a RR RR. Thus Runs the World Away. Like snowy lilies fleet as fine Whose fragrant course is run, Like dewdrops on the eglantine, Like frost-work in the sun; So vanish youth’s delightful dreams, 80 beauty’s charms decay; Like Dlossoms strewn on streams; Thus runs the world away, sparkling Like foam upon the billows bright, Like sunset’s gorgeous dyes, Like moonbeams shedding silver light, Over the jewelled skies; So swiftly from our vision glide Hopes, plans and projects gay. Alone we roam at eveutide; Thus runs the world away. Of friends whom ruthless time destroys, We're, day by day, bereft; The spectres ot our perished joys, Are all the comrades left. Love's chain 18 broken link by link. We sing the mournful lay, Forlorn upon life's river brink! Thus runs the world away. It was to be served out on the veran- da, a sort of open air annex to the sitting-room, which was located in the second story. The place was perfect, with 1ts lace-worked drapery of vines— purple wisteria, roses and clematis— and there was a festive awning of Roman stripe unfurled to the south, subduing the sunshine toa hazy mel- lowness, **This is just the place to do the ideal in,” said Amy Layng, who reveled in the splendor of her friend’s newly- acquired fortune, In the midst of such enchanting circumstances you sever ought to lose your temper, Helene,” Miss Martineau was swinging herself lazily in a pretty hammock, with a look on her face that expressed the most profound indifference, Could it be that she was already bored by the excessive elegance of her position? **If people would only let me alone,”’ she said, with a shrug, *‘I could be- have like an angel. You never annoy me, Amy, but,” she added, with a comical sigh, “*1 feel as though it would take me a lifetime to recover from those tete-a-tetes with the dear Count, as Mrs, Stuyvesant calls him,” “Well, I don’t wonder at that,” said Amy, laughing. ‘‘He’s not coming to brief stare which gave no response to the amused twinkle in his, “It 18 just as I feared,” thought Oscar, with a sinking heart. “They have spoiled her among them,” Helene caught a furtive glance at his face, and thought how well it had ful- filled its early promise. He was making proper speeches to her now, She listened with a conventionalized smile, and then said sweetly: “You must take a cup of tea with me. Sit here, if you please, You will find this a cozy corner, and I think you will like my tea.” **I have no doubt of it,” Oscar re- plied. ‘‘As /schylus says—’ “Mr, Dwight,” she cried, flippantly, **don’t begin by quoting Greek at me! What had /Eschylus to say about tea?’ “Nothing. It was about women,” “Oh! said Helene, laughing. *“*Like other men, 1 presume he fancied he knew a great deal about them.” “1 don’t think he ever fancied that,”’ sald O:zcar, taking his cup of tea. He was not such an infatuated fool.” “Your tone 18 not complimentary, Mr, Dwight. I fear you are a sad cynic. You ought not to fill your head with such heresy. It is not good for you, pas du tout!” “Pardon?” “Why, you understand French— perfectly, 1 remember.” “Oh, yes. But my mind never han- kered after a sandwich of tongues, I always feel as though I had a slap in the face when I am getting on smoothly in one language and some one hurls at me the fragment of another. 1 will speak French with you, if you prefer it,”” he added, more gently. Helene flushed, How like him that blunt speech was! “Oh, nol!” she hastened “What will you have? Try these com- fits, You will like them, I am sure. They taste just llke—--"" A luscious jacqueminot rose fell from her corsage. He picked it up and gravely returned it to her without a thought of appropriating it. to say. **This is (like the guava preserve I brought you and Amy from Marti- nigue,’’ he said, tasting the comfit, “Is 1t?” she said, carelessly, “I don’t | care much for those things. I suppose | you know most of the people here, Mr, Dwight?” “Too well,” he answered, briefly. ‘‘Barbarian!’’ she cried, ‘*That is the tea, I suppose?”’ “He is not asked,” Helene replied, | with a languid motion of a delicate | feather fan which she held, “Poor fellow! I will tell Oscar he | must do his best to replace him.” A dash of unaccountable color ap- | peared in Helene’s face, but the parro- keet feathers screened it. **Is Oscar coming?” she asked, lan- | guidly. **I believe so. It is a tremendous concession to you, my dear. He hates | society, you know, and I don’t think | he took very kindly to your engage- | ment to Count Wierlawsky,” | “Don’t he know it is all broken off?” said Helene hurriedly, “Yes,” said Amy, “but Oscar is an | eccentric, you know, though he is one | of the dearest fellows in the world. | He was very fond of you, Helene, and | I think he is rather afraid to meet you : for fear he will find you changed.” **What makes you think that?” i “*He asked me whether you were just the same as you were when you used to study Greek with him, and copy his | chemistry notes. I know he thinks | society and wealth have spoiled you, ! though I told him the contrary. He BAYS 8 “What?” said Helene, imperiousiy, a5 Amy paused and went on sorting her embroidery silks in silence. “He says,” she continued, with a | furtive glance at her friend, *‘that if | you had never gotten rich, he would | have been quite sure of you; but that | now he could hardly say how you will | turn oat,”? { “Indeed!” cried Helene, with a little railing lauzh, giving her fan such a savage flirt that the ivory handle snap- ped in twain; *‘I am indebted to Mr. Dwight for his opinion. When a man takes up preconceived ideas about me, I never think it worth while to combat them.” She got out of the hammock slowly, and trailed her blue cashmere morning gown over the veranda. **I am going to order bisque and car- atnel ice,” she said, suddenly. *‘It is the proper thing to have it served in coffee cups, Amy. Shall I bring out my Beluk service?” : Amy adored planning, and the ar- | rangements for Miss Martineau’s tea | proved very absorbing. When Saturday came the veranda looked like an en- chanted garden. The floor was patched with Oriental rugs, and plants were blooming In every corner, while luxu. rious chairs and divans were scattered about alongside of oddly-shaped tables with embroidered cloths and | laden with dainty china. As Oscar Dwight stepped through the curtained window on to the veranda in the wake of a butler who conveyed us card to Helene, he realized that he must be very late, for his fine head and gray eyes overtopped a crowd of gossip- ing tea-drinkers, already assembled. Helene was sitting at the far end of the veranda. He singled her out at once, for she was taller than most women, and her small head had a proud aise which he could not fail to recog. ize, She was at her best that afternoon in a rich gown of crimson plush that was set off with ivory satin and trim- mings of duchess lace, “How beautiful she has grown,” Oscar murmured, with a sharp pang; “and yet, if she had not come into her fortune she would probably have mar- ried that rascally B LY This t was in his snind when met Helene, and she held out to him a hand of faaltless shape and fairness. “Ah, Oscar!” she sald with a lan- smile—**or ought I to say Mr. t? I am glad to sed you-—vrai- ment, But To } makes ve not the proper thing to say.” “‘1 never say what I am expected to. I didn’t come here to see these people, Helene,” “Unfortunate have people! How “I came to see you,” he persisted, | **1t 1s not often that I i *‘Miss Martineaun,’’ said an attenuated soldier who precipitated his bows before ms Oscar had a flerce desire to give him a kick and send him all the way over. He was bowing so profoundly that it would have taken very little to do it. “If Mr. Dwight will excuse mae,” “Nol! { stay here and finish your tea, Captain Eyre will give me his arm.” | Oscar watched her as she moved with | languid grace over to where the pano stood, He remembered her voice, She used to | of Rose of | sing “Killarney,” “Within a Mile Edinboro’,” and “The Last des Alpes,” and a waltz song of Lezocq’s. Her voice had improved with time and cultivation, but there **She is just as much lost to me as | sald Oscar, bitterly, and as soon as he | could he went away. i He left her with a listless handshake, | He was the first to go, for her guests | generally stayed late, and it was deep | in the twillght before the last farewell | was spoken. There is nothing more forlorn than a festive scene after the guests have de- parted. Helene looked around the veranda with a wretched feeling of loneliness, and suddenly, with an ir- repressible sob, she flung herself down on the couch where Oscar had sat be- side her. “Oh, my lovel” she cried, with a burst of bitter tears. “You do not care for me at all.” The moon had risen high and full, Through the screen of tangled vines the silvery light fell upon her prostrate | form, which was shaken with a storm of grief, “Helene!” She sprang up as though some one | had struck her when she heard Oscar | Dwight pronounce her name. “What are you doing here?’’ she cried, passionately, enraged that he should have seen her tears, “Pardon me!” he faltered, *‘I--i lost a diamond stud this afternoon, and 1 thought" **1 will call a servant to get a light,’’ ‘“Helene,” he said, taking a step to- word her, “Well?” “Have you qgaite forgotten the old days that you treat me so coldly?” he asked, in a gentle voice. “It 18s you who have chosen to ignore the past,”’ she replied, locking her hands so that he might not see how they trembled. “You left me no other alternative. Helene, speak to me! My heart tolls me you have not grown so cold and indifferent as you seem. There was a time when you prized the love I gave you. Is it utterly valueless now.?”’ “You do not care for me so much as you used to,” she said, with averted face, “I love you, Helene. It is yours to say whether it shall be more or less.” Ra please you. On, Oscar! don’t be angry with me. How was I to know that you loved me?” “1 told you once.” “Yes; but that was long, long ago.” “Had you ceased to love me?” “No; but—w?’ “Why should your love be stronger tha®mine?” “I don’t know,” she sighed; *‘only I did not think you cared.” He bent over and kissed her. “Never doubt me agaln, dear,” he said. *‘Think how nearly I lost youl If I had not coms back and found you here weeping, I should have gone away and never seen you again.” Helene bowed her head with due penitence, As she did so a bright flash of light from the floor made her cry: **Oh, Oscar! There is your diamond!” She stooped and picked up the jewel from the floor. It was a superb white stone, which was seen to sparkle after- ward on the third finger of her left hand, for Oscar had it set as an engage- ment ring. Maine's First Locomotive. An Auburn veteran, who saw Maine's first locomotive and her first: train of cars as they moved for the first time over a Maine rallroad track, tells of that great event in the history of the Pine Tree State as he lingered at the tea table nonchalently sipping his third cup of tea one evening recently, “The first railroad ever built in Malne,”’ said oar friend, “‘was between Bangor and Oldtown. T'was about the time of the Aroostook war, in 1839, when the first train of cars that ever sped over this State started early one morning from Bangor to Oldtown, a run of about twelve miles. It was a red letter day for Bangor and not far short of your modern Fourth of July celebration. “I shall never forget with what pride I harnessed up the old mare and drove into town the morning the engine made her first trip. The old horse had all she could do to lug us up into town, for road hailed engine start. “Long before the engine had fired up yi ry # so all ¢ ss tivaile 1 SAIN, 3 a good head of steam, all the available start were taken up by all the eager In- near, as some said, to see a grand Maine There was the old farmer and girls and their grub-baskets in hands, the village parson, the see the en- ideas about introducing the locomotive into the borders of Maine, *““*What's going to become of our sentiment of the crowd. It seemed to them that horses would have go As a matter of fact at that for womotive to $50 as in these days of the | would cost you $300. “But to return to my story. Just before the time for the engine to start all that were smart enough jumped into the cab till 1t was crowded with motive and railroad enthusiasts, and The en- gineer pulled out the throttle valve, pulled the steam whistle and the engine groaned and puffed as if it would run a and worked, but twas no use. The iron horse was balky and wouldn't go. So all bands jumped off the cab, laid hold on the engine and pushed as if their very existence depended on the extent of their muscle capacity. The engineer pulied out the valve again and this time she started, slowly at first, but goon our Jocomotive was out of sight, while along the railroad tracks, hats, canes, dinner palls and spectacles were flying in the air and the people joined in a grand up and down the center, to the music of the fast receding steam engine. And that’s the way we sent out the first Maine steam engine a fly- as he drained his fourth cup of Japan, a lime . INSECTS IN JEWELRY. — Should Suggest, A writer on fashions in a London contemporary says: ‘‘Standing the other evening behind a gorgeously- dressed woman, I was almost startled out of well-bred indifference by the sight of an insect clinging to the boun- dary line of her low-necked biiice, Its head was bent betwean its fore-feet, its dart seemcd buried in the pearly white of her rounded shoulder. Of course, it hardly needed a second glance to assure me that the creature was not real; the body was in Labrador stone, yellow siriped with brown, the head a deep- ened sapphire, the legs golden, and the whole made up a very capital imitation of a hornet-the cloge proximity of which to human flesh suggested horrible pro- babilities, The taste for insects and animals is all very well, so long as it 1s confined to the harmless and more refined species, honored by poets and prose writers. The diamond butterfly, with blood-red ruby spots on its out- lizard seems a natural clasp for “ de corsage; the ho! , In precious stones of various ki QUININE CHEAPER THAN EVER, What Causes This---Profits made by Retailers, It may be some consolation to suffer - ers from malaria to know that there is little if any impure quinine in the mar- ket at present. This desirable state of things is not due to any sudden spasm of virtue on the part of druggists, but arises from causes that are purely economical, Quinine is lower In price now than it has ever been; it is selling wholesale at 55 cents an ounce, and is s0 much cheaper proportionately than its usual adulterants that a loss rather than a profit would result from mixing these with it. “People are almost certain to get quinine pure this season, no matter where they buy it,” said the proprietor of one of the large drug stores near the Post-Office. ‘The most unscrupulous druggist has no incentive to adulterate it now as he did when he used to pay $3 and §4 an ounce for it. Then it paid to mix it with cinchonla, which sold for $1 or so an ounce. Yes, that 18 abeut the only ingredient used and it has the properties, though not the strength of quinine. About the only fault found with a compound of this kind was that it lacked power. Noth- ing injurious ever resulted from its use nor, in fact, do I know of any sub- stance that would probably be mixed with quinine, which might harm the system, The most despicable form of fraud practised with this drug is the short-weight dodge. This is worked by some of the extreme ‘cut-rate’ stores and unprincipled dealers, They sell a pill that quinine for a two-grain pill, thereby making just double the usual profit, which one would think large enough at present, | retall drugeist a little over 50 cents, There are 430 grains in an ounce, 84 an onuce, allowing for the cost of the rice flour and gum-arabic which the time required to roll them. of the high-priced druggists charge two cents a grain, making a profit of about per cent. on their investment. cheap stores I referred to that give one | grain instead of two to their customers, i make almost as much as this, and few | of them are ever found out.” ness of the drug at this time?” | asked, “Quinine, as you are aware, is rived from Peruvian or Jesuit’s bark, de- | chona which grow in the Colombian, i of South America, The Countess was cared of a fever by its use, and the medicine there about the middie of the seventeenth century. It derived the name cinchona from her. | bark used to be gathered by the Casca- { rillas Indians chiefly, who obtained it ik | it. This, of course, soon thinned out | the more valuable trees and such the reckless stupidity of the Peruvian Government that, though it put every obstacle in the way of the tree being planted elsewhere, it never by a system of forestry to riches thus improvidentially wasted. The result was that quinine became | scarcer every year; the price of it went up to an extravagant { time it seemed as if the most 1mporiant drug was likely to become unobtainable, | It was at this time that the East In- igian Government determined to try | to naturalize the cinchona tree in India. i To obtain seeds and young plants was a | difficult task, but Professor Clement R. { Markham, Dr. Spruce, and others ac- { complished it, and In a short time a | flourishing plantation was | large quantities of quinine Neilgherry Hills of Southern on the i | great febrifuge. It is this increased | production of it all over the world, one { might say, which 18 making the drug { demand for it becomes more widespread { in this and all other countries where i * "Men shiver and shake, { Dose, swear and bake." i ——— Mushrooms Made of Dough “You =ctice on the bill of fare , more per plate gilded eating-house. *‘Calipash and cacy, samed in the history of the worlds metropolis as the acme of epicurean delight, for ten cents more than a fried meat ball. But the age It sounds noch, counterfeit. I am going to eat a Spanish omelet,’ continued the stran- ger gave his order to a colored walter, who yawned and twisted his mus tache, and the omelet was brought. The stranger investigated the ingred- jents of the savory mess with his fork, and on the end of the utensil produced a mushroom, “Look at this,” he sald. Then he picked at the appetizing vegetable with his knife, scraped off the cover- ing of sauce, and began paring the stem, It crumpled under the opera- tion in a decidedly unvegetable way. The reporter’s eyes popped out on his cheeks, “What is it?” he asked. Still the patrons like to have the sensation of Sriaring mush. rooms in that composition. If prices were put up to the mushroom market they would abandon the restaurant, So they use dough. It is harmless. I ad ust "in SoMmSoom, dough, and not indalge in ' which might work injury.” atus, 1883, has been sent to Chinn & Morgan, and will ufter stud, HORSE NOTES. ~Problem, Mr, J, I. Case’s $5000 trotter, is reported lame, ~Ten nominations for the $10,000 guaranteed stakes, to be trotted for at Charter Oak Park, have made the second payments, making the present value $5000. —F. B. Gardner, Sandersville, Tenn., has purchased of Henry J. Roberts, of New York, the ch. m. Girofla, foaled 1878, by Imp. Leamington— Ratan, by Lexington. —Clay & Woodford, Runnymede Stud, Paris, Ky., recently lost the suckling colt foaled May 0, by imported Billet, dam Mundane, by Lexington. He was a full brother to Biue Wing. — William Jennings, Glengar Stud, the imported brood mare Frey, foaled 1870, by Dundee— Barricade, by King- ston, out of Buttress, by Defense. —J. N. Wilson, of Easton, Pa., sold to W. C. France, the b. m. Lady nie. Lady Everett will be driven double on the road with the b, g. Bob Pinker- ton. —Canton, full brother to Aladdin, 2.264, 18 now owned by White & Myer, of Baltimore, standing 16 hands, by Jay Gould dam Lady Shipley, by Price’s St. Law- rence. Stock Farm, have sold the bay stallion Roscoe Conkling, by Virgo Hamble. tonian, dam Kate Thorne, to Willlam A. Balley, of Steuben county, New York, for $2000 —Trinket, record 2.14, by Princeps, dam Ouida, by Hambletoniau, has been bred to Dexter Hradford, a son of Hambletonian, Trinket was lame last spring, and she will probably never be started in a race again, ~Steeplechasing is as dangerous in Europe as here. The French jockeys appear particularly reckless. One was killed at Auteuil spring, another one at Vincennes, last month, and still another in Spain. —Honesty, pacing record 2.22, He trotted a mile in 2.35 the day he changed his gait, now contemplated to make a trotter of that mode of traveling. ~The Preakness Stable has had more misfortune this sea- son, stroke in the death of thrift, dam Imp. Constantinople. Fleetwood, has become He was at first Bellevue Hospital, and left there but a few days ago for the insane asylum at Wood's Island. He was at ene Park Course, feature at Philadelphia, — Belle Oakley, record 2.2 by Gar. ibaldi, purchased with Edward Medium in 1882, by Commodore Breda wealthy Italian nobleman, d ls heavy in foal to Ellwood which is making a reputation as a si Belle Oakley won several Europe, defeating American and sian trotlers. ~The $s $3 3 i 8 1 vy i i loss of the Preakness mare a practice of exercising mestead of shoes, We Regina's shoes had since her last race hree who make it horses in plates understand that never been removed Naturally they had become worn and thin, and broke, with result that one of the broken pleces punctured her frog. Plates such as are now in use are very light and thin, and {ll calculated to stand the continual sand tracks weeks, every morning for weeks. —We think we are justified in announcing the return of Mr. Pierre Lorillard to the turf next season, and that the famous cherry jacket of Ran- hers, but perhaps France, He has yearlings now being only and not in England McCann is now an employe on the Rancocas Farm, and stated to us that he had lads, which shows pretty plainly that they are not laggards at Rancocus, but are going at their yearlings with a view to an active and certainly, from the quality of the year- for more Wandas, Winfreds, Savanacs and Dewdrops next season. Mr. Lorillard has not Jost his taste for racing. He came 0 Sheepshead to see Savanac perform for the Suburban, and left as soon as the race was {inished, ~Commenting on the betting on the Suburban, the Wilkes’ Spirit says: “We are told that the bookmakers were heavy losers on the race. They always are, according to their own story. It is astonishing how predispos- ing to philanthropy 1s the occupation of a bookmaker. If we are to believe him he loses so invariably that we can only conclude thas his bank account is as in- exhaustible as that of the Count of Monte Cristo. That some of the dour’s success From all we can searching for the and his party won between $50,000 and $75,000 at the most. But there were horses backed in the Subur- a FASHION NOTES. — Black satin parasols are brought out flowered or striped with jet em- broidery. ~The wearing of wevy curls resting on the neck is restricted to very youth- ful ladies. — Beads are much used on the sum- to very large. —Many of the new sunshades show bouquets of jonquils or daffodilis tied on with black ribbons, ~(old pendants for pins and chains remain in favor, Quite new are the | wild rose pendant.s. { ~—Dark blue etamine made up with | merely a vest of moire, makes a styl- { ish and quiet dress for traveling. -onvent cloth is a fine momie and | procetta a very light, cool fabric woven | like Henrletta cloth, ~The great novelty at present is shaded siciliennes and velvets, They range from the darkest to the lightest hues. -—A copper red velvet vest collar and cuffs are handsome ina jacket of Ha- vana brown cloth or of cloth, -Ulsterettes for girls of all sizes are made of rough cloths in light weight {| woulens that may be worn in cool days all summer. ie oy lighter ecru ~A novel idea recently introduced iz | the use of bright figured brocade { black ground for foundation dresses under black lace, —1t 18 seldom tha | son a new departu fabrics, on L 80 late in the sea- 5 made in dress ~— Velvet and plush enter largely into all summer fashions, strange as it may | seen, and even wraps and skirts are made of cord de la reine, | —As for the tennis shoes, if | wishes to be very smart, there are pat- { ent-leather shoes exactly like gentle- men’s pumps, but these are not so easy to play in as soft kid ones laced up | front. — Half-inch surah, gingham in effect, are purchashed lav- | ishly for children for summer travel, for ladies’ wrappers and skirts to be worn with the very fashionable plain one thes blocks in quite woolens in drapery and bodice, or Nor- folk jackets, {| —Ecru canvas makes a becoming, {cool and stylish dress, {rimmed with stripes of black velvet, with Maud Muller hat, faced with cardinal and trimmed with hedge roses and velvet loops. A scarlet silk neckerchief { knotted around the throat will impart a gypsy-like brilliance and pictur- esqueness to the whole, ~The plece laces so popular last year find quite as many admirers this. The | prices somewhat reduced makes it pos- i sible to renovate a somewhat faded dress quite into a look of newness Lace over veils is sufficient to soften glanng colors, besides conceal- ing the wear and tear of a former sea S00. ATL BiiK s with bro- charming kilted Two s make a pretty ten- ‘ match, and deftly twisted, will quickly be into a tennis Many gardless of sunburning, caps; others cannot gel hats y suit them. The sail choice and a hapoy dium, for while the wide br the face it allows one at the same time to take a ball that with a tiny cap, leaving the sun in her eves, or with a | very large one she might not be able t« 800, We started with alternate stripes of various widths, with checks from the pin-head to half-inch, with | spots, dots and figures. Suddenly, bai: | lines of all wool, black and white, bluse or brown, or green and while, were | brought out, and every one must have | a tailor-made hair line for travel, driv. | ing, the mountains, etc. Made very plain, yet artistic, these suits commend themselves at once as really stylish | and quite in keeping with the use ac signed them, The material is forty five inches wide, a wiry twist repelling dust, vet soft and pleasant to wear, and is sold for $1.25 per yard. But hau lines must not be confined to wool in summer, #0 there is a right pretty foulard, a blue ground, the navy ting preferred, which has white hair li | one-half inch apart. This combined { with plain foulard and creamy Jace { makes a nobby suit for girls from 12 to | 15. Nearly all stripes are this season used { for the skirt and accessions, the fitted | and draped part of plain fabric. Thi ! does not, however, hold with the wool | hair lines, which are mostly braid and | button trimmed. Canvas is seldon | used for the entire suit, bul moire, | faille or taffeta milk is used for the | skirt and often the plasiron, with cuff {and collar of the same or exact shade | in velvet. —A pretty tennis suit lately worn was made of dove-gray nun’s cloth, with a scarf of Turkish embroidery arranged across the front. This em- broidery, in Anasene, was wrought in a material of lighter weight, but pre- cisely the same tint of gay as the dress. The effect of the deep red and gold, which were the dominant colors, was intensified by the red lining of the sailor hat that accompanied the ress, and the cluster of gay red pop pies that wreated the crown. Another dress, in dreadful contrast, was made of bright yellow flanpel, striped with vivid cardinal, This was suggestive of a vivid tropical bird, only that neither parrots nor paroquets try to tone themselves down by such an inar- tistic device as a black hat, If fash- ion 18 to be always Joliuired we, shall —Three silk handkerchief | caded borders will make a sleeveless jacket to wear over a skirt with a blouse waist more handkerc apren above. ) s nis to 3 one yyy wear jockey 4 7 jue, enough is an excellent oul
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers