Evening Star Newspaper, March 16, 1889, Page 10

10 Written for Tue Evextxe Stan. ETIQUETTE AND MANNERS. What to Do and What Not to Do in So- ety. ETY'S RULES LAID bow BY THE AUTHOR OF “DON'T”—-MANY CORRESPONDENTS ANSWERED— WoMEN WHO TRAVEL—-WEDDINGS AND RECEP- TIONS—POINTS OF POLITENE following questions and answers are d this week for the benefit of corre- nts i ele THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON. ‘ D.C, SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 1889-TWELVE PAGEs. 2. Not when a card is personally left. 5, In an envelope big enough to hold the car INTRODUCTIONS AT TABLE. ‘When seated at the dinner table a gentleman comes in. On being introduced to him by the hostess I find that he is back of me. Should I put myself in an awk- ward positio: him or shoald by twi fleave Y Seat at the ? An introduction should not be given when persons are seated at table. If an introduction 18 forced upon one an inclination of the head and a word are all that is necessary. One should not rise from tie table or twist around. or attempt to shake hands, as anything of the = is very disturbing to other people at table. 1 should pe o if lady jan” wishes to know if @ young should ‘ite a gentleman or should be ask perm! “Tn in 5. In taking callers in the parlor, should I lead the | 4,41" introducing a minister should he be addressed Way, of step back and say, “Please step into,” ete- ‘3. Would it be considered bad form for a couple not 1. Yes. ed to attend church toxether? & Lead the way to the door, open it and in- vite the guests to precede you. =< uta lidy end gentleman attend a church wed- in fall dre ald it b Ww cloak In the evening yes. if preferred. In the Proper for lady to wear light dress, opera to rewove her bonnet? afternoon it is nut customary, but in some in- ata ull dress is worn by ladies who con- template attending a reception afterward. Gentlemen wear full dress at evening wed- dings, but not at other times. Will you please write me a letter of congratulations for a lady friend's birthday? Any simple form suflices for a purpose of this kind. much, however, depending upon your degree of intimacy with your frend. If only an acquaintance, your visiting card with the word “Congratulations” written upon it Will do. From this point you can elaborate as taste or inclinations pron You can say, “With sine mgratulations,” or ‘With sincere congratulations and ‘wishing you Many returns of the day,” or, I congratu- late you upon your birthday, and wish for you every possible happiness,” and so on. — These may be writ: a note. It is not in good taste to send elaborate congratulations or to be in any way effusiv: Is it custom for ladies to wear veils to the thea’ A veil Or concert or other public entertainments. ADVICE TO TRAVELERS, Information is ed by a widewed lady and @anghter as to lin, registering, , . whether to wait | is best cf Botificatic feeim to if it Lethe invaria Upon arriving at ah trance. which aiwa ception room. the office with a i there to . and give yourself no ry. which is not obliga- . In regard to feeing ser- id that this objectionable x in this country r comfort by accep your stay. but pi There is no uniform zone should not overp how mneh is always When you take your seats at table always as- certain whether the waiter in attendance will serve you regularly; arrange with him to re- serve your seats for you each meal. giving him a small fe nd hand him a small fee each d: —not less than twenty-five cents, This.will se- | cure satisfactory service attable. With the ex- ception of a small fee to the man who takes up indard of pay- nor give too a and brings down your baggage no other tip- | Ascertain of what hours | and go to the dining room | ping is necessar; jours withou: b uh to inform me the proper thpse k should not be used in public unless there is absolute necessity for doing so. If there is an obstruction in the teeth that must be removed shield the mouth with one hand and remove the object with the toothpick as quietly as possible. taking care not to insert the ingers. WEDDINGS AND ANNIVERSARIES. 1. At an “at home” wedding that is at the bride’s Bouse, who receives the invited guest Are they introduced to each other and by whom? th, When the reception follows the wedding are cards incinsed in the invitation to that effect, or is it neces- sary when all the guests are to remain to the receep- tion? 1. Some relative or friend selected for the It ix customary to engrave on the reception and di th wedding ing on the occa- Tsary, aud in read: “Mr. or only: “Mra. J. H. nit before the reception must the invita- | \ “No iveraary considered, as, as I should like to make te The invitation should read: “Mr. and Mra, J.H. Brown. on the thirtieth anniversary of | their marriage.” Here follow with day, date, hour. and address, as follows: ‘Wednesday evening. March 10, at 9 o'clock, 40 John street.” 2. About two weeks, It is not in good taste to engrave “no gifts on invitetions for a wedding anniver- persons feel it necessary to do in from giving the entei not wish to appear as solic is, however. no necessity words on an invitation for Versary, as this is not associated with gif ng in the manner that some other anniversaries ure. 4. We have never heard any designation for the thirtieth or other wedding anniversary bi fiftieth. An object composed of silver and gold would be a taste- ful aud suitable gift for your wife QUESTIONS OF RELIGK received they d ‘nts, 1 ¥_ performed in aay and demand that the Ttoid hit I have tiquette should be shown to memeaed also says I must, | honor. and obey, &c. Tsay not, ’ Awa I right of wrong? 1. It is customary to yield this matter to the | decision of the bride. but circumstances make differences. In cases where one is a Romanist and the other a Protestant two ceremonies take lace. the Catholic church not considering a Protestant marriage valid. Some such feeling may animate a High Churchman, who cannot consider a marriage in an Evangelical church as admissible. In such proper for the bride to yield to the wishes of | the groom. In fact. too much stubbornness on her part does not promise well for the future happiness of the coupi +. The obligation to “love, honor ané obey begins with the marriage ceremony 1. Which Proper way for « young couple in wolerate circusnatances to send out marriage cards, ore oF atter marriage, or both? ould it ue the proper thing to give a breakfast, pper if later in the day, where only the tunn smilies are to be preseut, and that in @ private c astomary to send out wedding cake or card: or how? 3. Es it or both. 1. The cards are usually sent before mar- Fiage. But sometimes announcement cards merely are sent after marriage. 2. Yea. 3.. Wedding cake is not now sent out. Guests at the recep ter the ceremony are handed @ small box containing # piece of the wedding cake. A SERIES. 1. In sending invitations to an afternoon reception @hould one send special iuvations to the young daugh- ter of a friend? Should a young «irl Just out, but not having had ermal del . attend an afternoon reception with her having had a especial invitation, or pu? ions for adancing part) es’ frieud. 1m calling af- ve cards for we : & party, for which about 200 invitations ve been sent out, is each obe expected to send sccpt- ‘eof rearets? a should the finver-bow] be on a sepa- sit correct to put itom the fruit plate © it and the doyley to the side of the plate wear to ht OF ‘hen ould a youns girl feo a Det to uk at all overdrensed? ld’ she wear wlovest ley be removed? 1. Not unless the young daughters are in so- eiety. 2. She may accompany her mother without a Special invitation. p Three cards should be left—one for each ye 4. An invitation should always be answered, @ither for acceptance or regret. 5. The finger bowl should be on the fruit late on a small dovley. Remove the finger wi and doyley to the side of the plate. 6. Ice-cream should be served in saucers, with an ordinary teaspoon, 7. Either light or dark, V-shaped, with lace draped on the neck, and lace sleeves, the lace matching the color of the silk that the dress is made of. She should wear gloves and remove them when seated at table. 1 he jou pl Seay ag caricattyn what tothe z jor the visiting card of aa euly daughert Ie it or Mise. Sere Z. When s card is left, should 1t be in an envelope? 8 we * F an env 3. And when s card is seut by mail, in what size eD- 1. Give the surname * a iy only; prefix the title on your card or sent in form of | ‘or the street, and not for the theater | | company of what you require. | nice question. | t waiting for notification. | “Reception from —,” here giving the | @ case it would be | 1. The invitation to call should be extended by the mother. If the gentleman asks permis- sion to call the young lady can assent by her mother's permiasion. 2. In introducing a clergyman his title, rev- erend or doctor, should mentioned, but while, if a doctor, he may be addressed as such, as a reverend merely he should be addressed as mister, 3. No. ‘i 1. Isit thirty dozens 2 Taguther and sen hare the seme Chistian tame aud the father dies, should the Junior still be written after the son's uame? fe — sanctions both forms. No. Isit proper to wear a full dress vest with a Prince Albert cout No. A dress waistcoat, which is a waistcoat of broadcloth, cut low, is proper only with a dress co: A SERVANTLESS DINNER, If one has no servants and wishes to give a dinner to ‘one’s relations and intimate friends how should it be served. Should all the dishes and desserts be placed on the table and should the hostess assist the host in serving them? What would be suitable and dainty for such a dinner, 1. If there are no servants a dinnerin courses is impossible. The dessert, excepting the fruit, should stand on a side table. The fuit may be placed in the middie of the table as a decora- | tion. The host should carve the meat, the hos- tess serving the vegetables and the dessert, and by necessity, she must remove the dishes for the dessert, 2. The principal dish might be of roast or boiled fowl, and served with Italian macaroni and mashed potatoes, baked, followed by a | salad. For dessert a Roman punch, a biscuit glace or ice-cream with cake, followed by fruit, | mute and raisins, “Dick,” Martin's Ferry, Obio, writes: When I ac- y “girl” aud her sister or chum to church | OF 4 playhouse where should I sit—between them or | next to the ais! In church it is customary for the escort to | sit next to the aisle; at the theater or concert an outside seat is commonly chosen by the man. Take that seat which would enable you to aid them best in case of danger or au enier- gency. an which they nnot do if you are betw ib reception where t) is dan- is if proper to Feinovs the gluves ch to the elbow? what color of gloves n them, . ‘Lhe gloves may be removed for supper. 3. Tan-colored gloves aud slippers to match, POLITENESS, 1. Is it polite for a stranger at a ball, without an in- troduction, to approach a lady and ask her to dance? 2. Isit not proper to ask the door manager for an introduction before? 1, Such a proceeding would savor not only | of impoliteness, but of impertinence. 2. Strictly speak: introductions should come from some friend of the lady. 1, Kindly inform me of the proper form introdue- | ine a lady and gentleman, and gentleman to gentle man? Please suggest, if you can, some sort of enter- teiument to have on a yentiewan’s birthday, which happens on last day of duly? Am afraid 6 ‘party wouldn't do, it being so warta during that month. 4. Wuen niaking « trieudly visit is it proper to wear your gloves into tue parlor? 4. Upon being introduced to a lady (either young or elderly) is it proper to offer to shake hands, 1. Gentlemen should always be introduced to ladies —*-Miss Bell, permit me to introduce my friend, Mr. Green” —and young men toelder men. 2. If in the country have a garden party: if in town nothing in midsummer can be in order but music, conversation. and ices, 3. In making brief, formal visits, wear gloves; in friendly visits the gloves can properly be re- moved. 4. No. The proffer of the hand should always be made by the lady. Is it proper for a young men who has been married about two Years to wit with his wife at the opera and read the newspaper during plays that are not interest- ing to himself No, it is not proper; in fact. it is unspeaka- bly vulgar. Such an’ exhibition would justify the worst things Mrs. Trotlope and other of | our English critics bave said of American man- ners. If you admire an actor or actress, and wish to meet him or her, as the crse be. stiuply to exchanse a few words and express your admiration to t c of it, What meass should you employ, and 1s favor usually accorded any One who may aak it Emphatically do not employ any means to bring suchan end about. It would be vulgar Apert. If youchance to meetan actor or actress in society, express the pleasure you have felt in se them act, but do not seek them; do not devise means to meet them, for this would be lacking in self respect and the reticense that becomes a young woman. a be Ko kind g6 to tell a young housekeeper orrect thing to serve a supper from a side vw to set the supper table when the meal is 1. It is not easy to answer these questions; they are too va The kind of supper and | nature of the occasion are not explamed. Or- dinary suppers are served from a center table, but if a side table is more convenient there is no reason why it should not be used. As to setting the table. that must depend on the nds; hot dishes at each end, cold cuts inter- | spersed between. varied by salads, fruits, dc. A gentle applause is not improper—just enough to indicate a person's pleasure in the erformance, such as a gentle clapping of the Bands. Anything loud or violent would. ‘be in- decorous. A DISGUSTING HABIT. Do men rank as geutlemen who indulge in the habit of spitting, aud is it not au exclusively American prac- nly no public place is free from the intol- wee, The sidewalks are unfit for decent ad yet well-educated men are just as ers as poor, immorant men, who are not suipowed to kuow Letter, Have we women no redress in this matter? The excessive spitting habit of which you speak is exhibited nowhere except in America. and too much cannot be said in its denuncia tion. Men who evidently think themselves geutlemen spit everywhere, except, perhaps, in a ladies’ parlor. They empty their filth on the floors of public vehicles, compelling women to drag their skirts through it, they spit in public passages, in halls, on stairways, on the side- walk, everywhere and anywhere, with a fairly brutal disregard of every consideration of de- cency. Much of this expectoration is due to tobacco chewing. a most disgusting habit, com- mon to our countrymen only, and carried to such an extent in some parts of the country as to render life there almost intolerable. The women of the country should unite in a crusade against this habit. They should form associa- tions and take united action egainst it, de- nouncing it everywhere, refusing to associate with men who practice it, creating by every means in their power a public sentiment against its indulgence, for it is a habit that brands us before the world, 1d yor y tell me the si > It is not clear what this correspondent means by the significance of the anniversaries referred to. The golden wedding. which celebrates the | fiftieth anniversary of the marriage. is an ex- ceptional and honorable event, end hence is | titly celebrated by a gathering of the friends of the venerable couple; but the silver wedding (the twenty-fifth), the crystal wedding (the wooden wedding the fifth), ure not exceptional, and merely fanciful designations, with no par. ticular significance. The custom of giving presents on these occasions—gold, silver, glass, En or wood, as the terms indicste—has been much abused, and many persons refrain from celebrating them on this account, or if they do, give notice that presents will not be received. AvTHos or ‘“‘Doy’r.” re noni An Expedient for Seeing the Play. From the Chicago Herald. Man at the theater box office. “Have you any front seats in the upper gal- “Yes, sir.” “How high is that above the parquet?” “About seventy feet.” “Do you think’ T could see over the millinery down stairs?” , “I think so.” “Gimme two.” ————tae- Walt Whitinan’s Joke. From the Philadelphia Press, ° Walt Whitman is not without « keen sense the humorous. Anambitious young poct called on him the other day to show hime MS. trag- edy, entitled “Columbus.” “Mr. Whitman,” — he, “I should like to read my drama, “eT theak you,” ald Walt. “D've been nd recollect that two young ladies at | ntertainment love dearly to chat together, | If yon don't bring t twentieth, the tin wedding (the tenth), the | | | | be got to ui | Ameri WHAT BECAME OF MR. BLIND- WEED. BY B. L. FARJEON. From All the Year Round. Now, then, what are you hanging about here for? You want Mr. Thomas Blindweed? Well, what do you want with him? To see ona little bit of business, Oh! Is it anything wor- riting? Because I've had enough worry to last me a pretty long time, and if you're going to add to it, the sooner you cut your stick the better I shall like it. Yon ain't come to worry me. You only want to hear the true story of the inquest—Mr. Blindweed’s inquest, it’s got to be called—and anything else 've a mind to tell you, You mean by that, I suppose, that you want to know all about me? You're modest, you are! Why, I've never set eyes on you till this minute. What are you. if I make so bold? A descriptive writer. What, for shop windows? No? What for. then? Newspapers and magazines, eh? Ah, you want to put me into print. Well, I've no objection, so long as I'm paid for it. And if I am put into print, and if my beautiful wife happens to read what I tell you. it may do her & power of good. You're willing to pay me! My time’s precious—suppose we say so much a minute. What do you offer? A penny a minute, Won't do. Tuppence. That's better. Let's make a calculation, Sixty minutes tothe hour— a hundred and twenty peyce—ten bob. To patter away at that rate ten hours a day—ten tens—five pound nought, But on second thoughts, it'd be wearing to the tongue— mizhin't be able to keep up the steam. I'l strike a bargain. Thrippence a minute I'll take, and no less. I reckon six minutes gone already, You don't mind? Well, that's hand- some of you. It's just 12 o'clock, and I'll take ten bob on account. Thank you. Easy to know @ gentleman when you see one. You don't object to a vit of personal history, T hope, because it's necessary in what I'm gojr to tell you. My beantiful wite is out, interrupt us. “Wheu she's out ther she, “Tm quite well, Mr. Blindweed,” says casting down her ey: nd how are you?” “I'm blcoming.” says I. And there we stands, Molly and me, her hand in mine, and her eyes looking up and down, and her boozom swelling and palpitating to that degree that it looked for all the worl as if it was being worked by steam power. was gone. sir, dead gone! was a beaut: and no mistake. There wasn't a woman witl a mile of us that could hold a candle to her. “Will you take my arm, Molly?” says I. “ Mr. Blindweed,” says she, “if you please. Oh, how meek and sweet she was! “If I'm to eall you Molly,” says I, “you musn’t call me Mr. Blindweed.” “all me Thomas,” Then she says so soft that I had to put my head down to hear it, quite close to her mouth, and her breath was as sweet as vio- lets. I'd never been so close to her before, and it set my heart beating like 1 o'clock. Well, sir, we walked up and down the street, arm-in-arm, for an hour, and people stared at us, And who should we meet but Dick Paw- son? He comes up and says: “Good morning. Molls But Molly tosses up her head at old as “Good morning. he cries, quite flabbergasted. “Oh, im, and “Don't take liberties with my name,” says Molly, “and I'll trouble you to keep your dis- tance, and to speak when you're spoken to. Away goes Dick Pawson, with a flea in his ear, ~ *Tcould never abear him,” says Molly. “Couldn't you, Molly? vs. thinking what a fool I'd been ever to think different. “Never.” says ) y. he’s as thin as ashaving!” Py *Thomas,” she says, “Yes, Molly,” says I to her. “It’s such along time since I've been to a theayter!” “Would yon like to go to one?” says I. “T world,” says she, “With me, Molly’ “I shouldn't enjoy it she. “If it's quite agreeable,” to-night: “Oh Thomas!” says ehe. T didn't take her to s®e a tragedy, but _some- | thing as would make us laugh: and I didn’t take her to the pit, but the box And_ there 1 with nobody else,” says ys I, “will you go peace in the house; when she’s in there ain't. But she’s beginning to discover that I'm master here, as aman and a husband ought tobe, I gave her e lately it'll take her some time to re- from. You'll hear abont that. o close together that I felt as if I. were I must commence a little way back. Three den, She looked beautiful, Fears ago my wife—Molly’s her name—was a | I'll say that of her. She was the prettiest girl rare handsome piece of goods, and, to do her {in the whole theaytre. and she laughed so justice she was aware of She's showing | much that she had to ketch hold of me to keep signs of wear and tear now; and she ain't haif | from tumbling off her seat, aud the more she the figger she was, I'm continually cautioning | canght hold of me the more | liked it, There her about it, and I think she'll take heed of what I say, because if there’s one thing more than another she’s vain of it’s her good looks. oly, my dear,” Isays to her, “your face ing in, your nose’ is turning Tred. your mouth is losing its pritty cur was a dark scene in the play 1 lasted three times as long. of the the: . as happy as I wished had When we come out pair of birds in y to a bit of supper?” e, Thomas,” says she. , ain't got half the shine in’em th r ; restaurong. and had lamb have, and your figger, Molly—not to put to fine | chops, fric« sand port wine, and be- 4 point upon it—your figger’s gitting ser . | fore we'd finished supper she was calling me Tom, say at temper of yourn When we come out of the restaurong I ar or two you'll be no nnder control, in a better than a bag of bi Its temper, guv'y else, that alters a woman's look lerstand. th vinegary, Well. as I was saying. when Molly as single she was a perfect beanty, and lots of chaps was wild after her, me among the rest. | Idon't deny it. Iwas mad in love with her pritty face and shining eye mouth that I thought butter wouldu’t m But it will, gav’—I've found that out lon: 5 In the days I'm speaking of, she wouldn't look at me—turned up her nose whenever I spoke to her. “I ain't good enough for you, I suppose,” says I to her. ‘ot by a long way,” says she to me. hy wasn't I? Because I was a working car- enter, making about twenty-five bob a week. ‘hat was as much as Dick Pawson was making, but then she was sweet on him. and wasn't on me, which made all the difference. and didn’t show her sense. A slim kind of chap. Dick Pawson; curly hair, little feet, a face like a wax dummy, could dance in the latest fashion—ah! that was a powerful bait for Molly. As they went round and round in the dancing academy —where I used to go sometimes to keep my eye on her—he looked like a dying duck in a thunder storm. He was a shop-walker ina haber- dasher's shop. A regular lady’s man, Not a bit of stamina in him. I could throw three of in the air and play ball with the: I told him so once, and offered to fight him with one hand, but he sniggered and refused, and says I to Molly “Call the likes of him aman! Why, he ain't got a backbone! : But that didn’t set her against him, The more I run him down, the better she thougnt him. It’s the way of women, guv’. “Yo “No, all we walk or ri¢ She looks ap and say: are, Tom! It's a fine mght.” “How bright the stars ‘Yes, nv im. close: ked, and before mile I asked by and sh gone half a she'd have had a lot of was a policeman t take partienlar of us, egsept, I dare say, to wish that he places and Tsay "ve loved you Tong.” * she says: I've loved you ever says I, I didn’t want to look bold, Tom,” she says. And I was spoons enough to believe it! “In amonth from that time we was married. A slap-np wedding, witha conch and two horses, driver with white bows, Molly's family smart and spruce, Molly herself a picture, anda reg- ular spread afterward at the Royal George. Everything passed off splendidly took a tour to Gravesend, and spent our hones moon there, “I've got a_ pri thinks I to elf, and it really seemed so, guv’nor, Molly good as goid, and when we come there Was thes® two rooms ready furnished for us, Molly didn’t say anything at first, but I saw she was « little put out; she let a week go by, and then she say “Tom,” she sa3 rooms; we ought ‘we oughtn’t to live in to have a nice house of our “Rooms are good enough for me, Molly.” says I, ‘and what's good enough for me ought to be good enough for you “Way, of course it is, Tom,” says she, “but think of the neighbors.” “Why shouid [ think of "em?" says I. re beginning to talk already,” says uu won't have me?” says {. “I won't have you; and 1 1 unless he can keep me like “Can Dick Pawson do that?” I aske, “When he gits a shop of his own, he can,” she answers. One great thing against me was that I couldn't dance. If I tried a polka, 1 was sure to fallon my nose, and bring my partner to grief. Now Molly was dancing mad; she'd loll and languish in Dick Pawson's arms, and go round and round the academy—admission tup- pence; ladies free; cloak-room a ps he refreshments on the premises at prices—for an hour and more: and music ape and she was oblis d to, you thought she could never git back her breath, it come that short. But what did that matter Breath or no breath. round and round she'd go, casting her eyes up at the ceiling with a look that couldn't have been more egstatic if she'd becn floating among angels, And Dick Pawson 'd come up to me, simpering and snigzering, and say: Whata pity you can't dance, Mr, Blind- v7" says I, “What about?” “About ts living bere,” she says, “What's that to them?” says “Tell’em to mind their own business.” “But, Te ays Molly, coaxing like, aap so rich,” says Molly, “that we can afford to live in style, what reason is there why we shouldn’ “How rich do yon think we are?” says I. “Youve got hundreds of houses, haven't yon?” says she. “Not | * says. “Only four— she cries, |.’ L answers, a could bay more if you liked,” says she. “No, I couldn't,” says I, “unless they'd sell “em to me at about a bob a time. I inwested all my fortune in them four houses, and a very i fortune it is, ” says she, “fifteen thousand at.” I, Molly kept fli vay with this one and that one, but most of all with Dick Pawson, pounds at le “Oh, no,” says I, “not quite fifteen hun- and never with me, till something occurred | dred, and they bring me in thirty-two bob a | that astonished meas much as it astonished | week.” her and everybody else. I gitsa letter one day | She was regularly took aback at this, and a from a lawyer chap, and on the envelope I’m | matter of three or four days passed before she called “Thomas Blindweed, Esqerwire.” Now, | spoke of it again, Then she said: that was unusual; so was the letter. Iwas to| “If we've onl y thirty-two shillings a week to live on, Tom - “Which,” says I, “is all we've got.” “Then you ought to go to. work, Tom,” says call on the lawyer chap as soon as possible to hear something to my advantage. I went, you may take your oath on it, and I did hear some- thing to my advantage. There wasa brother | she. of mine that I'd lost sight of for I don’t know “Not me,” says I. “I'm quite satisfied with how many years, Went to America. Made | the way we're living, and I ain't fond of | money there, and was buried without leaving a jow, Molly,” says I, “don't you go run- will behind him, As he was a single mun and Iwas his only relation, his money was mine. AIL I had to do was to prove that I was Thomas Blindweed. Esqerwire, brother of Nicholas Blindweed, Esqerwire, who lived and died in Says the lawyer chap: “It's all right, Mr. Blindweed. Leave the matter in my hands, and I'll make’ things snug for you. He did, and made things snug for himself by handing me a bill of costs. It made me stare, but it,was uo use fighting against it. 1 got what was left. It wasn't to be sneezed at. A matter of fifteen hundred pounds, I bought myself a new suit of clothes, froin top to toe, and I walked up and down in front of Molly's house, with a flower in my coat, lavendar-colored kid gloves on my hands, and hiny bell-topper on my head. And, what more, I smoked 4 cigar instead of 4 pipe. From choice? No; I knew what I was about. Molly wanted to marry a man that would make a lady of her. Now, thought I, what shall I do with my money? Start a business, and lose it in twelve months? Set up carriage, and® spend it in six? Or go to the races. and drop it im a week? ‘Do a sensible thing, Tom,” saysI to myself. “Invest, it and make it bring you in so much a week for the rest of your natural life. Then there'll be no oceasion for you to work any more.” { don’t mind telling you, guynor, I ain't fond of work; I like to smoke my pipe without being ordered about. So after con- sidering how to invest I come to the conclusion that house property was the very identical, I bought a terrace of four houses down Mile End way, and after deducting for taxes and repairs, and making allowances for the time that some of’m ‘d be empty, I reckoned that I could safely depend on an income of thirty-two bob a-week. Independent of what my terrace cost me I had a matter of a hundred pounds or so =r with, and work my point—which was Molly. your head against brick walls; you'll come nd best if you do. We can be happy and comfortable if you don’t act contrairy: if you do act contrairy, we shall be the other thing.” Then, guv’nor, she begins to ery and storm, and says that I dec “How's that, Molly ve L “Didn't you make me believe,” says she, “be- fore you married me that you had £15,000 and hundreds of houses?” “No, I didn’t,” says I. “I never said a word about it, and you never asked me.” “But it was in everybody's mouth,” says she. *'That ain't my business,” says I. '“If people will talk. they must talk. T advise you again, Molly, don’t you go and act contrairy, We've got along all right up to now, and we can keep along all right if you've a mind to.” But she hadu’t got a mind to. From that minnte she begun to change, and instead of making things pleasant and comfortable, she nagged and nagged to that degree that’ she almost drove me wild. Itried to bring her to reason, but it wasn'ta bit of good. She kept on crying that I'd deceived her, and that I ought to go to work, so that she might have silk dresses and plush hats and things, and she turned the place into a perfect bear garden, And one night, when I'd kept outa bit for peace und quietness, I opened the door of our setting-room, and there was Dick Pawson in my chair smoking my pipe and ae out of my glass. I remembered then that I'd told Molly that I shouldn't be home till 11 or 12 o'clock, and that was why Dick Pawson was making himself so comfortable; he didn't egspect me. It cut me a bit, Fil say that, guv’nor, to see Molly looking as bright and pene as she used to do when she was fishing for me. “Dick Pawson,” says I, very stern, “what brings you here?” invited him,” cries Molly, defiant like. Z h, did you?” says I. “But it happens that Of course the news flew about. it wasn’t | I’m master in this place, and nobody comes fifteen oundred pounds I was worth, it was | here unless I ask ’em.” fifteen thousand. It wasn’t a terrace of four houses I'd bought, it was houses all over Lon- don that Iwas master of. The next time I meets Molly it was in everybody's moutb, and she looks at me, and I looks at her, and 1 lifts my Sier baler r in a fashionable way, and bows to her, and then I passes on. I'd practiced that hat and bow business before the looking- glass for hours and hours, till I was perfect. She meets me again the next day, does Molly, and this time she stops and says: aes you're not getting proud, Mr. Blind- wee And she offers me her hand, and lets me hold itas L like, and smiles as sweet as honey ie ‘folly and-to. you! Not “me “ J you! things have ’ Sees have anybody here I like to have,” says v. “We'll see about that,” saysI, “I'll settle with you presently, Molly. First, I've got to settle with Dick Pawson, Stand up, mate.” He was very white; and when J pulled him on his feet he was shaking like a jelly. “Now. look here, Dick,” says “T ain't going to ask you questions, I’m onl; give you @ bitof a warning. This time T've cat here He didn’t want telling twice; he was off like : work iivtsg ais hottest rt, Da venpet arene r obliged to ” one “I'm so glad, Mr. says Molly, | and threw th about, and wound up’ by sweeter than ever, “] used to call me ee ‘on the floor and pre’ to Molly.” faint. soon come to, though, when I doused “I didn't know,” says I, “that it mightn’t be | her with a of cold water, considered a A She didn't speak to me for a week after ar Mr Blindweod,” says she, “Ob, | and didn't sbeak to her. We haa to hare mat no. I be very. pleas if you'll call me lnm pe poe ol dnt ange cere Molly,” says I, “how are you?” ‘ served me out finely, Ican tell you. She ain't own. | | consoled her. pleasure now in spoling everything she put on the table. I aes foal eat andy she burnt it toacinder. I like my chops well done; she hardly warmed ‘em. T like my « boiled three minutes and a half; she boiled “ém ten, And when we had potatoes they were like bul- lets. After a bit we spoke again, of course; but it was nothing but sulk, sulk, sulk, and ery, cry. cry, from morning to night. At last I thought it might do Molly good if I gave her a taste of single blessedness, “Molly,” says 1, “you ain't the woman I took you for.” “And you're not up. “I took you for.” try for it,” said I. “but I'm the same as I ever was—and ever shall be, Molly; bear that in mind. I'm free to confess you're wearing me out, and I'm going away a bit for a rest. Good riddance to bad rnbbish,” says she. I packed up a littie bag of clothes, and after a the next morning I got up, all ready £0. the man,” says she, firing e are you going,” said she, ‘and how ‘ou be gone?” made up my mind,” says I. “I shall g0 somewhere in the country for peace and quietness, and I shall be gone’ just as long as I lease. You shall have fifteen bob a week to ive on, I'm away, and when I come back I nope to find you another woman.” waited a minute or two to see whether she'd say anything kind, and whether she'd offer to kiss me; but she didn’t speak or move, so I just says, *-Ta-ta. Molly,” and off I went. I didn't go fur sway, but I went where I wasn't known, and found a farmhouse where they had cocks and hens, and pigs, and three cows, and a horse and cart, and where they lodged and boarded me for ten bob a week. It was so quiet there, and so pleasant with’ the animals and children, that I regularly enjoyed myself. Why I give a name that wasn't my own [can’t tell you; I think it must have been because I didn’t want Molly to come after me. Before I left London I got an agent to collect my rents and wrote ona paper that he was to give Molly fifteen bob a week and no more, and was to put the rest in the Post-Office savin; bank inmyname. I put ina pound myself before I went away and gave ‘em my signature, so that no one could take it out but me. Well, guv’nor, I did enjoy myself at that farmhouse, and I stopped there six months, and let my beard grow. I had always shaved ine will and saw my face covered with hair, I give you my word, [ didn’t know it was me. I was an- other man, and what with taking another L almost felt as if I wasn’t Thomas Blind- : won't know me when I git What a game it'd be td pass her feller!” way 80 long? Well, to give [thought of her a good at her picture that Pd brought ay with me, and I did teel a bit soft some- times, I'd no fear of Molly doing what wasn't right; she'd be as good as gold if it wasn’t for her temper. In the six months I was away I got regularly fond of a country life, and I thought how pleasant it'd be for me and Molly to live there with fowls, and pigs, and cows, and «herse and cart. I don't despair yet of bri her to my way of thinking. Well, guvnor, when the six months was up I thought 'd go home and have alook at my wife, so I packed up my duds, and off I set. T musn’t forget to tell you that there'd been a big ailway accident two days before I started. I took a last look at myself in the glass. My own mother wouldn't have known me. “Molly will be surprised!” thinks I. I was glad to git back. and as I got nearer and nearer to Mollie I got fonder and fonder of her. Well, when I was in this neighborhood I saw a lot of people I knew, but not one of ‘em knew me, Iwas that changed. I passed the Royal George, where we had our wedding party, and there was a little crowd outside. name, and looke ose inquest?” s ‘om Blindw ” says I, * ‘illed in the railway accident.” says he. “I'm sorry to hear th jo am JT,” says he, ." says I. “Tom wasn’t a bad sort. I thought I'd goin and attend my own in quest, and see how it was gitting on. It ain't often a man getsa chance like that, and it tickled me rather. So in I went. It was all right. There was the coroner, there was the jury, a there was the witnesses, and, among the Witnesses, Molly and Dick Pawson. According to what they said, and what everybody else said, I was dead and no mistake. Eight men had been killed in the railway accident—me among ‘em. My face had been cut about; but there was my height, there was my build; and, what was really curious, there was my finger and toe. If you'll look at the little finger of my right hand you'll see the leavings of an old cut on the nuckle that gives the finger a pecfliar shape. Tcan't hold it straight. of my left foot is bent right under, just as though it was cut in half. The man that was found, and that nobody came forward to own but Molly, had just those marks on the same finger and toe; and that, and my long absence, and my height, and my build, settled the whole matter. I heard my wife's evidence—I was dead, TI heard Dick Pawson’s evidence—I was dead, The verdict clinched it. I listened, and didn’t say a word, I went out—rather dazed I must confess—not quite knowing now whether I'd any right to be alive, I'd take time to think over it, I thought. A week or two, more or less, didn’t matter much toa dead man, Right opposite my two rooms there was a room to let, and from the window of that room I could see everything that passed in the home that had been mine when I was alive. I took the room, and sat best part of the day at the » Ml went in and out. People talked to he: T ain't going to do her justice. She didn’t look overjoyed. the circumstances, Molly,” thought behaving becoming, and I must say you make a good-looking widder.” Isuppose it was half-past 9 at night when I saw a man go to Molly’s rooms—Dick Pawson. ‘Then an idea came into my head. I thought it out, and waited, Ten o'clock. Dick Pawson didn’t come out. Half-past 10. Dick Pawson was still with Molly, went into the street, crossed the road, and let myself into the house with my old latch-key that I'd always kept about mie. Our two rooms both opened on to the passage. The first room was our living- room, the second our bedroom. I stepped very softly, and tried the handle of the bedroom. It turned; the door was unlocked. I went in. Between that room and our living-room was a door, and I listened at it. Dick Pawson and my wife was talking. There was no light in the passage, there was no light in the bed-room; but there was a light in the sitting-room. I peeped through. There was Dick Payson sitting where I'd seen him last—in my chair, smoking my pipe, and drinking out of my glass. He was one side of the table, Molly on the other, All correct and proper. It made my blood boil to see Dick Pawson setting there so comfortable. It wasn't that he looked delighted; his face was serious enough; but it was that he looked so comfortable, and seemed so much at home, “Wait a bit, Dick Pawson,” thinks I. Then I fixes my eyes on Molly, and I was glad to see that she was downcast and sad, and that she often wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. I got a little calmer. It did mea power of good every time she wiped her eyes—no sham tears, real ‘uns, “She's sorry I’m dead,” thinks I. Knowing the room so well, I knew where everything was. I felt about for the bellers, and found em. I felt about for the matches, and found ‘em, “Now we'll have a game,” thinks I; and it was as much as I could do to keep myself from laughing out loud. Their backs was partly turned to the door between the rooms. Molly's face was hid in her handkerchief; Dick Pawson’s face was hid in the glass of liquor. Very softly I opened the door, slid in, and with one puff of the bellers blew out the candle. Although I say it, it was neatly and cleanly done. We were ail i the dark the minute I was in the room, and neither Molly nor Dick Pawson had caught sight of me. For all they knew I might have been a shadder, “Oh!” cries Molly. «*Oh!” cries Dick Pawson, Both in a breath, “How dare you blow ont the light?” cries Molly. ‘How dare you?” yvo, Molly!” thinks I. “T didn’t blow it out,” says Dick Pawson. “Who did, then,” says Molly, “if you didn’t?” “I don’t know,” says Dick Pawson. I heard “It must atalla bad cook, ain't Molly, but she took a | and solemn. clean, and when I looked at myself in the glass | Similarly, the big toe | “What do rou want ‘To speak true.” of me?” says Molly. vs. “T went away fr wrong of me. led me. Didn't I treat you kind, Molly ~ You did, you did !” says Moliy. “Call me Tom, dear Tom !" says I. “It'll do me i though I am a ghost. «Dear Tom!” says Molly, off, [know } shali !* Not yet.” says “In a minnte you can, but you must answer me first. Did I ever raise my hand against y ver, never Say dear . “Yes. dear Tom !” says Molly. ~ But you tried me hard, Molly,” says I, “and Thad togo. Was it my fault that I had fifteen hundred pounds instead of fifteen thousand? | Ain't thirty-two bob a week-enough for any rea- | sonable woman? I wanted to be a happy man. You wouldn't let me. Inever loved but you, Molly; I never loved but you !” sl ‘as sobbing and shaking so that I couldn't help pitying her, but I had to carry it out to the end. “I didn't go running after other men’ wives!” says I. “I was true to you, Moll All the time I was away I was thinking of yo and nobody else. I was all alone in the coun- try. I didn’t go sneaking after women, mar- | ried or single, as some puppies do! Says I to myself, ‘I'll keep away from Molly a bit: Pll give her time to git over her sulks; perhaps she'll come round: perhaps she won't nag so perhaps she'll try to make the best of things: erhaps she'll be sorry not to have me with er.’ It is lonely, ain't it. living all alone, with no one to love ia é at I couldn't stand the life you rou it was —y—res, dear Tom!” says Molly. ‘But not as I am, Molly, not as I am,” says I, and I waved my hand, which I'd rubbed over quietly with the tips of the matches, When Molly saw the blue light she give a scream, and fainted dead away. I lether be. It wasn’t the first time she'd fainted before me, and I knew she'd come to in time. “Now, you,” says I to Dick Pawson, “you to come after a dead man's wife before he's in his grave! I told you the next time I caught you in my house you should re- member it. You shall! What do you think of that for a ghost?” And I hit hard one side of his head. and then hit him harder on the other, to set him right. He was too frightened to squeal. All he did was to tremble and shake. ‘Then I jumped on him and dragged him by the neck out into the passage. All the time I had hold of him I punched him and kicked him, I blacked his eyes, I set his nose bleeding. I loosened some of his teeth. and I wound up by kicking him from the street door into the gutter. He picked himself up and ran off, howling. I went back to Molly. She was still lying on the ground. I lifted her up, carried her into the next room, laid her on the bed, and waited in the dark till I heard her coming to. Then I algpe daway, and stole out of the house. ‘The next day it was all over the neighbor- hood that Tom Blindweed’s ghost had appeared to Dick Pawson and Molly, and had given Dick Pawson a beating that'd make him sore for a month, It got into the papers, and I read about it, Itwas funny the things the paper said. There was letters from people who be- lieved in ghosts, aud who told all sorts of stories of what had happened to them, and their mothers and grandmothers, The fellers that call theirselves spiritualists, wrote columns and columns, and said, wasn’t that a proof? Some ef them had calied up the ghost to Tom Blindweed theirselve. and asked him questions, and heard from him that it was all trne. But I dare say, guv'nor, you've read all about the fuss that was made. I kept snug, watching from my winder. No one suspected me. I watched and waited for a week, and Molly never come out of the house. Thad talks with the landlady of my lodgings about it, and she told me that Molly was fright- ened to atirout, and that she kept in bed the best part of the day. Then I thought it was time to put an end to it all. I went out one morning, walked a long way tothe other end of London. stepped into a barber's shop, and had myself clean shaved, and then come back to this street. I was recognized instanter, and it made me laugh to see the way old acquaintances first looked at me. and then run away from me. One man plucked up cour- age and spoke to me. “It can't be Tom Blindweed,” says he. "Cause you're treating it asa joke. “Come pint.” ! He did, and in a very little while I was regu- larly mobbed. I took it good humoredly and chaffed and laughed, and then managed to give “em the slip and make my way to Molly. She vas at home, and when I come in she give a k and covered her face with her hands, ‘What's the matter, Molly?” says L “I've j come back, you see, It wasn't right of me | going away as I did, and keeping away so long. | Give me a kiss, Molly, and let us make it up. She wouldn't let me come nigh her. She was 8o scared that I thought ‘d scream the house down. The noise of course brought in a lot of neighbors, and who should come in but a policeman a man had called in to take me up. “What is the charge?” says the policeman, “Not being dead,” says I, and I tells him who Lam. “Quite right,” says the policeman; he knew me. **The man who was buried for you wasn't the man he was supposed to be. He's proved to be somebody else. Mr. Blindweed’s inquest is a oa joke.” h that he went awa and I sent the people packing out of my place, telling ‘em I wanted | to be alone with ‘my wife. It was a long time, though, before I managed to convince Molly | that I was really alive. but when she began to cry softly I knew it was all right. We passed a hap y ning, and for at least a week she was honey. But she’s turned again, and I don't think I'm quite free from blame.” You see, I couldn't keep my own counsel. I let a word drop here, and a word drop there, aud Molly put this and that together. and one day she | Els artfully wheedled a lot out of me and got to know that it was me, and nobody else, who paid a visit to her and Dick Pawson as a ghost. She tells me she'll never forgive the trick, but she will, I'll let her know that a man has a right to become his own ghost if he likes, especially when he's been served as | I've been. I'll be master in my own house, | or I'll know the reason why. Don't mistake me, guv'nor. I'm awfully sweet on Molly still—just you put that in print; I don't mind all the world knowing it—and if she'll on! treat me fair, ll be as good to her as it's possible for a husband to be. But I ain't | ing to have my life made a misery. When Souls reads, as perhaps she will, through you, guv'nor, that I don't care the snuff of a candle for any woman but her, and that it | only depends upon herself whether we shall | live a happy life, I've little doubt she'll show her sense, because, guv’nor, I'm sure her heart's in the right place. And when she gits back her good looks again—which she can if she makes her mind easy—I'll show | You the prettiest piece of goods you can see in ‘a day's march. Now, we'll settle up. if you please. Let me see. I've been pattering away for fifty-two minutes, and how you've taken it all down in the way you have is a wonder. Three fifty. twos isahundred and fifty-six. In pennies that’s thirteen bob. Ten bob you gave me on account; three more'll make it square. Thank you, guv’nor, Why, here's Molly! Molly, my dear, here’s a gent who put me in the way of earning thirteen bob in less than an hour. Take it, Molly, and buy yourself that hat you fell in love with yesterday. Good-day, guv’nor. 90 Apology for Woman. We ‘low that woman war made from a rib Of Adam's, but shucks! Her brains Air higglety-picklety, odds and e-ends Fixed up from his remains; jut—the Lord made ’em, It war by accident, though, we are thinkin’; He can't be proud of the With sech tongues as they have been given Ter gossip an’ scold an’ sob; But—the Lord made "em. It war a woman, ye know, who gossiped oe, pe Satan hisse’ ey" ’ plumb sure to ‘And make it fore.they're let's But—the Lord made ‘em. e "Tain't safe to treat wimmin with nuthin’; ‘fell everythin’ they know; ‘They sets tharselves ¥ arselves up on principle, enjyment, "Gainst jestice and enny Nine of ‘em out 0’ ten; But—the Lord Atexopprs, Tone, bis, ‘eeu so nme + 7 Vicrows V auaxt Axp Vaxonovs VICTIMS VIOLENTLY VOCIFERATE AND VEBEMENTLY Vow VENGFANCE. Our victims are vicions and vind! can't seli “Vietory” Tweed s: wEC Or—Striped Cheviot Suits, strictly all wool, at @7.50. WE etiy © because they t 87.50, Or—Uitre Fashionable All-Wool Suits, Combination Stripe, at $8.75. Scellent garmenta, md Light-in- ke and excellent gual . Vests and Long Pats, WE CAN Or—Childron’s Suits, sizes 4 to 14 years, at § 83, $3.25, 85.50. WE CAN. qf? Stone Working Pants for Men, at @1-50, $1 We can and do sel! FINE READY-MADE CLOTHING mt less than District pears, that tue vendors t frum 225 per ceut to #0 per standard (*) prices—bence it ay are our victims and THE PEOPLE THE BENEFICIARIES, of our Victimizing methods, This is just as it should be and LONG MAY Ig WAVE VicTox E. Ar nee 0 PER CENT CLOTHIN HOUSE ™ O27 and VL 7th st. nw. r Massacuusetts ave, Strictly One Price _Open Saturdays until 12 p.m JNDERWKITERS' 4 J of govds datuaged by fire KACEMANS mhz Exzxoszo Yovros Cc MPANY Orrra SPECIAL PRICES ON THE POLLOWING LOTS, VIZ (FEBRUARY 20, 1589.) 300 dozen cans Sugar Corn. per dozen, at 86 cent, 100 dozen large cans Golden Pumpkin, per dozen, at 96 centa, 200 bottles Maple Syrup, 50c. size, at 44 cents, 1,000 pounds Extra Choice Sugar-Cured Jreakfas Bacon, special selections, at 14 cents, 2,000 pounds Best Imported Macaroni, Packages; rewular 15-cent goods, at 11 cents. 2 pound 150 bottles Hyden Salad, a very delicious relish: 20-cent size, at 14 cents, 1,000 pounds White Clover Honey, in 2-pound caps; regular 45-cent goods, ut 39 cents, 500 caus Franco-American Soups, the finest goods of the kind known to the trade; regular 40- cent goods, at Now, bear in mind these are remarksbiy low prices 34 cents. and, of course, the goods will soon disappear. Do not iiss your chance to secure a supply. £LPHONZO YOUNGS COMPANY, 428 Ninth et. P. S—Remember our Potato Chips are decidediy superior to any to be found in the city, and our enor- mous sales enable us to get them by express every i ¥.00, WRITERS’ SALES OF ¢ pods daanaged by Abr, stoke 2 EACEMANS Double F. S82. Wiusass & Co. DKRUGGISTS, UNDER MASONIC TEMPLE, Corner 9 Are selling at wholesale to their retail customers, Wa carry the langest stock of DAXUGS, CHEMICALS, AND Par MEDICINES in the city. You are always sure of getting them pure and tresh, us we ceal di rectly with the mauutucturers aud retail at actual wholeswe prices, cases QUININE, 1 dozen 1 rain Capsules ai «rain Cay 00 S-erain Caps oe ralth Cnt a1 Capst 100 grains Quinine, ‘The best Triple Extracts iu bulk... Allcock’s Porons Plasters.. German Porous Plasters, 1 Felic Hop Bitte: Hostetter's Humphrey Hunyadi W. Hanson's © 's Co a SyTul Prussis Park Cough Syrup. Hair orit Scheuck’s Pills, per box. 8.5. 5., sunall re Scott's er Tarrant’s Seltzer Aperient.. Vaseline, Pure, simuall size. Vaseline, Pure, large size, wa . Willis’ RoseTooth, bow Willatus’ Quinie and Kum Hair Tonic. PRESCRIPTIONS. Dow't mistake the place-THE TEMPLE DRUG SLOKE, under Masoutc Temple, corue: th and F sts, sal7 F. 8, WILLIAMS & 00. Proprietors. _ ‘NDERWRITERS' SALES OF $40,000 WORTH of goods: fire, aud water, et 'S Double Cou.tnnation, mh15-1w Lithst. se. THE GRATEFUL—COMFORTING BPPS’s COCOA