6
NEW YORK FASHIONS.
COSTUMES SEEN IN THE SUNDAY PA
RADE ON FIFTH AVENUE.
Mate Leroy Describes tho Gowns Worn by
Leaders of Fashion—Natty Jackets For
Bummer Wear —Cool and Dainty Lin
gerie For Warm Days.
(Copyright, 1693, by American Press Associa
tion.]
As warm weather advances the finest
gowns make their appearance on the street,
and it is worth much to tho admirer of the
beautiful to walk slowly along on upper
Fifth avenue and watch the people conio
out of the churches and saunter along that
favored thoroughfare, conscious of the ad- j
miration they excite, but not showing it in
their manner.
Jfja
SEEN ON FIFTH AVENUE.
It would be telling over the names of the
wholeof the Four Hundred to mention those j
of the Sunday afternoon processions on up
per Fifth avenue. Mrs. ()gden Goelet walks
along with gentle humility with her young
daughters, now almost old enough to take
their places in the social whirl. She wears
a gown of pearl gray cloth with a white
crape vest ftnd rovers of thick white vel
vet, the corsage outlined by tho narrowest
possible gold braid. On her dainty, dark
head she wears a small bonnet of gray
straw with growing flowers of pale straw
color. Her young daughters are all dressed
alike in twilled cashmere of lavender and
with heliotrope trimmings. Their hats are
large, of white straw, with spikes of laven- I
der flowers and heliotrope among the white
ribbons. The gowns are exceedingly sim
ple in shape, being princess, with berthas
of tho material bordered with two rows of
narrow soutache.
Miss Iselin was lovely on a recent Sunday
inn pale blue cheviot with diagonal lines of
A darker shade of blue. This was made in
plain circle skirt, slashed, and each slash
outlined with wide old gold castle braid,
and it was trimmed tho same front and
back. Tho waist was drawn smooth over
the front without visible darts or opening,
and a sort of pelerine was made of bias
goods. The sleeves were double puffs. Tho
hat was a cream colored satin straw, with
pink velvet trimming and old gold plumes.
A small pink velvet bag was carried to hold
her prayer book, eto. Altogether her cos
tume was much admired.
Another gown that set off tho handsome
face of Miss Maude Banks was studied very
closely. It was a pale rose china silk, with
blue flowers scattered sparingly over it
The skirt was quite close at the top in
front, hut gathered at the back. On this
was set a Spanish flounce, with a crushed
puff of the same at tho top and bottom of
the flounce.
The corsage was a plain French waist, j
with a narrow resada green velvet belt and
with sash ends held in by a windmill ro- j
sette. The pelerine at the neck was of
white Spanish lace, with a resada heading,
and the sleeves were double balloon puff.
The forearm part reaches the back of the
hand, where it flares a trifle and is double
piped with blue.
COSTUMES WORN BY MRS. GOULD AND FRIEND.
The bonnet worn with this was of two
shades of resada and myrtle green, with
five little gold pins stuck about at different
angles. The costume was quite iu the 1830
style, with the exception of the bonnet,
which is really not what I should like to
see, for the rest suggests a scoop or cottage,
or at least a poke, to he in exact keeping.
This Spanish flounce is quite a favorite,
particularly for light goods. For such tho
flounce should be superposed. For others :
it can fall from the joining without any
underdress at nil.
Without doubt the hoop scare has died
out, and no woman is obliged to stiffen the
bottom of her skirt just now. Even Mrs.
Cleveland would not have her skirts lined
with crinoline when it would have been be
coming. Mrs. George Gould is another lady
who has determinedly set against them,
and her street gowns are modeled on the
tailor system, neat and fine, and her house
dresses are left to fall as nature would sug
gest. At tho flower show she wore a gown
of blue striped wool, very fine and flexible.
It was in two shades of blue. The back of
the skirt was simply gathered all the way
around. The front breadth and vest were
of corded silk to match the lighter shade,
and at the foot was a puff of velvet of the
darker shade heading a white lace flounce.
'There were a dainty luce jabot, n vers of lace
and a sash of velvet ribbon. The sleeves
were plain gigot.
When she started home, she had a dark
blue straw hat, with pink roses inside the
brim and on the outside also, and a jaunty
little wrap marie of black velvet and a lit
tle narrow beading. Of course it was lined
with iridescent silk, with pink and blue
shades, which made it purple iu some
lights.
With Mrs. Gould was a young lady
whose name I could not learn, but she was
very prettily dressed in a Havana brown
Berge, with tabac brown velvet hands on
the bottom, buttons covered with velvet,
and belt, rovers and forearms of the same.
'The skirt was plain and opened on the
right side to the bottom and tho waist
crossed over to the right and fastened with
an upstanding velvet bow. The sleeves
were balloon, the upper part of the serge.
To wear with this was a large ecru straw
with brown plumes and a small gold buckla |
: To speak of a plain woolen frock in detai. i
; might seem unnecessary, but one must re
member that one needs more of just such
! gowns than of silks or velvets and that
I when one has a good, well made and be-
I coming gown like this a vast deal of com
fort can be got out of it if it is well taken
care of.
Among notable gowns at the flower
show I remarked one on an elderly lady
which was of black satin striped with red
and cut so that the stripes zigzagged in
regular fashion. There was a train, but no
fullness whatever in the top of the skirt.
The waist was very snug, cut square in the
neck, and had a narrow puflf around it. The
sleeves were balloon. The gray hair was
; waved and curled in an astonishing man
ner, and above this was perched a semimili
| tary bat, with a wreath of pink crush roses
just under the brim,
j Another was a plain black satin gown
: gathered full and hanging free. The waist
j was a plain spencer, with a black ribbon
j belt and gold buckle, and around the neck
a flat collar of duchess lace held by an
1 oval topaz pin. With this was worn a
white crape shawl richly fringed and em
j broidered. The lady was young and lovely,
j and her smile was of today, but she looked
1 as if she belonged in a frame and had some
how got loose from the canvas and come
i down among the nineteenth century folks,
j With the summer the pretty and natty
jackets, shirt fronts, vests and neckties
! and possibly even blazers will come. The
Eton jacket of plain goods, braided in a
straggly, all over pattern with frog fringe
' and no sleeves will he worn very much over
light dresses. These are pretty, and they
! protect the chest and are universally be
coming. Young girls and quite old worn
i cn can wear them.
I The Eton jacket with sleeves will be
I worn with a regular starched shirt front
with high collars and white neck ties, or
with the soft surah scarf tie, or a teck, or
> even a four-in-hand. In the matter of ties
a young lady can suit herself. With the
Eton jacket in this style there should bo a
pique vest made just like a man's vest.
These are certainly very taking.
As & ® // jl
TIES AXD CRAVATS.
The bolero jacket is made to wear over
light or heavy dresses indifferently. It is
I of black velvet or very dark velvet braided
richly with gold, though it is sometimes
made of line broadcloth or satin, but noth
ing throws up the braiding as well as the
i velvet. The bolero or ligaro jacket has been
patodiod this season in every way, so that
on some gowns there is just enough of it to
show what it is meant for, but however it
is done it always remains chic. Its range
of usefulness is unusually large and reaches
from the ballroom to the promenade, and
it is a capital thing to wear over a gown
that has lost its first freshness.
In lingerie for warmer days the very
daintiest thing will bo the turn down col
lars and turn up cuffs with fluted ruffles.
Nothing looks so neat and attractive as to
see the crisp freshness of such lingerie. The
cravats that will he worn with the standing
collar and chemisette will be of lawn or
satin, as pleases better, but the ends, instead
of being made pointed, as heretofore, will
be cut square off and stitched. There will
' I'M? uo ruffled tempers, as the ties buckle
I around the neck and are already tied.
Beef blood soft surah scarfs or blue with
polka dots or rings arc to be worn, as well
ns striped, checked, figured or black, for
both men and women. This is as it should
be.
The newest shoes show that comfort has
| been the first consideration, and they nro
| wide, rounding on the bottom, or, so to
speak, "tip tilted," which rests the toes in
stead of crowding them all down to a
point. The present slmpe throws the
weight on the ball of the foot.
There are four distinct kinds of low
shoes, aside from the "fancies." There are
the oxford and the newport, both ns pop
ular as ever, the tan colored shoes and the
suedes, besides tlie new ones where the foot
slides in through a cleft that closes of it
self after. But the oxford, with its im-
STYLISH JACKETS,
provements, and the newport, with the lit
tle device that keeps the strings from un
tying, are best liked and are by far the neat
est, and most ladylike shoes. Some have
patent leather tips stitched very prettily.
MATE LEROY.
No Two Eyes Alike.
In Thuringia there is a whole district
which is dependent for its support on the
manufacture of artificial eyes—husbands,
wives and children all working together at
1 this Mime means of livelihood. And yet,
j though these timplc German village people
j turn out their produce by the dozen, no
two eyes are ever the same. No artificial
r eye has its exact fellow either in color or in
\ size in the whole world.
l Football Casualties.
, Every village in England has its football
team and every team its proportion of ac-
oldents. During the season of 1803-8, there
i were 'JO deaths resulting from accidents on
i the football field, and 30 broken legs, 13
r a broken arms, 85 broken collar bones and 75
other injuries.
FREELAND TRIBUNE, MONDAY, MAY 29, 1893.
OFFICE BOY.
A New York Specimen Tli.it Was Up to
Snuff.
Everybody knows what the New York j
office boy is. lie always comes from the
east side, and he always owns the office j
within a week after he has entered it. He ;
has his own ideas about dignity, and it is
useless to try to change or even to modify
them. His manifestations of "cussedness"
are various. The writer was in the law
office of a the other day when an
elderly gentleman entered and addressed
himself to the black eyed office boy guard
ing the rail before the inner rooms.
"Is Mr. C in?" asked the white haired
and venerable citizen.
"What's your name?" asked the boy
coolly.
"I asked you if Mr. C were In," said
he of tho old school reprovingly.
"What's your name?" repeated the auto
cratic youth, looking tho other in the eye.
"That isn't what I came to tell you,"
answered the venerable caller. "I came to
see if Mr. C were in. That is what I
asked you. That isM'hat I want to know."
"Well, what's your name, then?" asked
the boy placidly.
"Is he in?" demanded the old man
sternly.
"What's your name?" repeated the boy
calmly.
The venerable citizen looked around and ;
then gave a gesture of despair.
"I'm Mr. Brown," he said in a subdued j
"Well, you cau't see him," said tho czar ;
of that office in a voice in which there was
decision, but no trace of triumph.
"Why?" asked tho conquered New
Yorker.
"Because he's engaged."
"Well, take my name in and see if he
won't see me."
"He's engaged."
"I don't care if he is. Take my name to
him."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"He's engaged."
"Well, young man, you can go Into his
private office and leave my card, can't you?"
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"Can't."
"Why not?" with great sternness.
"Because he's engaged on a case in Bos
ton and won't be in town till tomorrow."
And the boy began to question another vis
itor in the coolest of cool manners.
Tho writer had an experience with the
same boy. Ho called up the lawyer's office
by telephone.
"Is Mr. C in?" he asked.
"No, sir," replied the boy. "What's your
name?"
"Oh, never mind tho name, I'll call him
up ngain."
"But what's your name?" asked the boy
again. "He may want to know."
"Never mind. I won't bother you to tell
him. I'll call him up again or come in
again."
"But what's your name?" persisted the
boy.
"Never mind, I say," said the other, pre
pared to hang up the receiver in a temper.
"All right, Mr. E said tho boy
sweetly. That was the right name.—De
troit Free Press.
The Rivals.
"Fred says ho never believes ft word you
say."
"It must be so. lie bos proposed flvo
times."—Life.
His Opportunity.
It sometimes happened during the era of
"reconstruction" in South Carolina that
the quondam slave was promoted above his
former master. So it happened that Pom
pey Smash, a coal black negro, became a
"trial justice."
I was not long before Pompey had a case
before him. When the jury arose and be
gan moving toward the adjoining room for
consultation, one of the lawyers interposed
and said, "May it please your honor, you
have not charged the jury."
Whereupon Judge Pompey gathered up
himself, and with all possible dignity said:
"Gen'menof disjury, as dis is de fust
time I have had yo' befo' me, I cha'ge
each one of yo'one dollah and a half."-
Youth's Companion.
Ills Normal Condition.
The dude had been thrown from hishorso
rad stunned and when he regained con
iciousncss he was quite out of his head for
some days. The third day after the acci
lent a friend met his physician.
"How's Charlie?" he asked.
"Very much better.'*
"Have you got him where he shows signs
of intelligence?"
"Oh, no," was the hopeful answer. "Wo
don't expect to do more than to restore liira
to his normal condition."—Detroit Free
Press.
Very Suspicious.
Friend—Why, Elvira, what's the mat
ter?
j Elvira—Oh, I don't know, only I'm wor
ried to death. I've had the same girl six
weeks, and she doesn't talk about leaving
yet.
"She doesn't?"
"No, not a word. She must be in love
With my husband."—New York Weekly.
At the Fair,
i Attendant—Two dollars, please.
Visitor—What? I haven't been buying a
ibiugl
"No, sir; but you and the ludy have been
standing here just 5W minutes breathing,
ind I've a mortgage on the air for 10 feet
In each direction."—Truth.
None Needed.
lie—Jerusalem! What mode you offer
prizes? They'll costa fortune.
She—Pshaw, wo won't have to get any.
They were to be given to the woman who
lldu't ask what's trumps.—Chicago Inter
Dcenn.
Overheard In a Library.
"Have you a novel called 'Farina'?"
I "I think not; it's a serial, isn't it?"—
Vojjpu.
AN IMPORTANT GATHERING.
Tlio World** Congress of Bankers and Fi
nanciers nt Chicago*
One of the most important of the many
congresses to assemble in Chicago during i
the fair will be the congress of j
bankers and financiers, which will meet !
during the week of J line 19 to 25. The con
gress will be held under the auspices of tlio
American Rank
er s' association
\ ( 1 will bo pre-
A sided over by Ly
(2tUfU. man J. Gage, pres
wjy-fl ident of the First I
/ National bank of
Chicago. While it
can pass no man
opinions in theva
rious discussions
ft'. ■*: .j cannot fail to be
felt in the finan
v ' '< cial centers of the
world, which will i
LYMAN J. GAGE. all be represented
by delegates. Senator Sherman has been
requested to open the congress with an ad- |
dress of welcome to the foreign delegates,
and President Gage will follow him with j
a general address of welcome to all the
delegates present. The delegates from other
countries will then bo introduced to the
congress, and it is expected that each of
them will take advantage of tlio oppor
tunity to enlighten the assemblage upon
the financial system, banking methods and
resources of his own country. Then there
will be papers and addresses upon general
financial and monetary topics and confer
ences of experts in particular branches of
banking and finance.
President Gage has taken a great deal of
interest in the preparations for the con
gress, as ho does in everything else connect
ed with the World's fair, or with Chicago
itself, for that matter. It will be remem
bered that he was the first president of tho
World's fair association, and he is still a
very important member of the directory
and one of the most active promoters of the ;
stupendous enterprise. As a banker and
financier his reputation is worldwide, and
probably no more fitting selection of a pre
siding ofiicer for the monetary congress
could have been made than that of a man
who unites in himself the distinct qualifi
cations of high official connection with
the management of tho fair, prominence as
a citizen of Chicago and pre-eminence in the
banking world.
Mr. Gage lias been connected with the
First National bank of Chicago since 1868,
first as cashier and then as vice president.
He was tho actual executive head of tho
bank for several years before lie was elected
to the presidency, and by tho liberality of
his management greatly strengthened the :
institution's influence. Chicagoans still i
talk of his generous treatment of the bank's
debtors at the time of the great fire, when
a more stringent course on his part would
have driven hundreds of them to the wall.
Mr. Gage is an entertaining speaker, and
his talks on any matter that interests him
are pregnant with thought. He is fond of
discussing economic and social questions, i
and tho breadth of his views is often asur- ,
prise to his auditors, who are apt to forget
that the man who addresses them was not
born to a bank presidency, but knew what
hard manual labor was in tho days of his
early manhood when he came to Chicago
almost penniless and ready to do anything
honorable for his livelihood.
THE ORATOR FROM SANGAMON.
Frank 11. Jones Becomes Postmaster Gen
eral ItissclPs First Assistant.
Frank 11. Jones of Springfield, Ills., who !
succeeds 11. Clay Evans as first assistant
postmaster general, is a native of Illinois i
and was born nt Griggsville, Pike county, j
March 4, 1854. Ills father was George W. I
Jones, clerk of the Illinois appellate court
for the Third district, so ho may be said to j
have been born to the profession of the law J
to which bo Afterward dedicated his life and
S \
'
FRANK n. JONES,
energies. After graduating from Yale in tho
| class of 1875 he immediately began study- j
' ing law, at first in the office of Higbee&
j Wike at Pittsfleld, Ills., and afterward at :
: Columbia law school in New York and |
the Chicago law school, 110 graduated |
j from the latter institution and was ad
mitted to the bar in 1878. lie then located
! at Springfield, where he has since been en- !
j gaged in the practice of his profession, at ,
I which he has been more than ordinarily
successful.
| In 1890 Mr. Jones was elected to tho I Hi- i
nois general assembly from the Springfield i
district, and in the following winter ho
1 took a prominent part in tho protracted
j and bitter contest over tho election of a
I United States senator, which finally result- |
' ed in the selection of General John W. j
Palmer. Mr. Jones made the nominating i
j speech for Senator Palmer at the beginning
of that struggle, and during the weeks that
followed was prominent in the councils of
the "noble 101," as their admirers love to
I call tho men who so long maintained an
I unbroken front in fighting for the man of
! their choice.
I Mr. Jones has won for himself a well de
served reputation as a public speaker, and
I his discourses show great thoughtfulness
, and no small skill in the rhetorical graces.
Ho is prominent in Dehiocratic politics in
i Illinois and is president of tho state league
of Democratic clubs. He was a delegate to
j the last Democratic national convention.
A Pleasant Perfume.
i A great many things have a very gocd
, scent, but Which when placed in a room
i rather overpower one. Some people they
I affect seriously. The most delightful plant
of all perhaps for a room is the common
i sweetbrier. Sweetbrier should ho much
j more generously planted than it is. It pro-
I duces seeds freely—lndeed if gathered in
autumn and sown in any handy pot will
I produce myriads of plants fit for planting
j in any place where we like to enjoy its dell
-1 cat© fragrance ip spring.
GEMS IN VERSE.
A Maiden's Prayer.
j If o'er I'm doomed the marriage chain to wear—
Propitious heaven attend my humble prayerl—
; May the dear man I'm destined to obey
j Still kindly govern with a gentle sway}
May hi: good Hcnse improve my best of thoughts
And with good nature HUiilu on all my faults;
May every virtue his best friendship know
And all vice shun him as his mortal foe;
May I, too, find possessed by the dear youth
The strictest manners and sincerest truth-
Unblemished by Ids character and fame;
May his good actions merit a good name;
I'd have his fortuno easy, but not great.
For troubles often on tho wealthy wait,
Nor life so short that I could never spare
A trifling part to throw away on care,
lie this my fate if e'er I'm made a wife.
Or keep mo happy in a single life.
Tho Calf on the Lawn.
I'm goin to hitch this 'cro young caff out here
in my front lawn;
Ile'll stay right hero an chaw tho grass till tho
hull thing is chawn;
He'll chaw that corner off today until he's et it
bare;
Tomorror I will move his stake, an ho'll chaw
over there.
Looks bad, ycr say, to see a caff out in a man's
front yard
An blattin likou barnyard on this stylish boolo
vard,
But that air caff shall cat that grass until I get
him fat.
An if he fools like blattin, w'y, I reckon he will
blat.
W'en I fust took my farm out here, this wuz a
country road;
Across tho way wuz parstchuro lan, where
huckleberries growed.
My caff wuz then hitched in my yard for tho
hull town's inspection,
An no darn enterprisin dood cum round to
make objection.
Wen this road growed a village street, my caff
•wuz in the yard,
j An now tho street it swells 'ith style—a city
boolovard.
1 But I will hitch this 'ere young caff out hero in
my front lawn;
Ile'll stay right here an chaw the grass till tho
hull thing is chawn.
You say the way I carry on makes tho hull city
j luff.
Waal, let 'em laugh; this 'ore's my lawn, an this
'ore is my caff,
An things hez reached tho purticst paas tlio
worl* hez ever sawn
Ef an 010 duff can't let his caff chaw grass on
hiagnvn lawn.
Waal, let 'em luff; tills 'cro young caff shall stay
hero anyhow.
An If I hear 'eiu luff too hard I'll trot out tho
old cow.
I'll hitch 'cm both to the same stake right hero
in my front lawn
An lot 'em stay an chaw tlio grass till the hull
thing is chawn!
Tenderness.
I Not unto every heart is God's good gift
I Of simple tenderness allowed. Wo meet
With love in many fnsliions when we lift
First to our lips life's waters bitter sweet.
Love comes upon us with resistless power
Of curblesH passion and with headstrong will.
It plays around like April's breeze arul shower.
Or calmly ilows, a rapid stream, and still.
It comes with blessedness unto tlio heart
That welcomes it aright, or—bitter fate—
i It wrings tho bosom with so fierce a smart
, That love, wo cry, isjrruelcr than hate.
And then, uh, mo! whon love has ceased to bless.
Our broken hearts cry out for tenderness!
Wo long for tenderness liko that which hung
About us, lying on our mother's breast—
A selfish feeling, that no pen or tonguo
Can praise aright, since silence sings its best—
A love as fur removed from passion's heat
As from the chillness of its dying ilro—
A love to lean on when the failing feet
Begin to totter and tho eyes to tiro.
In youth's brief hoyday hottest love we seek—
I Tlio reddest rose wo grasp, but when it dies,
j God grant later blossoms, violets meek,
May spring for us beneath life's autumn skies!
God grant that some loving ono bo near to bloss
! Our weary way with simple tendcrnessl
—All tho Year Round.
To Our Baby.
Sweet, blue eyed stranger, who lias found thy
way
Far o'er that vast, unfathomcd, unknown sea
Which separates that world of endless, day
| From this of shades and un reality.
Dost wall because thou art thyself a shade
And Imst tho shallow's portion for thy lot—
To live, to cliaw phantasms till they fade.
And then to die, perchance, and bo forgot?
Wo know, wo old ones who have tried this
climo
And proved tlio baselessness of earthly
things,
That only birth and death are real. What can
time
Yield to us but tho solemn bell that rings
Tho spirit's passing? Ah, but thou dost smile,
And heaven is In thine eyes and on thy face,
Stainless and pure, without deceit or guile!
Thou hast not, then, forgot thy native place?
Thou brlng'st us back to faith, to love, to hope;
Thou givest us new strength to do, to dare;
Thy little feeble hands that aimless grope
Have power to lead earth's strongest here and
there.
But always upward. Ilall, then, blue eyed onol
I We'll care for, toil for, hope for, pray for
thee,
! And, as a flower unfolds beneath the sun,
: Life's mystery unfolding wo shall soe.
—Somerville Journal.
Live as You Ought to Live.
Live as you ought to live—not in seclusion.
Hiding yourself from your friend and your foe,
' Shutting your doors against kindly intrusion.
Shutting your eyes to the evils below.
Live as you ought to live—not In derision.
Scorning your fellows and slighting your
kind,
Only for self making generous provision.
Only to selfish indulgence inclined.
Live as you ought to live—helping your brother
With kindness or charity, as he lias need.
Even the smile that's bestowed on another
In value tho whole of your wealth may ex
ceed.
Live a-s you ought to live, this your endeavor,
To live like a Christian—not worshiping pelf
Nor slighting its uses, remembering ever
That ho is tho lioro who conquers himself.
—New York Ledger.
Arcadia.
There is a land that stretches far away
Through candors of unviolated dreams—
A land that to the vagrant fancy seems
K paradise of sempiternal May,
And it is called Arcadia, they say.
Within its flower fields are quiet streams
And green and cool retreats, and beauty licama
On every side, while pleasure lords tho day.
O lovely land, thou licst far away.
Too far indeed for lagged steps liko mine.
Yet 1 have heard returning travelers say
That on thy frontiers tlioy had marked a sign.
Tolling to each that happiness was his.
Where pain is not, and not where pleasure is.
—Edgar Saltus.
Air Castles.
In morning light they clearly rise.
Flashing in splendor to the skies.
Castles of air though they may be,
They seem liko solid masonry.
Yet when life's closing day comes on,
When much is lost and little won.
When confidence gives way to doubt.
Like dead sea fruit, they're blotted out.
-A. A. IHII.
There are throe things a wise man will not
trust—
The wind, the sunshine of an April day
; And woman's plighted faith.
—Scatter*
[gin Kin I J
Now Is Your Cliance to Buy at j
; PRICES YOU CAN AFFORD. ;
J. P. McDonald
> asks your attention for a few moments in order i
to tell you of the 2
: WONDERFUL - BARGAINS I
„ at Centre and South Streets. |
Furniture and Carpet Sale |
FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS. |
PARLOR SUITS
In all the latest varieties. Built 1
with a view to lightness and dura- 2
" bility, and in all grades and colors <;
of linish. Now is the time to make i
i> your selections. Persons going to 1
>■> housekeeping will find everything J
I tliey want.
CHAMBER SUITS
> In Walnut, Solid Mahogany, Quar- 2
>. tered Oak, Antique Oak, White 2
, Maple, etc., in the latest designs )
j and most artistic finish. SIIiE
BOARDS in large variety. Exten
f sion Tables, Book Cases, Fancy 2
' Chairs and Rockers, OIL and PAS- k
f TEL PAINTINGS. ' 2
r-Carpets^
( In every known design and at remarkably low j
!•' prices. Call and examine our goods at 2
> your leisure, and be convinced 2
; that you can save money 2
y by buying from 2
: J. p. MCDONALD, FREELAND .
IN BEAUTY'S UUISE.
For a moment he stared in dazed wonder
at a pair of- fat cherubs pictured on the
canopy stretched bet\veen the four tall posts
of the old fashioned bedstead on which he
lay. The room was in Bemigloom, but the
cherubs stood out in bold relief from their
white background. Then he looked about
him and endeavored to collect his thoughts.
Eagerly he grojied back after straws that
would direct his puzzled memory, and
presently, his eyes becoming more and
more used to this dim half light, he caught
sight of a red coat, torn and muddy, lying
across the back of a great armchair near
the door. With this there came to him a
vivid recollection of a scene—far off, it
seemed, in the years long gone, sharp,
clear and well defined—a rough stubble
field, over which a score of horses, each
mounted by an enthusiastic huntsman,
are m.ully flying at top of their speed.
Himself in the lead, ho hears the others
following him closely, while just ahead
there is the chorus of the hounds in full
cry, and the fox itself may be seen darting
across the open, not 50 yards in advance of
the foremost of its pursuers.
One hedge more to take, and the hunt
will be over. The brush will be his. It is
but an instant, and he feels the horse be
neath him leave the ground. Up, up, up,
he is going as though he never meant to
stop, and then—a sudden breath taking
plunge forward. Even as he braces him
self for the shock, in less than a heartbeat,
he knews that the brute has stumbled,
that the horse and he are falling together,
and he instinctively struggles to .free him
self from the stirrups. Then darkness,
black as Egypt, and after that—the fnt
cherubs on the canopy of his l>edstead.
The torn, mud spattered red coat on yon
der chair told him that he had been brought
to this room directly from the field, and
with this link forged he began to run along
the chain and to try to read the story of
others. lie wondered JUS to the time that
had elapsed since the accident; whether his
injuries were serious; to whose house he
had been carried; under whose care ho had
been placed. Ho mode an effort to raise
his head to look about him, but as he did
so a sharp pain, excruciating and cruel,
shot through every nerve of his being, and
he cried out in the fierce ageny of the mo
ment.
Then he became conscious that a woman
had risen from a place close by his bedside
and was standing looking down at him
with great, lustrous eyes, in the depths of
which he decried an unspoken passion.
Tall, slender and with a dignity that WJIS
regal, she seemed to him the quintessence
of feminine grace and queenly beauty. Her
face was pale as marble and stern as fate,
but in her wondrous eyes was a longing
that wooed him; that brought his breath
in quick, convulsive gasps; that_made his
heart beat faster, and that spread over the
pallor of his cheeks a flush that burned like
fever. He stretched forth his hand and
cljusped her long, taper fingers and held
them, cool JUS stone, in his feverish grjisp.
When some time Jifter the doctor came in
to rearrange the bandages on his injured
head and found him with his eyes open,
gjizing, a pleased smile on his Hps and his
fingers nervously reaching out for the hand
which hjid suddenly eluded him, the pro
fessional nuin looked grave, and a tear
trembled for a moment on his lashes.
"Doctor," the patient pleaded in a voice
so weak as to be soarcely heard even in the
stillness of this darkened room, "tell me
her name. She is my nurse, is she not?
She will not leave me. Not for a moment, I
Uon'J. laJ. bor cr(\ from "
The doctor, in kindly tone, humored him
JIS best he could.
"She will be with you always," he saidjr
jind then his face grew still more grave, and
other tears followed the first, rolling down
his furrowed cheeks and dropping on the
counterpane.
When at bust the doctor withdrew into
the curtained embrasure of one of the win
dows to Jiwait the end, which now appeared
to him inevitable, she returned and knelt
by the sufferer's bedside, listening eagerly
to the murmured love passages which he
jiddresßed to her, to snatches of amorous
verse aud quotations from the prose senti
mentalists of Jill times and all climes.
"Tell me your name," he urged as he
pressed his lips to her chilled hand aud
stroked her long, shining bljick tresses;
"tell me, that I may rhyme it with tender
words of true love and deepest devotion."
She smiled as she denied him.
"No, no," she said, "do not ask ma It is
because you do not know me that you care
for me."
But her refusal mjido him all the more
eager. His voice had become still weaker,
but in disjointed sentences he continued hia
pleading. His hands were reaching typw
nervously toward her face, which he longed
to caress.
"Come closer," he whispered, "closer—
and tell me—your name—and—that you
love me."
She moved nearer to him, the passion in
her eyes blazing, her thin, cold lips parted.
About his racked and bruised body she
stretched her long white arms, enfolding
him in her strong embrace. Her mouth
was close to his.
"I love you," she said, and the word*
sounded to him like the sweetest music.
"I love you," she repejited, and her lips
were on his.
His frame quivered under the fury of hex
caress. His breast expanded with a long,
deep dmwn breath.
"And my name," she went on Jis she
cljisped him still more closely hi her loug,
ravenous arms, "and my name is"
The doctor finished the sentence. Th
deep drawn breast had reached his listen
ing ears. He had risen from his place in the
curtained embnisure and had approached
the bed.
"Death 1" he said.—Allegorist in Town
Topics.
The Death of a IluraorUt.
Artemus Ward died not many months
after his London debut, attended to the last
by Tom Robertson. A strong attachment
had sprung up between them, and the de
votion of his new found English friend was
touching in the extreme and characteristic
of Robertson's noble nature. Just before
Ward's death Robertson poured out some
medicine in a glass and offered it to his
friend. Ward said, "My dear Tom, I can't
take that drejidful stuff!" "Come, come,"
said Robertson, urging him to swallow the
nauseous drug, "there's a dear fellow! Do
now, for my sake; you know I would do
anything for you." "Would you?" said
Ward feebly, stretching out his hand to
grasp bis friend's, perhaps for the hist time.
"I would indeed!" said Robertson. "Then
you take it," said Ward. The humorist
passed away but a few hours afterward.—
"Life of T. W. Robertson-Pemberton."
Remarkable Foresight.
Old Friend (to a grief stricken widow)—]
hope my dear old friend Junker wag fully
prepared to go?
Widow (with her handkerchief to hex
tyes)—Fully prepared? Yes, indeed] ]] f
fcras insured in half a dozen compgjLg,-.
i Exchange.
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