A TO Poor Papa. ‘Who slaves all day with main and might And comes home weary, worn and white, To walk a squalling babe all night? Poor Papa. "ho has to hear a tired wife Recount the petty woes and strify That constitute a woman's life? Poor Papa. Who has to go without new clothes T'oo keep his tots in shoes and hose And dress his daughters having beaux ? Poor Papa. Whe's tortured by the endless noise Of half a dozen romping boys That all his psace at home destroys ? Poor Papa. Who's told the coal and flour are ent ; Who wishes he was, too, no doubt, And, when he tries, 1s put to rout? Poor Papa. Who groans when bills come in to pay For some thing needed every day, Who can not lay a cent away ? Poor Papa. Who thinks he was a fool to wed, And who, if his dear wife was dead, Would get another quick instead? Poor Papa. v ho, if he hadn’t married, would Be minus home and health so good And end his days in solitude? Poor Papa. CURE. I met the Cure one evening as 1 eturning home the wo I had been sl The fine old aan was stax his presbytere, looking toward the which at that moment was glorio neath the setting sun. I bowed to him 1s I passed, for his presence had always inspired me with sympathy and respect, ind I know how much from a foreigner would § ber of that class, whic {zovernment is bringing inte by constant persecutions, returned my sy that had long was ’ irom etching, 50a, 15 DE- i St I took the oppor desire dd. salute with Was nose that her face was one the m of many other artists famous as the one who had painted this portrait. A royally feminine face, and her clothed with that expression of tim- idity, bl and afraid, some women is so sweet and so strong- iy appeals to all that is and most manly in man, This was my first impressi I looked at it longer, the tim being subjective merely, grow objective, It was not a timid it was a girl afraid. Her eyes to look with Trot observation € n something as not the picture. How could that those fear-full eyes out of the plan, straight wer my head, who stood facing her, at wall Lehind me? The picture was by far too fine a work of art for one to suppose that any attemnpt had been made to enchance its interest by an ex- traordinary and theatrical mise-en- had be en wlel wl fri¢ x Tai: ishing ch in noblest 3 * ms UUs, idity, fre seemed to as yin iv] Sibi seemed for, on still cle grew into horrot represented in it be, seeing looking er the Wero tli sec if anything was visible to explan the expression of those eves, not the reason thereof, I am not of tration. auburn that sung-—and colors sing— when the Cure came back inte the srvoom. 1 turned as I heard his step and as I did so my eyes fell on the wall on which my back had been turned, Directly opposite the picture, and in the point of vision of its eyes, hung a rapier, As I looked closer I saw that the point of this sword was black—of . that ill-omened black that blood, long since shed, does take. I almost felt angry. Blood-stained rapier, cr chro- molithograph of some hobgoblin, ghoul or specter, it annoyed me to think that any one should have ventured, with the most vulgar taste of melodramatic ef- fect, to complete what was already so sublimely and perfectly complete, It was Lhe act of a bourgeois of the bour- geois, uneasy and disturbed if the Sevres china statuet of a Watteau shep- herdess on this side of his Louis XV, timepiece has not on the yon side of it, fronting her, as pendant, a languishing Corrydon. My annoyance was so real that I paid but little attention to all that the Care, who had now greatly sunk in my es- deem, showed me and told me, 1 vaguely remember that he led me through a churchyard, where, by the grave of his predecessor, he pointed out the plot of ground where he was to rest himself; that he told me that the church was many hundred years old, and had been, dans le temps, the lodge of a com- pany of Knights Templar, whose bodies mote part of the cemetery. Thechurch preoccupation, There were some fine Louis XI. candlesticks in massive cop- per on one of the altars, The Cure had bought them from a dealer in old metals, to whom an ignorant colleague had sold them at the rate of ninepence taste,” 1 makes it have some that only “Then you “But I was examining these candlesticks tone with the old “That will be for another day,’’ she “The important thing now M. Cure should not let 1 ie with il ’ thie second “She seems a very intelliger [ said, as his door. I accompanied ‘Is she 3 sees it, The trout, pe: and sweet; grant, with a gleamed like t+} LLe the table was JRE excl - ' Ble hanging it rangement my pleasure in ti 18 Lhe same always rather spoiled 1 Pi ture, and my rea- a8 yours: but 1 could not find it in my heart to thwart the good old woman's wish, would have it thus, and would take no cot diction on this point.”’ “I suppose,” I rejoined, ‘‘the woman was vexed the sight « aha $y Iira- good at 4 f the I'he bLlood- his feat and make the tableau complete. It is natural in a peasant woman. Dut l have been pleased with if she had « ympleted it In an- way. For instance, if she had opposite tho ter picture of Delacroix or another ciassic, That would have explained, and charm- ingly, the horror of a of better Sif giy, creation M's. “You are severe laughed the Cure, : on Delacroix,’ “In my time he us what Messonier is to-day," there is any connection between picture and the weapon ?"’ “A terrible one,” said the Cure, His tone was so sad and there was indiscretion and apologized to lnm for it. “It is strange,” he continued, after a day, for all this day my thoughts have been going back to the most terrible scene of my life. Nay, do not ask my pardon. I am glad to speak to you of it. Silence does not kill a sorrow; it nurses 1t—I know it, For thirty years 1 have never opened my mouth, and the wound in my heart has deepened all the more, Never, never be reserved in the troubles of your life, Rather ery them out aloud on the house-tops, Does not. a cry relieve a bodily suffer- ing? Then why should not the same relief be afforded in the same way to the tortures of conscience? Ask for sympathy, human sympathy, and, whether you get it or not, the mere ask- ing will comfort you, I will tell you about that rapier and that picture, My heart has been very full to-day.” Then, bending over the table to me, he said : “That picture is the jortealt of the only woman I have ever loved, and that rapier is the sword with which I killed my dearest friend. The blood on its point is the blood of the only heart of man that ever beat in love and sym- pathy with mine,” . “Ah,” he continued, “you look sur- prised. One does not suppose any ro- mance can be shrined beneath the sou- tane of a village cure; and, perhaps, to look at me, I appear the very last man to have had a drama of so terrible a Kind in my life. Yet, I am told, they made a very good play of it at one of the boulevard theaters in Paris. The world had the comedy, the tragedy was forme, It was just, quite just. My story? O, a common one, He was my friend, and she, the lovely woman, was his wife, We had both paid court to her, but he had won her. lle was richer than I, and in France, you know, that is the first consideration of parents in giving their daughter, Well, though I loved her with all my heart, when she became his wife I was loyal to her as to him, as a gentleman and his friend. Of course I sought her society-—it was ), ill-advised that better than I do now, if swear I might, him and to her never, even in thought, an instant, tongues went wagging. was my best friend, and 1 loved him tke a brother—and all the more dearly that he was her husband, Yet how could 1 act otherwise than I did when gues, he rushed up to me on the boule- the face, calling ne liar, traitor, coward, It done of Paris, and 1 was hot- blooded in those days. 1t wa cation, { Was eyes 4 Provo. He Hneip mo ran myseis, “Tf ¢ 1 Lones a doctor, for him. He lives ten we do ! “1 have i “1 may be able ance, If Monsier le Cure will | aa “Come, ne by the arin Providence. Is there want? It is disease of But first, i and see whether had 116 Rlience turned of the ung the awful notes of adying woman's “‘Raoul, Raoul ! where are you ? Je me meurs, mon ami." For what reason I know not I turned toward the picture. It seemed ghe cry that should come from those lips, denly stabbed, Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!’ “Whose voice is that 7" he cried. the picture, “Raoul, Raoul! You must come quickly or it will be too late.” ‘“It is old Bette that is calling you, M. le Cure,” sald Jeaunette, pointing to the room above. “‘It is her voice, 18 it not?” “*Bette's?"’ stammered the Cure, ‘‘the old peasant woman's? No, no, no! It was Mireille’'s, But" ‘Meanwhile, Monsieur,” said Jean- nette, ‘the old woman dies.’ *I go," said the Cure, I did not follow him; I had some feeling that there would be something solernn--something sacred was to be re- vealed in this last interview between the old Cure and his dying servant, I knew that, great as may be the devotion and self-sacrifice of the man, the self- sacrifice and the devotion of the wo- man that loves him, or has loved him, can be immeasurably greater, and I be- lioved that the Cure*would find out that his lifelong penance had had even on this earth its passing great reward and that the love of the woman he had worshiped in his youth had been with him and around him, silent, watchful, all these years. . “It would have been a splendid de- votion." I said to myselfas I made my way home, ‘‘and one possible ouly in a : i i § woman, to humble herself as he had humbled himself-—-yet lower, to leave the boudoir of the woman of the world for the kitchen of a village presbytere to put off the elegant tollet and to put on the peasant’s gown, aye, and unknown to him, respecting his loyalty to the dead-—it was sublime,” A year later I visited I’ again, They told me that the old Cure had died about two months ago. I saw his in the spot he had laughingly pointed out to me when he had shown me the | church, I found it hidden away ina | corner, from which a splendid view of | the sea could be obtained. There was | another grave by its side, adorned with | i a simple white cross, on which was written the one “Mireille,” 1 { had fashioned ro- | mance, word, forth no untrue - Yes UMBRELLA HISTORY, First Englishman Who Carried One of These Useful Protectors, | The 1 i In Queen Anne's time it is mentioned of never the to hough women, but up to the middle eighteenth century it appears have used in England by men, t Wolfe, the future conquer f QQ wrote from Parisin 1752 describing it as 1 general use in t Wi) C 16 DHeC onvenient enetrated to FASHION NOTES. ~1t is sald that thers is to be a de- cided revival of the old-fashioned iron silk or satin, Certain It is that there have been far prettier dresses than were formerly made from these ma terials, - same fabric, the graceful visor tirely covered with the tweed. There spun, and designed for long journeys by rall or steamer, others have been noticed the following: skirt of black and old gold composed of stripes of black gauze and of black lace, This skirt slightly ornaments over the Louis XV hat of black trimmed with a cluster of b and a black algrette. ittercups — Plaids would be able in the making eouturieres had not the he taste to soften their too perfectly in up The first rules to be A —— In a Tuscan Villa. ngeinenis into avilla English ways are never ut But an Itallan garden is not an English and there should b2 no attemp to make one resemble the other, member more than twenty ng in the garden of neighbor near Florence in May of the English bud tat: ie ta wirat EI 10 IAS WOT Lo and most form as it ts maturity » n August, he result but lamentable, better, take Italian servauts more or less as you find them, whether in the garden, the stable, or the household, Yon will never get them to work ‘‘to the pin of | the collar,” and in attempting to do so you will only deprive them of their na- tural virtues, which are many and use- ful. In England we keep the machin- ery of service as much as possible out of sight, In Italy you must be content to see it at work, and sometimes, ac- | cording to English ideas, a little in- sfficiently at work. In England, every- Was dazzlis ids 00, {oO is a constant attention to detail, done in the manner of a scene painter who knows his business, The sky is bigger, the atmosphere is more spa- cious, you are not cabined, cribbed, confined. Ease, liberty, and absence of solicitude attend villa life in Tus- cany, and when these are accepted and enjoyed by English men and women who know what is best in Italy, as well as what 18 best in England, then, 1 think one sees life to the greatest ad- vantage for there is the just combina tion of refinement with freedom. ~The new checked and striped wools are charming for tailor-made gowns, and so light are these fabrics in weight that even in the hotest weather they could be no more oppressive than veiling or albatross, Indeed, summer tweeds, as they are called, are less weighty than many of the ginghams and tufted cottons. Delicate women and children should wear all-wool goods in preference to cotton, and if the material be all wool and ever so light colored it can be cleaned once and again and appear as fresh and new as the davatiest of cotton gowns before wesliing should never be bodice. The beauty of the othing to gain by All lines tend to make | ) stouter, Besides which, il dificult to jo the pattern seams 80 as to make it look perfect iv i in lack lar and rank among the They are particularly useful, and among the most satisfactory of dress fabrics. Indeed, with the introduction of surahs has come new possibilit the resources of the average Americ woman. Surah answers f dina ar and for fine t jualily. It surah silks are steadily popu- gtapie goods, 148 In wer Use, is suitable the old lady 18 a facing, lining nmstances of the cas chaser dictate ¥ Kinas wily abo : I frequently made of n of a width which will allo nearly the elbow, When m ace and DArToOw very often of beaded net, of the same on the shoulders, net the ments of the je tolds cross each other, t is yet to take terest in the new fashions of up the common fabrics, Skirts are to be longer, barely clearing the ground; there are indications of a revival of parrow plaitings, Draperies on some of the new models are much shorter, while upon others they are very long, reaching quite to the bottom of the lower skirt. Sleeves are in a transitory state, as many ladjes will not adopt the full sleeve, and others quite prefer iL; there is every indication that both styles will be In favor, as the American is most becom- ing to her, and the majority of women like plain sleeves for thal reason. Nearly all ladles with shapely arms The full sleeve is more desirable for ladies who are lesa favored by nature in that particu- lar, — Black goods are to be more popu- lar than for several seasons past, Among the favorite fabrics in wool are the Priestly Henrietta cloths, which can be confidently recommended as the best wearing fabrics in the market, They hold their color perfectly, are de- too early t graceful fashion, and are indeed every It is said that in black faille Francaise, the untiring efforts of certain branches of the trade to revive former interests in them. They will pull on the warp, and American women have become too well posted on good silks and too the faille Francalse weave to desire any repetition of the old trouble of drawing in the seams and fraying at the edges. —In the display of new tailor gowns {5 is noted that great use is made of soft, silky India cashmere, combined with moire of a deeper and seldom of a constrasting shade, Also of the very flexible London diagonals, camel’s- hair serges with threads of brilliant color intermingled, and of bourreltes, armures, fancy Belgravia and Lincolo- shire suitings in green and gold, blae, brown and silver; olive, pale blue and Roman red; bronze, nasturtinm yellow and black; terra-cotta, golden brown and beige, ete, Many of the costumes are combined with velvet, Others have striped velvet skirts with a mixture of the goods in monochrome. Some of the new stripes are plain, others richly shaded, and still others quadrilles. All are exceptionally attractive, and tailor fabrics as a whole will lend great va. riety and brillianey to the autumn sea son's costuming, HORSE NOTES, ~Harry Blaylock does not ride fou | Corrigan any more, ~The Hartford track was not a fast | one at the late meeting. | —David L., the smallest trotter on | the turf, now has a record of 2.19}, ~The price paid for Warrington, re. sently purchased by Morris & Harwood, was $2000, ~Dwyer Brothers have of Overton to the brother of Eole, ~The Bard is reported as slowly im- | proving, but it is doubtful whether he will ever be the same horse that he Was, ~The horses belonging to Mr. Hag- | gin are quartered at Sheepshead Bay in | the old Palrfax Stable, which Mr, Hag- | Ei now owns, —1n the big race at Hartford Fuller idrove Patron; Crit Davis Prince { Wilkes, Budd Doble Loretta ¥. and Frank Vanuness Astral. —H., B. Sire has purchased of Louis Snell the brown gelding Harry Mills (2.254), by Sweepstakes, dam by Eu- reka, Lo use on the road, —Jefse Yerance has sold to Robert McMilian, of Milburn Stock Farm, Mercer county, Pa., the bay gelding Governor Hill, record 2.206}, for $5000, —1f Fuller with Patron had ‘‘sl the other horses as ] given the | name yearling out’ to do he would have recel $10,000) Hartfor« purse didn’t, A.) Madden, of ath] gelding Willet stakes, dam ! Everett, for L. a Simmons, of d to J. W. Bet , the b. Charley Fr dam Mother wr $250 nea, of ¥ 1X VY , - 3 Hei, Ol DeCer New York, has 1i8 S-year-old colt Vietor W., by Black Damon, } by BSeely’s Ameri- Star, to Dr. of Brooklyn, for $100 can Otterson, 3 ion 0 the ranks As a nucl purchased Farm, Dubuque, la., colt Algon, by Nu by Alcantara, ~Jt begins to were the coming With the success Hampton, the ' breeders, st ock he far A England, son, Merry Derby, and Reve d’Or’s 1000 Guineas and Oaks, he is already very prominently forward in the list of “*winning sires,’”’ while his son Savile. who won the Goodwood cup, will help him a great deal. ~The four-mile harness record of 11.06, made by Trustee at the oid Union Course, long Island, on June 13, 1846, remained as the best on rec- ord until August 12, when the Keokuk | (Iowa) Association offhred §250 as an inducement to have it reduced. The owner of Satellite entered his horse, and succeeded in lowering the figures over a half-mile track u 10.524. Satellite is by Temper, a son of Kear- sarge. of his in in ~A large consignment of English thoroughbreds is about to be made to this country. It will consist of the well-known stallions Glen Arthur and Rossington, and a large number of | blood-mares, some twenty in all, io- cluding the entire stud of a leading English breeder who is goisg to retire, | and will sand the mares as soon as their foals are weaned, reserving the foals | for sale in England next season as yearlings. ~In the Raritan stakes, the frst race which Hanover lost to Laggard, | he gave the latter 17 pounds, he carry- | ing 128 pounds to Laggard’s 111, the track being very heavy. In the second race, when beaten by the same horse, ihe gave him 7 pounds, Both races were run on & beavy, muddy track, where weight tells most. In the Cholce stakes Hanover gave Banburg 8 pounds, the track again being wet and heavy. That Hanover was not himself in any one of these races must be con. ceded. He had won all the previous contests in the most hollow style, con- ceding weight to it, » —For some cause or other Volante is an uncertain performer. He is 8) good at times that his owner is temp- ted to match him against anything on the turf, but by and by the son of Grinstead is unable to hold his own in company that could hardly be classed as jocre. He was shawetully beaten by Royal Arch at Sa subsequently Hanover and irenzi made a show of him in the Champion at Monmouth Park, It issafe to say that he has not displayed his best form since he came East. At Chicago he was well nigh nvineible, Another popular material is drap d’Alma. In the medium and numbers 1t'18 ott of the most desirable of fabrics. It iA also shown in oolbrs, but with less satisfactory results,
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