Evening Star Newspaper, March 23, 1889, Page 10

10 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C ) AN ADVENTURE PEKING. Chinese and Barbarians in the Filthy Celestial Capital. HATRED OF THE CHINESE FOR “FOREIGN DEVILS” — HOW STRANGERS ARE INSULTED IN THE PUBLIC STREETS—A VISIT TO THE LLAMA TEMPLE—AN EXCITING ADVENTURE WITH A MOB OF MONKS, From Tux Stan's Traveling Commissioner. Pexixa, 25th November, 1838, To learn what the Chinaman really. thinks about the foreigner you must come to Peking; no other city in China will serve. And the dis- covery will be far from flattering to your na- tional pride. Peking is the first place I have ever visited where the mere fact of being a} foreigner, a stranger in speech, dress and man- | ners, did not of itself secure one a certain | amount of consideration or at any rate make one the object of useful interest. Here the Precise opposite is the case. The “foreign devil” is despised at sight—not merely hated, but regarded with sincere and profound con-! tempt. “If the Tsung-li Yamén were abolished,” | said a Peking diplomat to me, “our lives would | pot be safe here for twenty-four | hours. The people just refrain from actuaily molesting us because they have learned tha they will be very severely punished if they d At home we cherisigthe belief that we are wel- come in China; that the Chinese are pleased to learn of our western civilization; that they are gradually and giadiy assimilating our habits and views, and that the wali of prejudice is | gradually breaking down, It would hardly be | possible to be more grossiy and painfully mis- | taken. The people to a man detest and despise us (Lam speaking. of course. of the real Chi- nese, not of the anglicised Chinese of Hong- | kong and elsewhere, who are but a drop in the ocean of Celestial humanity) and as for the | rulers, it will not be far from the truth to say that the better they know us the less they like Us. | A MOBNING PROWL. Let us say that you start out in the morning for a prowl in Peking. What are your relations | with the people you meet? First of all, of | course, they crowd round you whenever you | stop. and ina minute you are the center of a} mass of solid humanity. which is eating horri- | ble stuff. which is covered with vermin, which smells worse than words, and which is quite | likely to have small-pox about it. As for tak- | ing a photograph in the streets. it is out of the question. ‘The only way I could manage this was to pl: yy camera on the edge of a} bridge. where they could not get in front of | the lens, and then I was in imminent d \ of being pushed into the canal, as the bridges have no rail or parapet. The crowd josties you. feels of your clothes with its dirty hands, pokes its nose in your face, keep- | cer | ing up all the time (I was generally with a friend who understood ¢ ¢) a string of in sulting and obscene remarks, with accomp: ing roars of laughter. By and by the novel aud fun of this wears off and you get first imp tient and then savage. But beware above ail | things of striking or even laying a finger on | one of these dirty wretches. Ti ‘d be wobably a fatal mistake. They wi!l do nothing | yut talk and push, b 2 should hit or them you wouid be alive or at jeast without bad injuries. | INSULTS FROM THE CBILDREN. But suppose that you talk steadily and im- perturbably on? treats you with m ch less consideration than | one of his own countrymen; the children run to | the door to ery “Kueidza!"— "at you; | they have other indescribable and worse ¥ of insulting you; and a few weeks ago when a} member of the British le riding | underneath the wall a bri him from the top. It just misse struck the horse behind the saddle, fatally in- juring it. I believe. The Chinese children, again. have an origina! way of amusing them-| selves at the expeuse of the foreign devils. A chiid will provide itself with a big fire-cracker and then sit patiently at the door till he sees | you in the distance coming along on your pony. | hen ke will run out. drop the cracker in the road. light the siow match with a Gire-stick and retire to a safe place towatch events. With devilish precocity he generally manages tocause it to explode just! @nder your pony’s nose, and if you are lucky | ugh to keep your seat and pull up a mile or sein the direction yon don't want to go, he doubtless considers that his experiment has | only been a moderate success. If you should | break your neck and be left there dead in the | road, that would confer imperishable luster upon his family and neighborhood. When this | happened to you once or twice you learn | to jog about the Celestial city with short reins | and your knees stuck well’ into vour saddle, | ready for developments at any moment. Iam told, too, that Lady Walsh chair was actually stopped in the open street a short time ago and she herself grossly insulted, that a member of our consular service was nearly killed outside the Llama temple. and there are few foreigners who have not had some | unpleasant experience or other. No doubt it/ is sometimes the foreigners’ own fault. but our dear old friend Chesson himself would have failed to get on smoothly at all times. PECULIAR IDEAS OF REVENGE. This is certainly a most extraordinary peo-| ple, and next to nothing of them is known at | home. Here, for mstance, are a few stories that Ihave picked up. A foreign resident of | Peking who speaks Chinese well was riding | along the other day and came to an excited crowd. Drawing near he discovered a circle of | people quietly watching a man desperately at- | tempting to commit suicide by dashing his he: agaiust a wall. He dismounted. re- strained the man. harangued the bystanders, and learned that this was a coolie who claimed ent for a certain porter’s job was short by ter cash—less than a pe and as the | employer refused to pay more he was} ding to take revenge by killing| icar on the spot, knowing. by so; doing. he would get’ the other into considerable trouble. On another occasion a man threw himself into the canal, but was dragged ont. So he simply sat down on the edge und cterved himeelf todenth,to be revenged against somebody who had cheated him. Again, | one day a man was found murdered on a bridge | near the British legation. The law of China! prescribes that a murdered body must not removed till the murderer is canght. The fore it was covered with « mat and left. Days 4 and a month, and still the rotting body ¥ there, till at last the minister, who had to rotested and it placed a little pass it every day, vigorously was taken off the bridge an further away. A REMARKABLE STORY. And a Chinese newspaper is responsible for this story, which, indeed, has nothing what- ever incredible about it. One day a sow be- longing toa Mrs. Féng happening to knock down and slightly injure the front door ofa Mrs. Wang, the latter at once proceeded to claim damages, which were refused. Where- upon a fierce altercation ensued, which termi- nated in Mrs. Wang's threatening to take her own life. Mrs. Feng. upon hearing of this dire- ful threat. resolved at once to take time by the forelock and steal a march upon her enemy by taking her own life, and thus turn the tables er. She accordingly threw herself into canal. Anda friend with whom I rode a deal in Peking told me that the other day, | ing screams of laughter from his stable he ‘Went to investigate. There he discovered that his groom and “boy” had caughta big rat, nailed its front paws toa board, soaked it in kerosene, set tire to it. and were enjoying the spectacle. But this is not so bad as one of the tricks of the professional kidnapper, who wiil atcha child in the street, carry it off to an- other town, blind it. and then sell it for a pro- fessional beggar. But I shall have something much worse inthe way of Chinese horrors to tell on another occasion MATTERS GROWING WORSE, I said in my last letter that the sights of Pe- king are not nearly so accessible to foreigners to-day as they were five years ago. And it is the testimony of most of the foreign residents that their treatment by the Chinese grows worse each year. The closing of the top of the wall to pedestrians is the last act of petty un- tuems.- There seems to be no reason hatever for this except to deprive the foreign- ers of their only decent walk. Another exam- | ple is that the Marchioness Tséng, when first be returned from ope, used to have an afternoon “at home” once a week, like Eu- ladies. This gave, however, such deep ‘<dhane tin ot Ohlaces quarters that she was compelled to cease. A Chinese lady, again, ho had been in Europe, called upon two ladies who were visiting—I forget © Peking or Tieutein. Next day, desir- | party natural! | ish le; | of us and warned the priests, who shut the The pedestrian you meet | § | Vermin-covered, bloated. serofulous, and with ‘hole in China, a the city in his offie‘al chair, and the preat mar i chair, and the great man tively bowed to him, to the stupefaction of tie lookers on. “Ii m’asalu¢é. Monsier—comme ca! OFFICIAL SXUBBING. And while I have been here, H. R. H. Prince Henry of Bourbon (Comte de Bardi) desired very much to see the Temple of Heaven, whick has been closed to foreigners for several years Accordingly the German minister (he travels, of course, with an Austrian passport) applied tothe Tsung-li Yamen for special permission for his distinguished guest. After some delay it was granted. as some say only after the Marquis Tseng had carried the request to the empress herself, and the appointment was made. The prince and his party, acompanied by the secretary of the German legation, rode out to the gates of the temples and only succeeded in passing the outer one after long discussion and altereation. The next gate was still more dif- | ult and aiter en hour's parley the keepers | greed to let the men of the party in, if the princess would go back into the street and wait for them. This was too much, and_the whole y left in indignation, The German minister sent a formal aud vigorous complaint to the Tsung-li Yamen, and after a while he re- ceived a sort of apology and expression of re- gret at the misunderstanding. But the exelu- sion was undoubtedly detiverate and according to orders received. The ministers could not well meet the request with a flat refusal, but they took care that the perinission should have no value. AN EXCITING ADVENTURE. My own principal experience of ceiestial sight-seeing I am not likely toforget and should be very unwilling to repeat. Among the places of interest in Peking the Yung Ho Kung, the great Llamaserai or Liama temple ranks very high. It is a monastery of Mongol Buddhism or Shamanism, and contains over 1,000 Mongol and Thibetan monks ruled over by a “Living Buddha.” No foreigner, however, has been in it for several years, as the inmates are a rough and lawless lot, practically beyond the control | of the Chinese authorities, and the last party that entered it was rudely handled. It is re- | garded as all the more sacred, too, because an | emperor was born in one of its temples before they were given to the Llamas, When I spoke of going there both my mafoo (groom) and | “boy” (a Chinese valet or house servant is called | a “boy”) told me that strangers couldno longer get in, the former adding that he had accom- panied different employers there six times without success, A friend in Peking. however, told me that one of the priests, called the Pai Liama, wh -r that may mean, had come to im a few weeks before to borrow 35, and had id as an inducement that if he or any of his friends wanted to see the Llamaserai he would take them over it himself without a fee. So my friend gave me his big red Chinese card with the Pai Llama’s name on it as an intro- duction, aud [ got Mr. Werner from the Brit- ation, who speaks Chinese, to go with me, as he was equally anxious to see the place. It is on the outskirts of Pel hour's ride from Legation street, passed through two or three gates from the street without any difficulty. THE LLAMA TE Then some boy neophites or acolytes—we new them from their shaven heads—ran ahead kn doors. After a quarter of an hour's colloquy | we bribed the doorkeeper to tell the Pai Llam: and by and by the latter appeared. a small, y individual, who succeeded with much Ity in persuading the others to open the | let us step just inside—Mr. We 3 and my yy.” Then he immediately | disappeared and we saw him no more, After another half-hour of bargaining we agreed to pay them a certain moderate sum to show us the four chief sights of the temple. The first of these was THE GREAT BUDDHA, a wooden image, 70 feet high, richly orna- mented and clothed, holding an enormous lotus ineach hand and with the traditional jewel on his breast. In each section of his huge gold crown sat a small Buddha, as perfect and as much ornamented as the great one, His toe measured 21 inches. On each side of him hung a huge scroll, 75 feet long, bearing Chinese characters, and a series of galleries. reached by several flights of stairs, surrounded him. The expression of his great’ bronze face was singuiarly lofty, and I was seized with a great desire to photograph him. The crowd of monks was outside the locked door, one only entering with us. so I hinted to him'that if he permitted me to take a photograph a dollar might be forthcom: ‘The dollar interested hua, but he had no idea what a photograph was, After a wh vr, Werner succeeded in; explaining what the Chinese call the “shadow- picture,” and then he would not hear of it, de- claring that the whole temple would instantly fall down if such a thing were attempted. offered two dollars, t four, five, ten, and then, my eagerness inercasing ‘with’ the difi. culty, twenty. last he said that for twenty dollars he would agree to smuggle me in next morning to do it, as if any of the other priests knew there would be trouble. So we passed on to THE OTHER sicuts, two magnificent bronze lions and a wonderful bronze urn; many temples filled with strange idois, hung with thousands of silk hangings and laid with Thibetan carpets; all sorts of d enamel altar utensils, presented by emperors, among them two elephants in email clowsonne, said to be the best specimens of such work in China; and the great hall, with its prayer-benches tor all the monks, where they worship every afternoon at 5. Ina couple of hours we had seen everything and came out again into the central court-yard. Here were already a hundred or more monks waiting for us. all with their heads shaven like billiard- balls, and on the whole a set of a thorough- paced bi rds as ever I set eyes on; filthy, = the marks of ne eless vices stamped clearly on many of their faces, “I shall be glad when we are out of this,” I remarked, and my com- panion heartily assented. ROUGHLY HANDLED, But easier said than done. They crowded round us with brutal inquisitiveness, pulled us about, shouted to us and laughed grossly as half-rational gorillas might do. Werner said to them that we were very much pleased with our visit, and we slowly edged toward the door. But these seemed to be a sort of half-dev loped conspiracy to crowd us in any other direction. They did not actually oppose us, but somehow we could not get there. It was as though they did not like to let us get away, yet were con- scious that they had no excuse for detaining us, After a quarter of au hour of this we began to get “riled.” Just then we all came to a sort of tunnel gate in a wall, leading from one court to another, Werner and one crowd first, I and another crowd afterwards, and my “boy” and a third crowd last. As I was passing, a man whom I took from his dress to be a sort of door- keeper sprang out and addressed me volubly, Not understanding him I took no notice, when he grasped my arm to detain me. I shook him off and was passing on, when suddenly he seized me by the collar with both hands and flung me violently back against the wail. At such a mo- ment one doves not reflect upon consequences and [ did what anybody else would have done. The moment his grasp quitted my collar I STRUCK HIM BETWEEN THE EYES. He recovered himself, and the misunderstand- ing was about to be prolonged vigorously on both sides when a very old priest in a fine yel- low robe emerged from a doorway and began to play the peacemaker with many smiles, hold- ing us each by the hand. A minute’s reflection showed me the extreme folly of getting into a row in such a place. So I responded effusively to the venerable Llama’s overtures, and calling my “boy” —Werner was at some distance—bade him explain that if the gentleman had any- thing to say tous we should be very glad to hear it, but thatif he laid a finger on us he would get into trouble. As we were two and they were upwards of two hundred by this time, Ihave wondered since that the Indicrous side of this did not strike them. However, as I fol- lowed up the remark with a few small coins, nobody cared to impugu my logic, and I started after Werner. PRECIPITATING MATTERS, As soon as lovertook him, however, I saw from the movement of the crowd that some- thing was wrong, and when I forced my way into the middle it was evidently a much more serious affair than miue. A young brute of a monk had approached Werner from behind aud suddenly “handed to him” a rousing kick. Werner, naturally enough, bad spun around in time to catch him with a good cut across the face from his riding whip and stood at this mo- ment in a fine attitude of pale anger, grasping | sent, TY 4 TIGHT PLACE. The sight of Werner's anger had completed the cooling process in me, and by this time I was altogether too cool for comfort, If I had not been so, however, “I mightn't have been spinning this yarn.” for there no doubt whatever about it, we were in a very tight place. We were in the center of probably the most dangerous place in Peking, on the out- skirts of the city, a quarter ofa mile from the street, with half a dozen closed gates between us and it, and completely atthe merey of two hundred savage Mongols and Thibetans, who had vowed to have our lives, There were a thousand of them within call, they acknowl- edged no Chinese authority whatever. the Chinese government would be extremely | loathe to interfere with them for fear,of pro- voking trouble in Thibet, and if ty just knocked us on the head and hid our bodies in one of their Temple dens, we should very prob- ably never have been heard of again. ‘The sit- uation was most unpleasant. One thing tas quite clear, namely, that it was worse than use- less to a anything by force. So I stepped in between Werner and his assailant folded my arms and stood perfectly still, begging the former in a low voice to keep cool and do the same, as probably both our lives depended upon it. Clearly, the only thing to do was to get out of the place at any cost. Then I called my “boy,” who was yelling and struggling to keep ession of my two cameras. He promptly relinquished them to the enemy aud came PURCHASING LIBERTY. I told him that if he didn’t stop jabbering I would knock his head off, and then I got him to quietly ask the best-looking of the monks for how much they would consent to let ns go out. All this took but half a minute to do, end as soon as the crowd heard the question the pugil- istic gentleman was squelehed by commou con- “Fifty dollars” was the conclusion ar- rived at after ten minutes’ discussion. ‘Tell them we have not sc much money with us, but they can come and get it fromm: morrow morning.” But they were much too wary to fall into such a pal, argument continued, while W, cussed the situation, “I have my revolver under my hand, ake don't let plied, “it would be certs them see it,” ] inly all up ‘with us then, ‘tor at last im: > a bargain with them and we we ed of several dollars at each ate that the ould manage to lead us through efore we got back to the street and our horses, PHOTOGRAPHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. Igot a photograph, too. after all, for just be- fore the last gate there was a wonderful pretty Pavilion with a great bronze lion before it, So I took my Scovill camera from the “boy” and snapped vilion when I thought the crowd wer hing me. Three or four of them, ho} one jump for m ight sight of me and made mera, 1 managed to keep my feet,and a big kick only just touched the camera, breaking one of the sup- ports of the The picture is not ex- actly what phe plucky,” and it might be arper, but it will serve t of a peculiarly bad quarter of an I got through the gate all right and my “ ras fol when half a dozen scoun- drels preci nd sent him flying he 0 the middle of the street. whi ra, tripod and bag in ‘ate mud ¥ other ec: aks landed each at afternoon as I was mending my detec- tive eam y” came in with ‘the tea. M * “+I no go Liuma Temple ¥ more—belong velly bad man!” “You'll july never go there again with me.” And T did not keep my appointment next morning to photograph the big Buddha furtive Hexry Norman, his FAIR, 00 Or THE WH Stiven is all the rag is, Awoye flower pins the pansy is still a first favorite. Dexa Buve Sasues are in high favor in Paris for wear with gowns of nettle green. Axyruixe or everything but the common- place is allowed by the fashion of to-d Tue Newest Gavi derfully real butterflies all along their top. Powber axp Parcnes begin to be worn by the more daring dames of the great world in Paris, New Importep Perticoats, whether cotton or woolen, have their colors all repeated in the lace that trims th Gop CoLor axp Back threatens to take the place of the green and black so long con- sidered the height of style. Ix Ereoant Dress Tortets the coiffure is invariably arranged to correspond with the empire, Grecian, or other style of dress | adopted, Marte Antornette Ficuvs of white or colored linen, trimmed all around with lace, will be worn with empire or directoire gowns this summer, Tue Strives aNp Prarps now on exhi| are voted “loud” tastes, and “pe y chic and stylish’ who seek strikin; novel effects in dress, Tae Noven Trxts in millinery are English rose, magnolia, anemone pink, wisteria, leaf green, oak heart, summer sky, and opal. ‘The same colors appear in straw and braid hats as in bonnets, Tue New Wasurno Surags that now come in all the delicate fine shades will be largely used for summer frocks, for ties, for dr: chemisettes, and will be especially for hat and bonnet trimming. Dress Suoes are slightly pointed at the toes and are cut down deep in front, They have in pompadour heels, A narrow strap holds the shoe over the instep; this strap runs through an oblong buckle of French brilliants, MovusseLaine be Larne has been revived in Paris and appears among some of the prettiest afternoon dresses and inexpensive tea-gowns of the season. This is an old favorite that has long been eclipsed by veilings, albatross, and French and English challi, Cotorep Borpers to your handkerchiefs are decidedly passé; so is the fashion of tucking them in the front of the corsage. The correct thing now is a fine white kerchief with border of embroidery, or else narrow edge of fine Valenciennes ‘Ince, and carried as inconspicu- ously as possible. Tue New, Artistic, and beautiful shade of crushed strawberry is fully established in favor. It is far more soft and delicate than the origi- nal tints in this color, and, as a rule, is very becoming, especially when toned with velvet of adeeper dye. There is a great variety of soft sheer woolens and lustrous silks in various tones of the color, Tuene 1s Great Vartety in the accessories with which to grace the dress bodice this sea- son. Never were these ornaments more in vogue than at the present time. Very charm- ing parures, fichus, berthas, plastrons, Greek and Roman neck-bands, revers, antique collars of every style and form, oddly-shaped and pic- turesque vests, stomachers, and gilets in conti- nental, Cromwellian, and Danish and Swedish effects. Tur Boy's Dress Svrt, just introduced, is of finest black broadcloth, and has a coat with notched silk-faced collar; in fact, the regular swallow-tail down to the waist, where it sits close and is cut off square all around. A low- cut white silk vest, black knee breeches, black silk stockings and shoes with broad silver buckles complete the outfit. It is to be worn at dancing school, at parties or at any swell function where girls appear in silk or lace or tarletan, Is tue Array of beautiful new white toilets of sheer wool are those of serge, camel's hair. and light-weight faced cloth, handsomely bor- dered, The overdress has frequently a direc- toire front opening over a petticoat with a per- fectly fitted princesse back, very slightly draped with Bulgarian folds, The polonaise or redin- gote reveals a front formed of old rose, pale Violet, primrose, terra-cotta or strawberry silk, matching in every case the leading tint of the border in the woolen fabric, Wasi presses for home and country wear are made with belted waist, full or plain on the shoulders, at the fency of the wearer, and straight guthered skirt four and a half yards wide, Neither lining nor foundation skirt is used, The skirt is some three inches longer at the back and has about half the fullness massed there into a very narrow space. The collar is a narrow knife pleating turned down from a standing band. The sleeves are either full and his whip in a very workmanlike way und in flu- ing to be polite. they returned her cal “Im-| ent Chinese evidentiy cousiguing’ the whole | §atbered, into tumed-back cults or Scat mediately afterward they received « message | pack of them to the ultizsate destination of bad “4 from her begging them never to come to her | Liamas, | wherever that may be,| THE newly-opened cases of parasols are house agnin. So, too, if you begin to stady| The monk, on the hand, | Works of art, sent from various quarters of the Chinese with a teacher in Peking and you hap-| was foaming with rage and rapidly | globe. The handles themselves are curious mu tomeet him in the street, do not expect | stripping off ail his upper with the | worthy of close study. There are and ¢ least sign of recoguition. He willcut you most unmistakable intention of “ for” | styles to suit every woman in the worid, from dead, and then come next morning to ie Werner. Already he was nearly naked | the remote jungles of India to the Bois de and explain that it would be very unpleas- | and, although perhaps a trifle fat, still an ly potas, Se Africa's burning sands to the Sut for his family if he were seen bowing to.a| customer to bendle,” “He struck’ me with be ting grounds of the native Sioux foreigner. He will teach you and i whip!” he exclaimed, pointing to the mark on | be! There are the parasols, the dollars; he will not greet you. And the Abbé | his face, and then wed a string of remarks models, the toire and empire javier, the fiuest specimen of « priest I have | leveled at us. “What does he say?” I asked. styles, [ aorgettis + noon, and beau salveur of the church, who | Oh, curse him,” replied my erudite com; dewy eve. are draped dress and his bair in a queue, | with a fine scorn of juences, “he says} with richest and close them Chinese perfectly, who has even | we shan't get out alive.” Just then a monk | « banded with crape and aod wiih 5, sapphize buiten by the shouted something, which the others eagerly | wrought jet. directoire are emperor, told me that he just received the | echoed, and a dozen of them instantly ran designed to promenade and tourist most remarkable bower and of his shut the great gates of the court yard, costumes,—New York Post, - » | presence—and regarded her daughter from th . | Profit or pleasure to - ’ ADDENBROOKE, chandelier : decoration in whitecandegol T'll never do you wrong for your own sake. Eis writing-table, fees meh = had night's wi it was the evening following Lydis's confession. and Addenbrooke had drawn with the lamp on it, close to settled down to a All's Wel! that Ends Weil, Lydia could not help wondering why on earth Addenbrooke should be so anxious to | he Was too busy to get up to St. John’s Wood. He sighed at the thought of this, then pl marry her. into the pile of papere iteh olan eed She was standing at the window, her eyes| the table, but overflowed into several neigh boring chairs. He had not been long at work when the door was flung open and a man entered the room. “Still in these gilded halls, Johnny!” said a yoice. which was not quite so drawling nor so full of quiet humor as the speaker seemed to intend. «Fleming, by ail that's wonderful!” cried Addenbrooke, rising with extended hand. The new-comer was a large. heavily-built young man, with dark hair and 2 complexion, originally florid. burnt crimson by the African sun. ‘inctly handsome, though the lower mechanically following the familiar, insignifi- cant figure of the professor. as he plodded down the gravel walk to the gate, and when he | passed from view she sat down in the nearest | chair und continued her reflections. It was | very strange. She had no love to give him, jandhad told him so, quite frankly; he must know, as every one knew, of that miserable affair with Lawrence Fleming; was he not | Fleming's most intimate friend. the last per- | son who had seen him before he went to Africa? | Moreover. her glass had taken to reflecting & woman who was sad and pale and old before | her time; surely not the woman with whom a | aan would be expected to wish to begin his life. | When we have become to ourselves a daily urden, it isso hard to realze that our pres ence can be desired of others, And yet she hafl been aware of Adden- | brooke’s devotion from the days of the good | but obstinate little boy with a taste for chemi- cal experiments, to those of the modest young man, who lurked unobstrusively in doorways | for the purpose of saying good-night to her. and was always at hand to fill up vacancies, She had been aware of it, but had given it little heed: | now, in her loneliness, her sorrow, the thought of that devotion moved her strangely. She had seen herself rifting on to middle se, haggard. loveless, unloved; the sorriest of He was di: Part of the face was a trifle heavy, and there was a lack of finish about the ears and nostrils. “Sit down,” said Addenbrooke, clearing a chair and resuming his own seat. _Examinations, ugh!” Fleming flicked with his large finger at the papers on the desk. “If ms., it’s other people's, it’s not your own exa’ poor old Johnny!” Fleming had the greatest contempt for ex- aminations, in which. indeed, he bad conspicu- ously failed to distinguish’ himself, the less brilliant Addenbrooke having a commonplace knack of getting into the first class, which is often the way with your dull, plodding fellows. These two men had been friends, after a fashion, since their first term at the university. In those days Fleming had been a raw, un- happy, self-conscious young man, subject to miserable, hideons fits of shyness, and secretly shield between her and her fate. She had given him no answer, but she knew | by now what her answer would be. The door opened, and Mrs.Grey, her mother, came into the room. She sat down in silence-—a chill. comfortless glover’s son of Stratford-on-Avon; and the only remaining mark of his sh; emphasis of self-confidence. Addenbrooke's tion for him was rather a survival from earlier daysthan anything else, though Johun it must be owned, was uncritical, and, like many persons, imposed a far less severe standard of conduct on his friends than on himself. “Where do you. hang out?” asked Adden- brooke, gathering together the despised exami- | nation-papers, “Lhave been down at Twicken! | people. Can't stand much of tha | Lam now looking out for chambers somwihere Boud-street way; and Mrs, Baxter is going to put me up here for a night or two.” “Oh, good. You know Mrs. Baxter has that portmanteau of yours?” “Yes, she’s fetching it now, I believe, from the lumber-room. ‘There are some papers in it | distance. | ‘These two women lived together withont her, Mrs. Grey was le of making sacrifices, but she lacked © price tof home-making, while Lydia, | on her part, chafed beneath the restrictions of j® relanonship in which neither affinity nor ion bore a part. So'it was to be Johnny Addenbrooke. after | | al,” reflected Mrs, Grey; “a Gower-street pro- | fessor of no particular distinction. Well, Lydia | | was getting on: and, if a good girl means to | | marry, she had better manage to do so before | she is five-and-twenty. Aud there had been | jhe lumber-room. | noting, i Scomed, in that aftalr: with young | Wa-msicg leaned tack in ts chic, his eyelids Be ce enon, 259) crocping moodily, a Wy Sane sek ce Oia: true that Fleming's father kept a glove shop in | trent dw odd tiatesteale: | Regent street, whereas the Addenbrookes hi “Haven't vial got wanihita 3 Sala fallow? | precuet eager don weneratons; Bat TOb0dY |y on Tandon pacisare all Gbaame One igen j ng went everywhere, did every. | ®Way and lives what seems a lifetime—it's so "Wook from Africa had made ham | ¢'am-tul of experience—and when one gets e i m back, not a soul remembers if it was last week of a lion thanvver; hence, he was more t 5 Higgs to be desired as a husband than’ poor Johnny, Se who went nowhere to speak of, and did noth: ing bat his work ‘ose slowly and went over to the wri- renc ming.” nf course, one’s pestered with invita- able ; aunts ease | tions from a lot of silly women one never heard she took up her pen, the whimsical thought | Hons fom a lot of silly women one never heard k her that, when the other children had | t rried their pence to the sweet-shop, Johuny | “8¥thing in the shape of news P | “Ob any : ee aid Addenbrooke, slowly, “ there is j had always preferred to invest his capital in | pa er apts mysterious wompounda at the chemists, A | ue piece of news, but Tdon't know that is faint smile hovered about her lips asshe wrote. a am thinking of getting mar- ee eras Siatied ais tele Net bend | adaeibrotke Nad never Deena ky eae 4 moment on the desk 1 am, from which she was turning for- . had rushed with cruel vividness into her conscious: t dich was only very modest, and he had not accus- tomed his friends to take an interest in his af- fairs, Fleming opened his eyes full and stared his friend in the fi There was always some- thing startling in his appearance under these circumstances; perhaps beeause his eyes were so rarely shown—perhaps because of some | quality in the eyes themselves. Th cugiously bright ‘and very brown—not a black manque, but a beautiful, unusual brown. Looking at them, it was easier to realize the power, such as it was, which Lawrence Flem- ing possessed over his fellow-creatures. “Addenbrooke,” he said, leaning forward, and speaking with sudden intensity, “as you value your peace of mind, have nothing to do with women!” He flung himself back, laughing a little, and letting fall his eyelids. In a few minutes he burst into a fierce tirade against the whole female sex, taking Addenbrooke's announce- ment merely as a text. Even Johnny was disappointed at this lack of interest on the part of his friend; but re- mtmbered having heard that Lawrence had been hard hit before he went to Africa—that nothing less, indeed, than a broken heart had sent him forth to those distant shores, Then, before Addenbrooke knew what was | happening, Fleming plunged into the very heart of his own peculiar gri@vance, “It was last year,” he said, “at a country house, It began from the moment she came into the room, I don't the first; but it was different somehow. Iam not even sure that she was good-looking; but | there was something about her—if yon cared at ail—well, you cared! She staved a week, and at the end of the time I told her, more or less hat I loved her. I was to see her the in London. was prevented by my mother's serious Be ott, es war zn schon gewesen ; Beit dich Gott, as het nicht solien sein, She rose, stiff and cold, and went over to her | mother, Lydia was a graceful creature, tall, -slight, -colored; some people thought her beaw- | tiful, others could see no beauty in her what- ever, ama.” she said, in her strange, pathetic . “Professor Addenbrooke has asked me to | marry him, and I have written to say ‘yes.’” IL. Addenbrooke was spending the evening as | usual with Lydia at St. John’s Wood. They | were alone together, Mrs. Grey having dis- | crectly retired to her own room, and the talk between them flowed with the ease of intimacy and affection. It was now three weeks since their engag: ment, and already something of Addenbrooke's caln happiness was beginning to be reflected in Lydia's face. She appreciated, what only | woman ean appreciate, the consciousness of making another's happiness by the mere fact of | her presence. That is. I think, a pleasure too subtle for the masculine palate. Now, as she laid her hand lightly on his, she enjoyed as it were a retlectionof the delight which she knew herself to be conferring by the act. “Johnny,” said she, ‘will you let me tell you to-night what I have always’ meant to tell you? about myself and—that other person.” “She finished her phrase thus vaguely, not doubti but that Addenbrooke had mentally rounded it off with greater accuracy; somehow her lips | refused to utter the name of Lawrence Fleming. | “My dear,” he answered gently, “tell me nothing which distresses you. I don't want to know. Iknow you have been very unhappy; | illness, I wrote and told her this. begging her but one day, [assure you, you are going to be | to fix a day for my visit. She made no reply, and four days later I called at the house, to be | toid she was out of town, The next day I ac- you, I think I ought. Perhaps, when you cepted the offer of ‘The Waterloo Place | have heard, you will want to go away from me. |G zette,’ and went out to Africa, Vm sure I | from a woman who has been so cruelly humil-| don't know why Leared. She wasn’t worth i happier than ever. She smiled half sadly. ‘Johnny, let me tell iated.” | she had given me every encouragement He laughed, drawing closer toher in the fire- | even allowed me to kiss her. I suppose the ligh |was a richer fellow on hand, or one whose Since that’s it, Lydia, perhaps you'd better | father didn’t happen to keep a shop.” tell me!” | Fleming rose, shrugging his shoulders, Ad- He saw that she would never rest till she had | denbrooke remained silent, The voice of Mrs. | disburdened her mind of the old, unhappy er, announcing that the portmanteau was things, abont which personally he had smail vrence’s room, came as a relict to both, desire to learn. | _ “By the by.” said Johnuy, in a low voice, as were s0 infinitely touching, these poor | the other felt for his keys, “all this took place women and their love-stories; their anxious in- | at the Mead terpretation of looks and words and smiles; | 25th onwards? ; their pathetic, careful guthering-up of crumbs “Oh,” answered Lawrence, with some vexn- so carelessly scattered. tion, pausing on his way to the door, “I sup- So Lydia, with half-averted face, began her you know all about it like the rest of the story in the strange, uncertain voice which, And he went from the room, from his boyhood upward, had had power to thrill John Addenbrooke to the inmost depths of his being. “It is nearly a year ago. ; Meades’ place in‘ Warwickshire. I arrived on March 28 and stayed a week, It began from the beginning. When I walked into the draw- ing-room where he was standing by the tea. table, it seemed that I had walked’ into a new and strange and wonderful world. I lived in| that world for a week, and it was like a lifetime, Looking back, it astonishes me how everyone else at once accepted the situation. Then I no more questioned it than I questioned the | rising of the sun, The day came when I was to go, and he had said nothing detinite to me. 1, living in my fool’s paradise, was neither sur- rised nor afraid, At last, an hour before I} Addenbrooke might have laughed aloud at the left, he took me in his arms and kissed my lips, | irony of the situation. and told me that he would follow me the next! His own dream was shattered forever; but of day.” that, for the moment he scarcely thought. hat’s enough,” said Addenbrooke, in a low | — What he saw most clearly was this: That, by voice, “he was a brute. Let us hear no more | his own act, he must make Lydia over into the about him.” hands of a man unworthy of her—unlikely to “There is nothing more to hear,” she an- | make her happy; to think of whom in connec- awered with bitterness, “that is the end of my | tion with her seemed contamination. A week later I heard he had gone| Butthe man whom Lydia doved withal! m ‘There was the sting, the shock, that for the Addenbrooke put his arm about Lydia, and | moment took away lis breath, and made him drawing her head to his shouider, stroked her | pause, pale, motionless, in his walk. hair backward and forward with his kind hand. |” ‘Then, suddenly, before the modest and un- Her recital had pained him. He knew the | critical mind of Addenbrooke flashed in vivid ertidy of his sex, but this particular offender | colors the image of two men—of himself and his ad gone beyond all recognized limits; limits | friend. TRS which, in his own person, Johuny had always, He saw Lawrence Fleming, with his showy. refused to recognize. The thought of the | unreliable cleverness, his moral coarseness; the inisery inflicted on iis oe sensitive. pas- | man stood before him revealed in ail his second- sionate Lydia made him sick with anger and | rateness. f speechless with sympathy. He rose at last, and, | And he saw himself, John Addenbrooke, as batzoning up his coat, tried to speak in tones | he had always been, in the dignity of his irre- of reassuriug cheerfulness. proachfu! life—of his honest, patient labor. “By the by, Lydia, Fieming has come bac! He looked on this picture and on that, and You remember Lawrence Fleming? ‘They are | knew cach for what it was worth. making quite 2 lion of him on account of his | ‘Then ensued in the peaceful breast of Adden- new book. He's just the sort of man to enjoy | brooke a terrible war of thoughts and emotions. being lionized.” Life, which had hitherto na simple mat- Lydia looked at him, speechless, and he went | ter enough, a mere case of doing your duty : and minding your own business, had assumed a-complexion of cruel difficulty. And yet he knew that the more obvious aspect of the matter was not a complicated one. ydia no more belonged to him than a dog who had followed him home and had been claimed by its master. « He was bound, in common honor, to reveal the facts of which he had accidentally become possessed, Should he go to Lydia and say: “This man, whom you prefer so infinitely to myself, is far deme wor Gy at 700 Ste ear " a bad fe ut good one. aE as Sten of the world do not do such things, but then Addenbrooke was not a man of the world. wn lfelong love'and her | | Iv. Addenbrooke remained behind pacing the ridiculous, incongruous apartment, while an unwonted storm of emotion raged within him. The parts of the puzzle lay, fitted together, in his hand; it only remained for him to step forward and proclaim the solution of a most commonplace enigma. An ineflicient postman, acareless housemaid—on some such undigni- fied tritle had the whole complication hung, like many another complication before it. No doubt, sooner or later, the missing clew would come to light, when he himself had made its discovery of no importance whatever, _ Had he been of a melodramatic turn of mind, she began, “at the on: “I expect that he will be turning up at my rooms in the course of a day or two. He left a portmanteau with my landlady before he sailed, Good night my own dear girl.” And he held out both his hands, me Lydia looked at him sharply and with rising vexation. She had found out long ago th t subtle hints were quite thrown away upon aJohnny; but surely, surely he must know the truth. ‘iter he was the Fran consummste actor or 6 densest m liv: as wan fatoustble 40 -enterthin seriously the idea of Addenbrooke as a consummate actor. And if he had no he not that of his three weeks’ tolerance of it? ; , hamed of the paternal glove-sho spectacles; the emotional woman whose emo- | “Susmed of the p 8 “2 : | tlons have dher, Addenbrooke and Ad- | Nowy Perhaps, he was too fond of talking | denbrooke’s love interposed themselves like a | “Out the glove-shop; of drawing jocose com- | parisons between himself and a well-known |b mess was a certain | pretend that she was | he next day, as it hap- | ATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1889—TWELVE PAGES. “But it is I who would have made her happy!” thought poor, obstinate Johnny. “Any matches?” said Fleming. with his fin- gers in the jar. Johnny made no answer, and the other fambled in the pocket of his cout, “By God!” This time Addenbrooke was roused, and came over to the table. ~ What's up?” he seid. Fleming pointed in silence to a stamped and addressed envelope lying at his feet, Johuny picked it up, with a dull sense of relief that matters had m more or less taken out of his hands. He knew, before he looked at it, that it was addressed to Miss Grey, and that it was Fleming's customary carelessness in the matter of posting his letters which had | wrought the mischief. |}. Lawrence was much excited. ~It had slipped behind the lining of the pocket! I have just taken the cont from my portmanteau, 0, that poor girl. that poor girl! what must she have thought of me all this time?” Addenbrooke faced him suddenly, “Do you intend,” he said, in a low voice, “endeavoring to repair the mischief?” It is possible that he hada low opinion of — s constancy. “Lwil | A sudden pang of personal anguish, an intol- erable sense of bereavement, shot through | | Addenbrook He thought: “After all, perhaps, I am noth- ing but a jealous devil who begrudges my girl | ried.” | Fleming rose with an exclamation. ) The two men stood facing one another: Law- | Fence, flushed, excited; Johnny, pale with tense eyes and nostrils, rdiz engaged! Lydia! The women are ail ‘alike. Could she have no patience, no trust, | but she must needs throw herself away ina fit ot pique on some fellow who is not worthy of he is engaged to me!” cried Addenbrooke, with sudden passion. And, by Heaven, I | think it is I who am too good for her!” The ion of such men as Addenbrooke is le thing. Fleming quailed before it. He gathered up | his papers in silence and went from the room. Mrs. Grey swept up to Addenbrooke as he stood with his hand on the knob of the draw- ing-room door. Professor Addenbrooke, I am sosorry,” she cried, “So am I,” he answered, curtly. It was two days after the ev chapter. Lydia had made her choice, and now, at her own request, was to take farewell of Addenbrooke. As she came forward, with flushed checks and shining eyes, to meet him, it struck him that she resembled the picture of a Baechante he had seen somewhere. A Bacchante in a tailor-made gown, with the neatest of cuffs and collars—poor Johnny! “I wished,” she said, when their gre over, “*to thank you with all my heart.” ‘And I.” he said, ‘wish to tell you this, Do not think that I merely took advantage of you. | I believed that Icould make you happy—i be- | lieve it stil _ She smiled sadly, and Addenbrooke broke into a sort of langh. ‘O, Johnny, Johuny!” she cried. He had no intention of being pitied, even by Lydia. “Don't distress yourself about me. he said; “I i my chance, " ought to do not think you have ing was “I have tell you that I » better man.” taiked a little, brooke held out both was L: | kissed his She kn imlessly; then Adden- his hands in farewell. It ce for the last time. as he stood there facing her. sing out of her life forever. For the t he seemed transfigured, no longer in- it; a tender but inscrutable presence » ironical. Some inarticulate voice m nt cried out to him not to leave her; un- | consciously she pat out her hand, and then he was gone. Not long after Fleming was with her. tse had his arm about her waist and was kiss- ing her lips as Addenbrooke hed never kissed them.—Amy Ley, in “Belgravia.” oa soe GOOD CHILDREN IN BOOKS. Little Lord Fauntleroys Not Found in Actual Life. From the Chicago Herald. “Papa,” queried a thirteen-year-old girl, with a somewhat despairing tone, as she closed the book on finishing “Little Lord Fauntleroy,” ‘, is it that all the good boys and girls are only in booke?” Coming thus from a mere | child the question was one that produced as- tonishment and forced reflection. The tone of the child was one that indicated regret and hu- muliation; something as if there was no use in trying to be good. for the reason that it only is in books that beautiful characters are to be found. There is a plaint in this ery of the young girl that is brimming with a pathetic discour- | agement. Her own life, as contrasted with that presented by the idealists, seemed base and in- terior. Despite her best efforts, she found her- | self unworthy and utterly unable to attain the lofty heights trodden by the good boys and girls | of the books. There is too much of this kind of perfection presented for the study of youth. | Chiidren are afforded unattainable models, | which discourage them by their mfallibility. | They dwarf the aspirations of the average | child. they repress ambition and demoralize effort at improvement. fhe same thing applies in other directions, i damaging in its influence. The rls are frequently ideals of tie | impossible kind which grossly mislead the | lovers of practical life. They are induced to | believe that the creations of the novelists are | what the real people should be; they think that | itis their own fault that they fall short of the | beautiful characters presented. The man whom | the fond woman marries has searcely a single | feature of the model, aud she is, in consequence, | unhappy. She fancies that the unlikeness be- | tween her husband and the ideal she has found in Warwickshire, from Marci the | in the books is the fault of her life partner, | - | and not of the creations of the authors, | the sxme way the husband is disappointed in | the wife. She does not in the least resemble {the models of the books, and as a result the married life is a failure, or else falls far behind what it should be. ‘The good boys and girls, the clinging lowers, the lofty-souled wives, and the noble husbands are found only in the books. No “Little Lord | Fauntleroy” is among the lads of the ordinary family, and the admiring boys who would wish to be like him aud who labor to that end will only waste their time. It is to be wished that this pernicious perfection of character pre- sented by the writers should cease, It is creat- | ing false hopes and producing the damaging reaction among the young who are striving to | climb to the summit of the lofty heights, Per- fect in appearance asare many of these Fauntle- roys, they are weak as pene for imitation; they are spineless, and goody-goody to an ex- tent that oughi to nauseate the m tion of a healthy, — boy. Saturday Smiles. Better to be a loxn than in bad company was not written of our umbrella,—Life, A dog is in “fall dress” when he has on his collar and pants.— Chicago Inter-Ocean, Mr. Wrong aspires to the mayoralty of Con- In apprecia- ire cordia, Kan, What's the matter with Mr, Wrong? He's all right.—St. Paul Pioneer Press. Postmaster Wanamaker said a few days ago: “] wonder why a woman alwa: & post- script to her letters and postals?” If Mr. W. isn’t careful he'll give himself away.—Toledo It is certainly a paradox that we are naturally desirous of long life, and yet unwilling to be old.—Tezas Sifiings. Son—*Papa, how do they catch Iunatics?” Cynical Fither—“With large straw hats and feathers and white dresses, jewelry, and neat loves, my boy.” Mamma )—Yes, “ (musing); remember that’s how fore we were married.”—Boston Gazetie, First Chappie—“Why, Al , deah boy, what is the mattah? He—“Will you marry me?” She—“Wait agminute. (Exit. that I'can with shot-gun.) Hold yet! Tam sorry to eas, Mr. Brown, to he pe pore ig prohibition paper in “ee, end Going well. Seo rS was presen ted tome’ by the local mr “It’s a beauty.” “You bet it ws, and it holds a pint.”—Nebras- ka State Journai, F- won't | Heruid, Bi go to her to-morrow!” cried Lawrence. | her happiness.” | ‘Aloud be said: “There may be dificulties at first. In fact, Miss Grey is engaged to Le mar- | uts of the last | lia, who, drawing him toward her, | | that 8. Wiuas & C PRUGGISTS, om Re their ret eck of DELGS, Pa J i sure of getting them ait castor . Ck mere Ww MICALA, 4 ‘apsul been S-erastc 100 pasine Qaittne Bowers & Weigh # Quinine, Rowers & Weighiana The Gest Triple Extracts in bale ees: j | antcoak’s | German Ayer's Sarsaparilia Aver's Cherry. Pectoral | Ayer's Bair Vigor. Avene Cathar Pilla | Bay Rum, In.ported, lazwe bottles Bovimine, siuall sizes... 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