintield Sc
Mexican
together with severa
Dearing
ta
ott’s body-guard
war.’ The coat,
objects that used
to belong to George Washington, and
other articles nol properly pertaining to
the Patent Oifice, where they were on
exhibition, were moved to the National
Museum, established in 1879. The
coat 18 of common dark blue cloth, It
has a red collar with two grenades em-
broidered in gold, one on each side;
brass buttons, also with grenades, and
a very narrow strap on the left shoulder.
Tuere are three buttons of
guring the
the
| the sleevs It does not seem Ly 118 size
! that it could have been worn by Gener-
| al Santa Anna,
“Fearing that some person had im-
posed on the good faith of the United
have decided not to do so without lay-
ing this intormation before the depart-
ment and receiving their instructions
to the United States Government, and
confer thereby a favor on them."
— ilihilhscineccusintions
Hungry Mon,
Twenty hungry men were recently
egg. It was an ostrich egg.
whole bour it was boiled, and though
there were some misgivings as to its
being cooked, the shell was broken for
curiosity could no longer be restrained,
upon the plate. But asmde from its
size there was nothing peculiar about
it. It had the white and bluish tinge
of duck eggs, and the yolk was of the
usual color. It tasted as it looked
hike a duck —and had no flavor
peculiar to itself. Bt it was immense!
As it takes twenty-eight hen eges to
equal in weight the ostrich egg which
was cooked, it is evident that the host
*knew what he was about in cooking
oaly one, There was enough and to
spare,
The Native Tongue,
Count Herbert Bismarck (on a tour
in the Baltic provinces), following the
Russophilistic policy now in vogue at
Berlin, snubbed at Revel his entertain.
ers, wiio are given wn affecting German
speech and ite and depreciating Rus-
sian, His health having been proposed
in German, he expressed his regret that
be bad been too short a time in Russia
to be able to reply in the native tongue
of his hosts, nis Las been much com-
mented upon at St Petersburg.
The passions are ‘the voice of the
former howe she said she was happily
body.
Vietor Hugo.
This eminent French writer 18 very
abatemious both in eating and drinking.
Hie drinks Bordeaux as a rule, but nev-
er undiluted. FEven on the most cere.
momons occasions be will not depart
He was once dine
lippe. The Duc de Nemours, who was
opposite him, ordered a certain bottle
of wine to be placed by the poet's side;
it is an old Chatean Lafitte, worth its
weight in gold, His Royal Highness
gazed at Victor Hugo, curious to see
what the effect of the taste of such nec.
tar wonld have on kim, Judge of his
horror and surprise on seeing the bard
ter decanter,
It is this sobriety and regularity
enables Victor Hugo to get
through so much work. The first at.
tempt of the poet was written at the
age of 14. It was a piece of poetry
called “Le Jury’ He it
Academy hoping to win a prize, but it
was not “crowned.” Nothing daunted,
sent to the
vinced the Forty Immortals
possessed the sacred fire, He composes
with wonderful rapidity, For example,
he wrote “Cromwell” in three
months, and his “Notre Dame de Paris?’
in four months, and a half, even
these have been his longest periods of
labor, and as he grew older he wrote
faster. “Marion Delorme’ was finish-
ed 1n 24 days, **'Hernani” in 26 and “Le
Rois® Amuse” in 20. To-day, in his
#2d year, be is more rapid than ever;
and verily, indeed, it may be said that
’
that he
his
2:ad
23
But to return to the poet in his daily
life. During dinner he amuses his
guests with lively anecdotes, which he
has a talent for telling as well as writ-
In this respect he is unlike many
authors who are all pen and no tongue,
Ladies will be flattered to learn that
their sex has an important position at
the poet’s table. Victor Hugo the old-
er he grows appears to like ladies’ soci-
ety the more, He, is very gallant, and
kisses the bands of his lady visitors in
good old courtier style. He isno poser,
of genius sometimes are, but
ts a simplicity whieh puts his guests
wir ease. He pever monopolizes
con n and has a knack of
sot allow je to do so.
Vietor Hugo is at present engaged on
r 37k which be believes will
v frit
ous produ LIONS,
as nen
ato}
¥
4 4
pes Wa
eclipse
He has
eady several completed manuscripts
hich have not yet seen the light, and
ch are carefully stored in a strong
Whether the work which he is
ry writing will be added to them and
st secret till after his death tune
alone can tell
Life.
Glagastone in Frivate
1 saw Mr. Gladstone first when he
was about 00 years of age, Happening
to sit very near him at a dinner party,
I had a good opportunity of examining
hus appearance closely and of making
mental potes of his conversation. I
had beard him called ‘“‘a sloven,” but
it struck me that he was even scrupu-
neat, from the arrangement of
inned Jocks to that of the
n his button-hole; and
{ years that I had the good
fortune of seeing him from time to time
the same care was always apparent.
The most: point about Mr.
(;ladstone’s physique is his immense
he extreme development of the
ridge miving his dark eyes
{oubly the appearance of being deeply
set. 1 had seen many photographs of
the statesman, in all ot which the like-
was striking, but all of which
more or less exaggerated peculiarities,
and gave the impression of a remarkably
plain, almost a repulsive person; where-
as at the period to which 1 refer he was
really a handsome man; the women all
thought so, and with their hero wor-
ship there mingled a good deal of perso-
lously
his already th
small bouquet
+}
1 rig 4
AUTIDE UK
My
Mr. Gladstone told me that he ap-
proved of everyone doing a portion of
in those about him. To this habit a
good deal of the vigor of Lis old age is
doubtless due,
Speaking of his physical powers, he
once said to me:
“I think 1 preserve my strength by
husbanding it; if 1 am obliged to sit up
late at night, I always rise proportion.
ately late the following morning; and I
“When [am at mental work I re-
quire and take a certain portion of wine
but I can, and do, work hard with
It was generelly at dinner parties that
that he was a very moderate eater and
drinker, yet without the least affecta-
tion of abstemiousness.
The topic of discussion at one dinner
then suddenly turned to me, saying:
“1f Cavour had bad the same theater
as Bismarck he would have been a more
Hints to Gentlemen,
Don’t be untidy in anything. Neat.
ness is one of the most important of the
minor morals,
Don’t wear apparel with decided col-
—wo address here the male reader, for
whom this brochure is mainly Seuifued
—wear anything that is pretty. hat
have men to do wit things?
Select quiet colors unobirusive
patterns, and adopt no style of cutting
th it belittles the figure, It is right
enough that men's apparel should be
becoming, that it should be graceful,
and that it should lend dignity to the
figure; but it should never be ornamen-
tal, fanciful, grotesque, odd, capricious
nor pretty.
Don’t wear your bat cocked over your
eye, nor thrust back upon your head.
Ue method is rowdyism, the other rus
tie.
Don't wear trinkets, shirt-pins, fin-
ger-rings, or anything that is solely or-
namental, One may wear slurt-studs,
a searf pm, a watch chain and a
because these articies are useful:
the plahier they are the bette. .
————
The wise uries
vise man svenges injuries by