Evening Star Newspaper, May 11, 1878, Page 3

* Aud the rush of the rain from the skies? ‘S STORY. 1 I'm here in the such how sombre the room had & I know bs the grasp of your lind the things that you Waut (o say, But I'd rather you shouldn't say them—at least till anther ¢ Yes, Will, he bas gone at last. My darling is really AIL Jha left 1m the workd, and I haven't a tear to Give me gone arm there's the moon there, fall Let uswaik aad taik for @ lttle—maybe tten give Tie €ase. remember his mother? Y: it sane @ petticr wom a must often T higher her Yet only a vilage month of M ; nor one that beanty, with cheeks like the for her dress, and a father to give ber h y Phi tp was comely and tall, but I was richer than she liked Phtitp the best, and some- tim tired to Hike mie She played fast and leose with us both, as only these } ig things can Whe fan: ¥ no sport so well as to toy with the heart of a man, Wel! Will, without bonnet or shawi she came to my house one nigh’ Said she had broken ‘with Philip, and if I would | be have her I micht. Shall Lever forget that moment, when, shaking in | every limb, I seemed to hear music about me more solemn and Sweet than a hymn’? ‘We were married within the month, and Philip had gone away— a jer man than I never looked on the ligh- of I whistled from morning tonight, and was blithe ‘a8 a bird on the wing. Ab lad! that a strong man’s soul shoald hang on so weak a thing! I don’t remember exactly when first I notice! the C re But I know that soon something strack me as not like herself, and strange, Her dimpies were not so deep, nor so round her little ehin, Aad her eyes grew brighter and brighter as her cheeks seemed hollowing in, fhe watched my every turn with her large blue _istral eyes, Ast hing to say—she was full Sick for a sight of the old folks > mill, But she wouldn't go near her mother, and that mate me uneasy, Wi Sle fretted adea’ at last born wasn't strong’ But like | that Twas. I didn’t think what nd the child when *twas fares upon her in the beech-copse she la: ha letter rom Philip ..... r home from sea, he came just a lave binding her bed, and the May rose inte bloom, When I beard he was back in the village. ‘Twas ele se On the evening gloom, 1 had opened the churehyard gate, with an armful of Hla flowers ‘To deck ou! her grave a little (not green yet in spite 8). of the shower: When I paused without dropping the latch, for ng there Puilip wa~ stan With his arms hanging down at his sides, and his lips on the work as iu prayer. J was srry for him, right sorry—he was so stricken and wan: His face when he titted it up was the face of an a man: The look that he gay: 1ass out of my si But I couldn't give try as I might vhen he saw me will never ight, im my‘hand, Will, Icon Un’t, So you sve I was left with the baby. Could you think such a little boy €ovld g-ow all the world to me, my all of sorrow or mine—don‘t smile, lad— fed. he fell asleep every night by but d fe And watehed bim his eradle- bed. 1 carried him in my arms, and played with his euriy hair, His eyes. the picture of hers, were sometimes hard to bear: But l grew a better man, Will, than ever before I een. With her baby’ bey to live for and her grave to keep neat and green, Tis wonderful. Wil). these children, how soon they cone te know ! It didn“t seem avy time before he could laugh and crow chont bis little arms when he saw me ng nigh— ‘The best child ever born—and never the one to cry! Fometimes 1 used to lift thehem of h's bahy clochas Aud burse bis tiny feet, piukish-whiie, lke a wild And wonder through what rough paths they would tread in the years t- come— Ididn*t thipk then they‘d be taking the safest and Taree years old when he died! and just beginning Topratiie to Rover and me, and toddle about in the nat It makes yon som Tight after all, When the we.ds are left to flourish, and the blos- eoms ary made to fall, jmes doubt If things are s» You've some of your own at home—you'd like to see him maylie? 1¢ ean only dy you good, Will, to think upon bim and me! You'li feei the goodness of God as you never felt it kefore When the young ones hear your footsteps, and rush to the eottage-door! Do yos hear that moaning ne in the yard. 1'@.a mind to shoot him this morn, and yet ‘twould se? It's Rover down be rather hard; ‘The boy was fond othe dog, and the poor brute serm> to kn Being old, ana searcely able te crawl, he missesmy daring so! ‘That's bis hat on the peg, and yonder his poor lit- te toys— | It grieves me above a bit that I've ever been vexed at the neise— Now Id give worlds to hear it, even though it were ter more— D ©, Will! how my heart sinks down as wecome near the bedroom door! There he Jies in bis cot, so quiet and happy and Re looks inore like his mother than ever Isaw him, What a seifish fool am 1, to regret that he’s gone fom here, asmile, lad? and that's better Yor hasn't his face sure thana tear Death is sweeter than life, and slumber is sweeter than pain, “Tis such a hard fight, old man, and we have so Mitle to gain! Who knows what ‘he might have com to had he lived to be old as If life is a good thing, W 1, “tis a better thiag not to be ‘Those snowdrops he picked himself that he holdsin | his tiny hai 1 Now he gathers the flowers of Paradise as clothed in White wings he stan?s In the Garden of God.. oking upward to thethrone of evernal grace, With the light of ineffable love streaming down on the hush of bis face. pu thiuk he remembers? of has he forgot- ‘alt? 4 crippled and blind, who always limped up at his call; ‘Phe pipe of the early thrushes, the bloom on the ‘orchard trees, My face. that his eyes were fixed on when I took Bim tv die on my Kaces? © Gos: let bim not forget me! Let him still re- mem’ er aud walt And wate with a wisthul lon, hen the Felden nad onew eer oeee ‘Watch with a w stful longing till he sees me enter ny Pure as'a little child, and free forever from sin! But the house, Will, the lonely acres, the poor little empty cha r, ‘Ihe p cture books unopened, the silence upon the ‘stolr? How shai I listen o” nights to the moan of win. son the nulle = ~ bow E shal: miss bim, Will! Goa: (Florence K. Berger, in Temple Bar. ee W RAT SMOKING DOES For Bors.—A certain doctor, struck with the urge number of boys under lifteen years of age whom he observed smoking, was led to inquire into the effect the habit had upon the general health. He took for his purpose thirty-eight boys, aged from nine to fifteen, and carefully examined them: in twenty-seven of them he discovered inju- rieus traces of the habit. In twenty-two here were various disorders of the circulation ave digestion, palpitation of the heart, anda more or less marked taste for strong ‘drink. in twelve there was frequent bleeding of the nese, ten had disturbed sleep and twelve had slight ulceration of the mucous membrane of the mouth, which disappeared on ceasing from he use of tobaceo for some days. The doctor treated them all for weakness, but with little effect until the smoking was discontinued, When health and strength were soon restored. Now, this is no “old wife’s tale,” as these facts are given on the authority of the British Medical Journal, WuHeEs Mr. Billony went home yesterday and saw a handsome bouquet reposing on one of the parlor chairs, he mentally observed that it was ashame to let such beautiful flowers Ne there to wither; so he took them up tender ly, procured a basin of water and placed them carefully thereiu—and the same instant his wMe gave a piercing shriek and fainted dead aay Po Lp late. Mrs. Billony’s new mnet was — spring ie utterly ruined. A ROMANCE BY RUM-LIGHT. | ' If I were to say that we hoped to light be, dona } whole of Harris with the blaze of that plum. | pudding which we more preparing, to do honor toour English guest, John Brokenshire, I | should be indulging in one of those figures of | speech which, poet as I I think should be | used rather in verse than in prose. But No- emie, the children, aud Ihid resolved that there should be enough rum roand that pu 2 ding to remind our English friend in no dub- | lous fashion of Christmas in his own insular | | home. Noémie had spent two days in com. | | bining the ingredients, the mber and | ess whereof made our Fren@ mints | i vl as a piciuce ty see | den spoon in one hand and a cist in the other, asking hersetf whether after ali she had not forgotten soinet wth t the disn wh: yimen Ik 1 by Tia dif ious to sell off a’ variegated stuck, a willing, bythe same occasion, todo a good turn to his friends, the Doctor and the chemist. Pudding, thongh, formed but one feature in our preparations, for Thad raasacksd the books that treat of English customs, and hat John Brokenshire would feel un Welcome un.ess we all kissed him und | braneh of Druidical mistletoe, and encoura odo the same by us. So mistletoe haag a hook in the ceiling. Tuen the side- rd was graced by six bottles of Bri ad with litte red pyramids ot to be touched with a prir of tongs | for the erus’s and cobwebs on them, and three more of of a | not UNCON viv e Oport 1 wine when capped with go'd- leaf, and bearing the Dake de M ntebello’s carte blanche mark to guarantee its being made of the full white grape that grows on the sunny slopes near Rheims. Meanwhile, an odor of soup an roasting me from the little kitchen, where Nocmie had just enough room to move about among her ruddy saucepans and white dishes, with her sleeves rolled up to her shapely elbows, and her cheeks pink from the glow of the stove-range. The two children, Victor and Louisette, sat each ona stool making thein- selves useful. Victor was scraping a trufil+ of pungent perfume; Louisette was cutting | out one of those paper frills that are fastened Rara'by, on the hot platera ng-dish ‘was hissing vespers ntivelyin his own juice, pending the when ¢ should be laid upon his Supreme bed of a uce. he bye, looking to the goose's may hot his career ou earth ribed in the Words of my brother poet, ce, as wh ovo usque ad inala? I beg yout aia e'e Leblane was not my wife, nor was Ther children’s uncle—only iheir godfather. We clubbed much together, for weail lived on the fiith floor of one of those big Parisian houses whose roofs seems to reach up to the skies whenever the weather is misty, and east shadows right aeross the street when the sun The lowermost story was y | a printing office, where Noéini | asa reader to two ne can, the other Royalist—which were ste off by the same presses and published w one Foof, though their principles differed fire and water. Her work oceupied her du twelve hours of every day; and while was punctuating the articles that were to ia- strnet our countrymen ia the principles en gendered by the I of revolution ‘My door remuned sittinginmya an eye on the ch ned | open that they might run across the landing | from their apartment to mine. Waat games they ha If they were not up to some pis o! mischief that kept the whole upper part of the house in an uproar, they ered that they were playing. One of their ta- Voriie amusements was to fieh syme damp clay from a neighboring scu'ptor’s studio, | to Make expleding paneakes. Having ‘flit. tened out the lay tothe size of a enee se} we dle tuey iin) ressed a little holiow in the m with the thumb, then threw the pancake wien force ou the floor. The sudden compres of air in the hoilow caused it to explode wi a hois ¢ the eruplionof a gasomete: Was a delightful spoct. . Victor was seven, and Loulsette s nn h {t were ood ¢h and merry voices— chin, much sted to spoiling in the carpenter's shop next door onthe pre. tense of iea homery she a with gay es, already versed in the wiles of her sex for getiing What she wanted, even when it might not be emvenient to tet her have the same. The pair went to the communal school every morning with Kn. sou their backs full of b batter:and if my door tsof woud yhole. At four | her think that wa ferge Was at eek with bees From four to seven, when their mother ‘ather fired of her proof-correet. e Supper ready, I had’ Victor and isette all to myself, or, fospeak more truly, they had me allto them. ‘Many are the poetle ie i have nipped short by : hide-and-seek’ behind my bed, and | drageing me into their game by the coat-tails when I immersed in that difficult task of | finding Ty mes—as jaborious often as fisting for pearls. ie 1havé io'd you thatI am a post. I write | \ verses that are widely read an. pondered over by thoughtful minds: but, unlike my‘counury- man Victor Hugo, | atiune my lyre to sing the products of man’s industry rather than t! works of Nature, which may be, have panegy. rists enough. I indite versified advertise- ments for pushing firms, whose names cover large spaces in the outer sheets of newspapers and I excel, so they say, in the ornate descrip. tion of articles suitable for human attire, chiefly feminine. Ihave tarned sonsets upon | bonnets, but am not above rhyming toa pill or anickle. One of the most faneled things | that ever flowed from Cf en was a little epi- | gram in four lines, which the purchaser, a hair-dresser, ambttiously gave out as his own, | and caused to be stuck on allthe pomatum | pots that left his. shop. The best of this sort of work is that it keeps a man in beefsteaks, | which the bigher sorts of epies do not, so far | as my experience of them gogs; but th? more | important point to me was that, by picking up alittle more prt than was essential to my reeds, I was enabled to assiss my neighdor Noémie Lebiane in bringing up the children, her own slender earnings belug much | tailed by the suins which sh: | eve: r-day to her absent husband Where had he deserted | her? Had he ymany husbands vone away tl hopes of ing a ome to nothing, and fall back on his wife's w do, with gran whieh had all him to Jules Li | Caledon . ; 7 ‘He had got mixed up in the doings of the Commune, and had been sentenced to trans. | portation for life, though a milder man thin he, and one less disposed to upset existing ar- rahgements fr the government of mankittd, I never saw. Talk to him of charters and bar- ricades, why he could not so much as under- stand what was the use of the vote which the Constitution had conferred on him, and he would have given it to the first canvasser as readily asa sou toa beggar. But Jules wasa humorist; and in that droll, honest head of his nature had implanted a gift for carrica- ture, which served him to sketch you off a Cabinet Minister with a monkey’s tail, or a Cardinal with longears,in notime, He called this mere fun, and thought he was only doing a laughable thing when he stopped. io Paris during the civil war and brought out a comic Paper, which contained twice a week a colored cartoon of one of the Generals or Royalist statesmen of the Versailles party. Fun in- deed! when the Generals got hold of him they showed him what fun was. He would have been shot but for Noémie’s throwing herself at the feet of some man in authority who had Just influence enough to get the sentence com- muted into one of tation. We were d to be content with that. One weary ry Summer day Noemie traveled down to Toulon with the two children (the one a baby in arms then, the other atoddling mite not two yearsold) to see Jules a last time before he sailed in the convict ship. I think I can see that day now. The sun was baking hot, and the streets of Toulon were hardly fit for a dog to cross. Jules passed along the port amid a large gang all handcuffed and guarded by soldiers with fixed bayonets; and Noémie could do no more than wave her handkerchief to him from adis‘ance. He answered by kiss- ing his fettered hands once. twice, and smiling to exhort her to keep up her spirits for the children’s sake. Noémie, half distracted, made another effort to get near him, but there was a crowd of other wives and’ mothers around her, all sobbing and the Police were obliged to furee them kK. So Jules disap- peared, stepping onto the gangway that led to the ugly black transport, where he was to be cooped up forfour months wih felons and murderers, and with some convicts, maybe. as innocent as himself. John Brokenshire, the Englishman, had come down to Toulon about acontract for sup- plying this very transport with tinned meat. le was standing by when Noéinie swooned. Catching her in his arms he bore her to the nearest wineshop, and when she had come to herself he swore one of those curt oaths Ko liar to his shy secs, wowing that it would be ~ of his objects in life thenceforth to procu e | of the printer's works, and Barbelard, the | brogue of Mars | man of incontine plied with news from her husband,and Jules with letters and remittances from Noémie. There never was such a man for knowing peo- le. Being constantiy on the move, hiving uusiness connections everywhere, 1 caring whether he comproinised himse our Freneh laws had no ho'd on him, Brokensbire found it easy euoagh to smug: letters in and out of the penal fancied at first it would be easy to obta pardon too by pulling the proper wire: this he was mistaken. er the wii rusty or he had not got hold oi the right ones. Our government does not so readily lose m+n at whose opinions it has taken fright. Tne Englishman’s ill-success mile him fret and abuse the political ferocity of Frenchmen with ali the vigor of that liberalism whic the banksof the Thames; spised nor suffered us todo so: and we k ve that, wherever he went and whateve- he diu, he bore Jules Leblane in mind. If he was buying wine Bordeaux merchant he would mention the exile’s case between two tastes of samples; le be: ential siik merchants, importers of Brit euth offee brokers and indigo salesmen. t al! the particulars of the poor carica. offence and its mitigating ciream y heart, and spoke of them to journ- ‘ians whom he metin his trav- els, yy widening every day the circle of those who kaew something about poor Jules and nittied hin. Thatis how John Brokenshire came to be our fend. That is why every Christmay Day, since that year when Noemie had been widowed by decree of a court-martial, he was the chie guest at a banquet which we prepared of such deiieacies as he loved; and seasoned frank French welcome. That is why we were expecting him with our goose, our mistletoe, our pudding, and our homely’ wishes, on the oceasion of which Iam now writing—which was last Christmas Day. IL. “yes voici! Here they come!” exclaimed little Victor, clapping his hands as the first ascending sieps of our guests were heard on the siair-case; and Louisette, bravely tricked out in a Seottish tartan dress, witha Royal Stuart sash, clung to her mother’s gown, and alf hid herself behind it, with one finger in nouth—making believe to be timid, the y puss,as if ever little French girls had really wanted for assurance. i was six o'clock. The room was lit, the cloth laid, and Noémie stood ready to receive her visitors by the crackling fire of pear-wood logs. How pretty she losked! How sweeay sad and gentle in her black silk dress, and the small cap that covered her glossy chestnut hair! e was but twenty-seven then, and grief had not aged her—it had only thrown a wistful look into her blue eyes, and subdued her manner to a quietness like that of a nurse inasick-room, For the sake of her children. who could not remember their father, she had been obliged to maintain an outward serenit more heroieal than sorrow; and had foreed herself always to smile in their presence, that tueir young hearts might not be molded to a melaneholy which would change to moroseness hen they grew older. Only those who knew wemie as Ldid guessed how her wifely heart a hed with nope long deferred. How she couid wo.k so exactly as she did at her correction of proots—ever missing a stray comma, nor an ‘Lplaced. circumflex, aud amending even g ammatical errors in the neatest of hands— Wistom:a mystery, Grattelot, the forem: 2 1b- editor of one of the two Republican ‘journals on Whi-h Noemie was employed, were as much uzzed as T; but they had ended by conciud- Ing that Madame Lebiane was of a philosopuic urn, a master-woman, who thought that ¢ ng spoiled the e Tuey and their wives were to be our guests on this evening. By the hearty way in which they entered, snitfing our ose and glaucing at our bottles, it Was evi y did not consider they were in- bode of sorrow. iu Delard, their spouses, and John Brokenshire formed the total of our expected company—that is, including Noémie, the child- dren, aud self, nike of us, the number of the Muses, were to sit down to table. Neither attelot, Barbelard, nor their wives, re- minded me of the Muses though. The printer's foreman was a little swarthy fellow who had a Rabela jd spoke with the richest es. He used z's for js, and pronounced 0 as ou. Out of his experience in the print-shop he had picked up anodd jum- ble of education and a standing grievance against all literary men, whom he accused ot never measuring their productions to ihe re: quirements of new e eared no’ i le or logic; * viaptabil ay;and his universal test of m:rit iil this article run to more ov less ana column and Tf it ran te more the writer wa n his mind i i f to less he her 2 “tte because theic lines and did capitalty as padding: and of course he gave the palin of poetry to bards who ald pot wrie in Alex ua drines. He often told me that he preferred an ode of mine to the finest idyl by M. F Coppée; and | felt much flattered by the eom pliment till I diseovered it was owing soiely t ly fondness for ‘ joa, uot t the subject-maiter of my odes, whiea Gra -e lot never read. Barbelard, the sub-editor, was another lite- rary curiosity, for he could only read with lif ulty, and Spelled no word in our langaag + correctly save his own name. He hal beer appointed sub-editor by reason of his gigaa i: stature and his powers with all dueling wsap ous. An old Sergeant of the Cent Gardes,wh had been decorated for carrying off two Aus trian Colonels prisoners (oné under each a: im) in the Italian war, he stood six French feet in his socks, and had a pair of bristling red mus- taches, which, when he was angry, loo! as if they were aflame. It was Barbelard w'to as- sumed the responsibility of all the una’ ign*d articles in the aepubl ican Journal which em perms him; and if any stranger came to ask ‘or explanations about personalities, this im- posing sub-editor was there to answer him in he correctest language of chivalry. He ten- dered no apologies or explanatious, but would forthwith be ready to accept a challenge to fight next morning, early, with swords oF. pls- tols, according as might be most convenient, This often led to little dialogues, somewhat in the following fashion; STRANGER (bouncing in furiously, with the offending journal in his hand)—Sir, | waut to see the man who wrote this article. BARBELARD (rising with dignity from th: sub-editoria’ sea’, with @ pipe in his moauth)— Young man, it’s me as wrote that article. I! you want to objectionize, name your friends, and we'll have it out at daybreak. STRANGER (growing civil.\—Ah no * * * Ihave merely come to renew my subscription tothe paper. * * * Whata warm day is is. 7 ,) * Goo-o-d morning. * * (and exit. Sometimes, however, a duel would arise, and then Barbelard always showed himseif mag- nvanimous in inflicting only flesh wounds—just mere flea bites, as he ealied them, ripping up the arm for twelve inches or so, or carrying olf an insignificant little piece from the aggres- sor's calf. Barbelard had fought around dozen of duels; but he owed another duty to his newspaper besides fighting, for he appeared in the correctional courts to answer all cha ‘ges of attacking the Government, and underwent the sentences of imprisoment to which mem bers of the staff were goudemned. He had come ,to look pon the jail of Ste. Pélagie much asa second home, and was never sorry to go there for a few months, for he got doubie pay, unlimited allowance of tobacco, and ex- cellent meals sent in daily from the restaurani at the expense of his employers so long as his incarceration lasted. jadame Barbelard, a little black haired woman with despocic eyes, used emeotoontely to remark that she was al- ways more pleased to see her husband in pris- on out of it,for she knew then that he was not in mischief—risking his life in mortal com- bat, or drinking more absinthe than was good path im at ive rate Fitson life xa such = saving, for she could go every day to sit with Barbelard from ten to six, take her meals with him, and economize thereby the cost of marketing and kitchen fuel. She had an opin- ral Governments, aserlbiug their ess in sending journalists to prison stinginess with the public purse. ed out that on this Chrismas Day when he came to dine with us, honest Barbeiard had one of his periodical scores of durance to wipe off,for his first remark to us,wuen he had shaken hands with Noémie and kissed the children, wag about going to Ste. Pélagie on the morrow. “Three months for writing disre- spectful of the Senate,” he said in his dry bass voice, and casting a sidelong fiance of autici- pation at the chifonniers where the bottles stood. “Yes, three whole months,” exciaimed li tle Madame Barbelard in glee. “I had some hopes it might have been six, fer then we cou'd nave saved up enough to buy that pretty vila at Suresnes, on which I have set my heat.” “We'll make up for it a taking three more months in the Summer, if all goes well, my dear,” said Barbelard, good uuuoredly ; “100 much off the reel isi ood ; 0.1€ lik -8 to get outand breathe the air now and then.” “Ah, that’s just it; and then hatfuls of francs are spent in billiards and little glasse, with your friends!” responded Madame Barb3- lard. fartty. “Think of what nice tulags we mighvdo if you remained for a whole twelve months under lock and Key!” “I wonder why they never send printers’ foremen to prison,” said Madame Graitelot, foe depy She was an Alsatian dame, veiy leshy and frugal, and talked with that grind- trasburg accent, which used to make .s Frenchmen laugh ‘ill all the sturdy men ard ules Leblane’s pardon. panelan Srakenaalre was d meen with'a coll re le of the beggin; le never gushed ie sentiment, as we sort. Frenchmen do; and he seldom made promises, tthem. He redeemed but when he did he ke ‘ance more largely than his pledge in. this in: could have been expected, seeing that his ds had been spoken under the influence of 4@-The proprietor of a shooti pity, which. salal hoes: pues Reaver avenue yenteraay tried to Snnot ay el pity, bs He bare - of a boy’s mouth. The bullet pas-e1 jut. alas! it is not much that a commerei: throngh the boy's nose. The indications are | irene can effect, even one oe ret le o ow that the boy nose it was loaded. —[ Pitts. | John BI This much only could our rg Leader. | Englishman do, and did—He kept ‘sup- ing women of our falrest Rhemish province pass d urder the Prussian yoke. “Lieber Himmel. * continued she, “what would 1 not give to see Sesostris in prison for a year, that we might save a little money in these not-to-be-equaled- for-hardness times !”" Sesostris was Grattelot, and he laughed: “Softiv, Mamma Gredell—if I were sent to prison thou wouldest save nothing, for I shculd have to go there at_my own cost. The go d times 2 ,Were imprisoned went awa! pire. ‘I wish the Empire would come back ‘han,” declared Madame Grattelot. “There should be sympathy for him of influ. , q equal privileges for all; if a sub-editor goes (a prison, a printer should be allowed to go 00. At this Madame Barbelard fired up, for she hehe a stickler about her hnsband’s’ peroga- tives. et, Madame, a sub-editor rans for he has to draw the sword © observed, with a touch of as Madame, but Sesostris would ed were.” retorted tie Alsatian E ‘wad ali T say is Hat it's hard that all the en. ied Mt shoule go to one set of par- ties, when there’s room enough in those pris ons for other parties if th choose to make better law: Noemie diverted the course of this d It was her nature T have seeaher i uusband Weni awa: 7 Who were quarreling about 3. thelic art, by setung a jugof beer ia their midst, She did something of the sort now by bringing out a decanter of kirsche and some liqueur glasses to wet our appetites. ne eee 2: eS a ba like a camel's jump in size, and were riding cock-horse on it. “The two lady guests, possi- ly struck of a sudden by the incongruity of ting the delights of imprisonment in the ring of Noémie, who was pining after her captive husband, fell to conversing with their hostess on the more congenial topie of child- ren’s garments. Grattelot, pleasantly inh ving the odors of good phings that came from the kitchen, took his stand by the mantel-shelf and talked to me about my ed and ‘‘handy’ verses. He was delighted with a recent soa- net of mine on anewly-invented bootjack. The half after six struck from the steeple of | @ neighboring church. It was at that hour | Jonn Brokenshire was due :and he never came late, for he regulated every movement of his by a powerful chronometer that told the day of the week and month, and eyen the changes of the moon. The children pricked up their ears. “L'Ami Brokenshire” was to ihem the very incarnation of Father Christmas, for he never failed to come with parcels of toys under his arms, and bags of sugar-plums in. his pocket. Was he going to be Jate this year, just for once? No, here he came. Those were his well-known strides on the stairease, clearing four steps at atime, like a giraife racing up-hill. One step more, e Would be het “Le voici!” cried little Victor and his sister, jumping off Barbelard’s Knee with a loud | Glowing. and off they rushed into the passage. Another minute, and John Brokenshire, cels,.Wraps, comforter, and. all, was standing under the mistletoe to be hugged and kissed. We all Kissed him, men and women, as the fashion is in our country; and [promise you N. émie Leblane’s salute not the. last hearty, though she did make a Ifttle sisterly | 1 Uushing about it. | MI. | Imagine the lankiest of men, with eh>k- | bones the hus of red currant jelly, al 1. | ored beard flowing over his waist tweed say delved absut with deep boo fore and af’, and there you have John shire as he ‘appeaied every day in the year; add a little Og that hung about his h: and the bluish end of his nose, a smile that displayed his long yellow a Whole game a” dominoes ev ored by lot 13e, nd you Will have hin as he showed himseit | on this. particu i mis fes- oecasion of Christ tadie Pal n lodging. Christmas was his one day of rest in the year, if rest it can be called ‘o break fst with an uncle in the suburbs at eight, to attend Divine service in the B itish eh L after tha: to luneh with a mat to wind up with a thiee hours’ ra toy shops to bargain for the best for alegion of juvenile friends at But this way rest to John Brokensh paratively: speaking. for mostly huiry to catch express trains. Christmas was. the one day ou which he did no traveling but hat which was done for his own pleasure, and he maintenance of affectionate rela'ions with his kKinsfolds and intances. When he vame to dine on th th of December with Noemie Le e might be sure that he the whole evening to himself, and between the roast and sweets, as in to do if invited on any other other month in the year. “Mong Dew, mes Amis, quel plitseer detre y peu tronquee!!” exclaimed this worthy n, drawing a fifteen-bladed knife of his score of pocke: id beginning to eut he strings of his various parce nly to from one Government only | | had drunk, said nothing, but began ladling ont the smokin soup with tranquil acquiescence ; and sat down, the over his knee: we al ‘oglishman laying his napkin while we three Frenchmen | tucked ours under our chins, Frenchwise. Inoticed that John Brokenshire had made | no remark about Noémie’s husband, and she had done no more than | silent interro nis dip into it lovingly of their own the children had. no ap} 3, e SUS, every moment that delayed thi back to their pi ith these t Brokenshire’s frienéship. uestios hi tion of her blue eyes. She knew with a flavored with leeks, and the spoons seemed to accord. hier 4 being too muc! and grudging em trom going okens of John So this dinnerof ours proceeded. And ah! my friends, how I wisi 1 had the pen of those | eminent gastronomists, MM. E eekmann-Cha- trian, to describe to you what effect that suc- culent array of dishes had on our jovial minds. None other but the chroniclers of so many | brawny feasts in the hard-eating Phalsburg could do justice to | figure which the roast | him. His flesh was so the tongue. Nor must it be for | had drink ‘enough to defy ind yellow ale in; and ages. ture fetch the puadiug. It was then I uncorked the ch: tles and filled the glasses for a hostess. We always began the length, |, ughing and shutting ed the sprig of holly ckle. Tne children wds, and Barbelard, exhilar: siiou ed “ Vive U country round the splendid ‘oose cut in his dish, stuffed as he was with chestnuts and trufiles, and glistening with the sheenest gravy. A ring ef well-browned sausages surrounded plump that the knife sliced deep into it, and the mouthfuls which you ate with the apple-sauce seemed to melt on iten that we stion. The f England sparkled ia our glasses with its white wig of froth, and our own red vin de Graye, so petulant and mirth-compell- twinkled like molten rubies. Grattelot Barbelard drank a bottle apiece, polished off a third between them. gnawed the drumsticks, which they held in their fingers like persons who are not ashamed to show they are enjoying themselves; and buxom Madame Grattelot said all this re- minded her of Alsace. John Brokenshire stuck tohis beer, and made havoc among the saus- At last we had enough of it, not that we were tiredin mind, but because physical Na- ‘aid “hold! Noémie helped to clear away the plates, and the servant wench went out to and then Their wives ampagne bot- toast’ to our th that, and fol- lowed it with one to John Brokenshire, in those long glasses of the old fashion, that ‘show off | bubbles better than the modern top-heay bowls, At this moment the maid marched in with the pudding, which she held at arms’ her eyes. She had set fire to it in the kitchen, and the flames, leapi p in forked tongues of blue, red, and on the top and clapped their d by what h Anileterre There never was sucha joyous evenia John Brokenshiie, however, held up a finger to enjoin silence a » bur with a womal al hidden.” d ietr—one moment Brok nd he \ooked acro: tome. “ Poet, what did you si it's a tiilor whom I wish t “T have the verses he: said orders.” “Sor wanted,” on the tab-ec! rhyme to‘b acking’ when your running on ‘eau-de-Cologne.” tailor’s name? jake.s, an En, France. Fill.up th it will sean. If not, contrive “Itwilt sean,” said 1 “Well then, read o1 od plan. times inspiration dest 0 begeed shire. “ This is no co all listen. Iwas ick by John Broken: one of greater gra seemed to call for. Jorte, and 1 would sto N well si ity than the ¢ have ¢! ally poetr tion o! tery, and was not the nature of a public performa ihe readir song; and ere is the think ! pas de voyage until four fifteen ty-mor- pW norhing. when Em off fur Lyous! Mou ur Barbelard, you seem to me fresh and | tle: I've brought you a pair of furred slip- | pers to wear in prison.” “Thank you, Monsieur John,” laughed the , iall sub-editor, “You seem gay enough too: | ess is prospe rus. T hop Brokensh| ess is so-so,” said John are limes, ‘in this country of y when money ean be hauled in witi thers When it has to be angied fos, vin, With a fish-took. It depends which are Shifty things every wher “Polittes comes of newspapers.” rem irked Grattelot: “if people would read more books and fewer journals, it would be beiter for trade.” ot for my trade,” said Barbelard, Anishing is Kirsch. “Here's to the spread of journal isin! “Oh! you—you'd like to be setting pecple by the ears all the year round: but they'll lock you uj days, for longér than you like one of these * ejaculated the fleshy Madame Gratte- “No, Madame, they won’t lock him up for longer than he likes ; he'll retire from the busi ness if he sees any signs of that,” retorted Madame Barbelard. They were at it again, but John Brokenshire checked them: “Hullo, you were wrangling over that question last year, and the year be- fore,” said he. “I shall be thinking myself at Versailles, among the Deputies, if you don’t mind. ButI tell you what, I am hungry, and ‘the sooner we sit down the better.” “There’s that goose in the kitchen squealin; to be dished, my dear Noémie,” remarke Grattelot, with an enjoyable whitt. “Ab, yes; and, Noémie, mon onfang—don't serve up the pudding ina soup-tureen, as_you «did a year or two ago,” prayed John Broken- shire with a wink. Noémie laughed at this reminder of a by- gone failure in preparing the national English dish. She tried to lend a helping hand to the xervant-maid, who had been hired for the evening from the Rotisseur's over the way; and meanwhile our commercial friend laid out ali the presents he had brought. No one had been forgotten. No one—for the Gratte- lois and Barbelards were o'd cronies of Bro- kenshire—and it was not in his naiure to per- petrate slips of memory. The sub-editor got his furred slippers; the printer’s foreman a meerschaum pipe with a pound of Latakieh, bought while selling a stock of rifles to the Twiks in Asia Minor: Madame Barbelard had a Norwich shawl that looked like cashmere; Madame Grattelot had a piece of Lyon silk that looked like what it was—first-rate su and nocheating about the dye. Thencame the turn of the chidren to be helped out of one of those wonderous toy-boxes which our Parisian \oy-shops send out to develop the in- stinets of luxury in the minds of Freneh in- . Victor was presented with a set of ar- Uiculated soldiers, who made a mimic war in ‘dboard fort ;and little Louisetie endered happy with a silk-clad doll that S eyes and say “Mama,” like a very small child with a stomach-ache. I wish Icculd add the names of a number of gaudy children’s books, illustrated by my sprightly ftiiends, MM. Bertall and Grévin; but Chad searcely time to examine these treasures then, for John Brokenshire thrust something into amy own hands—a Russian leather purse, and a pretty full one too. As he did so, he told me that he had been successful in disposing of a whole sheaf of my verses. aa was gratefn) news that made me red- e “And I've orders for a lot more, friend Poet,” said he, closing that fearful knife of his wihasnap. “. ubdlican at Nice wants you to recommend his fried fish, and a pastry-cook at Aries has a notion that youcan make his cream-tarts popular.” “stick to the six-foot verses, Poet—there’s nothing like them for printers,” observed Grattelot. who was sucking at the amber mouthpiece of his pie. “Aud then there’s a fellow at Carcassonne ing to set up some cheap baths,” continued rokenshire, consulting a list. “As this is the first time the people in those parts have seen a bath-house, they may poke fun at the innova- tion unless the inventor can put the laughters ou his side by something smart in the way of an evigram, which he will print on his pros- pect “I'll do my best,” said I, thinking of a rhyme for soap and water. “But stop a bit; this isn’t all,” said John Brokenshire, in that smileless way he hid when giving a serious order that he meant tu be executed with care and dispateh. ‘I must bespeak some of your best quality verses for a tailor. This in an extra important case. Do Xu. think you could sa: something nice and ‘ind about breeches and waistcoats!” “I happen to have hate of tatloring verses ready-made, and only waiting to be filled out with the purchaser's name,” answering I, fora- gngin my e!-book. S “As good as I can write, I think; but I'll t betters it needful. sia cf “All right, then,”.said the Englishman ; “but | br Stay—we'll hear your verses by and by; now thetime tor Giuner—and eres N oemle's pres- nm.” Saying this, he laid a small square the side of N. éinte’s plate. Sae had parcel by just en- te &, pic ceding the seivant wench who bore the soup- uren, but when she would have stre ched forth her hand, smiling, to look at the present, Brukeushire restrained her, “No, my dear, not now. When the plum pudding comes on, there’s a flash of blue-light to cheer ‘7 Ilis will was law on these occasions. If he had told us all to kneel of a rowand guess con- nundrums we would have done it. Nocmie So 4 | a then. But are they of your best prem 1 hardly tell you it was Kenshire has sine his own tongue an it with affection hearted clot respect r whose wares it some verses suitable to a tailor drawing out Reading aloud is not g myself in my best company it read. reneh, but John e translated it for me iven ita title. Idedicate Mind you, ase and honor? I. “Lkeep a stock o! them ready, in case of gecting sudden said our commereial fiend. Vtcome when explained, smoothing out my veises th. ‘You may be asked to thoughts are Wiat’s your a peneil, John Broken- ninon matter, and we'll shire’s tone— cireumstanuces passed on my Noémie, who had a sweet musical ted to bring out the beauties of But she was laboring under the emo- they suspect some mys- n the mood for anything i ngin So I did sing- need it nee. to the noble- lebrates : A PAYMENT IN RHYME. On a Summers morning early, when the grass with dew ni sighbor: And the merning sun rose higher, a forage buyer And he asked th kK: him twelve and six, fences jointed, And an apple-loft of timber, and prick; When the notes were duly posted, farmer boasted. cost him twelve and six, hen the clouds at noon grew thi W ook a fi i dinner, strong and sturdy And his breeks were worth him twelve and six, though you bait with sticks,’ And he cag it some goody dishes o! him twelve and six, ‘When the sun had finished setting, our tea was gettin, in the twilight, That his breeks were worth a gi cost him twelve and six, And Lita cigarito, for no fair one Be And as home I slowly wandered, I dered, cost but twelve and six. courage failed mes But he smiled, and then I knew i | of Old Nick’s: | ‘*Iom the ghost of William Jaker, mous breeches-ma And ny wares are w you twelve and six.” I finished reading, and gazed talents in the family circle, and cluded ; ments from all save Grattlelot, lyrics. “Tf you write such lon might just as well be sententiously. “Hush!” “exclaimed John “Hand over the paper to glad to tor, don Jaker is verse: “Ah!” ejaculat Barbelard. le was one stormed the Malakoff Tower; a yet “ And he shaves his master ev said John Brokenshire. puzzled. Noémie, teeted some meaning in the changed color. yor see,” continued ing the leaping. ‘You k thowing seed on geod ground.” “And breathless. earn se shire." He dear, he did,” said (not from his labor, but he said, authors do when they have been a! me, Poet. Rive it. gratis (though it will be fear*) when you learn that William a man who makes breeches for the President of the Republic's favorite valet.” Madame Grattelot, ad- miringly. “An old soldier—I knew him,” chimed in of those who ya Hed upon a farmer ‘who Was feading little Good and there came stalwart farmer for the prices en, and the last year’s ere worth a guinea, but had cost ‘Then a builder, as appointed, came to speak of a cattle-shed of then again the That his breeks were worth a guinea, and had inner, then we took a frugal And the farmer's buxom daughter did a glass of mix; And her father, Waxing wordy, said his legs were a guinea, but had cost To the fish-pond then we seuntered, where I often the vaunt heard, ** When wheat’s in bloom the tench will rise, al- yf the little silver shes; And his breeks were worth a guinea, but had cost and the spouse He took a pair of candies and put matches to their wicks And the swallows on the skylight were remarking uinea, and had putsa rate Cn the act, since my affections on myself Alone 1 enviously pon- Would my brecks were worth a guinea, and bad In wy sleep a vision hailed me, and at first my it Was no courier , England's fa- r, th’a guinea, but shall cost at any plate as iring thei: know that the applause will exceed their dues. “Bravo!” cried the whole table, children in- and there was a chorus of compli- who deplored that I had abandoned the safe path of six-foot Ss as those, you loing prose,” said he Brokenshire. You'll be aid but he wears black breeches and a white choker now, like ery morning,” 1 bowed my acknowledgments, but looked uicker, as women are, de- phrase, and “Consequently, Wililam Jaker has influence, John Brokenshire, shak- pudding-dish to make the flames go on now servants have often more power than Cabinet Ministers. So when I got ialking to William Jaker about poor Jules Leblane’s case, I knew that if he re- peated the thing to the Marshal, he would be did he repeat it?” asked Noémie, John Broken- repeated it while he was plying his lather, and while the Marshal had a nap. kin round his neck so that he couldn't bus a Ach licber Himmel!—the bras did an: Grattelot, ‘* Well, Noémie may open her ered the Englishman, : we all asked, ve man. And uything come of it?” asked Madame Parcel now,” excited, as Noemie, with trembiing fingers, unloosed the ny “It contains dear,” said John Brokenshire. | the pudding!"—[ The your husband’s don, m) “And nowlo Magazine. PN eal aol for in kind—superfine and & perfect te Boston Journal says it is only with- ina year net @ Northern man aa-Mrs. nee Jayne, te has been abie feel socially at home in the South. & daughter of the late Dr. Ja: of it medicine fame, a . me obtained a divored in Batadeipiiarcne came: to have a separate her husband. She of $18,000 a bout having | ways, and that there was nothing to be got | | | guinea, and they cost me | A CHINAMAN AT A MASQUERADE. (From the Virginia (Nev.) Euterprise, Night betore last, on the occasion of the Turn Verein masquerade, a carriage called at a house in the southern part of the town. The | driver rapped at the front door and said he | had called for the youn, ; to the bali. He was told that he must have | mistaken the house, but he insisted that he Seen eeee eee mortage ume: For | The master of the house is. something of | | we In ours. It was the richest bect broih. | 20Ker. He went into the kitehen and told his | | hinaman thathe was to goto the ball and Bele. about the supper at a carriage was Waiting to take him to the place, and if he did ee work well, he would get $5 for his night's The eyes of the Celestial fairly sparkled with delight: He donned his best ‘bine frock and rimless cap and left the house at once, When he approached the carriage the eyes of the driver expanded wildly, but he opened the car. riage door and politely assisted the supposed masker into it, then drove off, thiuking What a stunner he had inside. Presently the carriage stopped at another house and took ina “gorilla” and a“ Piute squaw.” The Chinaman was a good deal | alarmed at the sight of these, and fired off a string of his native lingo, winding up with. “What for you come in here? You tink m flaid? You no makee me flaid—dam foolee!” The gorilla rowled fiercely, and the Piute squaw Said, “ Fou one heap big Shinaman, bet y You talk um pooty good. John fumed and fretied about having the queer creatures in the vehicle with him, fre quenty. poking out his head, and i the driver to stop and put them o: which the goriila growled, and the squaw aughed heartily. ‘You your life.” said the driver to himself, “she’s the chief! | If she don’t carry off that gold watch, then the fel erent give out the first prize are regular idiots!" Finally Cooper's Hall was reached, and the Chinaman, being assisted to alight, followed the others into the ball. The driver was so picored with the manner in which this you ng lady played her part that he was detern tosee more of her. He got a bro*her whip to look out for his team a momeut. and entered the hall with the new arrivals. When they reached the examining commit- tee the “gor! and “squaw” made it right at once by giving their names. When asked his name the Chinaman said: “Quen Sing.” j “Yes, we know,” said the commietee ; “but your right vame! We must kuow the right nan-e ofevery peison we admit.” “What for Lou talkee mame?” Me tellee you me name Qi Sing. Come, no foolee; me | was hee dish, tixee supper! “ Really you must give us your true name. It is a rule'we can't— “Its Miss whispered the driver to the deorkeeper, “and, oh, she's a Let her right in; she'll fool ‘em all. Ah! ch!™ said the doorkeeper, and John marched right along in, Once he was iuside the fearful things that | met his gaze nearly frightened him out of his | i hing but the bh f getting his $ his st i His tright- (good one! | the d to see more of y him out. | “Me wantee go kiichen, cookee supper— fixee table. | “ Here is tle way to the kitchen! “Crazy Ja “and she pil his feet. y! "cried “ Little Bo- Peep, here with the sheep.” Join was pulled and hauled in all directions, “down even by the other Chinamen, who gabbied at him ina language he did not understand. He clam: for the kitehen, and called every- damn foolee,” causing immense fun on unt of his inimitable naturalness. To please him to have fun below, the “Queen of Spades” and the “Brewer's Daugh ter” escorted John to the lower hail,where the supper was being prepared. Here'he caused rears of laughter by insisting upon being shown wheie he was to begin to work and by making frequent mention of the “fife dolla” he Was to receive. The madder John got, the more fun he made. Finally, to the surprise of all, he made a break for the door, knocking over the of Spade: his flight, and sped a: 3 a lady that Was to go | @Ua!ltY sre equal t any in market, | Ninth street. | and materials, | Slat very attractive prices ____ LADIES” GOODS. GPECIAL CARD. ji have on hand and am stil! recetvi German, and Engish GOODS Thatta orice m . adies’ and Misses: Corsets, Underclotting Gamad Underwear and Children's Dresses T Invite apeciat attention, Corsets to onder and perfect ft ensured. ANNIE K. HUMPHREY, 430 Tenth street northwest, N.B.— French, German and Spanish spoken. oS" M™E: dP aVEUING OPERA HaTs TS at $12 and $15, former prices $20 and $25 also wishes to Inform her cus omers ai the ladies in gen-ral that all orders for ete. gant Parisian Dressmakine sent to 83 North Charles st.. Baltimore. and 939 Peansyivania ave- nue. Was ti be promptly attended to, A perfect nteed. may6-tr $$ RS. J. P. PALMER, No. 1107 F street, Between Lith and 12th streets, Having just returned from New York, will oN Tew en On MONDAY, May 6, an elegant FRENCH MONTURES and ROSES, OSTRICH FEATH BS and POM PONS, A 3 TWO-TONED REVERSIBLE SATIN RIB- 2, BOSS, in new summer tints; el erican LES, English and = cy Straw BONNETS and HATS, Misses and chil- dren*s Fancy SAILORS and horn HATS. ‘pecial attention given to orders, NEW stock or PARASOLS, With Fancy Handles, $1.00, $1 25, $1.80, $1.75, IvoRY Hanbtas? sppecarsaboss PEARL INLAID HANDLES, (o Plato and Twilhed Ik Ts ieber Inches, 22 inches, 24 Inches, at ~~ C. M. TUWSON & 00'S, 636 Pennsyleani: my6-tr ia avenue, _my4-tr South Side, M® » HUNT, 1 and 623 Distreet. Chip, Leghorn and strat Bon Nets aul styles and wie ana 2% boxes FRENCH FLOWERS, just received, SATINS. nogram KID GLOVES, Lisle Thread G LOV ES, for ladies and misses, Ladies are requested to examine before - dice arereq © before purchas. Mrs. M. J. HUNT, D°'érass Ninth street. Summer Merino UNDERWEA, For Ladies’, Misses and Children, New Stock just received, And prices very low, | Look at our new Grecian CORSET, Our Own Make, DOUGLASS», ay20-tr Ninth St., St.Cloud Building. « SYELLIAN has this year made a specialty READY-MADE DRESSES, and is now constantly receiving invoices of Tourist and other Suite in all the desirable suede Sirect from his house in Paris, ALSO, A choice line of Silk and Cashmere Mantil rer ircalans, Linen Darts, Maat and cat . Undergarments, J. B. P. Corsets, and new and exclusive designs in s ZOD8 and FINE WONNETS. MILLINERY Gt DRESS TRIMMIN 907 PEN NSY x _7 Cite Trevise, Paris. a eth GPECIAL NOTICE. LADIES FINE BOOTS for 8} wear wir make for sale st very reasonable aged or! JAS. H. VERMILY. 610 9th darkness, regardless of the doorkee _ Ladies Boots ana Oces eee he ee: ens Those who witnessed John’s departure sup. | = . = antler posed that he had only returned to the upper | YRS. SELMA RUPPERT, hall, and said, “Such a make-up and such act- | 4 614 OTH STREET, ing is astounding! I" wonder how: sh - | OrPostTe PATENT OFFICR, ages to Keep up the Chinese exp) Il. | Has just opened a large and select assortment ot on SOW And the color, too. It must be she has a r | ber mask. The wonderful Chinaman was much sought for when it came te could nowhere be found. He had wen tne gold watch, bui didn’t know it, for he was down in Chinatown trying to get himself drunk by smoking cpium, Which he coulde’t do on ac count of the great number a: eth of the Mongolian oaths he was swe Mrs. Clutter’s House. kK over e tiger, people, Mis. Clutter’s tig rugs, I demand t in blind subjecti their houses preposterous curiosity Mrs. Clutter’s house, and not your ideal 2 true example of t prevailing rage. e has shut out all the light from her windows with horse-hair curtains an inch thick, which once | would not have been thought good enough for horse-blankets. She has laid down her floors in many-colored rugs so thickly that one might think himself in a carpet-dealer’s warerooms ; and the visitor must be wary or he'll be trip. d up by them atevery step, She has covered her walls with gorgeous jugs, bowls, jars, urns, vases, of every conceivable variety, in which for the most part ingenuity in the w: of ugly design has done its worst. She has | hung screens in her doorways, and cabinets overher mantels. She has mounted old brass | fire-dogs over her book-shelves, and planted emblazoned shields of metal over her door- | lintels. She has bought all the old worm-eaten | | furniture she could find, and asks you to sit on chairs that were made for mankind before Dlackbones were discovered. She has turned the gas qut of the house, and illuminated it with painted cendles. She goes to bed witha Roman candlestick, sleeps under a Moorish Tug, eats off of cracked china discovered in the Marblehead fisherman's cottage. wears a medieval gown that is all straight lines; and she talks all day of Medicean porcelain, of Ro- man amphore and Eiruscan vases ; of gres de Frandre, Dutch delft, and Raffaeliesque and ica; of Palissy and Henri Deux, of Chinese celes! 1 blue and crackle, of Ja- anese c'oisonn Satsuma, and Hispano. loresque, of sand pate-sur-pate, of Chippendale and Eastlake furniture, of Queen Anne and Renaissance and Marie Antoinette, and so on ad inginitum, witha skill at quoting catalegues and runvi nd off names that is amazing. Is thisatrue house, thatis made up of curious trifles from the shops—that is simply a chaos of colors, knick-knacks, and all forms of fantastic foolishness? Are there breadth, humanity, heart, life, dignity, intel- lect, felicity, in this jumble of mis named art? Unless art broadens the imagination and stirs the faculties, there is no excuse for its being; but the art that Mrs. Clutter is prostrate be- fore dwarfs the imagination, narrows the in- tellect,and impoverishes the whole nature. She has no sympathy with men and women; itis all absorbed by her teacups and saucers. She has no perceptions of life except asa, sur. render of the mind to her paltry toys, and she is more concerned in the downfall of a cracked plate than in the wars and calamities that afflict the world outside of her bazar. Her children are hidden away in nurseries: he dares not permit them to ring their active bodies and restless spirits into her rooms, lest they knock down her glass screens or break her precious jai |ppletons’ Journal. Frisco’s COMMUNIST. versation Between a Labor Agitator and an Archbishop.—Mr. Kearney, leader of the San Francisco bvige ere, mtr itation, headed a deputation a fortnight ago to the Roman Cath. olic arehbishop, when, to the San isco News Letter, that prelate thus re- plied with Placid _urbanity to an excited ha- rangue: “Mr. Kearney, I understand that you wish me to mind my own business. Ver food: perhaps you know what my business is tter than Ido. But, Mr. Kearney, there {s only one gentiemau who is at present author- i to show me how to mii and that is the Pope of Rome. rl a Mr. Kearney, ou Will write to him he will transfer that power to you. And now Jet me tell you a little story, Mr. Kearney. I have lived ‘here a many years, and I know the temper of the people of Califernia pee well; and along time ago, before — ad Come to America, I went to bed one night leaving everything going on in the city as usual. Well, Mr. Kearney, after a comfort- able night's rest, I arose and looked out of the window, and there in the street was a poor a Baneing by his —_ ite dead, sus- ni rom a lamp post.’ He was a poor Fellow who did not know how to mind h's own business, Mr. Kearney, and that was ail. | vou mind ect, hn well, = Kearney, an mine. Good morning.” i deputation. ” THE Race hester crat, formed feats of row- le world knows nothing with crews of four in a few extra strokes, epever the fancy takes INFANTS’ AND CHILDREN’S LACE C and BONNETS, BOBES, Nias varding the prizes, but | LONG AND SHORT DRESSES, And all kinds of CHILDREN’S FURNISHING GOODS. Novelties in Lisle Thread GLOVES, Black 8! MITTS, LAC ACE GOODS and PMENOIDS “RIES, SILK and WOKSTED FRINGES tn all che newest styles. CHILDREN'S LACK CAPS wade to orter. maras-tr EMOREST PATTERNS, all the new ay! Diitne reired by wh waite O0., Hook: Fa 01 5 scllers ana ners, street n. w. ois GPEING FATTERNS REC Ls ———____~___, imp’ ha 09 making from Latest Parisian 8tyles,—8, T, Taylor's Pattesns and Journals of Fashion. MESSER, Pleating and Fringing. 8.4. tnartbecgin Fis penn BOOTS AND SHOES. = Wome 'S LASTING BUSHINS, 40, and 50: up Women’s Kid and Grain Slap Ties, 5, ‘7Bc. and $1, Ladies’ Newport Ties and Button, $1, $1.25 and uy Misses’ Button Newports, 75c, and $1. Won.en’s Lasting Gaiters, 75, 85c. Si and up. Misses’ Slipy .. 62, 75. 85e. le grpgmen’s and Misses" Fox Gaiters, $1, $1.95 and Men's Oxford Foxed Ties. $1: 108, Men’s Stran and Buckle PAT agiiissee’ and Boys" School Bhoes (all 1 aR Children’s School Shoes (all leather), 62, 7c, and $1. Intante, Shove, from 48; upwards, @e-Pair Justh’s rotectors given away ‘With every pair shoes sold, at - J. W. SELBY'S, 1914-1916 Pennsylvania ave, my0-tr between 19th and 20:h sts. EW YORK SHOE STURE, THE ACKNOWL (the latest iren’s all sty! Hand Stitched Oxford Ties. S8SS SAsssss: Calf-Btitched Low-quarters. 2 Gent's French Caif Hand-stitched Ti 4 Gent's Solid Leather Lo’ 1 Gent's Congress Gaiters. 6 erytbing as represented. One Price, GEORGE McCARTHY. OSTON SHOE AUCTION HOUSE. SIGN OF THE RED FLAG, 491 Pennsyleania Avenus, BETWEEN 4)§ AND 6TH BIREETS. CHEAPEST HOUSE ad SIDE OF, GREAT REDUCTION IN NEWGOOD!I ri “Wo Branch Btore.”* my7 St Bonetee "epble Goods, Lasting and Foxed Button Boots from $1 60 to$3. EVERY ARTICLE BOLD AS ADVERTISED, I will sell for the next 80 lower tas RY clos Seats BET tree nome. can made, hand. Low — Ties and Pare Gath 2 ne tatoos Eee ‘chor wellknown manutscturere, at? A "* THE BOSTON SHOE AUCTION HOUSE, my7-tr 491 Penn’a avenue. FB BANKRUPT MANUFACTUR- ERS, $20,000 WORTH OF GAITBRS, TIBS AND SLIPPERS, ‘To Be Sold Without Reserve, By LOUIS HEILBRUN, 08 SEVENTE STREET. Bion of “That Old Woman of Mins.” ‘THE STOCK Consists OF THE BEST MAKES, ALL WIDTHS AND MISSES FRENCH KID, and Foxed Button, Congress, Lace ea | GENTS and Hand sewed Button. Congres. Ties. Ofice and Work CHILDS: sll-colors of Button, Lace and Buckle P.8.—Price lista to be had gratis at store. 985-t ~t