Evening Star Newspaper, September 5, 1891, Page 7

A TENNIS MATCH. WRITTEN EXCLUSIVELY FOR TRE EVENING STAR BY XODNEY CLARKE. Gonos DARE STOOD UPON THE STEPS _ of the post office in the city of Leighton sssing moodily dow. the street one balmy after- Boon inearly June. He seemed troubled aboat Something, for his brows were contracted into bd and occasionally he muttered an uni: however, plainly indi- eof mind. In a fe he sauuterod shady thoroughfare, still wearing the absorbed in the reflections--vhich rather unyisxsaut than otherwise—of study. Jou Dare was > “‘crsck” weral years he had be! and bis m Ornamented He was a good-loo! - site wherever b th trophies of his skill. fellow and a general * Hie was constantly PP plimented upon bi use of the racquet, j »wgreat beau ax ong the girlsand a young not excellert ,rospects. for his father, a > banker, b cuduate, i for him, as soon as he place in bis bank, which share of worldly goods. ‘¢ fellow wish to ere was no mis- frown, that lazy ashe pursued that afternoon in June. r se name was well known ‘6 ts Lest tennis player by far, pced snd petted by pretty girls ~ho not quay admired bis playing, but enjoyed 2.8 brig..i cemversation and pleasant ways, and who was sure of a good living, if not « fortune, codat bis disposal the moment bi forth from the collegiate halls— «young man should be unhappy cange. But Gordon Dare, to tell the truth, was very tired of his sucess at tennis; was very tired in. deed of being made so much of. Perhaps this seoms strange, too; but Gordon had been through so much of it that he had drunk his fill of the pleasures of victo a flattery, which had indeed turned his head at first, now produced no effeot upon him, for he knew how meaningless were pliments paid him. and how ere wore those who petted himand made of i for their own t all, of course, were thus. for he had friends, good ‘and true; but such as he had mat the watering places where he bad fained nie great tenis victories. “Indeed, he just come from tournament, where, as usual, ke had ca felt thoroughly wea: ied off first prize, and be dof it allas he strolled along toward his ‘ather's hamdsome residence, whick occupied one of the prettiest sites in Leigh ‘of keep- ing up this sort of thing, summer after sum- mer? I'm sick of it. I want a change, and Ym"—he was interrupted, coming into col- Esion with @ smile—at least with the wearer thereof; but the smile did not seem to occupy the mouth alone, but shone forth in the twink- ling blue eyes, jolly face. and—yes, even in the ¥ walk of tle individual who now looked ‘shook him cordially by the hand and cried: ‘ell. well, if here isn't Gordon Dare look- ing as if he had lost every friend in the world. To think of, bis being so downcast and so deep in grim reilections that he goes butting into well, well.” And the smile he Kept on shaking Gor- ¥ ‘up. exclaimed Dare, “you're w L want to sce. I am downcast; dwith this summer business and the one to talk it over with. I'm you. Come, take a little turn ma and I'll tell you the whole del se with me up,towi thing. All right, don Dare, the ‘this summer b gun. Well into a sort of ast on. T have a plan, his friend ae. said Tom, “but go easy. Gor- don Dare, disgusted with the smile changed ished grin as the two walked said Gordon, after making aainted with the state of things generally, “which, if carried out, will be ex- actly to my In the first place I'm not joing to play any more tennis this summer.’ ‘om coughed slightly to show his doubt about the truth of su a statement, but Gordon went ou. “Iwant to gotosome quiet place in the country, where I can fishand row and swim and wear old clothes all the time. Iwant to do @ little reading, too. and I don’t want the society of hotel belles and to be compelled to go on swell picnics, moonlight promenades with the girl you don't care anything for, aud all that sort of thing. You remember old Uncle Will Carver up at Rangers, don't you? I thought Td go up there ior half of July and all of Gree nice, quict little villege—I wes “ace pretty well er, but remember the nd li disguise my name, Uncle Will won't know me with my mu be, and practically disappear for six weeks. ook here,” said Tom, “would you object a little compan: “Object "” ejaculated the delighted Gordon eil, Ishould say not. Come on and well up together.” Il right,” returned the other, Cordon Dare up at wel! And under gourse I'll char . Pauli Jones, how's that? Tom laughed heartily over the idea. ‘Tom was a year or two older than Gordon, and having just graduated from the same col- lege which Gordon attended had been prom- ised a tutorship there the following year. He was one of the best-natured fellowsin the world, anda more cheerful companion could never bedesired. He always wore a smile which seemed tosay to every person or thing upon which it beamed the words of Mark Tapley, Fi He and Gordon were intimate both came from Leigh- a other long before their Dare was lucky to have him for tor in his schem I the frown and ¢ of his les a thrivin in a pretty valley Timpid water t way rivulet had been damu the ponderous wheels of a saw mill, and, as a consequence, abov am it had spread into a little luke, along one bank of which and ex- tending back to the base hills forming the western boundary ley was built the village. It was a very uresque little lace. The houses were of the old New Eng- jand type, two stories high, mostly shingled, and with windows peeping out from various eorners, as if to watch the passer-by from al- most every point of observation possible. The window panes were small aud numbered twelve to the sash. A woods! eneraily stood a short dist. we, and all the buildings were scrupulously whitewashed to the roofs, which were painted red. The resident part of the town was back at the foot of the hills, and the green trees upon the gentle’ slope lent pleasing backgronnd to the white dots A rocky glen higher up the incline through which a little tribu- stream trickled and splashed, ning along peacefully for several yards, then jumping a few feet and sliding off @ rock into a basin, which, overflowing, sent its sur- lus waters through a narrow gorge, then on ling behind the village as a creek, it met the mill stream and became one with ‘it. Down by the lake were several stores, the post Office, an that building which answers for so Many pu-poses S . A little station, earer to the mili, witnessed a go. t Weil, name, too. Of Harry Smith and Well, weil!” And from the fa ompanion. cozily nestled hwhich a stream of In one place this e back of the = beyond and i arrival and departure of two trains every day to aud from the great cities many miles distant, In a room over one of the stores Mr. had his office. ‘The proprietor of the eaw mill, he bad > by bis sa very well-to- jo person. He lived the pleasantest houses at the fot 0% the hills, and bad brought varver am innovati s2 to the prevailing style of archi- | tecture by the erect, story high, which and mere room to his already Mr. Carver was a widowe of ifteen and three were past the very youthful stage, and were, as their teasing brotlicr expressed if, consider. abl; over “a quai ter of a cent ary.” e third was a lovely giri of twenty, bright and saucy, with black eyes and hair and momo ful, lithe figure. She wa« the life of the house- hold, as the Loy was its terror, though a good- hearted youngster withal. Mr. Cary. above taking boarders for the summer, for be enjoyed secing new faces, and a little extra to- ward bis “sinking fund,” as he called it, was always accepts! “Fath « bow window one outlook 4 Jessie, the youngest daughter, ag at fast, “what time do the ew boarders arrive? wthere aco tro of them, aren't there? And yang men, 200? they are good looking. bat aro their names answered her father. What names! I don't be- bit nice, they sound so stupid. LL tease the life ont of them. bat declaring that she would ich amueezaeut in the bearcrs of those Un tho 5:30 express were Gordon Dare acd , that it might turn | ed and stable or barn | was not | his friend. As they sped through the bright seenes of country life more and more into the wild woodlands Gordon's spirits rose and he entertained Tom with anedotes of the kind of life from which he was cscaping, as well as ex- pressing great hopes of that toward which they Were going. Whon at last they reached Rengers they were delighted with the beauti- ful ecene whick lay before them. beautiful piece of answered Tom. At the station they found Mr. Carver himvelf to meet them, after greeting them cordial!y—there no mistaking them, as they were about the only passengers to alight from the train—in- troduced them to bis youngest daughter | had come with him in the carriage. | not so stupid looking after a ‘and one of them is quite handsome. they drove along the pretty street Gordon # denly clutched Bis frien .- teania court!” “Oh, yi aid Jessie, “the town is quite enthusiastic over tennis. Everybody is practicing, and the boys are going to bave a tournament the last week in August. You Play; do you not, Mr. Smith?” Tom gave Jordon a little kick, and he replied that he didn’t even know the first principles of the game. “How stupid,” thought Jessie, but she only said, “What a pity,” and turned to Tom, who answered that Le was worse than his friend. In due time they arrived at Mr. Carver's house and the boys were instalied in their new quarters. “Of ali the meanest luck, ejaculated te when alone with Marshall, “to have the town wild over tennis. I believe I'll go back on the next train. “No, no,” said Tom, cheerily. “You've told them ‘you didn't know anything about the game and if thoy insist on your playing just show them by your awkward strokes that you can't even learn. ‘ll make the best of it,” sighed Gordon, “but it's pretty hard luck.” At the end of three or four days, however, he got accustomed to his surroundings, and by the time « week had run its course had settled down to real enjoyment, such as he had desired for so long. He had been fishing in the stream and had wandered through the glen several times admiring its beauty and capturing a trout now and then from the little brook. He usually went on these excursions alone, for ‘Tom preferred to stay at home and read, com- fortably settled in the hammock that swang in the garden. One morning as Gordon, equipped with rod d reel, was about to start upon one of bis shing jaunts, Jessie looked up and said_be- hingly, “Please, Mr. Smith, may not I go with you? "Tam so fond of fishing and I am right lucky, too.” Gordon was not a little sur- prised at such a request and somewhat ar d, but he yieided gracefully to her en- treaty and soon she was ready. As they walked along Gordon related many things of interest i i in the city, while she, coyness that became her greatly and looking extremely pretty, told bim of th simple ways of living which she had been customed and how she longed to take par the gaieties of acity. She had once spent two months of winter im Boston and bad enjoyed it so much. When Gordon questioned her a littie he found that she was exceedingly well in- formed. Her manner toward him had now be- come frank and open and he found out mavy points of her character which showed her to be sweet and true friend to those whom she loved and with a kind warm heart. He began to admire her exceedingly and when they returned and she had captured four of five more members of the finny tribe than he, he congratulated himself that he had had such pleasant company and resolved to ask her to go with him when he went again. The first few evenings after the boys had come they had retired early, but now they sat with the others after tea, and while Tom enter- tained the family in general with his humorous stories of college adventure Gordon was carry ing on an animated flirtation with Jessie in an- other part of the room or out upon the front door steps. One evening after about two weeks of this Tom spoke to Gordon in his room. “You seem somewhat taken with this fair couutr maid,” he said. “Nothing serious, I suppose? “Oh,' no,” replied Gordon; “nothing. She's gsfully pretty, surprisingly well read and as bright as can be. Why, I'd rather talk to ber for haif an hour than toall the city belles I have ever met put together. Such frankness, no affectation and all that sort of thing. It's refreshing.” “She'll think you are epris if you don’t take care,” said Tom. “On, I don't know,” returned Gordon. | “She has two village lads, who come to see her nearly every evenin They are great fun. They drop in one justafter the other and find Jessie and self together. ‘They sit and twirl their thumbs for about an hour and then go. She says they've been com- ing there for nearly a year and she can’t tell which she likes the best, She teases thom aw- fully. “Do you think you ought to be so devoted to her and run the risk of making those fellows stay away, thinking you're in earnest, when you intend to go back to town in a month or less?” queried Tom. i “Come,” said Gordon, “don’t go lecturing a fellow like that, it's all right; I'l take good care of things. “Well, well,” sighed Tom, and changed the subject. Preparations were being made for the com- ing tournament. The courts—there were two of them made of gravel and situated about the center of the village—were thronged daily with the young men who were to enter the contest, and the girls flocked around to watch them practice. If lacked but two weeks before the 25th of August, the day set for the tournament to begin—a day important, indeed, at Rangers. Jessie went every day to see the practice gam jand her two lovers figured conspicuously in | them. for they were by far the best players in | the village. They were about equally matched, too, and, while Jessie was watching them, did their best to emulate one another in skill. The did some very good work on such occasion and once, when Gordon came down with Je sie, they played so well that even he was com- pelled to acknowledge them good players. One evening, just as the twilight was turning the garden by the side of the house conversing earnestly. A figure leaning against the kitche door post, not five yards distant from the b with eyes fixed ‘upon the starry heavens, seemed wrapt in meditation. the b talked on their voices rose @ little. “You hiug up the way you ‘om was saying. “I really believe ‘she ou, and unless you mean to—to marry ‘ou know—" ‘See here, Tom, I'll tell you. I really do love her very dearly and Im ‘going to ask her to marry ine the first chance I get. I've seen all sorts of girls in my lifetime and flirted with them and all that sort of thing, but as for Jessie Carver, I—I love her, [really do.” ‘Tho figure started and trembled a little and turned as if to go away, but hesitated and remained where it was as though unwillingly compelled to stay. “Gordon Dare!” ejaculated Tom. The figure again started, and this time hesitated | but a moment, then ited into the house and up- stairs to her room and there indulged in a little ery for joy, then set her busy little head to lanning.' “Gordon Dare,” again ejaculated ‘om. “Yes,” cried Gordon, “I am resulved to marry her. ' She is be of the girls I know. Tom, “to think of Gordon Dare falling in love with'a country girl. But I am glad it has turned, out way instead of the way I feared.” As they went into the house Tom kept saying to himself,““Well, well: well, well,” and when they went to bed, “Good night,” said Tom, “and good luck to yon.” Jessie. after overhearing Gordon's declara- tion and now knowing who the pretended Mr. Smith was, as I have said before, set her buss little head to planning. She loved him, of that there was no doubt in her mind. Sh ings without admiring him. By degrees she had drawn from him in the more quict serious tall that they had had sometifing of his trae natui she had’ seen that he was good and true and that behind a certain cynical air which he had affected of Inte lay a real feeling of love for his brother man. She knew that he was kind hearted and in the main unselfish; and when he had told her of the kind of life be lead in society in winter and at the great watering places in summer, leaving out about the tennis, of course, and his reasons for being tired of it all; and how he loved that true cha acteristic of a noble man or woman whic he had seen wanting in so many he had met in his gay career—sincerity; how meeting with that quality, and that in her he had not been disappointed. She had begun to love him then, and now that ahe knew he loved her, her young heart was almost ready to burst with joy. “But Ob,what a wretch,” she laughed toherself, “to pretend he knew nothing of tennis, when he is the very best player in the hole state. I'll make him play for «uch a lay, and before he wins me, k'eyes flashed with deter- ught of how she should make him suffer. and Gordon, all unconscious of the penalty Miss Jessie was scheming to make him pay for his violation of the ninth commandment, spent the rest of the evening, as usual, with her ina corner of the room, re- that the black eyes beamed on him so and that her smiles were more fre- ial than ever. wt day before the tournament and ye men who were to take part therein were ina high state of excitement, for they were to play for a prize indeed. A most start- ling had been made and a piece of ‘news circulated around the courts which Beet quent and Tt was into darkness, Gordon and Tom stood out in | | kehad come up to Rangers in the hope of | caused the two worshipers at Jessie's shrine to sem other, lips and jealous looks. It was iy conceded that thé championship lay between these two, and each resolved to he had never played before. Each prac much as porsible and made secret resolutions to bent the other or die in the attempt. Whis- ered criticisms on the skill of the two players Were parsed among the spectators, and “Jack will beat,” or “No, Will hasa surer serve,” and like comments wore heard from time to time. Gordon himself, with a peculiar ¢: Pression on his handsome face hung around— alone—and silently marked the strong points in the playing of the two. The entries for the tournament had closed, and although it had excited a little thoughtless ridicule at the time “Mr. Smith” had enrolled his name among those who were to play. Every ono in the vil- lage was talking about the coining match and little groups of people stood hero and there discussing the piece of news. “What a girl Jessie is,” said one of her intimate friends to another’ while walking up the street. always thought she was pretty lively, but I ver imagined her doing such thing’as that. The idea cf her promising to marry the winner of tomorrow's match: just think “And of course it will be either Will or Jack,” returned her companion. ‘A nice way to set- tle the question ax to which she will have of those two, but to think of her throwing over that city fellow after he had been so nice to her. ‘There never was any accounting for Jess, anyhow, twas true. Jessie had startled the villa by announcing her intention to marry the cessful player in the tournament, and rejected Gordon. A few days’ befor afternoon, he had asked her to stroll with him tothe glen. It was just the kind of un after- noon that a young lover would choose to make known his passion to his Indy love. ‘The air was warm and a gentle zephyr, layden with the scent of wild flowers, played at hide and sock among the trees. The birds were singing a Vesper song, accompanied by the music of the little brook, and the western horizon free frcm clouds, saving a narrow streak, which severed in twain the sun's disk, now almost disappear- ing behind the darkening hills, was tinted with arosy huc, which found its rival in the color suffused through Jessie's checks. Here and there a squirrel would flee at their approach and scurry away into the woods through which they were passing. He spoke of the beauty of the day and chatted gaily, but if ever he at- tempted to bring the conversation to a tender theme, she, fair rogue, would always lead him off upon another subject, remote, oh, so re- mote from love. At last, after what ‘seemed mil walking to poor Gordo: and sat upon and miles of they reached the glen ledge of rock. “Jessie,” said Gordon gently. “Jessic.” he ropeated, ignoring her correction, “Iwant to tell you what is in my heart. I love you. You know something of my former life and how T hate it. You know that in you Thave found one different from any I have met before, one true, sincere. I'm young, but Thave seen much of the world, have met wo- men who, though thinking themselves beauti- ful, are only so in feature, and whom you would put to shame by your sweet ways. I offer youa pretty home and all thatcan make you comfogtable in hfe but that I do not hold out to you us an inducement, poor as it is, I offer it my heart's true love. Say that you. will ke it, say that you ean love -me just a littl bit, that you will be my wife some day. you, darling?” “No!” she cried. It was ali she said, and jumping up she ran down the patch that led back to the village. Gordon was so astonished, so disappointed, so crushed, that he did not attempt to follow her, but statne- like sat upon the rock, almost too stunned to think. Presently his feelings assumed a definite form, and leaning forward, his head upon his hands, he wept aloud. He had found his ideal which had hitherto been only in his thoughts, and sought to win it, not without success he had hoped. and now, thinking to be rewarded for his patient search by the possession of that ideal, he had ouly niet a bitter disappointment. It was hard to bear. so hard—poor Gordon. Nearly two hours had elapsed before he ob- tained sufficient control of himself to return to the house, and then he went straight to his room. They wondered what had become of him at tea, and poor Jessie was alittle fright- ened at what #he had done, especially #0 when she saw him come in looking very pale and haggard. Next morning Gordon told Tom that he thought seriously of going back to town that afternoon, and then contided to his friend his troubles. ’ Tom w: much cut up at Gor- don's gr ‘omething very strange about it, I thought she loved your I don’t understand it. Be id man there is something wrong.” 3 Gordon, “I wish lcould think as don t know what has 's all over now, all over now.” y returned take my advice and Stay over for the tournament. You will get cheered up a bit by the excitement of the games, and I feel sure that a change for the better will occur. Something is wrong, sure.” “I don't know,” said Gordon.” “Per- haps I'd better go. But Tom finally prevailed upon him to re- main. A little later as they wandered toward the courts they were overtaken by one of the as- pirants for Jessie's hand hurrying in agreat state of excitement to the same ‘de Tom hailed him and asked the cause of such a rate of speed. At first he gave evasive answer seeing Gordon's face, could not retrain from wing his tormentor of so many weeks a part- ing shot, and cried as he left them, “Miss Jessie is’ going to marry the winner ‘of the tournament, and I need ‘a little practice, vou know.” Gordon started and muttered, “You will need some practice, by heaven.” Then turning to Marshall, said: “Yom I shall wi her set. If she is going todo as thut fellow suid I shall be the winne ‘Weil, well!” gasped Tom, and Gordon pulled him along by the coat siveve until, almost breathless, they arrived at the court, where Gordon found the secretary of the club and entered his name among those who were to play. Inthe evering after tea Jessie said a httle anxiously: “Tam se sorry you don’t play tennis, r. Smith. 1t would be so nice to have you go into the tournam I do pla stammered Gordon, “and I've entered my ame.” And then,’ excusing himself on the pics of @ headache, he retired to bis room, ut, Oh, how Jessie's little heart leaped for joy at Gordon's answer! She had been so afra that he would go away or, as she expressed it, “do something desperate” and not play in the tournament that she was becoming very nervous. She had told her two adinirers the evening before of her strange decision, and how she was to let Gordon know of it had been | a great source of anxiety to her. She felt sure | that he would enter the tournament because of his love for her, and she knew now that her plan had succeeded, and that he w play for her, and she was very happy; but her conscience reproached her a little for having made her lover suffer so. ‘The great day had now arrived on which the question as to Who was the champion of Ran- gers should be decided. The sun shone down in all his glorious radiance, and the air was cooled to just the right temperature by agentle breeze from the north. The courts were in perfect condition, there having been a slight rain during the night to lay what little dust there happened to be upon their surface. All the village and the “folks” for miles around were assembled near them, some in the car- riages which had brought them, others sitting on long benches placed there for the occasion, others again standing. The young ladice of the town, of course, occupied front seats, and formed a conspicuous feature in the landscape with their bright costumes and pretty faces. Now and then covert glaaces would be aimed by those around at one particularly pretty face which nodded and smiled at the players as they walked to aud fro, or batted a ball across the net in practice. The owner of this face, though apparently indifferent to such glances, was uevertheless little nervous and embarrassed, for it was generally known that she was to wed the fortunate winner of the match. A shont of applause now drew the attention of all to the ers, and the contest for the prize in singles begun. Gradually the number of players reduced to four. “These were the two devotees of Jessie and their opponents. One of them beat his antagonist, an outsider and a fair player; the other was defeated by Gordon, who now met the former to decide the match. ‘The excitement was intense. No one had sup- posed the pseudo Mr. Smith could play such tennis, and now that the championship and the girl lay between him and the best player in town the spectators could hardly contain them- selves and looked at Jessie as often as at the rs. She was almost wild. Of course Gor- would beat, but suppose he should get ; perhaps he was out of practice and could not play ax well as he used. Her heart beat quicker and she watched with constrained quiet each stroke of the two men. Gordon knew his skill and now displayed it. His adversary, playing his bost, was nothing to him, and gume after game was called-in his favor. ' He was reauired to win three sets in the finals—and he bad already won two and was four games iove in the third, when his foot slipped and he turned his ankle, crying out with pain. There was a general’ murmur of dismay and some of the vanquished players helped him to his fect. Ho glanced over at Jessie. She was trembling irom head to foot; but the look of pain and disappointment in her revealed ail to him. He saw dimly how it seomed inspired with new strength He rested a few moments and His foot hurt him soveraly, ‘opponent gained a Yet when the wcoro had going to lay on the following day as | hausted | iced as GTON D.C, SATURDAY, reached four all he made a desperate effortand rally strongly won the next two games, the maaich. noe Jatin benched: scbbingeatt herear a a eS ne a8 ant fe teak ecvestomsed plnecake encieined: 1 fally,"she sighed “And Tom, whe had-watebe y } "wai = cing oh the — Mic =~ or tl natured, 7 pu then come upon the scene, was ‘One great, —————_+e2—___—_ PICTURESQUE CLOTHFS DEPARTING, National Costumes Fading Away and the World Steadily Dressing More Alike. From the London Telegraph. Fashions, as a rule, like Morality in the “Dunciad,” “expire unawares,” and costumes which haye been worn from time immemorial fade away so gradually that the period of their final disappearance is imperceptible. The ‘most experienced and the acutest of observers would be puzzled to fix the precise date when the nobility and geniry ceased to retain black fgotmen; or when butch left off top boots such as we behold in Edwin Landseer’s picture of “Hight Life” and “Low Life;” or when London servant maids repudiated the use of pattens. There have been, it is true, excep- tions to the rule. Old editions of the “Statutes at Large” contain the act of parliament Phased after the rebellion of 1745, solemnly prohibiting the assumption of the Highland dress in Scot- iand, while it is notorious that yellow starch “went out” because Mrs. Turner, @ poisoner in the reign of James I, was hanged in a ruff iifened with starch of the hue in question. Similar squeamishness in 1849 condemned black satin asa material for ladies’ dresses to more than twenty years’ proscription, it having been in « black satin dress that the murderess Maria Manning was hanged at Horsemonger lane j To the instances in which a certain fabric or mode or color in apparel has for a definite rea- won ceased at an ascertained date to be worn must be added the proximate demise at Rouen of a particular kind of cheap blue cotton handkerchiefs, printed in four varieties of tint by the very old-fashioned wooden block pro- cess. the mind of man runneth not to the contrary, formed a distinctive feature of the picturesque costume worn by the women of Plougaste!, near Brest, one of the last remaining strong- holds of the ancient costame of Brittany. death of the manufacturer has put an end to the production of the cheap block-printed handkerchiefs, as the sous are unwilling to carry on the fabrication with the presont antiquated plant, and are Dossibly intent on turning out tastefu: cretonnes or Japanese designs printed in colors by steam from en- graved steel rollers. Furthermore, the demand for these special handkerchiefs bas been grow- ing of late years small and anprofitably less, Already the male Bretons have taken to having their hair cut, and at the “Pardon de Ploer- mel,” nowadays, there are quite as many closely cropped rustics in wideawaker and suits of “dittoes as there are peasants. with the traditional flowing locks and clad in the tradi- tional broad-brimmed castors and voluminous gulligaskins of the antique province. The plain truth is that picturesque costume is rapidly dying out, the whole world over. Ts the “Vierlander Madchen”—a decaying race, by the way—who sells bouquets under the porticoes of the theaters at Hamburg; take the Roman “contadina,” with her kirtle of cun- ningly contrasted hues, and the snowy “fazzo- Jetto™ of white linen which she woars as a head- dress; take the Venetian “florage” and the “portatrice d’aqua,” or water carrier, and contrast any one of these types with the Lon- don flower girl. It may not be generally known that the astonishing “picture” hat which that hoarse-voiced and sometimes intemperately oung female wears is rather an ex- pensive article than otherwise, for which she ays by installments, and sometimes even bal- fous for it, in the manner adopted by members of building societies. She patronizes, mores over. « particular jacket, a particular length of skirt and kind of boot, and she would scorn to alter the wondrous “fringe” of hair cut over her forehead. The pity of it is that all these continental costumes are drifting into extinction. In Rome zzoletto” and the many-hued kirtle are worn save by professional models for n flower girls who pester the tourists at Florian’s or the Specchi to buy their posies, and often thrust them uninvited into the travelers’ button! linquishing their disti arb, and dressing themselves after the fashions prescribed in the plates of the cheap fashion periodicals. As for the gondoliers, they have abandoned the wear- ing ‘of a striking costume as completely as they have discontinued their citations from Tasso. There are still Swiss cantons in which the strongly marked and extremely picturesaue Helvetic costume is adhered to, and in certain arts of Norway, such as the Hardanger and Felomarken. districts, the ‘try still wear their characteristic native dresses, but in both ountries the “wide-awake hat” and the suit of ‘dittoes” for men and the cheap and ill-look- ing parodies of the Paris fashions for women are steadily making their ignoble and depress- i ‘tore clothes” have even invaded the Tyrol and the provinces of Austria, while in European Turkey the upper classes have wholly divorced themselves from the turban and the caftan and have adopted a monotonous dress in which the principal elements are the scarlet fez cap and the single-breasted frock coat. The Osmauli, at Stamboul at lea even given up the traditional the time-honored “narghile, ing but cigarettes. fe is slightly consoling to the lovers of the taresque to know that there are still come $0,000,000 of Russian ““moujike” alterably conserv. in their patronage of sheep skin “touloupes” and red cotton shirts worn over their baggy inexpressible boots reaching to the knee; but « Russian gen- tleman, when he is not in uniform, puts on precisely such morning and eveniag dress as are worn in London and Paris, in Milan and San Francisco; while, among the Polish nobil- ity, where should we hope to find » counter- part of the costume worn by the heroic John Sobieski? Even theconventional “UncleSam,” whom the Americans themselves laughingly ac- cepted as a type—the gaunt, high-cheekboned individual in a suit of nankeen and an ample Panama hat—has vanished, aud, but for an oc: casional cartoon, would be forgotten. It is th same with our John Bull. His spirit lives: his idiosynerasies are, happily, yet vigorous; but his hat, his broad-skirted coat, his leathers and his tops are to be found only in the columns of our facetious contemporaries. Most varieties of the costume of the past are dead, and the rest are dying. What order of apparel is to succeed the ly “pot” hats, “stovepipe” are not to be the les, are rapidly re- nd smokes noth- hats and suits of “dittoes" universal wear for mankind in the twentieth century. ——_—+0+ —___ “The Lay Graved on the Stone.” From the Pall Mall Guzett Inscriptions in Bavarian mountain com- munes of the earlier part of our century record the possession of the mere rudiments of school- ing as a distinction of the deceased. For in- stance, ‘Hore rests the worthy N. N. He was very accomplished in reading, writing and reckoning (‘raiten,’ the local dialect for ‘rech- nen.’) The tomb of Franz Ammann records that he was “mighty in three languages, the French, the Italian and the English.” ‘The ix- scriptions upon the sites of accidents (the s0- called ““Marterln,”) which are frequent in Al- pine countries, are sometimes very original. The author gives a few specimens from the the Oberinathal. | One is quite Carlylean: “Here fell Jacob Hosenknopf from the roof of this house into eternity.” Another, with characteristic undervaluation of the gipsies records: “In the cold year 1653 nd two Bohemians were drowned on A verse over two graves with one common torabstone is worthy of the English old socialist priest, John Ball, and of Bishops Latimer and Pilkingto: Righteous and true is the Lord God, Hero lies the master and here lies his man. Now You world-wise ones who go by, y which is the Herr and which is the Knecht? Tue “involuntary humor” which is so fre- quent a characteristic of English epitaphs upon tombstones occurs as often, it would seem, in the churehyards of our Tentonic cousins. A second edition of Ludwig von Hormann’s “Grabschriften,” just published at Munich, contains a rich collection of oddities. ‘The in- scription on the churchyard. cross in the com- mune of Obersteiermark runs as follows: ‘This cross is crected To the honor of the Lord Jesus Christ ‘Who was crucified for us By the peasants of this parish. Tho absurdity in this case, as the editor notes, is solely due to the absence of any puno- tuation. But another in the sane obu: deserves to be quoted by Sir William Lawson. It is in memory of a brewer: ‘Since the drink which he brewed Has brought many to an early grave, Here at last lies he, the “Bierverhunzer.” O, Christian, for bim five “Our Fathers.” A faulty singer in the choir of the same com- mune is emorated. ‘These kerchiefs, from a period to which | A Washington Girl's Visit to Namheim and Friedberg, WHERE GERMAN TYPES CAN BE FOUND Ix PER- FECTION—A QUIET RETREAT FOR HEALTHY PEB- SONS AS WELL AS INVALIDS—WHAT ONE GEES OM THE TERRACE—CHARMING SURROUNDING ‘VILLAGES. Correspondence of The Evening Star. Naxuzmm, Hesse Danustapt, August 19, 1891. ‘W ENGLISH, AND STILL FEWER Americans know of this little place of Nan- heim, though of late years the virtue of its waters has led someof our countrymen to brave the probable horrors of sea sickness in order to test them. Many Germans flock here, however, for the baths. So you are enabled to see a good many of the national types in great perfection. Being only about twelve miles from Hombourg. it bas still not been over- shadowed by the superlative smartness of that very fashionable resort for the reason that it makes no attempt to do so. Nothing can disturb its habitual quiet seren- ity, and though it offers no inducements to the pleasure seeker or globe trotter thirsting for fresh fields in which to flourish the peren- nial note book it has yet acharm all its own. Lovely grounds, shady walks and avenues, flower beds in profusion, # capital band that lays three times a day with the most charac eristie of conductors—all spectacles and back hair and imbued with a profound belief in the beauty of his own compositions—a charming little lake with the reddest of red boats and the whitest of white swans on it: good shape and pretty villas in the new part of the town and in the old delicious hittle crooked streets with their red-tiled roofs, suprising corners and an- gles. and flocks of geese and little children—it is all picturesque and delightful. The Kur we go to table @’hote, is quite’ an imposing building, used originally for gambling purposes. A’ large dining salle at one end and at the other a rend- ing room with native and foreign papers and migazines, a concort hall where there is danc- every Thursday evening and an occasiorial theatrical performance and billard, card, sit- ting and private dining rooms on each side of the wide stone hall. ‘The porter who ushers you in makes a bright spot of color in his red and black livery and the cuisine is excellen though your appetite is occasionally hampere by the gentleman opposite you, who swallow his knife with alarming rapidity and great per- sistency throughout the meal. The Indian jugglers are nothing to him and you find your- self admiring the way he brings it up success- fully cach time and bolts it again at the next mouthful. If he would only not attack his food like a wolf and snort afterward like a grampus you could almost find it in your heart to forgive him. ON THE TERRACE IN THE EVENING. The terrace in front of the Kurhaus is always crowded of an evening when the band plays, and of course there are the inevitable little tables and chairs with foaming mugs of beer about; groups of students in their different colored caps, strutting up and down, exhibiting their sears with evident pride; stout German men with their stouter frauen; slim youths with artistic tendencies budding out all over them, shy, much befurbelowed madchen ire; a very blase lady in very picturesque attire (Sara Bernhardt drawn-through-a-keyhole expression), with two equally theatrical looking children prancing around her, and whom we are told is a Polish countess, and @ fascinating nurse in the na- tional costume, consisting of a red skirt and bodice trimmed with silver embroidery, a low- necked chemisette let in with huge puffy sleeves and muslin apron to matoh, five or six strings of bright-colored beads around her neck, huge hoops in her ears and a gorgeous red cap bor- dered with huge imitation pearls and finished off behind with long streamers of red ribbon, which descend nearly to the hem of her skirt. ‘She is perfect feast of color and dandles one of the Prettiest babies imaginable. Add to this family groups of all sizes, sorts and descriptions, hosts of children, musicians, workmen, peasants, « benevolent old gentleman who tenderly wheels about the blackest of little darkies ina bath chair, the different masseuses hurrying on their way to patients, hatless jacketless, with funny little shawls over their arms, which it never seems to occur to them to put on, a gorgeous head policemun with sword and sil- ver helmet,whom itis quite ashock to see flirting with the maids; peasant women with black padded knobs tied on their heads tocarry their burdens on, a skirt that sticks straight out from the hips and are of ballet brevity and re- veal very well-developed calves in very stout woolen stockings, and an occasional deaconess with her kind, gentle face and white cap—this is Nanheim as it is seen in summer. WHEN THE GUESTS HAVE FLED. In winter it is different. The guests have long since folded their tents and the masseuses have returned to their home occupations, the band is silent, and with the visitors the life of the place is gone. Its picturesque element must still remain, however, for those who care for it. I can imagine it would be borne lovely and cheerful carpeted with snow, sparkling in the rays of x winter sun. A pretty custom of the place is for the village priest on Easter morning, followed by the altar boys and such of the fuithful us are able, to walk in procession up the winding path of the Johannisberg (a pretty hill overshadowing the town) and chant the firet Easter hymn on the summit. There two churches in the place, a Lutheran and a Catholic. The country around Nanbeim is charming. Nothing could be prettier than the views of the Hill, the bits of woodland. the bright patches of poppies and cornflowers, the yel growing profusely in vivid ‘and beautiful con- trast, with! their glint of gold among tne grass and the old castle of Friedberg outlined against the blue sky and visible from all pointe. IX QUAINT FRIEDBERG. Friedberg is one of the quaintest towns of its size in all Germany. A half hour's walk through the fields brings you to the base of“ the hill on which the schloss is perched, with the principal old street stretching away behind it. The glimpse of that street seen through the old archway of the castle was a distinct sensation. ‘The quaint old gabled houses, all tumbled’ up against each other and jutting out at delicious angles, the rough cobblestones and the sudden curve of the street at the end made as unique a picture as one could find. Part of the old wall, which originally ran quite round the town, still remains and the towers date from the twelfth century. I looked at the narrow arrow slits and could almost imagine the archers be- hind them taking aim and the cries of the be- siegers as they swarmed at the walls. There is nothing to jar upon your feelings. ‘You can be as mediwval as you please without any danger of being “yanked” back into the nineteenth century without a moment's notice, which is a great comfort. The new part of the town is quite down the hill to the left. An crone hobbled along in front of usand pointed out the way to ‘THE CASTLE GARDENS, which are well worth seeing. She watched the place so perfectly and seemed to belong to itso entirely that we regarded her with lingering affection. The garden surrounds part of the anciont moat of the castle, into which you can descend by stone steps if you don’t value your life particularly and are anxious to be laid up with pneumonia. In spite of this fact I ran down in it myself and ran up again the other side. It was nice to have actually been in a moat, even under commonplace modern cir- cumstances. The outlook from the garden is very lovely, but, alas! too extensive in one Particular, as it énables you to soo the train puffing along unmistakably not far off. ‘The Grand Duke of Hease Darmstadt, that unworthy husband of lovely and, loveable rincess, was shortly expected at the castle, aicue pen permitted to see the state rooms, which are rather gloomy and not at all im- wing—fraught, too, with sad memories of incess Alice, ‘who must have passed many melancholy hours there in comparative poverty and seclusion. NEIGHBORING VILLAGES. There aro several small villages dotted about within walking distance of Manheim, where tho picturesque elementalways prevails. You may be quite sure that there will be the inevitable rostauration at the end of your where you can sit down in the open air and re- Frosh the inner man, "It is impossible to tara around in Germany without o restai national peculiarity that you are ep frie I fi e & 3 Fy § can soap weed, is being converted rapidly into delicious toilet soap, “fit to wash the hands of the pope,” by a West Bottoms manufactur- ing company. The soap weed since time be- gan, or since the Kansas prairie was an inland sea, has thrust its roots deep in the soil of the unsheltered plains and flourished. There has been nothing until now to diminish the supply or exterminate the species. The hot sun, the baking winds and the dearth of that moisture which is supposed to be absolutely necessary to life harmed not this hardy sentincl of the plains. Wet or dry, hot or cold, its rapier-like blades, sharp asacambrio needle. radiated alike from @ given spoton the surfaco of the earth. © root of this weed is now being gathered by men who drive their wagons over the Plaine of western Kansas A sharp spade is riven down deeply by the side of the plant, the earth is broken aud the thick brown roo secured. The top, with its long spines, thrown aside. Sometimes a long sarp tool is Tequired to reach deep into the ground in order towocure the greater part of the root. Like the prairie dog, “it goes down to water.” The root has been known to extend as far as twenty fect into the soil, but only from two to three feet of the upper portion, which is about two inches thick, is worth digging for. This root is brought by the wagon load to Kansas City where it is converted into soap. The roots are first washed, then cut up and boiled out ina big vat, where other ingredients are also placed. When this is dried out to such a degree that it will solidi molded into semi-tre cakes that slip around in the hands delightfully while being used. One of the most wonderful things about this weed is that while growing in @ region where alkali pools dot the ground and where the soil is white with the chemical none of it is found in the root. Many of the poorer settlers who occupy “dugouts” find the root in its natural state a panacea for many ills. They cut it into convenient pieces and use it as @ cake of toilet so: —so0—___—_ OPIUM AS A TUBERCULOSIS CURATIVE. Experiments of an English Physician in Steeping Tobacco With the a From the New York Sun. : One of the latest of those experimental reme- dies in cases of tuberculosis has just been pro mulgated by Dr. John Gordon Dill, assistant physician to the Sussex county hospital, Eng- land. He suggests modified opium bmoking and mentions several cases which have come under his personal observation where the treat- ment has been used with considerable success. Dr. Dill wishes it to be understood that he does not claim opium smoking to be in any sense a cure for consumption, but simply that it is a valuable palliative which may be of service an aid in the treatment of the disease. Dr. Dill uses, as he calls it, medicated tobacco. That is, the tobacco is soaked in a preparation containing all the component parts of opium in a fluid form, about 50 per cent stronger than laudanum. The tobacco is dried thoroughly before using. In advocating this mixture of opium he is fully alive to the danger which may result in prescribing the drug for medici- nal purposes, and upon this point expresses imself as follows We certainly do not inject an unknown ison into the system to work its wicked will independent of our control, but, on the other hand, we may be the means of introducing a moral poison, the terrible nature of which can only be realized by those who have had the painful task of trying to cure a victim of the opium habit, and for this reason I have never lowed my’ patients to know what they are smoking, merely calling it medicated tobacco.” The mixture was found to have its most effi- cient strength when one ounce of tobacco was saturated in three fluid drachms of the liquid. The patient was advised not to smoke just be- fore eating. The most marked effects of opium smoking in this way are that it eases the cough and assists in expectoration. Dr. Dill is care- ful to say that he is not yetsufficiently prepared to draw any conclusions as to whether opium administered in this form has any specific ef- fect upon the disease, although almost without exception the pationts ‘who have made use of this treatment have thought that they derived great benefit from it, Dr. Dill got his idea of employing opium from the Chinese, having ascertained that in certain districts of that country where tuber- culosis was extremely prevalent the opium- smoking population were almost exempt from the malady, and this led him to try the effect of a mixture of opium and tobacco upon @ num- of his patients. ————+e-—_____ A Lunatic Holds a Living. From the London Truth. Here is another story which I offer to the con- sideration of the correspondents who have been complaining lately that I am too hard on the Church of England In the diocese of Exeter there is a living held by the son of the patron. This man is a more or less hopeless lunatic, but with lucid intervals. Periodically he retires into an asylum. While he is there a locum te- nens performs his duties. From time to time the rector is let loose on the parish—with mixed results, He came out this way a week or two w daisies | 0. ‘On the following Sunday he was not well enough todo duty. Amorning or two later he was observed in the village street at daybreak, attired in his night shirt, sitting in a puddie, and screaming for a constable to come and take him into custody. The worthy man is great, I understand, on the subject of bells, and has formulated 'a scheme of belfry reform, the first step of which is that the bell ‘ringers should all be boiled down into Licbig's Extract. Now, this is not, and in the nature of the case cannot be, a recondite scandal, known only toa few persons. The vicar of the parish cannot retire at intervals into a lunatic asylum without a circle being aware of it. The parish cannot be in the charge of a locum tenens at all other times than the vicar’s Iucid intervals without the bishop being apprised of the facts. In point of fag, the unfortunate gentleman himself must have in his saner moments some definite idea of the state of case; and I understand, indeed, that, while recognizing the fact that he is occasionally not juite fit for work, he has emphatically de- clared that he will never resign. In that situa- tion there is, it seems, no power in existence under which the parish can be delivered from this incubus. Subtleties of the English Language. From Puck. Office at Knoxville From the Augusta Chronicle. Among the men who had watched the grow- ing inequality in pensions in east Tennessee wasold man Tate. Possibly he was kin to sturdy Sam Tate, who built the Memphis and Charleston railroad. He saw the Union pen- sioners growing in numbers and claims yearby year. He knew the fraud in dozens of cases. He had been a democrat all his life anda con- federate during the war. It riled him to see those sturdy fellows who charged through the ditch at Knoxville and who piloted Longstreet across the Holston on his retreat left out in the cold. The boys who walked barefooted through Clinchdale or signaled with torches while the snow was white on Chilhowee were growing fewer every year. Some were poor and their spirits were broken. It hacks a mountaineer to have to tos the heavy end of the log all the time. Soold man thought. Me pulled his slouch hat over his eyes and “kinder stud- ied the situation.” Then bis face kindled and the same look came over him as when he rode with Forrest or charged with So old man Tate wrote a letter to all Bis ola confederate friends. He announced that down on the river there would be a reunion of sur- vivors. The mountain men have very few chances to eat barbecue and mix memecries of the four years’ fight. But they knew thet old man Tate would give them something worth thinking over. So about 100 men went down to his house. When he bad called them about him be said: ‘Boys, you all fought faithfully during the war. The thing didn't turn out our md the government which would have paid us pen- sions has gone down. The men who would have stood by the old soldiers of the Army of Virginia and Army of Tennessee are dead. It's all right now, bet it goes against the grain when I see the other fellows traveling up to Knoxville every month and coming away with full pockets. I want to say to you that I have Put aside from my own means $20,000 for you all, and I intend, this one time, anyhow, to see my old comrades bappy. Well, this is about all I could bear of the story. The money wasdivided out, for Veteran Tate could sign his check for $200,000. Isaw some of the men who got the “pensions” and they looked as if they needed it. Mr. Tate t have builta monument or founded a soldiers’ home or left a provision in his will to | be litigated, but he chose the wiser way. He just went down into his pocket and one time he Hanked the pension office in Knoxville. ———+e- Lady Jane. "Q's" Sapphics, from The Speaker. Down the green hiliside fro’ the castle window Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin': Day by day Watched bim go about iis ample Nursery garden. Cabbages thriv’d wi’ mort o' green stut!— Kidney beans, broad beans, Senne matoes, Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows, arly potatoes. Lady Jane cared not very much for all these, What she cared much for was a glimpseo’ Willum, ‘Strippin’ his brown arms wi’ a view to hort!- Cultural effort. Little guessed Willum, never extra vain, that Up the green hillside, 1 the gloomy castle, Feminine eyes could 80 deligut to view his ‘Noble proportions. Only one day, while in an innocent invod, Moppin’ his brow Coos “bwas a trifle swe With a biue kerchief—io, he spies a white ‘un Sweetly responding. Oh, delightsome Love! Not a For the restrictions set on hum: Day by day, peepin’ fro’ behind the bean sticks, Willuim observed that scrap o' white a-wavin'y ‘TUL his hot sighs outgrowin’ all repression Basted bis weskit. ‘Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty duke, who ‘Clung 16 old creeds and had a nasty temper; ‘Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared fo Risk a refusal? ‘Year by year found him busy ‘mid the bean sticks, Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps. Thus for eighteen years he beeld the maiden Wave fro’ her window. But the nineteenth spring, ' the castle post-bag Came, by book-post, Bill's catalogue o° seedlings Mark’ wi’ blue iuk at “Paragraphs relatin’ Mainly to Pumpkins” “W. A. can,” so the Lady Jane read, “Strongiy commend that very noble gourd, the Lady Jane, trst-class medal, ornament Grown to a gre: eight.” ‘Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows— Down the shorn hillside, fro’ the castle guteway— ‘Came @ long train and, 1 the itdst, a black bier, Easily shouldered. “Whose 1s yon corse that, thus adorned wi’ gourd leaves, Forth ye bear with slow step?” A mourner an- swer'd, “Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew Tired to avide in.” “Delve my grave quick, then, for I die tomorrow, Deive it one furlong fro’ the kidney bean sticks, Where I may dream she’s goin’ Precisely As she was used to.’ Hardiy died Bill when fro’ the Lady Jane's grave ‘pt to his white deathbed a pumpkin— Climbed the house wall and over-urched his head a] Billowy verdure. Simple this tale!—but delicately perfumed As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why, ‘Dimicult though its meter was to manage, ‘Tm glad 1 wrote it eae Are We Degenerating? From the New York Tribune. It would appear from reports just published in England, by Mr. Howard Gollins and other painstaking and conscientious physiologists, that our bodies are undergoing a process of de- generation, and that the advance of our moral condition and mental enlightenment is attended by a corresponding physical deterioration. Our hair is becoming more scarce. our ears larger and our lower jaws smaller, in proportion as we attain a higher plane of civilization, and b: the time we have reached the sumunit we sball according to the physiologists, have developed into a race without hair, ing at right angles with the he and with lower *sjack rabbit.” ‘While the loss of our hair must be a source of satisfaction to those who believe in the Dar- winian doctrines of evolution, since it denotes that we are gradually increasing the distance from that hypothetical period when the human form was more hairy and apish than divine, it is a subject of considerable preoccupation and concern to those of us who do not happen to be either wig makers or pilatory fertilizers. And notwithstanding the potent arguments ad- vaneed by the English physiologists, who seek to show that scanty hair and cleverness go to- gether on the one hand and abundance of bair with stupidity on the other, we venture to be- lieve that baldness is due, not so much to the presence of brains beneath the pilatory soil as toinsufticient exposure. Women, no matter how clever, retain their hair much longer x than men, and the airy kind of headgear they adopt affords the explanation of the fact. With regard to the tendency of the ears of “glided youths” and “high-born maidens” to stick out laterally and to develop abnormally in size, we are unable to speak, as we have failed until now to remark any such peculiarit; among our younger fellow citizens. We wot ly observe that length of ears has never until now been regarded as indicative of ex- ‘kass aural ately monumental in As to the decrease of Eee our lower jaws, we feel a certain delicacy about en- tering into a discussion of the question for hundred and to hint that the femmine crease of independence and, above all, relaxation of that gol coracrana oh become s more | ent dei not From The D'Ulthud—“Who'n blazes d’yeghink I burt?” sare Kindergarten Lesson. ae Ts takes the avorsge rargion long time | * to find out— Be‘couid, Pr thiak Seas es ‘That all girls are not alike. chute jumper. ‘That the first. person singular can be dis- ns pensed with. ‘That because his girl's etheresl-looking she | lord don't oat like common morisle started away, ‘‘do you permit your help to se- han sitting in the car while two women by : fins on a ‘That for 2 long ears stand- | Miles from here jaws of the dimensions of that of an average |, 7 Now a Drink for the Middle and Working Classes. Prom the London Daily News. High-priced port wine ase luxury for the rich, we are assured by Mr. Consul Craufayg in the current Fortnightly, is very nearly « thing of the past. Port has become essentially the rink of the middie and working classes ip Portugal, and ix, and must be, «low-priced wine. We pay, it seems, for the name of the thing. Accertain prestige, says Mr. Craufurd, ia attached by traders at home to wine actually brought from Oporto, end therefore fondly supposed by them to be the genuine product of vines grown in the neighborhood of that city. The money value of this prestige is about 48 per pipe. When this prejudice is overcome there te every reason why good port wine should be made, as port te made now, from wine grown in various parts of Portugal, or even af taly or Greece: that it should be brought ‘oung” condition to England, blended and matured in English warehouses, fortified in bond by untaxed English spirit, and sold more cheaply than it can now be sold, to the great advantage of the consumer and of a crowd of English coopers, carriers, warchousemen and workingmen of every class. “At present the “young wine’ is brought into store at Oporte blended, alcoholized, ‘turned over,’ raatured and ‘lotied,’ and in due course shipped to Great Britain, “The Portuguese bave at all times cast ons eyes on these various jrocesses of viniBoe tion carried on by Englishmen abroad for the benefit of Englishmen at home. Imbued with T notion that te the Briton port wipe is @ necessity of existence, they have seen their way safely to monopolies, restrictions, exac- Hons and all the deiavs and complications of officiaidom that are dear to all classes of Porta- guese. For years a stringent and oppressive monopoly hampered the trade and enabled the natives to take heavy toll of the wine on ite rosd to England.” Mr. Craufurd explains thas campetition from abroad ended the monopoly nearly freed, but now that Portus andall-will run somewhat strongly against Great Britain be approhends further hindrances, but sees no reason,except the preju- dice in favor of Oporto wine, above referred to, why London or Liverpool should not become, instead of Oporto, the emporium of port wine. = —- - A BETTING swINDLe. The Kentuckian Was Game, but Not Over shrewd. From the Chicago Mail. “TH bet I can drink more whisky than any other man on earth.” ‘The speaker was « flashily dressed young mam, in a West Side saloon. “Even money and any amount that you can't,” said a tall Kentuckian. “Will #100 “Yes, or twice that.” ‘Two hundred goes, Jimmy, set out yous botties. Who's going to drink against me?” “I am,” answered the Kentuckian. “Then here we go. The barkceper put two beer glasses before them and tooka quart bottle iu cach hand. From one be i for the Kentuckian aud from ¢ r antaj Both drank the first two glasses down wit! s glass held hb in s the third the southerner gulped a little and turned red, but the other drank his dose without moving s muscle. At the feurth the Kentucky man's hand shook and he spilled some liquor on the floor. The other man downed bis ina flash and said Th tall man gaze Yin ase tonishment and theu lurched toward the door, saying: “Parduer, the mouey is youre. Good oT After he had gone the winuer tuok the emy bottle out toa restaurant aud got it refill He had been drinking cold tea against the other man # Whisk, —-s0e The Victoria Cross. From the Manchester Bx: ". The question has been asked—apropos of the houor conferred on Maj. Grant of Thobal fame —how many officers are entitled to wear the Victoria cross, Iam able to answer the ques tion. The mere statement of uamber reveals at once the exclusive character of this reward for valor. No less, how ©. than thirty-nine general officers are entifled to wear it—an in- dication of the fact that promotion to exalted military rank in England ha» ina great many cases been the reward of her merit. Thirty colonels and lieutenant colonels are entitled to wear the decoration: twenty-two majots, eleven captains, eight lieute aud five quarter- Masters possess the sawe privilege. Fifty-nine of the medals, however, are beld by non-com- missioned offers and privates, thirt ing in the posession of privates, five corporals, three of corporals, seven of ectgeanta, six of color sergeants, two of quartermaster scpunte and two of serg clergyman possessce the m which won the honor for the Kev. J. W. Ades who was formeriy attached to the ecclesiastical establishment, was one of ‘Most beroic in the annals of English chivalry. — ine Divisor. » Monthly An Eq Prom Smith, Gray & Wo. L Mr. Cornhusk (the country boat ling-house keeper)—“The doctor lives in Pluvkville, tem Yes: t the Ghly horse & have, and there ain't a saddle about the piace.”