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