Evening Star Newspaper, October 15, 1881, Page 6

FASHION WRINKLES. THE FALL OPENINGS. Frost and fall fashions go together. THE openings have been well attended this Bright weather. Wort fastens his long winter cloaks with @laborate frogs and cords. Lose tan-colored gloves are still worn with ‘white opera or evening toilets. G11, pearl, steel and mock-ruby buckles are ail fashionably worn on dresses and hats. Tue advertisements in THe Star of the dry goods and millinery houses are very attractive. A Fancy batton of enamel and gold is in the shape ofa camel, and a new bounet ornament is @ goiden and bronze wish-bone. Suort princess dresses are worn upon the street, but are so covered with innumerable shirrings, sashes and other drapings as to quite disguise the original shape of this simple dress. Tue handsomest fringes for evening are very deep, beaded by a crystal tinted net-work the color of the toilette. A beautiful evening dress of salmon satin and moire silk was recently im- ported, with a erystal fringe in salmon beads over twelve inches deep edging the basque. Pale pink and bine-crystal fringes are sold for Tose-pmk and sky-blue dresses. Tuexe is a special fancy just now for fresh water pearls. These are found inthe pond and Fiver mussels, which school children throughout the country often amuse themselyes in catching. forever eying they are edible clams. Fresh water pearls pave been used in jewelry but a few years, thouzh perfect speciinens of fine Tuster are as valuable as oyster pearls. ‘Tne latest fancy in coiffures isto form a por- tion of the hair intoa French twist, and upon the crown of the head and on each side of this TRAVELER'S TALE. IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. Three days ago I returned to my cottage, after nearly twelve months’ absence in Eastern Europe. It is a quaint and sunny—and damp— as always; the memorials of distant travel whereof you have heard so much welcome me home; the roses mm my conservatory are as thick and as fragrant as cver. Time has flown u pleasantly with home and owner, heap of letters on my table there more than I have reached the age when death becomes familiar, a visitant who sweeps round closer and closer, in a beat ever narrowing—striking here and there more rapidly and more nearly until one’s selfisstrack. Four intimate friends have joined the majority since I left home; one, an old school-fellow, who had neyer, I believe, visited more distant parts than France or Italy; the second, a French journalist, whose facile suc- cess proved his ruin; the third, an officer of Rajah Brooke, who died in the Red Sea on his way home; the fourth, a South African tarmer, wine-grower, digger, veterinary surgeon—the best and the happiest of men, He, his wife, and one of their children perished of fever within forty-eight hours. His Executor writes to me of some business settled feats ago; but my friend was never careful of his papers. We called him Swelly Dave upon “the Fields.” where I first made his acquaintance. His real name matters to no one; let us suppose it Davies. Every one liked and admired when they knew him; but in that rough place he had an up-hill road to popularity, for Dave was con- sumed by an instinct and a genius for dress. At all times he could display a white shirt and a stiff collar. This neatness was not a hereditary attribute, I imagine. He confessed that his father had been a country vet. and that he him- self had been educated for that modest profes- sion. He had learned something of the busi- twist to arrange the rest of the hair in Japanese knots run through with jewelled pins. Low in the neck. behind each ‘ear, are three or four zephyr curls about four inches long. These curis, however, are often omitted in dressing the hair in this style. Roi pe Rowe collars and deep cuffs made of @ark colored or black feathers are novel and stylish. A handsome set is made of raven's feathers, with a band of deep red and black mottled feathers placed around the edge for a border. Another set is made of dark peacock- green feathers laid closely one over the other, with a border of peacock’s eyes cut out around the edges into sharp points. Wort is represented by a robe of royal pur- Ple velvet, with overdress formed of sash dra- peries, arranged in folds across the front, over sides and on the train, of golden-hued eatin, elaborately decorated with raised pansies of pur- ple velvet, with richly celored hearts. The edge of skirt is finished with puffs and frills of cream lace and bows and knots of gold satin ribbon. Also in a walking costume of plush, with, over- drapery covered with peacock’s eyes. The up- per garment is a long coat, with wide backs of Plush, garnished with very large and handsome steel buttons. Tue very fashionable “Newmarket” coat is made exactly like an ulster in front witn long slashed coat-tails in the back resembling a frock coat. They are worn very long, so as to com- pletely cover the figure. ‘*Noah’s Ark coats” is another Enzli: name given to these comfort- able and stylish wraps. The long skirts are lined with silk: they are “tailor made,” and handsome large buttons with many rows of machine stitching form the only trimming. The flaps over the hips cover no pockets. Upon some of them, however, is seena tiny breast pocket, and very small handkerchiefs, often of white silk with tartan borders, thrust therem. Favorite walking dresses for the street this fall are of datk ruvy or hunter’s green vigogne or flannel, with short skirt plaited perpendicu- larly, and coachman’s redingote or Grecian tunic and marquise coat with cutaway front and ‘vest, pockets and pelerine of velvet cr plush of acolor to match. To this is added a Tyrolean Pessant’s hat of French felt, with soft, farry order, and trimmed with long ostrich plumes. Carlisie caps are also worn, made of mottled feathers and adorned with the wing or head of ebrizht bird. A Byron collar of French linen @mbroidered_in the corners, and a fine linen handkerchief with ruby or deep green border completes the tout ensemble. Some Firry Lapres, more or less, were en- gazed in trying on hats and bonnets at openings last week, and thus gave expression to their ; ideas :—Charming! lovely! sweet! showy! fan- tastic! Frenchy! immense! outre! antique! fas- terrific! horrid! picturesque! ugly! ! sublime! artistic! modest! ssthetic ! beeoming! large! small! odd! pretty! stylish! rakish! unique! too too! queer! won- derful! a delicious confection! characteristic! ! hightoned! thin! positively intense! ut- terly utter! jolly! and strikingly nobby! and with this knowledge of the numerous shapes and effects one need only have a little additional information upon the manner of garnishing to become thoroughly posted in matters of milli- nery. but the sin of unsophisticated minds will find the fact dificult to realize that in a stock recently examined no two were trimmed exactly alike, nor were they in the same colors mor combi ns. A New Yorx firm have introduced a new feature in dressmaking—in corsages with num- bers of seams stitched on the outside, the edges being turned in and overlaid. as in the seams of zentlemen’s kid gloves. The skirts of dresses in front are iaid in folds or pleats, stitched on each side, and are allowed to fall loose at or near the bottom of skirts, thereby giving fulness to the ruffle that finishes them. As in an evening robe of bine satin and brocade, the corsage and overdress, also train, are of a serge-faced tfabrie, embossed with large velvet flowers in a darker blue than the ground. The es are composed of satin and lace, and the powpadour front of corsage is filled in with the Tieh lace. The underskirt is of blue satin in moonlicht biue, with pleats an inch and a half wide stitched from waist line down to rnffle, which is formed by the fullness of the discon- tinued pleats. This ruitle is sealloped and edged with lace. A panier of plain blue satin is draped over the hips and finishes a peculiar and pretty toilette. are conspicuously ——_<e-—_____ The Anthor of “Unele Remus.” Joel Chandier Harris, inventor of the immor- tal “Une Remus,” is described by the wander- ing southern correspondence of the Boston Post as a very odd genius indeed; reaily the picture seems like caricature, but'as Walter H. Page puts his name to it, it must be more or less true. He discovered that in Atlanta they knew | him only as ‘Joe Harris.” and visiting the Con- | stitution office, Page found “a dingy-looking in- dividual apparently at sea in an ocean of ex- changes,” whom he gives in detail as follows: “A little man, just turned 31, I believe, with red, ankempt hair, a fiery, half vicious mus- tache, a freckled face and freckled hands, with a receding chin; and there is nothing especially heat or striking about him—what strange hab- itations does genius choose among men! His eyes are all that belong to Joel C. Harris; all other things, hair, complexion, hands, chin, manner and clothes are the property of Joel Harris. Genius has laid no claim to these very commonplace things. His eyes look straight forward at a man or a subject and have the power of twinkling most La searing b at whatever is humorous. He can’t laugh a horse laugh, out a little guggling laughter shakes the ness evidently, when his oo death gave him a very little fortune. is he spent quite quietly and respectably, satisfied with the present and the future of humanity when his trousers fitted and their pockets helda shiliing for a flower. Itwas not the dear old fellow’s nature to run into debt. He reckoned up his waning cash with jealous integrity, and when it had ebbed to a certain point he paid his tailor, packed his wardrobe, and sailed for the Cape. There he practiced as a vet. until the discovery of diamonds attracted him to Dutoitspan. He was lucky from the outset, and as he neither drank nor gambled beyond moderation, Dave was soon enabled to indulge his one extrava- gance. I found him established at Benning and Martin’s “Hotel” on my arrival, a tall you fellow, with sleepy brown eyes, fair hair an Tmustache. We did not grow intimate for a lon, while, since his —- a that ae ae gushing. I have m ly one European e world who could sit still and keep silence as he could. On a shady bench outside the hotel door he would gaze dreamy at nothing from din- ner-time till dusk. His pleasant smile was ready for an acquaintance, and his few words shrewd and purposeful enough, but he felt no need of a companion. At the rade diggers resented alike the collars and the quiet, but when they found that this spick and span lounger was ready with his fists in a challenge— though he nearly always got the worst of an encounter—they ted him. The incident which brought me into closer re- lationship with Dave took place after I had left Benning and Martin’s to live on Bultfontein Hill. Let it be confessed at once that I have made a coherent story out of facts which could be, and were, summarized in two or three para- graphs of the “Diamond Fields News;” but the facts are perfectly true and notorious. If I transcribe those paragraphs you would cry out for detail and explanation; you would want to know more of the human beings concerned. Until this sad news reached me I could not have Satisfied you without an unpardonable breach of friendship. But all are gone now who were interested in those strange events, and when memory stirs my imagination there is no need to resist. - It was in the latter end of 1872. One mo I descended Bultfontein Hill to inspect th market. Half a dozen wagons arrived stood round the square, heavy boers and ragged followers of the camp were transferring the come to Fae bles, yet ue 2 au parallelogram, porters of the municipality, working inside this barrier, sorted and arranged the various “‘lots”—fruit, tobacco, vegetables, biltongue, and other products of the Free State and the Transvaal. The market master, note- book in hand, strode to and fro upon the tables, entering, cataloguing, swearing, and stamping. At a distance stood a crowd of digeers, waiting to buy their stock of necessaries before descend- ing to the claims. Few of them had washed; water was threepence a bucket—salt at that, and “fetch it yourself.” A grimy throng they were, therefore, in patched clothes trom which the color had de . #7 with dust, scarred with old wounds and boils, red-eyed and blink- ing, and disfigured by huge blue’ spectacles of | P’ the roughest make. They leaned on spades, and picks, and “sorting-boards.” smoking rank tobacco and shouting rough a. Crossing the open space I met Swelly Dave, absorbed in contemplation of a sack of or- anges. ‘Have you been on the scoop?” I cried, taking hisarm. ‘Your necktie is crooked, and your collar broken.” “Don't, old fellow,” he answered. “Louey has hada bad night,'and they say there is no hope.” His eyes were brimming, his voice hoarse. Ihadheard of this poor girl, who was the beauty of Dutoitspan in days before my arrival. For two months past she had been wasting with fever, caused rather by foul smelis, heat, worry of flies, and bad food, than by disease. It was no secret that Dave loved her, but the girl was young and willful, too giddy; and too much courted to heed his rather shy devotion. “She_is dying of thirst,” continued Daye, “and the brackish water makes her sick. Every day for a week I have come to find oranges, but none arrived. The child shall have as many as tie carry to-day ifI pay a pound apiece for em.” I do not remember what theycost; but it was aprice to startle the most reckless spend-thrift; for other sick there were upon the Fields, and other devoted friends. We filled the sack which Dave had brought, and at his request I accom- — him to the wretched dwelling where Louey Parsons lay, with her father and sister. It stood in the worst part of the camp, where the irresponsible Kafir ignored the sanitary commission. Theair was sickly with a smell of garbage rotti vii open holes. Frowsy dig- gers, walking froma drunken s} , blinked at the sunshine, and coughed till they choked at the door of foul canteens. Shouting black men went by in gangs, some to work, others, their term of service ended, trooping toward the veldt. Two in three of them carried a gun, the product of their wages; and all had a bundle of miscellaneous loot. They bade farewell to dis- tant comrades in a cup very musical, but very melancholy. and peculiarly distressing, as we knew, to invalids. eer bad quarter fora sick person,” I “You should visit it at night,” Davean- swered bitterly. “I tell you, Parsons has killed my girlin sheer and obstinacy. Heaven knows how they have lived for the last few weeks! Parsons’ claim is no good, and he'll not take help. And so little Loo is dying!” Before a small frame house, patched, sat a gray old man ing. His face did not preposess me; but so white it was with yesterday's dust that we could scarcel; the features. His shirt-sleeves, rolled ly trace houlder, displayed only skin and 1 He el 5 only i and muscle. He watched’ us approach with dry and swollen e Oraee teal oe oranges to-day,” sald Dave. little chin when the eyes twinkle; and thus in some poor way the irrepressible humor of the soul, that itself has such a comical — for its dwelling place, finds expression.” . Page proceeds with biography, thus: “Uncle Re mmus” frequently speaks of ‘Putmon’ county, ‘whar ole Missus and Miss Sallie lib.” It was in Putnam county, Ga., that Mr. Harris was born—a backwouds region. What he learned for the first dozen years of his life probably amounts to little, except the characters, the humor and the dialect of the old plantations. No one could write ‘Uncle Remus’ who had to go to work to learn the character or the dialect. Harris learned it as Uncle Kemus himself learned it. Like all southern children who lived on a plantation, his early associates, play- mates and slaves—they were ail these—were Begro children. I had Mr. Harris’ own word for it, that he can think in the negro dialect. He could translate even Emgrson, perhaps Bronson Alcott, into it, as well as he can tell the ad com paragraphs In type, as A. Ward and Mark Twaln did: tight or ton yours 2 on the Savanuah News, and in that city married s French wife, brought dowry of worth and love but not of money,” and in the course of timeseveral bright chil For five years he has been an editor of the At. Janta Constitution, the writer of its minor edi- chronicier orials and the of plantation folk-lore. —o—_____ : Somebody went to a music room while he was out and put a cat steel And of course the cat complained and said: “Goodness, “Can I see Miss Clara?” “‘Loney’s awake,” was the short reply; and the old man rose from his seat of mud, shoul- dered his pick and shovel, and strode off. Daye called softly at the ragged door: “ Miss shall I come in?” “Come in, Dave! Come in, you silly old man!” cried a thin but cheerful voice. He tumed to me with hope shiningin his es. That's 1” he whispered. After a moment Dave called me, and I en- tered. There is no occasion to describe my visit.. The child bad no notion of her doom. She inthe miserable bed, supported derly by sister, and ate the oranges with eagerness. The color to her wasted face, and her big eyes sparkled as she laughed with Dave. But iatwo or three minutes the light faded suddenly, and Clara dismissed us. erward Louey died. a the camp attended her funeral—every one wl had known the bright and laughter-loving little maid. grief was altogether silent and re- strained. True to his insti no oul England. The events that follow were told me by a friend, who regardeg soph ramos I myself did. I put his narrative the first person for conve- nience. grievances Inst authority. That was an agi- tated time. “Nothing had been settled as yet, beyond the transfer of Griqualand to the pernene a ire. The ees might, , be bullied or persuad any action. eee She el —, — ee nightly for the purpose of trying It 01 rsons became a leading orator at these [legge ane seditious nonsense from market table. Nor did the surviving daughter much Impress me, said my imformant. Beauty she had, be- yond doubt, of a higher class, I should fancy, than those young charms which fascinated poor Swelly Dave. Her features were delicate and high-bred, her eyes full of life, but, I thought, hard. One could not mistake her neat, upright little figure at any distance, I recognized it in the main street one day, asI drove from New Rush home. Miss Parsons had been shopping, and I over- took her Michaelis’ store. Many a stalwart young digger, trudging dirty from the claims Sith bis spade upon his shoulder, gave me a Jealous glance as he dived out of sight between the buts, “So Dave is coming back?” I said as we strolled along. “I didn’t know,” she answered coolly. ‘He makes a mistake.’ The diggings are not what they were.” “ Perl Dave is not what he was.” “Oh, Mr. Dave will never change. He lives in a bandbox, and nothing can affect him.” “You think that he did not feel your sister's death much? I can assure you that isa grave mistake.” Miss Parsons’ face changed. “He suffered what he could, no doubt. A few tears leaked through the box. You are Mr. Dave's great friend, are you not?” “No. He is very dear to me, but there are others inthe camp who have known him longer and tried him more.” “Why,” she cried, her clear eyes shining with ‘anger. ‘You speak of this—this Mr. Dave as one would speak ofa hero! It is ridiculous!” “And how does your father speak of him, Miss Parsons,” I asked, stopping at her door. —— — looked at me like a little fury, and went In due time Dave arrived, hot and dusty, but otherwise the same. His friends had arranged 8 dinner to welcome him, and ‘the proceedings terminated,” as the time-honored formula runs, at a very late hour indeed. Next day he called on Mr. Parsons, frankly told his situation, and asked for the accounts of his quarter share. That wretch pretended not to understand, produced the transfer, and ac- cused Dave of an attempt to swindle. The poor fellow did not answer much, and did nothing to obtain his rights. Louey’s father was sacred. He told me the story with his usual calmness. “It doesn’t make much difference,” he said; *T shall have to begin afresh. Perhaps some one will put me into a claim. But of his old friends some had retired on their fortune; others, disheartened, had: gone farther north, to the gold diggings; others had withdrawn to different pursuits. Those remain- ing nearly all owned good claims, but their ar- Tangements were permanently settled. People on whom Dave had not such strong hold were disinclined to tempt their luck by employing a man once successful. Forthere isa superstition in the Fields, confirmed by a dozen cases in my own experience, that the digger has only one chance. Ifhe trifle with it, or let it go, fate takes revenge. There were many claims “jumpable” on Du- toitstpan and Bultfontein, and one of these Dave worked, cheerful and quiet; but his finds were absolutely nothing. He lived in my tent on Bultfontein Hill. At his request, I did not speak of Parsons’ conduct. The daughter I noticed only by a ceremonious bow when I chanced to meet her. But we came face to face one afternoon, and I could do no less in public than grasp the offered hand. ‘Did I not say,” she began, “that Mr. Dave had better not have returned?” “You spoke with more knowledge of the facts than I had.” “12 How?” The girl’s impudence yexed me. “You have proved yourself a wise chi Parson: the rover! pSte colored angrity, and stared, but I left er. This incident I told to Daye, of course, as we sat at night. . “Tshould be sorry to suspect Clara,” he said, ‘of any part in her father’s conduct. We were never friends, but I used to think her as honest as high-spirited. How she loved little Loo! Her dislike for me arose from jealousy ot the child's friendship, though, Heaven knows, Loo never pretended to care forme. Old fel- low, I'm tired of this place! Will Palmer has asked me to join him, prospecting beyond the Hoek, and I've accepted. We start to-morrow.” “Tt’s hard on two of our oldest voor-trek- kers to be inspanning again!” “Read up your history of Christopher Co- lumbus,” he answered, laughing. “That voor- trekker was ill-treated if you like.’ Two days after the pair started amid some excitement; for a “prospecting expedition” had not left the Fields these many months past, and both men were popular. I saw Miss Parsons at her door as the noisy little crowds went by. She knew by experience what that procession signified—the party laden with tent and tools and cooking panes ue men with rifle, revolver, and pannikin, Daye was neat, as usual, and exceliently dressed, though not in Pall Mall fashion. The wife of an official had just presented him with a superb white ostrich feather, which he had curled round his broad-trimmed hat. As he raised it in pas- sing, the girl colored. Our first news of the explorers came from the storekeeper at the Hoek. He wrote that they had crossed the river against urgent warning. The chief Jantje and ‘his Batlapins had lately become more offensive than usual, and my friend the storekeeper expected mischief. After this, nothing more was heard of Dave for nearly two months. We vaguely knew at the Fields that Jantje had broken out, and was doing much injury to his neighbors. But there are no white people in his territory, and the Orange river is very broad. Half a troop of the frontier police marched to the Hoek, for what purpose nobody knew. The friends of the “prospectors” grew anxious. Meanwhile another attack of their periodical fever had broken out among the diggem. New Rush discovered, all over again, that it was robbed by black laborers and white receivers. Lied ute it oven i acste and private sort of thing m = = ed blood. 1 ne le diggers assembled in their thousands, ‘burned half a dozen canteens, and badly treated their owners. Then they it some blacks, flogged them, and marched about with Bee round their necks, looking for atree. in fact, the usual symptoms played them- selves, and the usual result ved. Our steady, hard-working camp took the disease in milder form; for we, who habitually looked after I answered, “If there’s truth ourown had not so much tofear een cae, ofear from Parsons made himself foremost in denouncing buyers of stolen He raved the market table mightly to such effect our Stegere suddenly without con- cert apparently, and burned a sutier’s house, hbo ‘was brought ist the men’s clothes their faces thin and travel-worn, but mitom ee cried Dave gayly: “I “Come along,” 5 lodge a man in ne, and. i they look must That Jantje would dare ill-use white men seemed ridiculous, and Tmauch more amuse- ment than in witnessing the come The good Basuto chief gave them horses a belt lozen of picked warriors to guard them and report. Thus reinforced; and secure of food, they abandoned the project of halting at Campbeil Grounds, where, in truth, they had nothing to do. Pushing straight on over the veldt, they be- held signs of trouble before reaching the first halt. The Griquas had sent away their old men, women and children, with such house- hold gear and cattle as could be rescued. A train of wagons streamed toward the Orange Tiver. ft The fugitives named s place where the men capable of bearing arms had appointed their rendezvous, but the Basutos did not know ne spot, nor could they understand how to it. On the third march from the river, they saw burned homesteads, dead cattle, and the signs of barbarous war. Now and then a small body of negroes would be discovered upon the naked veldt, but so far away that to pursue them was hopeless. Next day, however, they met a plundering party of the enemy, who stood; and for the first time Dave heard the singing of a bullet. Two Batlapins were killed and one taken, who saved his life by guiding them to the Griqua rendezvous. A distressing scene of confusion was that Jaager. The Griquas, brave enough, had lived for years in a peace profound. They had no war chiefs, and not a man among them knew what ought to be done. The strangers were received with unspeakable delight, and they found apt pupils. Hottentot blood is scarcely less capable of training for war of its own style than is the perfervidum ingenium of the Kafir. Within a few day successful foray was con— ducted into Jantje’scountry, and both parties discovered that Batlapin kraals are as easy to burn as Griqua farmsteads. Thus a guerrilla war began, while Jantje col- lected his power, and strove to di Monko- roane, chief of the Corannas, into the dangerous game. Weeks by, the Griquas gaining confidence in themselves and their leaders. At length Jantje moved with all his followers. Scouts and prisoners gaye timely notice, and the white generals secured a formidable con- tingent of Basutos, led by the old chief himself. After a desultory fight, which lasted half the day, Dave charged at the head of his cavalry. The Batlapins ran, and Jantje took refuge among the Coronnas, where he remained until late events tempted him to renew his senseless schemes (18' .) No prisoners were taken, of course, excepting the man just lodged in the trone, who saved his life by offering handfuls of coin. Such was Dave's story. The gratitude and admiration of the negroes were not satisfied with conferring on their generals the barren honor of chieftainship. A subscription was or- ganized, which took the form of cattle. Spee the hint that diamonds would be a kind of wealth more portable, two handfuls of fine stones, worth over fifteen hundred pounds, were substituted. And with this booty and their Batlapin captive the pair returned to Dutoit- span. Next day the prisoner was examined privately atthe trouc. Inanswerto the magistrate, he repeated his confession that he had stolen many gems and sold them. He named his master, whose claim lay at New-Rush, and that ger- tleman, when summoned, recognized him at a glance. It remained only to identify the buyer, @ process needing the extremest caution. At nightfall we went out with twelve constables in plain clothes, who strolled along in groups, disguised in an air of unconcern. Dave's black warriors marched arm-in-arm with the prisoner. He led us through the dirtiest and lowest quart- ers of the camp, and stopped at a distance from Parsons’ old frame‘house, which you remember. Parsons had left it long ago, and it was now a canteen. Through the open doorway we saw a rude bar covered with the filthiest glasses and bottles. A small cask of pontak, another of Cape smoke, and a basket of ginger beer stood ona shelf—the usual array of poisons. One tallow candle lit the dreary den, and shone dimly through the walls of canvas. Behind the bar stood a pale, unwholesome-looking man, and two examples of the lowest class of diggers lounged on rou: smoking. In two minut urround” was complete, each other in th the sergeant stepped into the hter ray of light thrown by the open doorw exclaiming, ‘‘No resistance, Corny! You're my prisoner!” His pistol was drawn as he spoke. I have not seen fear so sud- denly and awfully expressed as in that fellow’s face. His jaw dropped, his eyebrows rose, cold sweat streamed down and glistened in the can- die-light. He did not say a word, nor move; but the guests made row enough. They crushed back to defend themselves, shouting to their “prother-digyers.” I saw a quick gleam in the barman’s glasay eye; the candlestick rattled on the ground. and all was dark. Before the ser- geant could flash his lantern, a cheery voice cried, outside, “All right, sir! We've got Corny, a-creepin’ among the tent-pegs, he was!” The barkeeper and his friends were ledthrough a gathering crowd, which fought for the privil- ege of murdering them, so soon as the charge was known. We did our duty in protecting the frightened wretches, and then turned home- ward. I saw that the suspicion in my own mind was agitating Dave, and we threaded our way silently through the labyrinth of claims. Arrived at home, seated with grog and pipe be- fore the door, Dave rose_ suddenly, exclaiming, “T should have staid. You won't sit up for me, old man!” “Til go back with you. There may be a row.” After a few yards, Dave said, “It’s no use making mysteries. What do you suspect?” “That Parsons was running that canteen, and that there's no time to lose, if you wish to warn him. But why protect the scoundrel, and risk your own life? He's one of the most finished lackguards on the Fields, and a meaa hypo- crite besides.” “I can't help that! Let us run!” We reached the house breathless. The nicht was very dark, the street quiet, and we stole towardthe door. Dave had raised his hand to tap, when it was seized. ‘None of that!” whipered the sergeant; and he led us quietly beyond earshot of those within. “I somehow | ec what your little game might be, Dave. iow, Parsons is bound to be took, but we don’t want a row with the girl.” “What is the charge?” I asked. “None yet. I’m waiting for the warrant.” “Then why should we not enter?” “Because those are my orders. There may be documents and things. Ah, here comes the man I’m looking tor? Now, mind, we're in the thick of the camp here, and if you make a row the old chap’s life's not worth a chip of bort.” catly-dressed bleak, ‘carvings lanteres e me a ex- changed a word with the 4 areal at the door, and handed in a note. A moment edreataial appeared and walked away “Mrs. G. has sent for yes phasic alee “That's a lot yet. 3 e ETE ees ables closing in almost touched | ly: “She does not know the end!” Advancing straight to Dave, the girl stood be- fore him rigid with deep “Why do you Dersecute my father?” she said. “If you had loved Louey, you would have been kind to us for hersake. He has done you no harm. Ie it because you hate me that you try toruin him? I did not do you anill turn with Louey. If I had wished, she loved me better than ‘you, and she would never have seen you again. Is it because my father has kept #he recy’ which you would have spent like a fool?” “Miss Parsons,” said G.. interfering, “you are under a mistake. Mr. Davies does not perse- cute your father. He could not know to whom the prisoner who fell into his hands by chince would oint as the re ceiver of stolen diamonds. And it would be more merciful at once to say that your father has confessed, not only the crime charged against him, but another also, committed to the great injury of Mr. Davies himseif, which Mr. Davies had nobly concealed.” The girl looked from one to the other in amaze. “Confessed? Is this true, Mr. Dave?” “Yes, it is trae.” After a pause she bowed and said: # humbly beg your pardon, sir,” and went out Ihad heard nothing of those events, when, nearly two years afterward, I received a pair of wedding cards—they are old-fashioned at the ‘The dear friend whom we called “Swelly Dave” announced his marriage with Miss Clara Parsons. And within four years more both are gone.—AU the Year Round. From the Brooklyn Eagle. The Kind of a Rosebud She Is, I'm an only daughter young girl A spit curl and trizzes young girl, A languishing, dainty, all powdery and H Sit up at 11 young at vad I'm a would-be esthetic young gir}, A dote on the arts young girl, in embryo, don’t know a thing you know, Allon the surface young girl, I'm a novel-reading you A lie awake until 3 youn romantic, half-crazy, but te lazy, Let ma-do the work young girl, I’m a look out for a catch young girl, A snatch ’em up quick young girl, A oe do the proposing, and bag ‘em when jozing, Hold on to your game young girl. Felling the Sequoia Gigantea. From the San Francisco Chronicle. When the woodman pointed out the tree he was about to fell our party looked about in vain for some place where its 300 feet of trunk could stretch out without submitting to the ne- cessity toreed upon the man in the story, “whose feet were_too long and the bed was too short.” It could not be done without first clearing a path for it, we all agreed, but the woodman smiled a knowing, superior smile. We looked again, when he pointed down a slender path, fern-carpeted, but clear of trees, that we had named ‘Park avenue.” “But can you direct the fall of that mighty redwood so that it will lie in that path and not crush other trees in its fall?” we asked, won- deringly. “The tree will fall between these two stakes, without disturbing either of them,” the woodman said, driving two stakes 15 feet ‘apart and 150 feet from the butt of the tree. The woodman and his assistants framed a scaffold- ing around the buttress of the stately pillar of God’s temple, upon which they stood, raised 10 or 15 feet above the ground, and together sent their keen-edged axes into the rough, spongy bark. In the shade of that grove they looked like pigmies, and their instruments of devasta- tion like children’s toys, yet in a few hours they would prostrate what nature had taken a thou- years to raise. No ardent lover of art ever ssed the destruction of his most admired seulptured marl no heathen ever saw his idols shattered by invading Christian with more poignant grief than ours when the woodman's itself in the patriarch of all our igantea. insisted upon returning to camp, and said some unkind things about the wood- men, and were savagely severe upon the un- reasonable railroad contractor who had depre- cated their suggestion to run the track around the tree instead of over its roots. However, a: | the tree was doomed whether they pouted’ {i | their tents or not, their grief subsided snfi- ciently in an hour to allow them to be taken to | a point where the overthrow of the monarch could be safely witnessed. We climed up a trail to a hill on one side ofthe tree, but found the intervening branches too closely woven to al- low of more than a doubtful view. Ignoring the trail, we descended, andin view of your handicap of skirts, ladies, you did make a most masterly descent. How a lady, who in the city requires to be helped in and out of a carriage, can in the country scramble through matted underbrush, swing down by the hanging boughs, roll over fallen trees, slide gracefully down « bark chute, tumble, jump, fall, and finally land at the bottom of a hill, cool and collected, though flushed, is a problem she probably will never explain, if she can. When we took our station, only a little way from the woodmen, we found ‘that'they had finished the work their axeshad to do, by cutting nearly half-way through the tree on the side toward which it was to fall, and were then driving a long double-handied saw into the tree on the oppo- site side. Although the lower portion of the tree still stood firm and motionless, the grace- ful, lofty top was already swaying, as though conscious of and silently protesting against its proaching prostration. It was a beauti- ful picture before us, stretched in a frame of circling forest. The fern brakes flourishing in almost tropical Iuxuriance; trees fallen ages ago, some blackened by fire, the decay of others hidden; the vivid green of the baby sequoias. A half-score of our party, scattered about in their picturesquecamp costumes, and all flecked with the light quivering down through the in- terstices ofthe leafy dome far above us; the light which “stole its colors from the glow of Mars, the sky’s deep azure, and the ocean’s em- erald.” But suddenly all eyes were directed to- ward the doomed tree. Its protest was no longersilent. a rattling report, as ifa rifle vol- ley had been fired, gave borane that the wood- man’s work was nearly done. It sounded like a desperate anguish-cry, which changed, again to a helpless groan. e held our breaths. The sbsdig Unreen no longer swayed in slow, solemn. protest, but moved conyulsively. Then another cry. The woodman jumped from the scaffold. Thin steel had entered the x for a stream of its life-blood cruel cut. The tree for a moment dering; then with an awful crunc! noise that filled the wood with echoes— wails of the dying monarch’s mourning com- rades—it pl forward. The ‘echoes were drowned then. There wasa crash of limbs a8 8 of . ih of air, teantening whirl shrie rush of a deafenia boon and shock that shook the ground like an earthquake, and lifeless, bleeding and acarred the giant laylow. It was sometime be- fore any of us moved, or gedaan Liberace and when we did, one it have uspagen worshipers dra’ nigh the smo! rains of a devastated temple. We found the end of the trunk 30 feet from ene. This From Harper's Bamer. the fam- The reception of an girl by ily of her fature husband should be most cordial, and no time should be lost in giving her a warm welcome. It is the moment of all others when ‘she will feel such a welcome most gratefully. and when any neglect will be certain to give her ‘he keenest omy Sane It Is the fashion for the mother of the groom to invite both the family of the expected bride abe gi agpantin after the — engagement as . two families should meet and should anake ips at once. This is important. is to these near relatives that the probable the wedding day is first whispered, In of much consultation and ra ion in the selectfon of wedding gifts. In opu- has sometimes given the silver dinner service, and much and the rooms of the bride's father's house look like a jeweler's shop when the _—— are shown. All the mavuificent ormolu ornaments for the chimney piece, hand- some clecks and lamps, fans in large quantities, spoons, forks, by the hundred, and of late years the fine gilt ornaments, furniture, camel's hair shawls, bracelets—all, all are piled up in most admired confusion. And when the invitations are out, then can come in the outer world with their more hastily procured gifts; rare specimens of china, little paintings, ornaments fur the per- son—all, all are in order. A present is generally packed where it is bought, and sent with the giver’s card from the shop to bride directly. She should always acknowledge its arrival by a personal note writ- ten by herself. A young bride once gave mortal offence by not thus acknowledging her gifts. She said that she had so many that she could not find time to write the notes. This was consid- ered boastful and most ungracious. Gifts which owe their value to the personal taste or industry of the friend who sends are larly complimentary. A piece of embroi- dery, a painting, a water color, are most fiatter- ing gifta, as they betoken along and predeter- mined interest. No friend should be deterred from sending a small ecey one not representing a m value, other and richer people can a more expensive one. Often the little gift re- mains as a most endearing and useful souvenir. As for showing the wedding Cie that isa thing which must be left to individual taste. Some people disapprove of it, and consider it ostentatious; others have a large room devoted to the display of the presents, and It is certainly amusing to examine them. : As for the conduct of sehen pair dur- ing thelr engagement our American mammas are apt to be somewhat more in their views of the liberty to be allowed than are the English. With the latter no yous lady Is al- lowed to dine alone with her ; there must No young lady must visit be a servant behind. in the family of her fiancé, unless he has a mother to receive her. Nor is she allowed to go to the theater alone with him, or to travel under his escort, to stop at the same hotel, or to relax one of those rigid rules which a severe chaperon would enforce; and it must be allowed that this severe and careful attention to appear- ances is in the best taste. As for the engagement ring, modern fashion prescribes a diamond solitaire, which can range in price from $250 to 22,000, The matter of pre- sentation is a secret between the engaged pait Evening weddings do not differ from day wed- dings essentially, except that the bridegroom wears an evening dress—that is, a dress coat and white cravat, black pantaloons and vest. If the wedding is at home, the space where the bridal party is to stand is usually marked off by aribbon, and the clergyman comes down in his robes before the bridal pair. They face him, and he faces the company. Hassacks are pre- pared for them to kneel upon. After the cere- mony the clergyman retires, and the bridal party take his place, standing to receive their friends’ congratulations. Should there be dancing at a wedding. it is proper for the bride to open the first quadrilie with the best man, the groom dancing with the first bridesmaid. It is not, however, very cus- tomary for a bride to dance, or for dancing to occur at an evening wedding. After the bridal pair return from thelr wedding tour the bridesmaids each give them a dinner or a party, or show some attention, if they are so situated that they can do so. The members of the two families also each give a dinner to the young coupic. It is now a very convenient and pleasant cus- tom for the bride to announce with her wedding cards two or more reception days during the winter after her marriage, on which her friends can call upon her. The certainty of finding a bride at home is very pleasing. On these occa- sions she does not wear her wedding dress, but receives as if she had entered society as one of its members. The wedding trappings are all put away, and she wears a dark silk, which may be as handsome as she chooses. As for wearing her wedding dress to balis or dinners after her mnarriage, it is perfectly proper to do 80, if she divests herself of her veil and her orange blos- soms. bride should be very attentive to all her Th husband’s friends. They will look with interest upon her from the moment they hear of the en- sagement, and it is in the worst taste fur her to how indifference to them. | Quiet weddings, either in church or at the | house, are very much preferred by some fami- | lies. Indeed, the French, from whom we have | learned many—and might learn more—lessons | of grace aud good taste, intmitely prefer them. For a quiet wedding the bride dresses ina traveling dress and bonnet, and departs for her wedding tour. It is the custom in England for | the bride and groom to drive off in their own carriage, which is dressed with white ribbons, | the coachman and m wearing white bou- quets, and favors adorning the horses’ and for them to take a month’s honey-moon. - | also the bride (if she be Hann: Rothschild or the Baroness Burdett-Coutts) givesher brides- maids very elegant presents, as a locket or a bracelet, while the groom gives the best man | 2 scarf-pin or some gift. Tne American custom is not 60 univers: However, either bride or groom gives something to the bridesmaid aud a scari-pin to each usher. Thus a wedding be- comes @ very expensive and elaborate affair, which quiet and economical peuple are some- times obliged to avoid. After the invitations are issued, the lady does not appear in public. The period of card leaving after a wedding is not yet definitely fixed. Some authorities say ten days, but that in a city, and with an immense acquaintance, would be quite impossible. If only invited to the church, many ladies con- sider that they perform their whole duty by Jeaving a card some time during the winter, and including the young couple in their subsequent invitations. Very rigorous people call, however. within ten days, and if invited to the house, the call is still more im e, and should be made soon after the But if a young coi do not send their future address, but only invite one to a church wed- ding, there is often a very serious difficulty in knowing where to call, and the first visit must be ii ly postponed until they send cards notifying their friends of their whereabouts. Wed invitations mail, to assure the hosts that the invitation has been received. The ‘your of a We November fourth, jednesday evening, at eight a Ia favored— —is Such, atleast, is one of forms used in October, 1881. inet ‘all thelr coke ct oes and therefore invite to the church. small i ? : i a 8 i i ati E [ i it | af i f | Hf punch, tea, chocolate and cak Stand on a table at one end of the room, be handed by a waiter. Bouillon, on a cold of winter, is atso in order, and is, perhaps, most serviceable of all simple refreshments, in giving a “4-o'clock tea,” or sever day ceptions, a large entertainment is vulgar. a a tf aE. cairessesaneronn THE SLIM*TEACHER. HOW HE MANAGED THE SCHOOL AT CRANDERRY GuLcu. From the San Francisco Bulletin. “Mister, no doubt you nave all the learnis® that’s required in a school teacher, but it wants more than leanvin’ to make a man able to teach school in Cranberry Gulch. You'll soon find that out if you try. We've had three who tried iton. One lays there in the graveyard; another lost his eye; the last one school and lef before noontime for the of bis health. He hasn't been back since. Now you're a sien der build, and all your learns’ will only make it worse, for our young are roughs, don’t stand no nonsense.” at This was what one of the trustee® of the dis trict said to my friend Harry Flotoe when he ap- plied for the vacant post of teacher. “Let me try. I know I am slender, but Iam and have a strong will,” said Harry. ae pany ‘notice ay — want ey ve ven trustee. an do.” said Harry, “and I'l open next Man am. notice was and there deal crentimecetie tn oh and len <= ‘Yuba flats. More than ‘ats young ae a drop into the thougtt both sexes made an excuse to tavern to get a sight at the fellow who he could keep school in that district, contemptuous glance fell on the slender form and youtiiful face of the would-be teacher. Eight o'clock on Monday morning came, and Harry Flotoe went down to the school house witha key in one hand and @ valise inthe other. “Ready to slope, if he finds we're too much for him,” said # cross-eyed, broad-chouldered fellow of 18. The school house was unlocked, and the new nary nt to ew desk. Some of the folks went see what he was to school was not called. =— ae Harry opened his valise and took out a large belt. Then, after buckling it around his he put three Coit's navy revolvers there, each = os anda bowie knife 18 inches in the jade. “Thunder! he means business!” muttered the cross-eyed chap. The new teacher now took out a square card about four inches each way, walked to the other end of the school house, and tacked it up agains the wall. Returning to his desk he drewa revolver from his belt, and, quick as thought, sent ball after ball into the card, till there w. peti in a spot not much larger thane jollar. By this time the school house was half fall of large boys and girls. The little ones were afraid. to come in. Then the teacher walked half way down the room with a bowie knife in bis hand, and threw it with so true a hand that it stuck, quivering, in the center of the card. He left it there, and quietly put two moreef the same kind in his belt and reloaded his yet smoking pistol. “Ring the bell; Tam about to open scheol.” He spoke to the cross-eved boy, the bully f the crowd, and the boy rang the bell. “The scholars will take their seats; T opem school with a prayer,” he said, sternly, five mim utes 5 The scholars sat down silently, almost breath- less. After the prayer the teaclier cocked a re volver and walked down on the floor. “We will arrange the classes,” he said. “All who can read, write and spell will rise. Of them we will form the first class.” Only six zotup. He escorted them to upper seats, and then he began to examine the rest. A whisper was heard behind him. Ina second he wheeled, revolver in hand— “No whispering allowed here!” he sony | and for an instaut his revolver lay ou a with the cross-eyed boy's head. Il not do 80 any more,” gasped the bully. See you do not. I never give a second ware ing,” said the teacher, and the revolger fell. ‘ it took two hours to organize the classes, but when done they were all organized. Then came recess. The teacher went out, toa, for the room was crowded and hot. A hawk 4 was circling overhead, high in the The teacher drew his revolver, and the next second the hawk came tumbling down among the woa- dering scholars. From that day on Harry kept school for two years in Cranberry Gulch; his salary doubled after the first quarter, and his pupils learned te love as well as respect him, and the revolvers were out of sight within a mouth. They had found a man at last who could keep school. This 1s a fact. From the Lancet. Itisa mistake to eat quickly. Mastication performed in haste must be imperfect even with. the best of teeth, and due admixture of the sal- vary secretion with the food cannot take place. When a crade mass of inadequately crushed muscular fibre, or undivided selid material of any description, is thrown into the stomach i cts a8 & mechanical irritant, and sets up a com- dition in the mucous membrane lining that organ which greatly impedes, if it does not al- together prevent, the process of digest! When the practice of eating quickly and fil the stomach with unprepared food is the digestive organ is rendered i «< anger quantity of food than would be nenemary ry of fe an wou under natural conditions is required or the sya tem suffers from lack of nourishment. Those were either gifted with the power of rumination ot pene porn gizzards. Man is not so far and it is fairto assume that he was in tended to eat slowly. We must apologize for reminding our readers of facts so familiar; but we do this in the that any who may chance to have influence the managers of large hotels where dinners ala table Thote are in vogue will take measures to bring about a much-needed reform in the maa-