if Maidens But Knew. + god wife rose from her bed one morn Aud thought with nervous dread © /the pies on piles of clothes to be wash- od » And the dozen of mouths to be fed, “There's the meals to get for the men in the field. And the children to fix away to school, And all the milk to be skimmed and churn- od, And all to be dono this day.” It bad rained in the night, and all the w Was wet as it could be, There were puddings and ples to bake And a loaf of cake for tea, And the day was hot, and her aching head Throbbed wearily as she said: “If maidens but knew what good wives know, “They'd not be in haste to wed." “Annie, what do you think I told Ned Brown?" Called the farmer from the well— Aud a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, And bis eyes half bashfully fell, It was this,” ard, coming near, he smiled; “It was this: That you are the best And the dearest wife in town.” “he farmer went bagk to the field, And the wife, in a smiling, absent way, Jang snatches of tender little songs She'd not sung in many a day. And the pain in her head was gone, and her clothes Were as white as the foam of the sea And her butter as sweet and golden as it could ba, The night came down— The good wife smiled to herself as she saad: 4 Tig 80 sweet to labor for those we love It is not strange that maids will wed.” I OHS, HOW AMELIA WAS CAPTURED. One evening last Winter as I was im- patiently walking up and down the platform at a Paris railroad station, waiting for the 7:30 express train, I re- ceived a tremendous thump on the back. 1 turned around, and lo and be- hold! it was my friend Jacques, “Where are you going?’’ he asked. “To Nice.” “1 am gong to Nice, too.’ “That is first rate. We will travel together.’ The train bad in the meantime ar- rived, and as we went to take our places in the coupe, we passed the postal car. “1 shouldn't like to be employed in ane of those postal cars with all those dirty letter bags. They have to stand up all the time, too. I should think they would be tired out,” IL remarked. “Yes, it is not agreeable to travel in one of those cars, I traveled two huh- dred miles in one of them once, and I don’t think I ever suffered as much in my life.” “How did that happen?" “It’s a right funny story. let us get our places, and then I'll tell you all about it.” We got into the coupe, and Jacques sold the following yarn, which I think s worth repeating. “At the time to which I refer,” said Jacques, *“I was acquainted with a cer- $ain blonde countess, You know ber, because several times 1 caught you try- ing %o flirt with her. She was living at shat time at her villa near Var. Her mame is Amelia. We used to write to each other daily. I wrote to keep her ¢horoughly informed of the fact that I loved her maaly. She wrote to me be- cause life is very tedious out in the country, and she had to do something to kill time. Her letters were rather cold, and I was much afraid that she was not going to make much of an ef- dort to reciprocate my affections, Just at this crisis I was carrying on a corres- pondence of pretty much the same char- acter with another lady whose name was not Amelia, but Louisa, and who #xas Hving in Normandy.” “A nice man you are,” “14 is the prerogative of innocence to project the initiatory boulder,” respond- ed Jacques, lighting a cigarette, “] suppose you mean fo quote that ‘he who is without sin among you should rn<t the first stone.’ ”’ “J {8 ." resumed Jacques, ‘‘Miss , § is Normandy correspondent of 1m. «+ AS no countess, she a bionde, We had reached that point in our correspondence when she felt it incumbent on her to inform me simost every day that she loved me for ~ayself alone. I replied very cooly and indifferently, for 1 was desirous of giv- ing ber no encouragement whatever. I was trying to give Louisa what is known as the cold shake, but I wanted to do it genteelly, as a gentleman should.” “1 presume the countess is the one that had the most money,’’ I remarked cynically. “You are a good guesser, fess was ve ’ ¥ s AIL The coun- wealthy, and Louisa was aot. Poor Louisal I did hate so to go Sack on her. It was not her fault, nor mine either, for that matter, that she was impecunious, There was some- shing about her looks that reminded me of the countess,” and Jacques sighed heavily. “What has all this got to do with the “ostal car?” “You shall bear, Both of these cor- sspondents of mine had the mania to wnd me orders to fill. Hardly a day passed that I did not have to buy some- thing and mail it to them, I was at Paris, Jou know, and they were in the country. was eternally hunting up samples of dress ho vpn | should I see driving past in his buguy | but my friend Maxime. He called me to get in, I did so, and just as we were passing the postoffice it occurred to me to post the letters,” “Yes, I begin to understand.” “1 got out, bought two stamps, stuck one of them on the letter to the coun- tess, shoved it through the hole, and was about to do the same for Louisa’s epistle, when I felt faint. 1 gasped for air. I had addressed my letters to Louisa to the countess at Var and post ed it. In my hand was the letter to the countess with the samples of silk, addressed to Louisa in Normandy." “You were in a fix.” “Never was in so hideous a fix in all my life. Unless I regained that letter it was all up with the beautiful coun- tess, who, as I told you, “was as rich as she was pretty.’ “yes, you told me she was quite wealthy.” “Not only that, but I was really des. perate in love with her besides. I went right into the postoffice and asked the clerk to hand me out the letter. The clerk began to cross examine me, and intimated that I was a candidate for the penitentiary. As my answers did not suit him, he refused to hand out the letter. 1 remembered that 1 had a friend who was a high official in the postoffice department, I jumped into a hack and was driven to his office, He was not in. Then I went to his resi- dence. I found him, explained mat- ters, and, armed with an official docu- ment, drove back to the postofiice. The mail was already made up and on board the postal car. I jumped aboard just as the train moved off. The postal of- ficers in the car, under the impression that I was trying to rob, hurled me to the floor, and while one kneeled on my breast the others choked me and search- ed me for arms. As scon as Igota| chance to speak, I showed my docu- | ment and explained. Profuse apologies | were offered and accepted. However, | my collar was torn off, and my clothes | suffered in the scuffle,” “Did they give you your letter?" “The car was packed up to the roof | with sacks of mail matter, The official | said: “My dear sir, from four or five hun- | dred thousand letters, you can’t expect | us to pick out yours, Besides, we are i forbidden under any circumstances to | deliver any mail en route.” ” What did you do?" i “There was nothing for me to do ex- | cept to grin and bear it, 1 took a seat | self, and think the sacks were not as | comfortable as a pillow, They seemed | to be full of hard and irregular shaped articles mixed up with letters, I won- | dered if it was possible that I was sit- | ting on the identical bag that contained | my affectionate letter to the countess. | Perhaps there was nothing between ue | eighth of an inch of leather and I whis- tled quietly, “Thou art so near and yet | so far.” “I should think, Jacques, that your | conscience would have troubled you." | “No, my conscience did pot trouble | me, but my stomach made me wish that | I were dead, There is no doubt but | that I suffered internally, 1 am very sensitive about smells, and the car was | full of them, There was evidently | something rotten in Denmark, as far as | the postoffice department is concerned. | The worst sinell was that damp leather, | Judging by the smells in the car, the people of France were inthe habit of | sending Limburger cheese, sausage | seasoned with garlic, and the like, | through the mails, It was very warm, | damp weather. The motion of the cars | made things worse inside of me. Inor- der to be more comfortable the clerks | removed their shoes, At last the crisis | came on. I put my head out of the | window. 1 needed fresh air. My | bosom heaved convulsively. How I] wished I had not eaten that hearty | breakfast, ‘O, Amelia, Amelial’ I | groaned, ‘how little do you know how | How little | dost thou dream what sacrifices I make | on account of my love for thee!” ! “You must have enjoyed yourself | very much on the excursion.” *“That was only the beginning of my suffering,” resumed Jacques, *‘After the spasms and convulsions in my breast had subsided, owing to the vile smells | and the racket, I could not get a wink of sleep until about 3 o'clock In the morning. The clerks kept distributing mail all night, and do you believe it, when they came across that letter they woke me up to show it to me, but re- fused to give it to me, 1 could have murdered them.” “Did you get it at last?’ “To cut things short, when we got to Lyons the postmaster was very polite, but he said he could not let me have the letter because the order was not signed by the postmaster general. I kept right along with that letter, un- dergoing all manner of exposure and hardships, until it got to Var, which is a very small country town, I bad to ride to that place on a wagon without any springs, alongside of the driver, the letter containing that infernal let- ter I written to Louisa and address- ed to the Countess Amelia being under the seat. I could not bribe the mail ’ francs in my pocket. I intended make a final appeal to the Var, and, if successful, return at once to Paris. The more 1 thought of this plan, the more I became convinced it would not work. Var was only a few miles from the villa of the to : 5: BE £% Jiis 2 g if 1 °F A lit; er g gif Hes | i : : & g 3 g g fi { ff E g E E i § i 3 id 5 5 i 2 g %g T 3 E i i 8 and got a square meal, Isaw the letter carrier start out on the road to Amelia's villa. I joined him and we soon be- came quite familiar, He was a dull stupid peasant. I had a flask with me, and, after taking a small drink myself, he took a healthy pull at it. I encour- aged him in his debauchery, and in passing through a village I set ‘em up again, After two more pulls at the flask he was beautifully drunk, and staggered helplessly, Coming toa gully I tripped hum up, He fell like a log. A moment more, and, under the pre- text of helping him up, I had opened the bag and secured that long sought letter and shoved it into my pocket. 1 heard a noise, and looking up I saw a dog cart. There was a lac ydriving., 1 felt myself turning pale all over, for the lady was none other than the Countess Amelia herself, She recognized me, but at first she was too astonished to speak, I thought to myself: ‘Old boy, if you have got any presence ef mind, now is your time to show it,’ “iGreat God!’ screamed Amelia, ‘what has happened? How do you come to be in this condition, Jacques?’ « « Amelia, do you believe in omens? Night before last, while I was writing to you, I heard you call my name three times.’ As I said this tears ran down my cheeks, for I had caught a fearful cold, and pulling out my handkerchief to wipe my eyes, out dropped that accurs- ed letter. I grabbed it and again shov- ed it into my pocket. “‘You heard me call your name, Jacques?’ asked Amelia, her eyes as large AS saucers with amazement, “yes. Amelia, and I left on the next train just dressed as 1 was, to come to you. I thought it was one of those mysterious warnings that notify people of the death of loved ones, and, Amelia, oh, how I love you!’ and here I dropped down in the mud on my knees. The rest of the story is short, contin- ued Jacques, “Amelia's eyes filled and although I looked like a tramp, she asked me to get into the dog cart with her. I did so and before we got to the villa she bad consented to become my That, my friend, is the story of have since told my wife all about it and she laughed until really thought I should have to send for a doctor, a——————— MEMORY'S FREAKS. Actors Who Forget Thewr Parts on the Stage. Almost any pleasant afternoon & dozen or more theatrical people may be joking in front of a certain club house not a great way from Madison square and that part of Broadway where the most elaborately dressed sons and daughters of New York pass in review, One afternvon quite recently one such about this spot listening attentively to one of their number, whose gray hair seemed to Jend weight to his statements as he held forth, “It always seemed queer to me,” sald the speaker, ‘‘that romebody doesn’t write a book on the psychologi- cal aspect of life on the stage. Frob- ably the actor has as large an oppor- tunity of becoming acquainted with freaks of superstitious fancy that afflict some of the best known actors are old themes of discussion. For instance, some think they can’t act if they see a horse of a certain color—not necessarily white, however—or if they don’t wear certain clothing, or if they play in a certain house, “Some actors have played one part so many times that the work becomes en- tirely mechanical, and they at times forget how far along they have got in the play. lines, even though be may Know the play so well that he can repeat the whole thing from beginning to end. I have known even so thorough and careful an who has in the first interview between the Car. dinal and Julie, and have to go back to his first speech to get it right. “Not long ago I beard Frederick Warde, in expatiating on his favorite flag; ‘Dison and Pythias,’ in which he acted In principal and subordin- ate parts for 15 years, utterly fail to re- call three lines from the very passage he was wont to deliver with the greatest effect from the stage. But the most serious freak of any actor's memory, and the one to my mind furthest from any rational explanation, is the way it will sometimes, and for no apparent cause, utterly refuse to take any im- pression at all. I remember very well Jo first experience of that kind I ever “I was in the company of a well- is city, and a ven me the lengths that night till I knew them quite thoroughly, The next day I went at them again, and to my speechless horror I discovered that all I had Se adas as I gave them I'm sure no audl- ence ever listened to before, or since. I struggled along, colning sentences as I proceeded, trying to keep what I said in harmony with the general plot of the play, of which I retained a fairly dis- tinct impression. I don’t suppose what 1 said sounded half so bad to others as it did to me, for the people in the wings afterward told me that few persons not familiar with the text would have sus- pected the spurious character 1 was pre- senting. “As soon as I was off the stage I made a rush for the dressing room, grabbed my play book and laboriously studied my next lengths until I was called out again, It wasof no use. I could not recall ene word of my part when I got before the footlights again. Desperation came to my aid, however, and I plunged boldly in and got through with an improvision that would have made Bulwer’s hair stand on end, with- out any very bad breaks, That night as | was getting into bed, feeling abso- lutely disgusted with myself and all creation, every line of my part came back to me like a flash, as clear as though the text was before my eyes, and for weeks and weeks after they haunted me day and night. Indeed, they took such root in my memory that I had ail I could do to drive them out when the time came to learn another part. “This occurred 10 years ago, and I never had another touch of that mal- ady again until last winter. We were trying a new piece ‘on thedog’ in Provi- dence, We had been rehearsing it for some time, and I felt sure 1 knew all my name, fourth act was to quarrel with and stab my accomplice in crime, for which 1 was to be sentenced to death, after con- fessing all my villainy, in the next act, “1 had a scene with the hero just be- fore the quarrel, and, bless me! If I | didn’t forget lines, ‘business’ and every- thing else, and, jumping away down to the end of the act, I killed the hero. The author of the play, who was sitting in a box, must have been paralyzed at the liberties I took with the text, and the audience must have thought it very odd that the hero should come to life so | readily in the next act, and that I should be sentenced to death for baving mere- lly tried to kill him. But the ‘dog’ lived, and I got off with only a ‘scorch- ing’ from the manager.” Such freaks and lapses of memory are not at all uncommon with people who commit lines to memory. Many clergymen who first write and then memorize their sermons, have been vic- tims of such a faux pas of memory, But as actors, by the nature of their | profession, do more memorizing than | any other set of men, there are more in- stances of this kind among them than with others. Dion Boucicault has suf | fered often and acutely from the freaks of his memory, and in describing one instance said: “Among the hundred and one amus- ing incidents of my professional life pone excel the chapter of accidents that “I'ine Shaughraun.’ Everything went well until my first scene, in which I de- scribe the fox hunt, to atlend which Con steals Foley's horse, ed at the wrong place. This upset my equilibrium and I forgot my lines, | Turning to Mme, Ponisi, I said: “What is 11?" She replied: | %] don’t know.” And there we | stood, I made up the rest of the speech | as best 1 could, and somehow staggered | through it.” ATI SATIN Plants and the Electric Light. According to a Berlin paper some dis- | agreeable results have followe 1 the elec- | tric lighting of the Winter palace at St. | Petersburg, the intense brilliancy of the | light having been found to cause dire | destruction among the ornamental plants used for the decorating of the banqueting halls, It appears that the complete lilumination of the rooms for a single night is enough to cause the leaves to turn yellow and dry up, and ultimately to fall off. The damage lo the celebrated collection of palms at the palace is especially serious. It is sup- | posed that the injury Is principa'ly due to the sudden change from the sunless days of the northern winter and from the subdued light of the plant houses to the blinding light of the banqueting balls. It has been shown beyond a doubt that the rapidity of the injarious action and the amount are directly pro- portional to the intensity of the illumi- pation, and plants standing in niches or other places partially shielded from the light are found to remain uninjured, There is no doubt that the injurious ef- fects of the light are greatly intensified by the dry, artificially heated atmos- here of the rooms, and that they would » minimized, if not entirely obviated, if the plants could be surrounded by a steamy atmosphere, such as that in which they are grown. : A Cute Mouse. The follo mouse story our by the in case: fe three ladies depot Waiting for ladies had failed to evening, and i i > % ol £8 i : 5 » i : : o' i ! : g S38 isi FI5F ; FASHION NOTES. —Brocades have not yet returned to favor for dresses, unless for the trains of reception robes, but for tea gowns they are much sought after, —Long cloaks are made in a looss shape that follows the outlines of the figure in a graceful fashion, and is also more comfortable than the closely fitted garments. There are but four forms in thess eloaks, two in front and two behind, making a sacque like garment, and the sleeves are cut with long points, —Cinderella dances, that close on the stroke of 12, are one of the fea- tures of the London season. These enjoyable affairs are much frequented by young people, who wear the dainti- est and prettiest toilets of tulle gauze and satin striped mull, with low or half-high bodices and decoraticns of flowers or ribbons. ~For evening toilets which are not intended for wear at balls or large entertamments half long sleeves admit of many fancy arrangements, When of black, white or rich broche lace they are trimmed with ribbon crossed, or in bands, and also arrangements to pro- duce the effect of inserted lace puff- ings or embroidery flaps, with long strings of beads depending from them in Eastern fashion. —Simple costumes are © ' + fashion- able for young girls made o. ancy pat- terned dark electric-blue vigogne, which is arranged over a dark velvet underskirt, The revers on the front of the bodice are of velvet, embroid- {ered with beads of the same shade, and opened back to show a vest of pale pink Ottoman silk; the back of the bodice is partly of velvet, arranged in a V-shaped plastron, with the vigogne drawn down on each side into the waist 1n small folds, The iniro- duction of the pink is a success. —English-looking camisoles, fitting like a glove beneath the Boulanger cutaway jacket or Louls X1V coat, are made of dark green, blue or brown “faced? cloth, trimmed with a very delicate embrosdery of gold or silver In | a fine arabesque or Greek key pattern. An embroidery pouch of like design in ornamentation, flat and square in shape, is attached to the left side. The collar matches the camisole, and the fabric. From there emerges a lower half of the sleeve, which is like the under vest in color and garniture, —Worth and Pingat sre making cloth jackets of far more dressy char- | acter than those made by London tail- {ors. They use a great deal of passe- | menterie for their trimming in open | lace like designs, which is made doubly | effective by having lighter cloth than | that of the jacket placed under it, as, {for instance, dark green cloth has laid over the palest Nile green cloth, land the garment is then edged with black Persian fur. These stylish coats | are short, single-breasted and very | the small tournure that is now so well | worn. Some rich dinner dresses have re- | cently been made of terra-cotia plushes combined with blue satin embroidered | in dull metal, and silks in fade color- |ings and Moonsh effects. A dinner | dress was recently shown made of pale- blue fallle Francaise and Amber plush. The skirt was brocaded on the edge with gold thread and blue silk thread in a dark shade. The back drapery of plain amber plush fell in severe soft folds over the tournure, The antique bodice was of amber plush and cut high at the throat, being Jeft opened in a plastron square below the collar to disply a short puff of blue sik and a filling of creamy lace. The elbow sleeves of the bodice were fin. ished by a full fall of lace, Dinner dresses follow the rule of dancing dresses; they are generally shorl Trained dresses are made chiefly to fill | special orders, Reception dresses are siways short. — At this season there is not much | novelty, as the old fashions are fading gradually and the new ones are nol quite ready for Introduction. One | favorite material which is not yet out | of fashion is watered silk, and there | has recently been arranged some styl- lish evening and dinper gowns of it, making the bodice and train of golden. brown and the waistcoat and front of skirt of pale pink faille Francaise, or of yellow. A papel of the brown watered silk, trimmed with gold and passementrie, goes down the paler color be- HORSE NOTES, ~The next Congress of the National Trotting Association will be held at Buffalo in 1890, ~Charley Frell, Euclid and Big Injun are being wintered at Exposition Park, Pittsburg. ~Troubadour will not be trained again, although Rogers thinks he would stand a preparation, ~William Allen, of Uniontown, will have Mambrino Clay, 2.274; Hattie T., 2.20}; Consul, 2.24}, and T. M. Bland, 2.42, to handle the coming sea son. —E. J, Everett, of Deerfield, Mass,, has purchased from the Shepherd Knapp estate the bay stallion Glenville, by Messenger Duroc, dam Hattie Hogan. ~Andy Culp 1s building a livery sta- ble, with 60 feet front, adjoining the stable occupied by the late Mr. Spooner, Broad and Diamond streets, Philadelphia. -—Blue Wing, sa to have broken down lu the Brooklyn handi- cap, is apparently nearly all right again, and it 1s thought he will stand the training ordeal. —Montana Regent 1s pronounced sonnd and all right by the veterinarians who have been attending him. The leg which gave him so much trouble it is thought will stand the ordeal of training. ~The partners composing the Chi. cago Stable, George Hankins and J. 8, Campbell, have entered into a written agreement not to bet en horses outside of their own except both should be interested. ~The Monmouth Park Association has given away $790,000 in added money during the last six years; 1882, $85,000, 1883, $115,000; 1884, $115,000; 1885, $125,000; $1886, $150,000; 1887. $160,500; 1888, $200 000. ~'Two hundred and sixty horse. owners and 1190 jockeys are to be de- barred from the tracks of the big jockey clubs next season for having engaged lin racing at the half-mile tracks at Clifton and Guttenburg. —Ed. Corrigan’s Modesty will not be seen at the post again, She was wind. broken all last season, showing but lit- tle improvement up to the close. She | 1s now at Laxington, and will be bred | in the spring to ‘Lhe Ili-Used. —T. W. Ogden has purchased the | famous brood-mare Peri and her wean- | ling from R. Burgher, of Glendale, O. | Peri is the dam of Alice Taylor, 2.30. She is a brown mare, foaled in 1867 by | Edwin Forrest, dam Waterwitch. —Competition is the life of trade. With Belmont and Point Breeze Cour- | ses under new managements the public | expect to see some good and square | trotting next season, and not any of the beretotore ‘‘put up jobs’ to *‘skin”’ the public. —A new trotting circuit, known as the Ohio and Indiana Field of Falrs, was organized at Kendallville, Ind,, the second week in February. The places represented are Fort Wayne, Goshen, South Bend, Angola, Tolodo, Water- loo, Lagrange, Lagonier, Kendallville, Montpetier and Hicksville. ~The case of Frank McLaughlin, brother of the champion jockey, bids fair to attraot considerable attention ere Jong. He has ndden at the half mile tracks, but only four or five times, and is now anxious to be rein- stated, as he could, if not under the ban, get employment In good stables. He can ride at 110 pounds. Dr. J. W. Madara, proprietor of Twin Springs Stock Farm, Baker's Summit, Bedford county, Pa., has sent us a nicely arranged catalogue of his stock. The stallion list is headed with Windsor (2.20), sire of Windsor M. (2.20}) and others. It contains a pumber of choicely bred brood-mares and colts, | —Charles Dickerman has engaged to drive for Antonio Terry, the wealthy Havana, Cuba, the agent for Mr, | Terry. —Walter T. Chester, compiler of
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers