Evening Star Newspaper, March 29, 1890, Page 10

10 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON. Author of “Lady Andley’s Secret,” “Like and Unlike,” “Ishmael,” “The Day Will Come.” dc. IALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) ie CHAPTER XVIIL DAISY'S DIARY, OW full of strange coincidences this life is. It is a small thing. of course, but still it has vexed and worried me more than I can say. This morning, ‘the second after my wretched adven- ture in Church street, I heard a most hatefully familiar voice in the hall as I came down stairs from the second floor just before Iunch. I stopped on the first floor lauding and listened to the voice below. I had not a shadow of doubt as to the owner of that hateful voice even before I looked over the balustrade and | saw the odious wretch standing in the bright light from the south window talking to the butler. It was the man who tormented me | with his insolent invitation to supper at the Oxford, the man whom his companions called Iverdier. He was there in the morning sun- shine—a creature who should only have been visible at night and in the shabbiest places. He was there in oug pretty hall, against a back- ground of pale soft color, with the beautiful marble face of Mnemosyne looking over his shoulder, with her finger tip on her low brow and her head bent as if in thought. There are several statues inthe hall and the corridor, but Mnemosyne is my favorite among them all. WAS MR. ARDEN HAD MY L “Has Mr. Arden had my letters?” in his foreign English. Yes, sir, they have been given to him.” “Yes, sir. They And there is no answer? den’s message?” “Yes, sir. My master told me to. tell you there was no ° were all given to him.” Was that Mr. Ar- very good.” He said very good with a face like a thunder cloud. He lingered a little, brushing his hat with his coat cuff in an agitated manner aud looking about him angrily, first at one door and | then at another, as if he hoped to see Uncle | Ambrose appear at one of them. At last he turned on his heel abruptly and went out with- | out another word. I suppose he is one of that | great army of begging letter writers who assail both mother and Uncle Ambrose. I sometimes pity them, poor creatures, when I see the long, long letters, many of them so well written, con- signed to the waste paper basket, and perhaps ; some of those piteous letters may have a good deal of truth in them. It must seem to the shabby-genteel poor that people who live in such a house as this and drive out in a fine car- riage with splendid horses and have a cloud of servants and all that modern civilization can give of pleasure and prettiness—it must seem as if they ought never to say no to the appeal of real want. And yetif the rich people always said yes the fine house and the horses must go, 1 wonder if it is wicked to keep so much for ourselves an’ give so little in proportion to what we keep. “The half of my goods have I given to the | oor,” said the Pharisee. Well, it is wrong to | 'e proud, no doubt, but upon my word that Pharisee had some justification for thinking well of himself. I don’t think either mother or Uncle Ambrose give half their substance im charity, kind and generous as they both are. “Did thet foreign person tell you his name?” I asked the butler, as 1 went into the dining | d had he been here before today? ma'am. He culled yesterds “Ye to inquire if there was an ters. He sent two letters by a commission- aire—one in the morning and another in the afternoon.” ‘What an importunate wretch the man must be. My blood runs cold at the thought that he may mean to tell my step-father about hav- ing seen me walking alone in Church street late at night. He might make np any story, aad I should have no witness against him; for Ido not know the name of my good middle- aged friend inthe cab. If he dare to slander me I must tell Uncle Ambrose the whole truth and brave itout. He will be shocked, no doubt, at the idea of my prowling about | London secretly after dark; but he cannot re- fuse to forgive me when I tell him of the in- *wmountable impulse which took me to that fatal house. Cyril and I went to Hurlingham this after- Noon with mother, and saw a polo match, and then strolled about the lawn and looked at the river together, while mother sat on the ‘terrace in front_of the house talking to her | friends. It seems to me sometimes as if all | the women in London mast be her friends, she | isso beset wherever we go. The public life, the constant movement and perpetually chang- ingfaces do not suit me half so well as River Lawn and its placid insipidity. My books, my | iano, au occasional single at tennis with atrice ardon. my boat, my garden. ¥es. lieve Buckinghamshire, and I believe I hate London. ‘The day was lovely, Hurlingham was lovely, Cyril was full of the kindest attentions, and yet I was not happy. Apart from my uncom- fortable apprehensions about the man calied poeme Ty gogeage something had gone wrong in my life. An afternoon that would have been perfect bliss a few weeks ago— before we went to Paris, for instance—seemed fiat, stale and unprofitable. I looked at the river listlessly; I was not interested even in the gowns, some of which were extravagant enough to awaken the dead. “Does this remind you of the Adriatic?” Cyril asked me as we stood side by side upon the lawn that slopes to the river. “Not the least httle bit in the world. How can ou compare this dirty London river with that dehicious blue se: You must be dreaming.” “I am dreaming,” he answered. am dreaming of the hour when you and I stood side by side with our feet in the long grass that grows close to the sea on Torcello. I felt im just the wrong mood for sentiment. Every word he said jarred upon my nerves, “That's a very pretty speech, but I know you wish yourself ainong those horrid pigeon shoot- ers,” I said. flippantly, and, fond as I am of pigeons, I felt tuat I would willingly sacrifice & few just to get rid of my companion. He looked offended; and then my conscience reproached me. and I said something civil; and then we walked up and down the lawn, and he talked as I suppose lovers do talk all the world ever. It is not worth putting down in this mid- night confi te of mine, though sometimes I Uncle Ambrose is so good to me, but I have reproached him lately with neglecting my education, which seems a hard thing now when lam get! Sapam I oasis om worthier to-be his pu) remember the pains he used to tak with me and the fime he used to waste upon my exerci and compositions and resumes before I was in my , and now when I want his help he is generally too much occupied to give it. or if he consents to spend aun hour in my morning room hearing me read Dante or Virgil I can see that his mind is no longer in the work. He used to give me such delightful explanations and illustrations over every page, so that to @ page of the #neid or Divine Comedy with him was as good as a lecture upon classic or mediwval his- tory. He used to throw himself into the work with all his heart, talking of that old Floren- tine world as if he had lived in it and been in- timate with all the people; flinging himself into vexed questions of politics or social life as if the argument were a thing of today, as if Dante had but just left the city, as if Savonarola were still teaching and preaching, and then he used to take such interest in any little compo- sition of mine and would laugh so pleasantly at my ungrammatical construction, my bread- and-butter missishness. Now, when his life ought to be utterly happy. having won the wife of his heart, there is a cloud upon his spirits, He seems to have lost the old zest for the books he once loved. Can it be that in his heart of hearts he knows my mother does not really love him— that she gave herselfgto him in the hope of making his life happy, of giving him some re- ward for years of quiet devotion on his part? Can it be that he knows, as well as I know, that her heart is buried in her first husband's grave ‘This is the only solution I can imagino for that shadow of trouble which hangs over his life. which makes ail common pleasures a weariness tohim; which makes him tire of everything and turn restlessly from one friv- clous amusement to another, as if in search of distractions rather than of happiness. Tasked him the other day why he had been So eager to set up an establishment in London and to plunge into the gay world. “I had two motives, Daisy,” he said with his grave, explanatory air, just like the Uncle Am- brose of my childhood. “The first was you! I thought it only right that in your dawn of womanhood you should taste all the pleasures which are supposed to be delighttul to your age and sex. Idid not want you to look back in the time to come and say to yourself, ‘My step-father cheated me out of the privileges of my position in life—he kept me mewed up in a country house when I pa to have been en- joying’all the pleasures that society can offer toa rich man’s daughter and heiress, Had he been my own father he would have been more considerate,’ I did not want you to say that, Daisy, perhaps, when I was dust. Do you think I could ever have been so un- just or so ungrateful?” “It would have been only human to have re- gretted pleasures you had never known,” he aswered. “My secondary motive was purely fish. I never lived till I made your mother my wife. 1 wanted to drink deep of the cup of life. I wanted all the pleasures and gladness that life could give me, even its most frivolous pleas- ures, I wanted to see what the great world was like, to hear my wife admired as a queen among women. I wanted to share the amuse- ments which might interest her, to feel that our wedded life was one joyous holiday.” He broke off with a sigh, The word joy sounded pure mockery from those pale lips. “Uncle Ambrose, I like you ever so much better as a scholar and a recluse than as a man of fashion,” I cried, in my impetuous way. Of course it was just One of those things I ought not to have said, and I began to apologize. “I know how everybody admires you, and how anxious people are tosee you,” said. “I hear them talking about you at parties, asking if you are really the Ambrose Arden who wrote ‘Flesh or Spirit.’ and I hear them praising your noble head lacid expression and qu ner. You are distin- hed from the herd in whatever society you appear—bnt still, but still I like my le Ambrose of the Buckinghamshire lanes better than the gentleman with whom mother and I tread the mill-round of London parties.” | “You are right, Daisy, Fashion is not my | metier. But I wanted to see what the gay world was like, and whether there was a thing in the atmosphere of London drawing rooms that could make a man forget that bundie of doubts, regrets and disappointments which we call self. 1 find no Lethe in Mayfair or Belgravia, Daisy. Self goes about with me from square to street, and from street to square He rose with a troubled sigh and began to pace the room. “You to talk of disappointments!” I cried, reproachfully. “What a bad compliment to mother!” “Daisy, you know as wellas I do that to me your mother is simply the most adorable of | women, and yet Iam disappointed, and yet I am disheartened, for I thought this butterfly | life of ours would please her and I don't be- lieve it does.” (ou should have left her in the home she loves,” I answered. “She was as happy there as she ever could be anywhere, after the sor- row that clouded her life forever. You cannot expect such a cloud as that to pass away alto- gether. You cannot expect her ever to be just the same as other women in whose lives there has been no tragedy. You ought never to} have brought her to live in London. Don't you know that to her and to me this great gay London, with all its wealth and brightness and headiong hunt after pleasure, means only the city m which my father was murdered? We can never forget that one fact. To us London must ays be the most hateful place in the world. I was carried away by my feelings, and said a good deal more than I meant to say. he asked, stopping in his pacing up and down, and looking at me fixedly. {think she must,” I answered, “I knowI We will go away in a week or two,” he said hurriedly. ‘I will take you all to the Lakes, It is just the season to enjoy those shadowy hills and cool waters.” “We don’t want the Lakes. We want home and our own gardens and our own river,” I said, angry at his caring for new places, “That is the only change mother and I care about.” He sighed and was silent, aud after a httle more pacing to and fro he resumed his seat at my side, and took up Dante at the line where we had strayed away into conversation. This talk occurred the day before my pil- grimage to Denmark street. That odious man has forced himself into my step father's presence, after so many repulses, and Iam utterly mystified by his audacity and by my step-father’s reticence, Cyril and I were at the opera last night with mother. Mother had promised to show her- self. if it were for only half an hour, ata re- ception at the Foreign Office, where she is likely to meet all the people she knows, and does not care a straw about. So we dropped her in Whitehall, looking superb in pale gray brocade, lighted up with sapphires and dia- monds and with her beautiful throat rising up out of a ruff of ostrich feathers, and then the carriage took us home, with instructions to go back for mother in half an hour. Uncle Am- brose had been a of headache all day and was not well enough to go to either opera or party. é The door was opened and I was just — in when aman seemed to spring out of the darkness and push himself in front of Cyril, who was following me, and almost leaped into the house at my side. There were two men in the hall,but seribble whole conversations, just for the love of scribbling. Doall engaged girls get tired of their fiances, I wonder? Is there always this feeling of weari- ness, this sense of the emptiness of life? Are all engagements 2s monotonous as mine? Cyril enti have beam engaged less than four months and yet I feel as if it were halfa life time. I feel as if it were absurd in him to be senti- mental or to say pretty things after such ages of courtship. Ob, I wish, I wish, I wish I loved him _bet- ter; if it were only out of gratitude to Uncle Ambrose, who is so pleased at the idea of our union, who has told me again and again how happy it makes him to know that Cyri ppi- ness is secured. Could I disappoint him? Could I be incon- stant or capricious? Could I write myself down that worthless creature, a jilt, after ali the father’s goodness to me and the son's affec- tion? No, my fate is sealed. If the vows had been vowed at the altar I could hardly be more bound than I am. Bound in honor! What bendage ca be more irrevocable? footmen are stupid, solemn creatures, trained to move slowly and to hold their chins in the air, and neither of those two powdered dolts had the sense to stop him, He walked straight to Uncle Ambrose’s study, at the back of the hall. opened the door and went in, I waited breathlessly, expecting to see him flung out into the hall in in the next moment; but he shut the door behind him, and the door re- mained shut. Uncle Ambrose was evidently giving him an interview, Cyril was furious, €: “He have been here before, answers to his letters, three or four, or I should say as much as five or six, times’ within the the week,” one of the men stated , oe if he had been in a witness box. “Do you know his name or who and what he “I do not, sir, leastways only that he's Cyril walked over to the door, opened it, and went in, I waited, with my heart sir, arstin’ for i xpecting to be called in and ques- tioned about my adventute in Church street, Cyril came back to the hall in a minute or two. “My father seems to know the fellow and wishes to hear his grievance, whatever it is,” he told me, with a vexed air. ‘I don't like the look of the man and I told my father how he had pushed past me and rushed into the house. However, my father chooses to hear his story and I can say nothing. Come up to the divan, Daisy; I don’t want to be out of hearing while that fellow is on the premises.” DO YOU KNOW THAT FELLOW? ‘The divan is a little room on the half flight, fitted up in Mauresque style and only divided from the landing by a partition. partly ‘inted glass and partly carved sandal wood from Persia, It is a capital nook for gossip‘or flirta- tion and when we have a party the divan is al- ways in great request. It is lighted by an Oriental lamp, which is in pertest harmony with the decoration, but which gives a very in- different light. \ Cyril ordered strawberries and lenionade to be sent up to this retreat and we sat there for halfan hour pretending to talk about the opera, but both of us obviously preoccupied and uncomfortable, and both of ug ent for the srening of the study door ‘below, know we talked in hushed voices and neyer withdrew our attention from what ' was going on down stairs, We could see the ‘hall door through the open door of the divan, at the end of the vista beyond the shallow flight of stairs, “I hate mysteries,” Cyril said at Inst, in the midst of alanguid debate about the merits and demerits of the new tenor. I got up and Cyril and { went on to the landing and stood there looking over the balustrade into the hall until the door opened and his father’s voice called to the footman, “See that person out,” whereupon the man opened the great hall door and the midnight visitor went out just @ minute or so before the carriage ‘stopped and mother alighted. She came into the hall in her long white cloak with its downy ostrich trimming, such a lovely, gracious figure, the gems in’ her rich brown hair flashing in ‘the lamp light. tnele Ambrose came out of his den to receive her. “Were you amused, dearest?” he asked, ‘Was it a pleasant party?” “It was a brilliant one, at any rate,” she an- swered. ‘I met all the people we know and a few stars and foreign orders that I don’t know. How white you look, Ambrose. You ought not to be up so late, What was the use of staying away from the opera and the reception only to tire yourself at home?” “Ihave not been tiring myself, except with a dull book by a clever man, ‘What pains some clever men take to be dull, by the way... I haye been resting as much as I can rest, der.” fam past that golden age when sleep comes,at will,” “But you had a iate visitor. man who went out of the house just betore I arrived?” “An old acquaintance—that is to say, a book binder who worked for me years ago, who has the common complaint of old acquaintances— impecuniousness.”” “And you helped him, of course.” “T heard his story, and have promised to con- sider it.” “But if he isin immediate want—” est, I have no opinion of the man’s , and Tam doubtful whether I ought to believe his story. He forced an entran into this house in an unwerrantable manner, and it would have s d him right had I sent for « policéman and given him in charge. How- ever, he pleads sore distress as an excuse for his audacity, and I let him tell me his story. I shall do nothing for him unless I get some con- firmation of it froma respectable quarter.” Cyril and I were leaning over the balustrade straining our ears to listen. A book binder; that impertinent wretch is a book binder. And what a tissue of falsehoods his story of distress must be, when I saw him reeling out of a restaurant with his boon com- panions less than a week ago. I suppose the wretch has said nothing about his meeting with me. He may not have asso- ciated the name of Hatrell with his old, em- ployer, Mr. Arden: and yet a man of that kind, hanging about the house as he has done, would be likely to find out all about us. He passed close to me as he | Sratioee his way into the hall; but itis just possible he did not recognize me in my very different style of dress, There was nothing in my step-father’s man- ner to indicate agitation or irritation of any kind, I never heard his melodious voice calmer Whd was ‘the |’ or his accents more measured than when he explained the miduight visit to my mother in the hall, “The mountain has brought forth a mouse,” said Cyril gaily. Mother came upstairs'in the next minute, so I wished Cyril good night and went up to her dressing room with her to hear all about the party while her maid took off her jewels and reer July 15th.—We are at home once more in the dear old rooms and in the lovely old garden, and I feel almost as if my sixteenth birthday were stilla grand event in the future—tfeel almost as young asI felt in the old childish days before mother’s marriage, and our Italian travels, and our London gaities, and all the ex- periences that have made me a woman of the world. I feel almost as I felt at sixteen, almost, but not quite, as happy as I felt then. There is no use in keeping diaey unless one is sternly truthful, and stera truth compels me to acknowledge to this Book that I ain tot #0 happy as I was before mother's martiage and my own engagement to Cyril, ated Se In those old days I was ‘as free as air—free to think and to dream and to shape the many- colored visions of my future life out of those idle dreams, Now my future is all mapped out for me and my life has a master who will dictate all things. He is good, he is devoted, he is all that a fiance should be, but still he is my master. There can be no doubt ofthat. My duty as plighted wife involves confidence and obedience. I am bound to confide in him; I am bound to obey him. Oh, I wish, I'wish I loved him better. Iyish Icould feel ‘as mother did when she wns nine- teen years of age and engaged to iny father. She has talked to me often of her thoughts and feelings at that time—how it seemed ‘to her as if this life of ours, and ail this world we live in, began and ended in Robert Hatrell. have never felt like that, never, never, never. What a perverse wretch I must be! \ How per- sistently all my thoughts and fancies drift into the wrong channel. Only this morning, walk- ing alone on the terrace, where I made tea for Mr. Florestan, the fancy flashed into my mind that on that particular afternoon I was happier than I had ever been in my life, What an idle notion, as idle and capricious as any of the fancies of my childhood when I used to give myself up to day dreams and Jie, upon the new cut grass in ha: making. time and dream of all the people I loved most in history, and dream that I was walking in the woods beyond Lamford with Charles the First and Henrietta Maria, and that I was qj pointed somehow tocome between him and his ene- mies, yes, to save him from the scaffold, to help him in his escape, like Flora Macdonald with the young Pretender. Charles Edward was not romantic enoughfor me. Alas! [knew that he got fat and took to drinking in his o1@ age. History isso brutal, Charles the First was my hero. I forgot ail his shiftiness and double-dealing, his selfish sense of his‘own im- ortance, his cowardly abandonment of Straf- ford. I forgot everything except that his head ‘was very beautiful. as Vandyke painted it, and that Bradshaw and his crew cut it off. Foolish, foolish Alice-in+ Wonderland fancies, Every girl of eleven or twelve has her Wonder- land, and if she has been crammed with history it is not of birds or beasts that she dreams, but of Joan of Arc and her martyrdom at Rouen,or of Henry, the first Bourbon king, murdered in the quaint old streets of medieval Paris, or of Mary of Scotiand, or Marie Antoinette and tho young Dauphin, who suffered the most cruel reverse of fortune that ever prinee éndured, and who died mysteriously, done, to death in the wicked old prison, My earliest dreams were of heroes and mar- yrs, my chosen favorites in the worldof the romantic past. Then came more selfish day dreams, visions of the life that I was to mae = the wondectal things I was ~ do when I grew up. ‘hen I Ww ap om, rase of marvelous meaning” W ith, ‘wlodeas, power unlimited were to come to me as a mat- ter of course—when I had grown up. I was to be very beautiful. Lovlier than any one else. There would be no in @ commonplace eve: , @n advantage which not be without Its drawbacks na T should have-on a average to reject a suitor a da’ its duties as well as its Fin Pg hosd — pphageen rei at the mere recollection of my absurdity, bust this kind of dream only the novelty of m my insted 2s long a8 teens and the first keen delight of wearing a gold watch which mother gave me on my teenth birthday. of Later dreams were of philanthropic revolu- tions. Iwas tobe the guardian angel of a at district in the poorest part of London. saw myself walking it streets and alleys where the police hardly. dared to enter. "I saw myself e it ‘ing good tidi: the dying. My heart swel dat the thought of the I would do when I grew up if mother would let me do just as I liked and spend my money how I liked. Some foolish chattering maid servant had told me that [should be rich, that I should have my own independent fortune when I grew up. There were other visions that indjcate a sub- stratum of inordinate vanity under-all my girl- ish shyness, I could not take up an art without dreaming at I was going toexcel in it. If I got on fairly well with my practice of the Pastorale or the Pathetique I fancied that I was going to work on until I became a second Schumann or Essipoff. If I just managed to paint a little water-colored sketch of the river or the vil- lage—the gable end of a cottage and a bit of garden—a backwater under the willows—I saw before my eager footsteps a long, bright road leading to a dadzling temple, where Fame sat ready with garlands and trumpets and gold medals, ready to pronounce me second only to Millais for figure and landscape. Idle, idle dreams. They have all fled long ago—fled into tne limbo of all childish things—gone to the great rubbish heap where some of my dearest dolls are rotting. I hope and believe that I am cured of silly vanities and that I am a fairly sensible young woman, quite aware of the difference of my dream nose—a perfect Grecian—and my real nose—a very } tolerable retrousse—quite aware that a com- plexion powdered with freckles every summer can hardly be considered alabaster—my dream- self had a distinctly alabaster complexion. In aword, Iam aware of all my shortcomings, mental and physical, and am reconciled to them. All I ask in life is to live always with or very near mother, to be happy and the cause of apenas in others, Is that too much to ask, I wonder, in a world so full of suffering? I fear itis, If one had newly alighted upon this earth in some tropical valley. or by some Italian lake, one would sup- pose it a world made only for bliss, Who would suspect earthquakes, or disastrous tempests, floods, disease ang famine, poisonous serpents and savage tigers, upon so fair a planet? Who would ever guess, new to the scene, that the majority of mankind are full of trouble, as the sparks fly upward? No, there was never a more idle thought than that of mine which dwelt so obstinately upon the one half nour I spent with Mr. Flor- estan tete-a-tete upon the terrace. I don’t be- lieve it was more than twenty minutes, I know I made myself excessively disagreeable in order that he should not stay too long. _I was seized with an attack of prudishness, I’m afraid; for after all it could not have been very bad man- ners to give a visitor a cup of tea in my mother’s absence, Fountainhead is empty now. I hear the plashing of the fountain when I walk in the shrubbery. The trees were planted the autumn after my father’s death, when my mother was just well enough to be wheeled about in her ath chair to watch the planting. I can see her face now at it looked then, pale as marble and without a smile. The trees have grown ever so big, chestnuts red and white, acacias, mountain ash and copper beech, conifers of every kind, tremulous birches, silvery white in sunshine or moonlight. It is a delightful shrubbery, arranged in careless-seeming curves, d with labyrinthine paths, and here and re arustic bench, and in one deep wooded nook a rustic summer house. At aseason like this, when the glare on the terrace is almost too much to be endured, even by asun worshiper like me, I bring my books and my work to the summer house—i am writing in it now—and the dogs find me and we make ourselves at home here, aloof from all the world. There is no sound but the plash of Mr. Florestan’s fountain and the song of the thrushes which revel in this shrubbery, The nightingales are gone already. How soon the glory of summer dwindles away. It must be horribly warm in Paris at this season, and 1 read in the papers that the city is given over to the summer tourists, Yet I suppose Mr. Florestan prefers Paris to Buck- inghamshire. in all probability he has gone off with the rest of the great world and is taking the waters at Vichy or Royat or away in that wonderful mountain region in the Pyrenees, where heal- ing and beauty go hand in hand. Wherever he may be I am glad we are here. Uncle Ambrose pleaded hard for the English Lakes, He had all but_taken a house at Gras- mere; but mother and I both wanted to come home, and we are home and we ought to be happy, I wish Uncle Ambrose were happier. It | ‘ieves me to see that the desiro of his heart has not brought him happiness. ¢ Mother is so attentive to him, so full of tenderness aud fore- | thought—but I know, I know it is not love that she gives him, and his heart hungers for love. Ipity them both. Yes; it is (eae that—the one thing wanting. It is the little rift within the lute. Oh, Diary of mine, sit is an evil thing to marry without love.’ "Che more I think of mother and her second husband, and the more Ithink of Cyril and myself. the more I feel that it isan evil thing. It is unmitigated evil to marry a man to whom one cannot give one’s whole heart. I pray God every morning and every night that I may grow fonder of Cyril—that I may learn to adore himn between now and our wed- ding day. An engaged girl once told me that she did not care a straw for her fiance when she accepted him, She only thought that it would be nice to be married and have a house of her own, and she had visions of her trousseau, and her mother had promised to give her half her diamonds when she married—all sorts of self- ish considerations— but by the time she had been engaged to him three months she felt that she could beg her bread barefoot through the world with him, ‘That was her way of putting it, Cyril is clever, generous minded, good look- ing: He is @ fine tennis player; he sculls splendidly, A girl ought to find it easy to adore him. Whatcan I want in a lover if I am not satisfied with him? Do I expect to} marry a demi-god? [To be Continued} Written for Tur EveNtit Star. The Seasons. | was elected, but Bate Sweet childhood! what a dream it is, Unreal as that of night! A little May of blossoming bliss With warmth and sunshine bright! No doubt to chill its buddinggfaith! No past to cloud the soul! A lustrous, silvery, noon-tidejwraith, With heaven its starry goal! Bold youth! An, tender are the chords Its halcyon larp sends forth! Ambition teeming thought affords Weird as the frost-clad north! And love with wild ecstatic. flame Leaps high in rapturous joy! 2 Gorgeous the shining mines of fame, All gold without alloy! Ripe manhood! Real the war of life, No ideal visions now, But fiery passions, wrestling, rifet Hard-wrought the toil-bound brow! Laurels lie not in every path! Bread is the priceless boon! ‘Triumph the mocking aftermath ‘That seldom comes too soont And see! Old age is in the air! ‘The garish lights burn low! Distant the fields that once were fair! Yonder the wild-flowers blow! Sail on, O soul! a roseate morn Awaits thine opening eyes, ‘When waking amid scenes new-born Beyond the cloudless skies! * —Davip Grama ADER, so English Buying More Breweries. The San Francisco Alta-Californian says: ‘The negotiations which bave been pending for the past year looking to the sale of cer- tain local breweries to an *English syndi- cate are practically completed. The sale of the United States brewery was consummated yesterday, when part of the purchase money was paid, The full purchase price is under- stool to be in the neighborhood of $450,000. The Philadelphia brewery is contracted to be sold to Mr. Lennon, as re) tative of the syndicate, on the Ist day of August next, the sum named being $2,600,000, Lennon agreeing to pay $1,650,000 on that date and $1,000,000 in represen’ a blanket mortgage on the establishment. = At a meeting of manufacturers of clear Havana cigars held in New York a committee was appointed to come to Washington to ben) « the tobacco clause of the pe: tariff bill, The Broadway wires are to go under ground. In aden emey. C. Thatcher and Wil- liam Lioyd Garrison | before the D. C. SATURDAY MARCH 29, 1890-TWELVE PAGES. Written for Tae Evextne Stan. AMERICAN WARWICKS. Some of Them in the Senate and House of Representatives, MEN WHO HAVE TRIED THEIR HANDS AT PRESI- DENT MAKING—MEMBERS OF CONGRESS AS DELE- GATES AND PRESIDENTIAL ELECTORS—THE FIRST CAMPAIGN OF NOTED MEN. HE old whig party has been dust for ‘more than thirty years, but some of its old-time leaders are still active in public affairs, The whigs conducted their last successful campaign in 1848, when old Rough and Ready Zach Taylor de- feated Gen. Lewis Cass for the Presidency. Taylor and Fillmore were nominated at Phila- delphia June 7, and John Sherman, then an aspiring young Buckeye of twenty-five short summers, was a delegate to the convention that placed them before the people. Another active participant in the whig canvass of 1848 was Senator James L. Pugh of Alabama, who was a member of the electoral college and cast his vote for the whig nominees. Pugh was then twenty-seven. It seems strange to think of Senators Sherman and Pugh as being members of the same political party, even if it was forty. two years ago. Two democratic survivors of the campaign of 1843 are Senators Payne and Aarris, who were candidates for Presidential electors on the Cass and Butler ticket, but only one of them was elected, as Tennessee went whig. Senator Payne had reached the age of thirty-eight and Senator Harris was thirty at that time. John Sherman was again a delegate to the whig convention of 1852 at Baltimore, which nominated Scott and Graham. Senator Hawley was a delegate to the free soil convention held at Pittsburg in the same year.which placed John P. Hale in nomination. ‘Senator lawley was at that time twenty-five years old, Sena- tors Brown of Georgia and Wilson of Maryland participated more satisfactorily after election. They were both chosen presidential electors and exercised their suffrage in behalf of Frank- lin Pierce. Brown was thirty-one and Wilson was thirty, THE RISE OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY. Four years later came the campaign of 1856, remarkable as marking the establishment of the republican party and the last appearance of the great whig wreck, which indorsed the know-nothing nominations. Shelby M. Cullom was one of the few young men of Illinois who warmly identified himself with the whig rem- nant and native American combination. He was a candidate for presidential elector on the Fill- more ticket in 1856. It was his first venture in politics and he was beaten out of sight. Senator Cullom was then twenty-six years old. Senator Harris fared better this year than he did eight years before and was chosen a Buchanan and Breckenridge elector in Tennessee, Senator Payne was again an elector in Ohio. Repre- sentative Buckalew was a Buchanan elector in the President's own state. Judge George E. Seney of Ohio, then twenty-four years old, ran on the Buchanan electoral ticket in that state, but was defeated, Judge Parrett of the Evans. ville district of Indiana was a Buchanan elector, There 18 only one man in Congress who voted for the Pathfinder in the electoral col- lege—Dunnell of Minnesota, then of Maine. Senator Pugh, who had been 4 Taylor elector in 1848, this y voted for Buchanan in the eléctoral college. THE CHARLESTON CONVENTION, The most historic convention of the demo- cratic party was that which met at Charleston and was afterward postponed to Baltimore in 1860, It was in this great convextion that the democratic party ‘dissolved for the war.” Nearly all of the most conspicuous democrats of the country were present as delegates, al- ternatives or spectators, A few of the dele- gates are in Congress thirty years afterward. Senator Payne of Ohio was there in iis prime and was one of the foremost Douglass men on the floor of the bod: He was a member of the cominttee on resolutions and reported from the minority of the committee the platform that was finally adopted. Gen. Spinola of New York and Kepresentative Peningtou of Dela- ware were also delegates to Charleston, Sena- tor Evarts of New York was even more promi- nent in the republican convention of 1860 than Payne had been in the demo- cratic convention of the same year. He was the Seward leader on the floor, and made the speech nominating him. But Evarts and Thur- low Weed were beaten. by circumstances over which Empire state politicians had no control and the overt treason of Horace Greeley, who came into the convention on an Oregon proxy and fought Seward’s nomination. Senator Stanford was a delegate from California in this convention, Senator Morgan, Senator Bate, Senator Vest and Representative Whitthorne were candidates on the Breckenridge and Lane ticket for presidential clectors in 1860, Morgan and Whitthorne were beaten by the Bell and Everett candidates. nator Sawyer and Representative Scull were delegates in the convention of 1864 at Baitimore that renominated President Lincoln. Senator Frye waa a presidential elector and cast one of the 212 votes that made Abraham President a second time. Leonidas C. Houk was a candidate for presidential elector in Ten- nessee. Senator Voorhees was a prominent fig- ure in the democratic convention which nomi- nated McClellan at Chicago on the 29th of Au- gust. John Griffin Carlisie was nominated for elector on the McClellan and Pendleton ticket in Kentucky, but declined the nomination, THE GRANT CONVENTION, Senator Hawley presided over thejrepublican national convention which met at Chicago May 20, 1868, and nominated Gen. Grant for Presi- dent. Among the delegates on the floor of the convention were Eugene Hale, Gideon C, Moody, J. Don Cameron, Lucien Caswell and C. Houk. In the democratic conven- w York the same year, which chose an for itsnominee, Wm. R. Bate, Jno. ce rlisle, J. B, McCreary, Wm. C. Oates, Chas, H. Mansur and Thos. R. Stockdale were delegates, Senator Hawley, Gen. T, J. Hender- sonand Gen, B, R. Cutcheon were all Grant presidential electors, In the republican convention of 1872 that re- nominated Grant Senators Hawley, Cuilom, Frye and Quay were all delegates, Of the demo- cratic convention that indorsed the nomina- tion of Horace Greeley it does not appear that there is now in Congress any surviving dele- gates excepting Benj. A. Enlge. O’Donnell of Michigan and Grosvenor of Ohio were both Grant electors and came to Washington after election as the messengers of their respective states. Stockdale and Kt. P. C. Wilson of Mis- souri were Greeley electors and Davidson and Buckalew tried to be, but did not get enough votes. In the republican convention of 1876, at Cin- cinnati, the delegates included Senators Haw- ley, Hale, Frye, Sawyer, Cameron, Quay and Hoar and Representatives Dingley, Milliken, Boutelle, J. D. Taylor, Bingham and McCord. Among those who helped to nominate Tilden at St. Louis were Senators Voorhees, Walthall and Gray and Representative Elliott. It is an in- teresting fact that of Hayes’ 185 electors only one is now in Congress—Seth L. Milliken— while there survive in Congress twelve men who were enrolled in Samuel J. Tilden’s 184. The Tilden and Hendricks electors were Sena- tors Morgan, Pugh, McPherson, Bate and Dan- iel and Representatives Bynum, Biggs, Ellis, Enloe, Caruth, McMillan and W. J, Stone of Missouri, Ts 1880. Geo. F. Hoar, whose benign countenance beamed down from the presiding officer's chair in the great national convention at Chicago in 1880, saw among the delegates his colleagues— Cameron, Hawley, Frye, Hale, Chandler, Saw- yer and Quay and Representatives Wilpur, J. D. Taylor and Houk. Cameron is the only sur- vivor of the great triumvirate that tried to nominate the silent soldier. The great general has himself passed away and Cameron's great prestige us a political wizard has been trans- ferred to his present colleague, who was a meek hewer of wood and drawer of water for his master in the convention of ten years ago. Frye made the best speech for Blaine in that convention and Chandler pulled wires with Italian skill for the magnetic man, whom he forgot in the conven- tion four years later. Senators Ham; , Wal- thall, Blodgett and Daniel were delegates to Cincinnati in 1880. In the same convention Were Representatives Dibble, Enloe, Grimes, Wiley and@Reilly. Gen. Grosvenor and Repre- sentatives Stephenson and Geo. W. Smith were Garfield electors in 1880, Alf Taylor of Ten- nessee tried to be one, but his state fell short, Representatives Mc! Ws Dibble, Kilgore and and Senator were all in the electoral college and all voted Axsovxcemest Exrnasonprsany. A GORGEOUS ASSORTMENT OF PERSIAN TRIM- MINGS WILL BE PUT ON SALE TOMORROW. RIBBON BARGAINS. RIBBON BARGAINS. 6,000 pieces All-silk Gros Grain, with Satin Edge. Neos. 5 7 9 and 12 Se. 100. 126, in the foliowing colors: Pink, Old Rose, Gendarme, Navy Blue, Light Blue, White, Cardinal, Garnet. Lavender, Pistache Green, Nile Green, Gray, Yeliow, Old Gold, Fawn, Black. Black, White and Cream ALL-SILK SURAH SASHES, heavily fringed, 4 yards long, at 2.50 each. We also offer 82 pieces ROMAN STRIPE SASH RIBBONS, extra quality, at 7c. Actual value, $1.25. ‘Ribbon Department as you enter. CHATELAINE BAGS ‘will be more worn this season than ever. them from 50c. to the highest priced ones, INFANTS’ EMBROIDERED CASHMERE COATS, Long or short. for 82.98. NU! APRONS, 18. and 25e. ill-fitting CORSET. It spoils both the wear and shape of your dress. Qur CORSETS come in four lengths: hort, ‘We carry Medium, Lore, Extra Tong. We can fit any lady unless she be actually deformed, We warrant the wear of every CORSET. See the new CORSETS we are showing for #1. NEW STYLES IN JEWELRY. BRACELETS in odd designs, 1 Ingenius desigus in LACE PIN EARRIN NECKLACES in Roman and Etruscan Gold, NECKLACES in Sterling aud Oxidized Silver, RINGS for man, woman or child. SLIDES AND BUCKLES are the correct things for dress use. The styles are manifold. They are worn in Pearl, Oxidize, Plain Silver and Gilt, in scores of The prices range about 2, LIGHT- This season has produced the nobbiest styles in LADIES’ SHORT COATS we have ever seen, They are style personified. fancy may suggest, and prices range from $5 to About thirty styles at the former price, NEW PARASOLS. See that you procure the correct style ina PARA- SOL. See our styles; they are wonderfully beautiful. RUCHINGS. Our stock of RUCHING is extraordinarily large— any style,color and combination that you may think of. Some beautiful CORD KUCHING at 12%. per yard. TOURISTS’ RUCHYNG, 14c. per box; Gyards to abox OUR TOILET DEPARTMENT. 4-ounce OAKLEY TOILET WATER, 49c. per bottle. CORALINE TOOT H POWDER, 136. per box. CASHMERE BOUQUET SOAP, 2ic. per cake. All MANICURE GOODS, BUTTONS ‘To match your Dresses im Pearl, Steel, Crochet, DRESS LININGS. Here is where we have the bulge, Everything that is nee ded is stocked by usin all the different grades desired. NOTE THIS: ‘Whenever youwanta remnant of DRESS GOODS, SILK or VELVET or any Trimming Materials to belp make over an old dress come to us and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we have that very piece you are looking for; anyway, it is worth the trial. SMALL WARES Such as PINS, LES, DRESS SHIELDS, HOOKS AND EYES, HAIRPINS, DARNING COT- TON, GARTER WEB, WHALEBONES and all other little necessaries for your Dress kept in endless varieties at our Notion Counter. FOR CONFIRMATION DRESSES. A most excellent variety of all kinds of Fab- rica suitable for this occasion, FANS FOR EASTER. All the different kinds. HOSE for Easter. New ideas) HANDKERCHIEPS for Easter, Dainty patterns, L A NN r AA Las aan U Ri cGG A H Bots u u Rk G GH oH BBB U U RRR G HHH Ese UU KR R GGG H H iB vu K&R Rk GGG UH th BBB RRR 00 ae E BRR OO Poe 3 BI E. 3 S ‘4s EE “oss m26 420-422-424-426 7TH ST. DDD. DD D»D DD bpp win NNN DDD. U oU PPP. ‘www tt NNN DD UU PP wry PERE BB ub EP Ww WwW UU NNN DDD Pe THE CROCKERY AND HOUSEFURNISHING BUSINESS, ‘The entire stock of CROCKERY, GLASS WARE and HOUSEFURNISHINGS will positively be sold out regardless of cost. No such prices have ever been made before in Wash- ington on this line of goods. LARGE SAVINGS FOR HOUSE KEEPERS, HOTEL and BOARDING HOUSE KEEP§RS will be offered special inducement, H. HOLLANDER, Agt, m10-lm 408 7th st. now, Ove Curent Pray. FURNITURE, CARPETS. MATTINGS, OIL CLOTHS, RUGS, BABY CARRIAGES, REFRIG- ERATORS, STOVES and HOUSE FURNISHING GOODS INGENERAL. LOW FOR CASH OR ON EASY WEEKLY OR MONTHLY PAYMENTS, Poplar Bed Room Suites from $15 up, Oak Bed Room Suites from $25 up. Walnut Bed Room Suites from 840 up. Parlor Suites in Hair Cloth or Plush, $35 up, Ingrain Carpet from 25c. per yard up, ‘Brussels Carpet from 7 5c. per yard up, ‘Oil Cloths from ‘5c. per yard up, 6 PER CENT DISCOUNT FOR CASE. AMl Carpets Sewed and Laid Free of Charge. We guarantee the customer against any loss in matching, as we charge only for the net number of yards neces- sary to cover the floor. It will pay you tocallon us before purchasing else- AUCTION SALES. THIS APTERNOON CHANCERY. SALE OF VALUABLE FROPEKIY NEAR NAVY YARD GATE, Bi No. 1105 SLVENTH SIRERT SOUTHEAST By virtue of a decree of the Supreme Court of the District of Co and egehty ts feet south of the northeast cx hh 13 fe bewuning, improved by Brick House. Term 1 ty, oF all cash, gurchaser #100 required ¥ of aale. Bot complied w iu ten days, trustee reserves the right to resell Fisk and cost of defaulting purchase FILLMORE BY ALL. Trt Belay st nw DUNCANSON BROS., Auctioneers. we dks “ FPUPURE DAYS. ATCLIFFE, DAKR & CO. SALE OF VERY VALUAT BASEMENT Bb Auctioneers, Y-FU O'CLOCK, m_ front o described property. known Lane's sutaliviston square 7S), toaeth mit required at ¢ ATCLIFFE, DARK & ©O., Auctioneers, Auctioneers, Penns ivauu ave. nw. ERFMPTORY SALE VALUABLE. BUSINPS: PROPERTY, No, NNSELVAMIA AVES NOKTHWE ALse R- K AND FRAME BACK BUILD. NG, No. MARYLAND AVENUE SOUTH: WEST, TO CLOSE AN ESTATE, fF ALCTION. Ar On THURSDAY AFLEKNOON, MARCH TWENTY- | SEVENTH, AT HALE-PAST FOUR O'CLOCK, we | Will offer for sale in tromt of the premises j LOT 22, RESERVATION a, Improved by ® Two-story Frame and tear No, 332 Pennsylvania avenue north ck Stable im AL vK, SAME AFTERNOON, in front of the promises IT ©, SQUARE 47, Three-stery Brick and W Maryland av h, baler AT FIVE oc We will ofter for sa Improved by .é Frame Back Building, n nthe, tha ys rucht re nVEFALCIMS, Rew at cos BARCLIFFE. D3 m20-dkds S®-THE ABOVE SAL count of the rain until RA OO., Auctioneers, NED ON Ao- PHIKTY- FIRST PosT! DAY. M DAY OF MAKCH, same hours nnd Place HATCLU TE, DARK & CO. ‘Aucts m2s-dkds EEKS & CO, Auctioneers. FURNITURE OF 4 PRIVATE FAMILY AUCTIO! DECKER BRO.'S 7 OCTAY SEWOOD CASE HANDSOMELY CARVED PIA N ENCE TIN TWELVE FOOT Wa LE: NSCKUMENT 4. MILLAR EXTENSION TABLE, BRUSSELS C Ale PARLOK, HALL AND STALKS, T WAL. FL KICHLY-COVERKED DB SULA LLG. PKAME MIKKOR, LACE CURTAIN BE ROOM SET, ODD Ps, cl KOCKER, AIKS, L AND BEDDIN Koa NG Ak JUNCANSON BROS, Auctioneers, TRUSTEES’ SALE OF ELV BRICh HOUSE, No. NOKLHEAST, 3 the FIVE O'CLOCK in the AFI the THIRTY-F1RST DAY OF MA lot. pumbered twenty-seven. sion of square mui ae 1 ts, seven rooms, bath room, by electricity, range, by the hot-water syste under the whole owner in the r, bie mary wash tule, « jete tngnuer its class an the city, Open for purcl to be « chaser’ ISAAC L. JOHNSON, ? pene JOHN M: LAWTON, 5 Trustees. Aloan of 82,700'will be iuade ou this’ property af desired. mi 3thetuads J.HOMAS DOWLING, Auctioneer, EXECUTORS’ SALE VALUVAPLE RAL Ps TATE IN THE CITY © INGTON The undersigned, executor tament of Levin M. Powell, lie auction upon the prem on THURSDAY THE ‘HOF APRIL, AT HALF PAST THREF PM tate Known as Lot numbered bor’ me (41) in subdivision of reservation nun 10) in the « w the west side of nue and C «treet Lack with that w This property is improved by a three-story br dwelling house, and is in every way very ‘Terms of sale CHAKLES D. D WILLIAM BO WEE m27-dts Executors of Levin M. Powell, de bess B, WILLIAMS & 00, Auctionce EN 7 that parcel of real ty ‘ I sell the ‘above well assorted cash, WALTER B, WILLIAMS & CO., Aucte_ Reus DARE & 00., Auctioneers, 20 Penusylvaiua ave. nw, PER AND BO! SU ERS, &e G@ THE ENTIRE CON? PAPER HANGING Es- 5,000 PIECES OF FI EKS, PAPER Bi On MONDAY MC beginning at TEN 0" store all the Fine Wall Py perings, &e., coutamed being fresh and tention of per 0 sernonds. LK & CO. Auctiouee! ‘SON BROR., Auctioneers, VED PROPERTY ON Mt BETWEEN TWENTY SPOOND AND THIKD STREETS NOKIH WEST. at public fronting 1 by adepth of 100 feet to an all ‘No section of the city has than this in the last few year ‘Terus: One-third of the 7 Dalance in one and two years, cent per annuu, payabie semi-annually, aud by deed of trust on the p of the Ade ath per secured jt le qi. Prompt and rei sy ies Physician im the it. LEON, Drie oideet retavisnea ana only Reliable Ladies Physician in the City, can be consulted daily, 464 ( st., between 43g aud Gta ‘ete. Tw. Prompt treatment. Consultation strictly confiden- eesesieien Medicine, &. ris, Deer 2.W. Office hours from ____ mht JROFESSIONAL MASSAGE CAN BE OBT AINED, Mo inet or medical reference, by ying at 91 Oth st.n.w. mula EAD WISE —Di. BROTHERS,906 B ST, Re. peared oeture me and made oath thet he tt t he ANHOOD USING A BOTTLE ae ies oak ae Maleor Female. Baaw. =: im MAX —HER ES AND Tencptiaritios ee THOMAS, 273 N Exeter Ae YTER ALL ‘CONSULT 320 N. 15th st, below st..Philadelphia, years in sperial {cure the wong tase of Nervous oison- of Vision, ‘Treatment