Evening Star Newspaper, January 26, 1889, Page 9

Written for Tax Evexro Stan, SADDLE HORSES. Natural and Artificial Gaits Under the Saddle. = €IDING A GAITED HORSE—DRSCRIPTION OF THE NATURAL GAITS, THE WALK, TROT ANP GALLOP —THE FOUR ARTIFICIAL GAITS—ADVANTAGES OF EACH FOR THE SADDLE HORSE. (Copyrighted 1889.) In the spring of 1869, while stationed in the sity of Cincinnati on recruiting service, the Writer was invited to join a riding party. Just at this time riding parties of the young people in society were very much in vogue. Assem- bling at the home of some one of their number, they would set forth in the afternoon; ride out to some pleasant spot, either in Kentucky, across the Ohio, or in the beautiful environs of the city itself; take supper there, have an informal dance and return by moonlight. Joining the Party with the best mount to be found at the stable to which he was advised to go, the writer found some twenty young men and ™maidens on very trim looking Kentucky saddle horses; and aes soon, "with i ipeeel chaperone in the lead, we filed away to the ferry and were soon clattering through the streets of Newport and out on the broad, wind- ing highway beyond. Once there, the leaders took a rapid gait; and the writer, being near the rear of the column, had his first opportunity of watching horseman and ee as then practised in the Queen city. Up to that day he had never ridden any gait but what are terme TRE NATURAL GAITS OF THE HORSE— the walk, trot, gallop or the easy, graceful modification of the latter, krtown in the east as the canter and on the frontier as the “lope.” In each of these—especially the trot—there is @ certain amount of physical and muscular ex- ercise, Not much, perhaps, in the walk, but a Little at any rate. 6 writer had ridden some steed or other from the time he was seven years old, when he began on a vicious little rute of a Shetland, whose chief object in life seemed to be incessant and frequent successful efforts to dump his boy rider into snow drift or mud puddle, as the seasons might provide. Later Ke had been indulged with many a ride on a fine bay thoroughbred, owned by a rela- tive. whose riding opportunities were few; but this was in New York, and neither at Dickel’s nor Disbrow’s—the two equestrian schools of the ante-bellum days, had he seen taught any- thing but the English—the natural gaits. Then came the war, when, as mounted orderly at brigade headquarters early in 61, he made ac- quaintance with the McClellan saddle and the cavalry sent; and then West Point, with its bare-back and “rough-riding” training; then light battery duty in the far south, with an oc- easional brush on the Metairie track, or race across the level plains in the suburbs of New Orleans; but now at last he was to see a new and typical phase ot American horsemanship and make acquaintance with the “gaited” Kentucky saddles. A GAITED HORSE. Time and again he had noted at all the rail- way stations in Mississippi and Tennessee just after the war the dozens and scores of saddle- horses tethered to the posts and tree boxes, and had seen their lank, sallow-faced owners mount and ride off at that wonderful all-day amble known as the “fox trot,” but here at Cincinnati was something entirely new: and forgetful, perhaps, of the “small” talk due to 8 fair companion, who fortunately for him was an enthusiastic horse woman and forgave him, he became absorbed in watching the party in front while urging his own unwilling steed to take and keep a lope instead of the gait of his fore runners (fore rackers more properly) which to the soldier's benighted mind was sim- ply no gait at all. SITTING IN THEIR SADDLES without the faintest effort, motion or “eqnita- tion” of any kind these young people of both sexes were whirled along at rapid gait, their horses’ heads and necks stretched out to the front, the reins dangling loosely and the four legs of every horse moving like machinery in a way utterly novel and strange. ‘It seemed more like banks of oars than anything else; the hind leg “kept step” with the fore leg on its own side and the result of the swift, swing- ing motion was a rapid propulsion of the horse and rider through space; but, for ail the exer- eise, for all the skill and security in seat gained by the equestrain in such performance. fo cc ahs might futon wall be seated in an armless chair on the back of an elephant or camel. There was just about as mach motion as there is in a Pullman palace car going on a straight track at miles an hour, THE TENDENCY of the system was to encourage a loose, slouchy style of riding; an utterly insecure seat and an indisposition, after a few trials, to ride any- thing but the “gaited” horse. That it was pro- ductive of insecurity and lack of skill was sud- most conclusively established. One of the horses. startled by the shadow of a kite, shied and swerved, and the rider rolled off into the dust. Had he been accustomed to ride the trot and gallop: had he learned, as then would have been necessary, the quick pressure of knee and gripe of leg, such an ignominious thing as being unhorsed by a “shy” would not have been likely to happen. The writer Jearned then and there to consider horseman- ship which confines itself to gaited horses as simply uo horsemanship at all. No man, no woman. who desires to master a horse and to ride well can afford to learn the exercise on any but the nataral gaits; but once at home in them. then there is pleasure, comfort, and ac- tual benefit in occasional indulgence in the wrtiticial amblings of those wonderful western horses. THE WALK AND TROT. A brief description of the gaits may be of Everybody who rides gt all knows No seddle horse is worth less he be a good fast walker. A horse is weariness and vexation to the horse whose walk isso slow that keep up with his fellows he must jog trot, is a quadruped whose mis with the plough. Such a at wears out many a tempef and not ers in the long cavalry marches of Three miles and a half an hour low as the slowest saddle horse ought to owed to walk. our miles” 1 a good est swinging gai d every roadster ought to be able to take it.” ‘The trot—a gait so easy nd natural for both man and beast even for veral miles at a stretch when the gentle rise »s is enltivated—is something of a vd to military horsemen who use the army addle and are expected to sit squarely down. Very few of them will willingly sit it out for more than a mile. and I doubt if the horse I uid approve it. The French, for all and the Germans, for campaign pid gait, now prescribe the rise for their troopers, but we Americans seldom march more than a mile or so at the trot, then only to break the monotony of the walk. Wateh @ cavalry column at the trot and you will see here and there uncomfortable jooking fellows who are slowly urging their steeds to change to the lope, but were they equipped with the Whitmen army saddie, the rise would be easy, natural and even gracefal, and ten miles or eleven could easily becovered iu an hour’s trot. THE GALLOP AND THE RUN are the horse's extreme gaits, and those in which, when in health and spirits, he most rejoices. So long as he gallops true and “united” the gait is delightful, exhilarating and safe; bat many horses have an odd trick of throwing themselves ‘out of gear,” as it were, and galloping “disunited”—a matter the prac- ticed rider will recognize in an instant, In the proper mechanism of the gallop the legs on the right side move in advance of ‘on the left, Or those on the left side in advance of those on the right; either will do when running straight, bat when turning of riding in eirele the fore leg on the side toward which the turn is made should strike the ground in advanee of the other. Now when a horse going at full speed suddenly “changes step,” ‘Gon himself “out of gear” and gallops. as the phrase is, “dis- united,” the rider is subject to a series of jolts and jars, and the horse himself is weakened. In the disunited gallop the right hind leg follows the left fore leg or the left hind the right fore, and the moment it is detected the pagel should check _ oo the nati gait. Simply reini and touching with the spur on either side will generally effect it, THE LADIES’ HORSES. The canter or lope is, especially for ladies’ horses, a delightful gait to ride, and is one such conditions isgough and clumsy, but when a horse — springingly and ly itis by long is the pleasantest to ride, and the one which, for park or city purposes, a woman — to the very best advantage. is simply the gallop slo It sometimes happens who fs naturally a pacer. derful swiftness and very smooth and ride. Thre pace has, been THR EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C, 8A' recommendation the dealer will Vy him after SS _ —— gaits.” It certainly means a good deal. we exclude the pace they are four in number: The fox trot, the walk, the rack and the - foot,” and are all admirable for people who ride for and ease and do not care for genuine horsemanship. One of them, the fox trot, is so useful that it is by no means improbable that it will be introduced and cul- tivated in the cavalry service. It is nothing but a “smoothing out” and slowing up of the true trot, but it is universal throughout the southern states, and though the slowest of the Kentucky gaits, it is one the horse can take and keep all day long, covering five or six miles an hour and never fatiguing either the rider or himself. It is not difficult to teach, and once learned is never forgotten. Speaking of itin a read before the Cavalry association of he United States at Fort Leavenworth (an in- stitution, by the way, which has members all over the country and which welcomes horse- men and riders whether in the army or out of it), Capt. Woodson says, “ While it is not a true al motion it departs from it simply in the fact that the forefoot touches the ound slightly in advance of the diagonal hind foot.” THE RUNNING WALK 1s another modification of the trot. It differs from the “fox trot” in that the hind foot touches the ground slightly in advance of the diagonal fore foot. Consequently more ground is covered and the pace is more rapid. It is” springy. elastic gait; the reign is kept tighter; the head of the awe is held higher, and it is much more stylish, but it is fatiguing and not to be persisted in for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time without telling on the average mount. It sounds ona solid road bed very like a quickening of the walk. _ The rack i aying, straddling gait for which the cavalryman has neither use nor ad- miration, but it has many advocates in civil life and is an undeniable favorite with those who want to get over the ground at the fastest ed without jar or discomfort to themselves, Rracybedy is familiar with the true pace, and this gait—the rack—is simply a forcing of the pace—a variation of it in which the hind foot strikes the ground in advance of the leading CE Mtaally wo bave: the “shige. fect it ii we have the “single foot’—a gai that is unlike all the others and yet is a sort of compromise between the trot and the true e, if not an exact intermediate between em. Itisso called because each foot acts singly, or independently of its fellows, and the same interval of time e! 8 between the four hoof beats. It is a stylish gait; very popular in western cities; is rapid and free and can be made a “three-minute” affair with a good sound horse. It is a gait, moreover, from which the steed changes easily toany one of the and one in which he readily gathers himself for a leap over slight obstacles. And all these gaits are demanded in a Ken- tucky horse and almost universally taught there.—Caartes Krxo, Captain U. 8. A. co. A SOAP BUBBLE “MEET.” A Novel Entertainment which Promises to Become Popular in Washington. What promises to be a “craze” in some local- ities, if not in Washington, and doubtless over- done as all crazes are, is an entertainment de- signed entirely for the enjoyment of the young people—the “kid” element. Its intro- duction, or revival, rather, is of recent date and has progressed sufficiently far already to be on the very brink of becoming a fashiona- ble “fad.” As witnessed recently in an east- ern city in circles of high degree it was really very recherche, if so commonplace a thing as blowing soap bubbles can be referred to in the parlance of the court, diplomatic and bon-ton society reporter. Ordinarily it would be called @ “party,” but in these days of high teas, which come before the usual dinner hour, and of “dinners,” which come = after the regu- lar time for supper, it is called a ‘Meet”—“‘A Soap Bubble Mec So the old-time birthday parties given our grandfathers and grand- mothers when they were children, at which they romped and played with the utmost childish abandon, blowing soap bubbles and watching them sail gracefully through the air, shedding the luster of a thousand brilliant dies to suddenly dissolve into airy nothingness, are now called ‘“meets”--that is, if the card re- ceived specifies the blowing of soap bubbles, THE CARDS. “Cards” did we say—yes, cards, for it is the thing to send out neatly printed or written in- vitations after the following fashion: The Heights. Master Tommie Worthmuch, At Home, Saturday, Jan. 26, 3 to 5 p. m. ‘A Soap Bubble Meet. R.8. V. P. on, usually, delicately tinted paper, is once and neatly fits into an envelope to which is addressed to Thi folded match. and left at the door of the expected guest by one of the family of the prospective host. The R. 8. V. P. is essential, and denotes that the presence of a certain number is desired, as in progressive euchre, and must be known in advance to be provided for. THE NEW TIN BUBBLE BLOWERS, or common clay pipes, ornamented with a bright-colored ribbon, neatly knotted midway the stem. some small racquets and a large bow! of strong soapsuds comprise the necessary equipment for the fun. It is a pretty idea to have the name of each guest on the racquet or pipe he or she is to use, with the understanding that when the “meet” shall have ended they can be taken home, except those used by the winners, as souvenirs of the occasion. The racquets are easily made and may, with alittle skillful needlework, be gotten up very prettily indeed. They are’ shaped much like the lawn tennis racquet, and the service re- quired ef them is much the same. They are made of smull sticks of wood six to eight inches in length—the handles of discarded Japanese fans are very suitable for the purpose—and small wires of ent length to form a loop or — whose diameter will be about two- thirds the length of the handle. The ends of the wire are brought together in parallel lines and inserted in one end of the stick, which for ornamentation has been either gilded or stained some pretty bright color. Flannel of pretty patterns or shades is cut to fit and drawn over the hoop closely enough to make it springy, so that the bubbles will bounce without bursting, itis drawn over the wire with fancy stitches around the rim—the simple cross-stitch making @ very pretty decoration when the material is plain. GETTING READY. The suds from which the bubbles*are” to be blown should be prepared awhile before the game is announced to begin. A large bowl is filled about two-thirds full of warm water, into which common soap is shaved and stirred until it is quite mato and when strong enough be set aside to cool. It is well stirred again when the game commences, and then the idea is to see who can biow the largest bubbles and keep them alive the longest. The racquets are used to hold and bounce the bubbles upon— the flannel holding them without breaking longer than any other material, THE GAME, The turn of each one is designated by “draw- ing,” or arranged at the pleasure of the host or hostess. The game is made interesting by awarding prizes to one or more of the ts for the largest, longest kept alive, and most made from one “blow.” For these prizes art- istically decorated pipes or blowers or pre’ embroidered racquets are mostly used. “Booby” prizes are sometimes included, but — omitted, for the sensitiveness of the youthful contestants is often too deeply rooted to separate mirthful ideality from suspicions of real reflections upon their capabilities, and their tears are too near the surface to observe the loss of the more desirable presents without a laceration of feelings. In fact, it is largel: as a compensating grace, happily conceived, to tone for disappointments and to provide for itive expectations of getting something vee yore" 4 oa ie mpi to ac- cept, an e wil em and racquets wit which they failed to distinguish then. selves. tnd, verily bedlam in Tarued loose att ii and, v e id it doubtless, the most ce the pea. gram. ‘THE CosTUmEs. > MR. CALVERT’S FRAILTY. CHAPTER I. The attention which Mr. Calvert paid to Mary Faber when he met her at Eastbourne was to a certain extent excusable; because, though nothing had resulted from their acquaintance except a flirtation, his intentions had originally been of a serious kind. It was only after he had pondered over the question often and anx- iously that he had come to the conclusion that marriage was impossible. He had no private means, and if he relinquished his fellowship his income derived from tuition would not suf- fice to maintain a wife in comfort. It is true that by devoting more time to lecturing and private pupils he might materially have in- creased his earnings; but Mr. Calvert had scarcely contemplated this step, as he could not give up those studies which now occupied his leisure, and which were to crown his brilliant scholarship, If the young lady had only had a little money of her own all would have been right; but Colonel Faber, who wore his heart upon his sleeve, and was too honest for this world, as soon as he noticed Mr. Calvert's par- tiality for his daughter, contrived to let him know that she would have no dowry. So, after having been inmates of the same boarding establishment for several weeks. they bade each other farewell. The parting seemed commonplace enough, yet Mr. Calvert felt much dejected, and there was a slight tremor in the girl's voice as she said good-b; Mary Faber could scarcely be called pretty, but she had a bright, sympathetic expression, which was very attractive. She was twenty, but being rather small she looked a year younger, She was very intelligent, and but for @ somewhat school-girlish manner might have been termed intellectual. Mr. Calvert, on leaving Eastbourne, had re- solved to forget her, but he did not find this process so easy as he had supposed. Many time that winter, even in the midst of studies, the last tremulous accents of her voi recurred to the scholar and filled him with self-upbraidings; and sometimes, in moments of loneliness or dejection, his thoughts were brightened by the memory of her tender eyes. CHAPTER II. Among the means of emolument open to the young fellow of Merton was to work as exam- iner. He was one of the moderators in the Honor school, and had recently been appointed classical examiner at St. Margaret's college, Manchester, This institution had just been founded by the munificent donations of the merchants and manufacturers of Lancashire for the higher education of women, It was the end of the first academical year that Mr. Cal- vert was to enter upon his duties, and for this |e de he left Oxford for the north one day in the beginning of May. It was only in Latin that he was to examine the student's of St. Margaret's, as the directors had only been feel- ing their way for the first year, and had not included Greek in the curriculum, although it figured conspicuously in the prospectus which had been issued for the following year. Mr. Calvert was glad that the examination was to be conducted by paper work only, and that there was no viva voce, as he would have shrunk from testing separately a hundred young ladies in classical lore. On the evening of his arrival in Manchester, Mr. Calvert was seated in a prWate room of the chief hotel in the suburb where St. Margaret's was situated. He had dined. and was just about to begin some important writing, on account of which he had secured his retire- ment. He had scarcely put pen to paper, how- ever, ere he was intercupted. A servant en- tered to tell him a lady had called, who wished to see him if he were disengaged. “There must be a mistake,” said Mr. Calvert, with some impatience; m not the person she desires,” “She is a young lady, sir,” said the man ina smooth tone. “Then that settles the question,” responded Mr. Calvert energetically, ‘tas I know no youn; ladies here, and there is no young lady whom know who would call on me at a hotel.” ‘Tam sorry I have made a mistake, sir,” re- pica the man, although he felt confident that e had made no mistake. But as he had sup- posed that the young lady had called by ap- pointment, he had omitted to ask for her name, and he went off for that purpose. Presently he returned bearing asmalltray. At this ond interruption Mr. Calvert was about to utter an angry exclamation, when the servant said : “The lady has sent her card, sir, and would like, if possible, to see you alone.” Mr. Calvert's brow contracted and his lips tightened as he took the card; but on glancing atit his features suddenly relaxed, becominy first red and then pale. He rose and place: one of his hands on the back of a chair, as though he needed some support. “Shall I show the lady up, sir?” asked the man confidently, Mr. Calvert gave assent in a scarcely audible voice, and remained motionless, ax though in a dream, while he read again and again the name, “Miss Mary Faner.” While he stood lost in wonder, suddenly he became conscious of a presence that thrilled him, and, looking up, he saw a girl entering the room. He knew it was Mary, and advanc- ing mechanically, he took her hand, but, owing to her dress, he almost failed to recog- nize her at first. She had a very school-girlis appearance. She had on a thick jacket, which seemed to lessen her height, and en old-fash- ioned, Quaker-like bonnet, instead of making her look older, had an opposite effect. She was Ddlushing painfully, and was evidently nervous and excited. “Miss Faber!” exclaimed Mr. Calvert in a tone that expressed his astonishment, “I am very pleased to see you. Is there anything I am able to do for you?” “Oh yes, @ great deal,” was the quickly | spoken reply: “Pray, sit down, Miss Faber.” “Oh, no,” replied the girl, “I musn't stay, and Ido hope you'll forgive me for coming, as I know that what I_am doing and am going to ask you is wrong, dreadfully wrong. Noth- ing, believe me, Mr. Calvert, but necessity would have brought me here. I can’t explain everything, but if you only knew— Will you please help me?” “If it lies in my power to benefit way you may rely on my assistance. “You promise?” Since she had entered the room the old tender expression that had haunted Mr. Calvert so often during the winter had come into her eyes, and now at his kindly spoken words they were filled with tears. As he looked at her he fervently hoped that he should be able to do her the service which she had come to seek. “I promise,” he answered emphatically, “I shall aid you in whatever way lies in my ek you in any rejoined Mary,eagerly, “I wish you “To do what?” asked Mr, Calvert, in consid- erable bewilderment. “To pass me,” repeated the girl, and then she quickly proceeded to explain.’ “I am a student at St. Margaret's, and have known for some time that you were to examine in Latin, It is the only subject of which I am afraid, as I have not been studying it so long as the other subjects, and much depends on my getting through in all. So, having accidentally heard to-night where you were staying, it suddenly occurred to me to come to you and ask this favor.” Mr. Calvert remained for some time gazing at her in astonishment, It took him a little while to rightly comprehend her meaning. At Jength he said: “is it possible that you fully realize the na- ture of the request you are making?” “T know it 2% very wrong,” acknowled; Mary, ‘but so much depends— Then, Mr. Cal- vert, bag know you have promised,” she added quickly, in an agitated tone. “I will not break my word to you, but shall do as you request,” said Mr. Calvert in a con- strained voice, “Thank you so much,” and ere he had time to say anything more she had bidden him good-bye, touched his hand, and hurriedly left the room,” CHAPTER III. When he found himself again alone Mr. Cal- vert sat down to collect his thoughts, which were slightly confused by the unexpected events which had just occurred. The sudden- ness and strangeness of the interview would of themselves have been sufficient to discon- cert Mr. Calvert, but it was the nature of the promise he had made which was disturbing him most, When the first of his bewilderment had passed by it would be hard to say whether aon more at Miss Faber for hav- made the request or at himself for having Era, fame cece acted a more : conscious of not to retract it. He was hay formerly treated Miss Faber with a want of candor, and he was determined again to Give her cause to doubt his faith. It is true that he was now contemplating the deliberate neglect of his duties as exam- iner; yet he did not consider his conduct by palmer eqs omen tion! om mgt in certain other the echools at for » had avy partiality been le there, give a member of an institution for ladies @ certificate of pro- [ : t i i i I : get her, Next day Mr. Calvert entered upon his duties as examiner at St. Margaret's. There were nearly a hundred candidates who took up Latin. He put the written papers which were handed to him in a bag, and returned with them to Oxford. The first papers to be opened by hi were those which bore thename “Mary Faber.” The very sight of the neat handwriting was sufficient to send a thrill through the heart of the examiner. He did not need to read much in order to see that she had done very badly, 8o he decided not to torture his conscience fur- ther, and without reading any more he placed to her credit the minimum number of marks necessary for passing. He then tied up Mary's papers carefully, and having laid them in his desk he proceeded to discharge his duties to the best of his ability. About a week after he had sent in his reports he received # printed list containing the names of those candidates who had passed in not less than five subjects, and who were. therefore, entitled to honors, He scanned the list eagerly because, notwithstanding Mary's ignorance of Latin, he remembered how ‘clever and well read she was, and thought it not impossible that he should see her name, He began about the middle of the listand read downward, but he did not find that which he sought. It was almost witha feeling of satisfaction that be noted the absence of hef name, as he was thus relieved from the self-reproach of having aided her unfairly to attain a place of distinction. When he reached the end of the list Mr, Cal- vert began to read upward from the point at which he had started. At last, when he reached the top, he breathed a sigh of relief; but this | was quickly followed by a startled exclamation of surprise and consternation, for there, stand- ing apart from the others, was the name of Mary Faber as the first student of her year and the winner of the Brackenbury scholarship of a hundred guineas, which had been presented to St. Margaret's by a well-known manufacturer, Then Mr. Calvert read in the remarks ap- pended tothe list that the student who had beara the valuable prize, though she had barely succeeded to pass in Latin, had been first in mathematics, first in English, first in French, and third in German. Mr. Calvert's hand trembled slightly as he laid down the paper, and his pale face wore an expression of pain, ' He was harrassed by con- flicting emotions, as love and his admiration of the girl's talents alternated with detestation of the Seceit in which he had shared, In any cir- cumstances, he told himself, it was bad enough to have given her an undeserved certificate of proficiency, but to have enabled her unfairly to carry off this valuable prize from the other competitors seemed almost like telony, even though he had unwittingly brought about this grave result. If he had trifled with Miss Faber’s affections when he met her at Eastbourne the remorse he was now enduring was almost sufficient punish- ment. If he could have acknowledged his own fault without betraying her confidence he would have done so, but this was 1mpossible. So it only remained for him to forget her and to avoid in the future any conduct which might produce such regretable consequences, CHAPTER IV, It was chiefly owing to the solicitations of his friends that Mr. Calvert a few months later became a candidate for the headmastership of the great public school of Canonbury, Mr. Calvert had been educated at Canonbury, where he was the first of his year, and subse- quently, by his brilliant career at Oxford, he had conferred additional renown upon the old school. He was also known to be a skillful teacher and to possess rare powers of organiza- tion. All this was, of course, to his advantage; but, on the other hand, his youthfulness seemed to militate against his chances of suc- cess, Many, however, who were well qualified to judge, believed that he would be the suc- cessful candidate, as it was understood that the electors were anxious, if possible, to appoint a young man who would devote the best years of his life to the work, and who, having « proper sense of the widening scope of modorn studies, would be free from old-fashioned prejudices, The master of Joseph's college, Oxtord, was in virtue of his office one of the governors of Canonbury school. When, therefore, Mr. Cal- vert one morning received a note requesting him to call on this elector he knew that he must be one of those whose appointment was being contemplated, and that the master of Joseph’s had been’ deputed to ascertain his views on certain points, or to obtain some pledge from him regarding his policy should the choice fall upon him. Nor was Mr. Calvert mistaken. After a few commonplace observations the master of Jos- eph’s said to him: “In becoming a candidate for the headmas- tership of Canonbury you were doubtless un- aware that in two important particulars you are really ineligible.” “I was certainly not aware of the fact,” re- plied Mr. Calvert, sup soning that his age must asbyarnd be one of the objections found to ‘im. “You are not in orders,” said the master, “and it is necessary that the headmaster of Canonbury should be aclergyman. It is true that there is no statutory regulation to this effect, but the headmasters have hitherto in- variably been in orders, and the electors decline to form a new precedent by appointing a lay- man.” “For some time I have intended to enter the church, and I certainly could not. conceive of Canonbury having a headmaster who was not in orders.” “Very good,” replied the master_blandly. “One of the objections of which I spoke is therefore removed.” The master gazed into the fire for a little in silence in an abstracted manner which he had. At length he said: “I did not suppose the objections were in- surmountable,” and he gazed into the fire again in a tantalizing way. “The electors are of opinion,” he continued after a little, “that the headmaster of Canon- bury should’ be a married man. He has the domestic care of a number of boys who reside in his house; he must entertain the masters, and in some cases the parents or guardians of the pupils, and these things he cannot do satis- factorily unless he has awife. What is your opinion on this point, Mr. Calvert?” It was not so easy as before for the fellow of Merton to give are; i and ere he spoke a half- stifled sigh escape im. The master seemed to have no wish to hurry him, and was looking placidly into the fire. From his apparent apathy it seemed almost as if some other mat- ter were now occupying the attention of the venerable head of Joseph's. He prided him- self on his skill in the discernment of character and in his knowledge of human nature, and perhaps he had anticipated Mr. Calvert's re- ly. P'Spo I understand you to say,” asked Mr, Cal- vert, at length, “that only a man who is mar- ried can be appointed?” “We would not ied as ineligible one who was about to enter the state of matrimony at an early date,” was the significant answer, The master continned to look calmly in the fire, but Mr. Calvert was breathing quickly, and in his breast there raged a tempestof emo- tion. “I think,” he said at length, “that the elec- tors are right, as there is no doubt that the head master would discharge his duties better if he were raarried.” On hearing this the master rose and ex- tended his hand to bid his visitor good morn- ing, shall communicate your opinions to the other electors,” he said, It would have been difficult for a = a htful to ter of Joseph’s, but, unless Mr. Calvert was nicks, che be haderths aecaae peas co hay a ‘t pressure of con- ilf i EF iP ESEE i ails iH Ey tie i i AY, JANUARY 26, his circumstances must ere long change for the toe Under his guidance he felt sure have been incapable of any serious fault, But marriage with Mary Faber was now out of the question. It was impossible that he could a his great soiled faite tee ee cd eee one who, failing in her own sense of honor, had upon him to perform an act which he must ever regret. only course which now opened to him was to seek some lady whose attainments and disposition fitted her to be his companion, to aid him with her tnd could not giver” an he ele thay he as ive, as was doomed to a loveless life. CHAPTER V. Mr. Calvert's only sister was wife of the rec- tor of Spindleton. This lady was considerably older than her brother, and took a matronly in- terest in him. When, therefore, he confided to her the fact that he was anxious to marry before entering upon his new duties, his sister determined to do her best to aid him in procur- ing a suitable wife. Neither to his sister nor to auy one else did Mr. Calvert communicate the fact that his matrimonial projects were not altogether voluntary. In mentally reviewing the young ladies of her acquaintance, the rectors wife was not long in making her selection. Ladies bent on match-making do generally form their decis- ions with promptitude. It had already been arranged that . Calvert was to come ona short visit to the rectory, and as he was ex- pected soon, his sister resolved to take no ac- tive steps in furtherance of her plans till after his arrival. During the evening on which he came she made no allusion to the matter which was oc- gupying so much of her thoughts; but on the following day she told him that she knew of a lady who could not fail to make him an excel- lent wife. She added for his information that the young lady in question belonged toa good family, but that her father had been unforta- nate in money matters and was now wholly de- pendent on his daughter, who was one of the Coens mistresses in the local high school for girls. This description did not sound very promis- ing to Mr. Calvert, whose face as he listened assumed a doubtful expression, which was not dispelled even when his sister exclaimed en- thusiastically that the young lady in question was a dear, sweet, unselfish girl, who could not fail to make a devoted wife, while her accom- lishments left nothing to be desired. Finally, ister informed Mr. Calvert that she had ited the young lady and her father to din- ner that evening in order to meet him. On hearing this intelligence, Mr. Calvert sighed somewhat wearily, and began to think that he had made a mistake in supposing that his sister could aid him in carrying out his matrimonial projects, In the tater the two guests arrived before Mr. Calvert had quite finished dressing, and as he entered the drawing-room he heard a gen- tleman talking whose voice seemed familiar to him, though he could not remember to whom it belonged. He did not remain long in doubt, as on pores @ screen that at first had ob- scured his view, he saw to his astonishment Colonel Faber standing talking to the rector, while seated on a couch by his sister's sido was Mary, looking, ina plain white dress, more attractive than ever, The hostess was genuinely surprised to find that her guests were acquainted with her brother, and as she igoked keenly at Mary Faber while her brother was taking the youn lady’s hand a beam of honest pleasure seem, | over the matronly features of the rector’s wife. At dinner Colonel Faber, with his usual in- genuousness, told Mr. Calvert that shortly after he had met him he had been persuaded to embark his small capital in trade, and had soon lost all he had. The colonel added, not without a touch of pride, that he was’ now solely dependent on his little girl, who was able to earn a good income; and he told Mr. Calvert that if he could find time to call at their little cottage it would give him much pleasure to eee him there, During dinner only a few commonplace ob- servations passed between Mary Faber and Mr. Calvert. e did not smoke, and while the rector and colonel were enjoying a cigar in the library after dinner he joined the ladies in the drawing room. Very soon afterward he found himself alone with Miss Faber. “It was a pleasant surprise for me,” said Mr. Calvert, ‘to meet you here to-night. Although I knew my sister expected a lady to dinner, I had no idea she would prove to ‘ou.”” “‘And as I had’never heard her maiden name, when she told me I should meet her brother to-night, of course I had not any expectations of seeing you.” Mr. Calvert might be said to possess a dual nature, as in some respects he was very natu- ral and human in his thoughts, feelings and actions, but occasionally he became formal and pedantic. The one side of Mr. Calvert's character had been revealed by his flirtation with Miss Faber, at Eastbourne, and the other side was manifested in the terribly severe view which he had taken of poor Mary's fault. His manner and tone were altogether scholastic now, as he said: “It was under very different circumstances, Miss Faber, that you and I last met.” ‘e girl's face crimsoned, her eyse fell, and her quicker breathing also betrayed her’ emo- tion, Presently, however, she looked up at Mr. Calvert with a steadfast though timid glance, and said in an eager tone: “I cannot tell you how often I have wished that this ingrepennd might come, when I should be able to explain my motives for doing what you must have considered both strange worthy. It was just at the time when father met with his misfortunes, and he seemed so broken down and Shot that I felt he must for the future be dependent on my exertions. I knew that if I took a high place at the college examination I should have no diffictity in Cries | @ good situation. And, on the other hand, if I failed, I knew how difficult my roth! would be. With the ex- ception of Latin I had no fear for any of the other subjects, as I had always done well in them in our classes, but by the regulations then in force it was necessary to pass in Latin inorder to obtaina place on the honor list, Hence the fears that distracted me, and when Icame to you that night, Mr. Calvert, to ask your aid, I was acting thoughtlessly, without deliberation, urged by a sudden impulse which rompted by the dread of my father’s des- titution.” While he listened, Mr. Calvert's expression had grown softer: it was the natural element in him that was being manifested now. After a se pause Mary began again, speaking uickly: 2 “No sooner had I returned home than I be- gan to understand how foolish and wicked the request was that I made to you. When, on pon- dering over the matter, I became aware of the full significance of my dishonest petition, I was heartily ashamed of myself. Of course I knew then that you would never do what I had asked—” “What!” exclaimed Mr. Calvert in a startled voice. “I knew,” continued Mary, with a look and tone of candor, ‘‘that although you had said you would do as I wished, in order to humor me, or, perhaps, to get rid of me, you would not fail in your duty as examiner, but would act with perfect impartiality. I was convinced that you were too honorable to be influenced in the very least by what I had said. And had I thought otherwise then, when I had recovered from my excitement, I assure you, Mr. Calvert, that I would have returned, and would have implored Pa to forget every thoughtless word spoken.” “T woh you had!” exclaimed Mr. Calvert. “I thought it needless; but I hoped that sooner or later I might have this opportunity of making an explanation and aj “gs ceri nate iy ew ten of bed asked the young s nse; for she could tell by Mr. Calvert's look that something serious was troubling him. | Rtcergcr datra hi reply, Prey poten A gman you, and assigned to you the req num- eh, Mr, Calvert, how cbald you?” . . Calvi OW CO “It is rather superfluous to okus that ques- tion, seeing that you obtained from me a bind- be rhea hag rte pe Ppp renner thoug! were parted speak, beg teery nie ied 3 1889, i i z FE ii z 4 i j a oT i reached just added th Hc rathng eich, beaded wpe ts though only by a few marks, He b of relief, and with @ radiant look a the about her father, as she had said. Then, poor girl, she had actually held a better opinion about himself than he deserved, believing him incapable of failing in the disc! of duty. “God bless her!” ejaculated Mr. Calvert. How quickly time had passed while he sat pondering over the and the future! It was only a little after 10 when he entered his room, and on looking at his watch he found it was 1 o'clock. But sleep was out of the ques- tion, After his candle had burned out he drew up his blind, for the darkness was fast disappearing. He looked out and watched the widening dawn of the day which he knew must prove the most momentous of his life. It happens to few men of Mr. Calvert's age to achieve the honors and success that had fallen to his lot; but at the present moment he felt that there was no event in his past life but was insignificant when compared with the crisis which was at hand and which was filling him with joy and fear. When Mr, Calvert went out of the house in the morning no one was up, and although he walked in the direction in which Colonel Faber had told him he lived he did not intend to dis- turb him at that early hour. He purposed walking past the house into the country, and to call on hisreturn. Butashe drew near the little cottage he noticed Mary in the garden, and without hesitation "he opened the gate and went toward ber. As he drew near her he was started by the paleness of her face, and it was easy for him to see that, like himself, she had not slept. Her look was sosad that if she felt any surprise or pleasure at bis appearance it was not manifest in her face. Mr. Calvert felt so much distress at her sorrowful face that after he had taken her hand and bidden her good-morning he stood silently looking at her. It was Mary who spoke first, “Ever since we parted last night,” she said, “Ihave been thinking of what you told me, and I have resolved that, so far as lies inmy power, I shall make reparation for the wronj that I caused to be done. I intend to give bac! the money of the scholarship. I have not got so much; but by selling all we possess I think I shall be able to make up the sum, and I know that my father will support me in trying to do what is right. I shall also resign my situation, which I obtained owing to the result of the ex- amination, for I will not continue longer to be an impostor,” “Iam come,” replied Mr. Calvert, “to tell you that no injustice has been done.’ For the first time last night I read over your papers, and found that, had I done my dutyas examiner, as you believed I would, I must certainly have included your name among the successfal can- didates on your own merits.” She looked at him without speaking, for her trembling lips were incapable of forming words; but he could see by her trustful eyes that she did not doubt the truth of what he told her. “We shall go over the papers together!” continued Mr Calvert, “and. you will see that you underestimated your knowledge, as I think had you been less ‘nervous while you wrote them ge could have done much better. But though you were undoubtedly entitled to your distinguished place in the class list, it is never- theless true that you caused me to err griev- ously, andIthink you owe me some repara- tion.” She did not speak, but continued to gaze at him mutely. “T have not divulged to any one till now,” said Mr. Calvert, “the fact that I received my recent appointment on the understanding that Ishould marry. You are the only person in the world who can help me to follow out my career, because, since seeing you last nght, I have resolved that if you refuse to become my wife I must resign the post,” Mary's pent-up feelings had found vent at last, for, with her head leaning upon his breast, she was sobbing convulsively. The boys of Canonbury have a tradition which will be religiously handed down to each successive generation, and which owes its origin to their discovery that the “Doctor” was examiner in Latin in the year when his accomplished wife headed the list at St. Mar- garet's. Their story, which is devoutly be- lieved, is that when Dr. Calvert came to his wife's papers, he was so struck by the excel- lence of her Latin that he made a vow that the girl who had written these papers should be- come his wife, But ifthe boys knew the true history of the courtship, from the time of the flirtation at Eastbourne, they would understand that in this case at least the fact is more romantic than the fiction.—From Belgravia, see Worse than Marriage. A bachelor, old and cranky, Was sitting alone in his room; His toes with the gout were aching, And his face was o'erspread with gloom, No little ones’ shouts disturbed him, From noises the house was free, In fact, from the attic to cellar Was quiet as quiet could be. No medical aid was lacking; The servants answered his Respectfully heard his orders, And supplied him with everything. But still there was something wanting, Something he couldn't command: The kindly words of compassion, ‘The touch of a gentle hand. Ami he said, as his brow grew darker And he rang for the hireling nurse, “Well, mai may be a failure, But this isa blamed sight worse.” —Boston Courier, ‘AMILY SUPPLIES, T AT LOVELY UN 35ec. per bottle, NTED GRAPE WIN Lowest cesh prices at O'HARE’S Grocery, Ja22-1w* 245 7th st. nw. “Bima, Vex» SPRING WHEAT PATENT FLOUR is the Premier Flour of the World. ‘The only Minnesota Patent now made from all old wheat. For sale by the following well-known grocers: JOHN H. MAGRUDER, 1417 New York ave, CHAS. I. KELLOGG, Masonic Temple, 9th st. GEO. E. KENNEDY & SON, 1209 Fat. W. E. ABBOTT, 1721 Pennsylvania ave, R. A. WALKER, 1600 7th st. E. M. BURCHARD & BRO., Penn. ave. and 434 st. G. W. & H. W. OFFUTT, Georgetown. A. O. WRIGHT, 1632 14th st, P. F. BACON, Pennsylvaniaave, a8-wi for the cash, dl: La ave. n. w. a BOOKS AND STATIONERY. emia > Booxs 9 GENTLEMEN'S GOODS. G. T. Ker, TAILOR och 414 OTH STREET H. D. Bux IMPORTER AND TAILOR, Flas the a personally Ste all garments made in 1111 PENNSYLVANIA AVE. Washineton, D.C. __ HOUSEFURNISHINGS._ V ALL Parens, Daarrnres, HOUSE AND FRESCO PAINTING, REX FURNITURE POLISH. THE P. HANSON HISS MANUFACTURING oa, S15 15th et. ow. __Baltimore House, 217 N. Charles st. cre Coomxe Br Gas A full ine of GAS COOKING STOVES On hand and for sale. WASHINGTON GASLIGHT COMPAST, mb31 a mary 13th, 1889, Mail Daily for Warrenton, atone Lyuchlune, and s A. M.—Fast r Warrenton, Cl lottesville, Gordonsville, Sta! ‘bes & Ohio Route, Lynchburg, Rocky Mount. le and Stations be- tween Lynchburg and Danville, Greens Charlotte, Columbia, \iken, Aususta, At New York to ay care Atlanta to Monteomery Fomery to New Orleans and or Birmingham, V: : =: — > ior Pullman Sleepers Mont- Maun Boudoir flowers pare. and Shreveport. Pullman ‘clambia and Auguste, sults to Atlanta, Does not counect for 0 Foute points Sundays, ) P. M—Daily, except Sunday, for Manassas, ys rate stati, » § 2 extern Express Di Gordonsville, Charlottesville, 1 Pullman Sleepers and Soli Louisville; also for Chattanooga, Memphis, Little Ro id all southwestern pointe, Throwh Pullman Sleepers Washington t Memphis without chanwe. 11:00 P. M.—Southern Express Daily for Lynch bare, Danville, Kalewh, Asheville, Charlotte, € tum. bia, Aiken. Auiustay AUanta.’ Moiigomery, New Ur- Jeans, Texas and ir Pullman Vesubule Sjeeper ns via Atlanta and Mout- Fomery Washington to Auguste, Ga., without rs ‘Trains on Washington and Ohio division leave Wash- {ington 9-00 A.M. Daily except Sunday, and 4-45 ™M Daily; arrive Round Bill 11:30 A. Mand 7 Returning leave Kound Hill 6.05 AM Daily P.M. Daily Acept Sunday, arriving Washingt Chesap itesville at 0:40 xt Charis A ne Teservation aud information r end bareage checked at office, 1300 Penne eylvania avenue, aud at eager Station, Pennaylva- nia Railroad, Gib and B sts JAS. L. TAYLO! dalé General Passenger Agent. PENNSYLY. TO THE NOKTH, W DOUBLE TRACK. STEEL RAIL IN EFF TRAINS LEAVE WASHINGT CORNER SIXTH AND Lows, For Pittsburg.and the West, Chicago Limited E: Pullman V and Harris! ¥. to Chic re to St. Loui Lote: dally, except Soter x with sieopiag er Al toome to Chi- cago. Western’ Express, at 7-40 pan. daily, with Sleeping Cars Washi 0 ago and St. Louis connecting daily st Harri with throu Sleepers for Louisville and yhis. Pacife Ex- daily, for Pittsburg and the est. with through Sleeper to Pittsburg, and Pitte- » Chicage IME AND POTOMAC RAILROAD. or F lairua, and falo and Niawara, daily, e turd wr Washington to Roche ik Hay or press, 10:00 p jor New Yor! the East, 7-20, 9:00, 21:00, ana 11:40... 2-00, 4:10, 10-00, and 11:20 pan. Om Sunday, 9:00, 11-40 ain. 2-00, 4:10, 10 ud B Limited Express of Pullman, Parlor ly, except Sunday, and 3:40 ‘Car. For Bost - 00 p.m. every dai For Brooklyn, ail thromeh trains comnectat Jen. sey City with boats of Brooklyn Annex, affording direct transfer to Fulton street, avoiding double ferriage ner ork City For Philadelplua, $10, #:00, 11:00, and 11-40 0.8:10, 10:0 a ‘a.m. 2-00, 4:10 £0 Renaag,, 9:00, 11740 a.m 2-00. 4.10, om a 20pm. Limited Ex 3:40 ‘a.m. weck days, and 23S pm, 8:10, 9:00, 9.40, 9:50 03, oo, 3:45, 4-10, 10:00, and 11:20 p. * 1 0506, "and 11-20 pm For Pope's Creck Line, 7:20am. and 4:40 p.m. daily, unday. 20 and 9-00 am., 12-05 and 4:40 xcept Sundays Sundays, 9:00 a m, ALEXANDRIA AND FREDERICKSBURG. RATI- WAY, AND ALEXANDRIA AND WASHINGTON 6 RAILROAD. For Al 1m. 20 ind 3:40 p.m. daily, exce] ‘Trains leave Alcsandria for 0:15 ip 5:00, 9:10, 5 5:10, 6:30, 7-05, o: 4 (a7) ___ Gen. Pas. Agent. TL RE AND OHIO RAILROAD. Schedule in effect Dee. ¥th, 5 ve Wi from station ‘corner of New Jersay avenue and C at Chicago and*Northwest, vestibuled Limited ex- daily, 5:55 a.m. ; 9:05 p.m. if go bt Louis; capreen daily, 3 and For Bi da: 6:30, 6 4 30 0:45, 11 aSeminute train} aime Let, & inutstrain), 3:26, 4:80, 4:35. 5.30, 6: #2 spl 30 pm pe G0. 8 0.8 3 », 2:05, 3:25, 4:30, 4:36, 6:45, 7:30, 8: Bun 10, 1:15 D0, 4:10, For Anvapolia, 6 = bapolis 6:40, 8:37 am. 12'Ub, 4 ut bBo 2. ss 8:57am. 4:10 _—"* For 99: O aim, § 19 . 35) and 9:30 pam. ithersbu d intermediate points, Gtateretig e555, 111-90 pam mipeisn 's and int wtatdona, 17-00 Pm Higboy: Chi ‘train lea Washi: 31 ek Sanson nies “pretkat md rs po1 10:10am, 14:35, 15:30pm Sun ‘or Hagerstown, 10:10 a. end tS: ive from ae am, tae Bier ie ee __eoooee=e=S=_sSE POTOMAC RIVER BOATS, ‘T. VERNON! = Mi. VEKNUN! STEAMER WW. CORCORA’ el