Evening Star Newspaper, January 2, 1892, Page 7

= HILLS OF NORTHERN some of the most picturesque Villages in the world. There the pure moun- tain breezes play with the rosy-faced children and wild nature grows in unfettered freedom and is spread out in artistic lavishness. Thrift aud health. cleanliness and godliness, con- tentment and happiness stamp these arcadian homes and the bright faces of their sons and daughters. About ten miles from one of these thriving towns. where the tall waving wire grassabounds and the palmettos grow in plenty, where the Wild woodbine and honeysuckle aud yeliow Jas- mine scramble for a place on the fence and the porch and the air is beavy with the odors of magnolia and white jessamine, and the .d trembles with the volaj otes from a grove full of mocking bir« Jantation known as “Wil and occupied by the only ‘atives of the fourth generation of 3. Of all the old servants that had roamed ned permanentl, loyal hearted to the core and would not har apalsce These were “—Aant Cha ‘om. re the twoold ones had lived and reigned tn their respective depat ‘er since “Pete, a mere lad, had taken a fancy to ““ re ‘o girlon a neighboring plantation, her. Shehad reigned as cook undisputed authority on many subjects kitchen lore: and Uncle Pete, her de- The great old-time garden was his especial object of prid a where was every- thing in i a which was one cor- vi t Charity’s “pateh o° muliem and <3. but of won- ‘om which she concocted itters, dyes, plasters, knows what else. There an any physician’ inot be quieted, if the baby nt Charity nestness she , ious life 0” itt A baby yell an’ parrish fer de ‘And in a few minutes the isarm it was Aunt Charity r came he out of a job and snapped out wome- about not seeing the use of coming after work was done. when mother was guid and feeble and didn’t have much appe- Aunt Charity reproached herself by ‘Miss Mitue, honey. Charity done letzyo" go lose yer appetite an’ yer sperrits an’ pine erway, ‘case she ain't make yo’ no tausy bit- ters. The effect of this “‘sarb” was soon perceptible in mother's rosy cheeks, good appetite and 1 the old southern Kitchens, was some little distance fom the “big “ouse,” and the ri and Aunt Charity w st re the kitchen, he insicle. in the world so proudly a as the associations that hovered around the old homestead; they had an element ot hero-worship and reverence for “ le miss” that was truly touching and beautiful days te children would go to Un- * room and crowding around bim ies, and with x child on each m front of him he would tell the most thrilling and marvelous tales about the good old times on “de ole plantation. What « wonderful memory be had! He could distinctues# the time when ” our father, was a baby and re- count all the little triumphs of his boyhood. What grand tales he told of our ancestors and what kings and queens he made of them! We would go back to the parlor and gaze with anew interest and an awed admiration into the old-time faces that smiled or looked with such sclemn dignity at us from the wall. But ‘here bad fallen a shadow over the peace- fui lives of Uncie Pete and bis faithful “ole “oman,” their only child, Tom, a sprightly b about grown, bad proven to be the “black sheep” of the tlock, and his misconduct had al- Most brought hix old pareats with sorrow to the grave, and this is how tt came about: Har ing grown restive of the country quiet and the Fostraint of his old paronte, fom bad set his head anc heart on going t. try his fortune in the town of ¢ n miles distant, It was a sad dav for the old parents when be acked his “chist’ aud started off to change e old home for the new. P Yo," my son, [ sad te bia: “I tel ember de wo'ds m tell is xon, to don't forgit yer eaan’ den yo wou's right track; but yo’ better had pen. had wept and embraced him, ani beggea Lim to come back soou, “fer to fetch her some good snuff” —to comfort her Tom felt the dignity of the occasion and sai. “Fer Gawd's sake, mammy ain't yo an’ daddy get uo trus’ m me, whatsoever? Hasn't I bez bawa an’ bred in raight an’ narrer ‘way? Au’ now yo’ ain't gwine-er tu'n yo backs on mecasel wants tose alittle o de worl ad make er leetle money fer to fetch yo", me-by, when I come Cher up, wid yer sperrits, now, an’ don't-cher go git itinter yo" haids dat 1 gwine do wrong, ‘case I's had too good raisin’ fer dat. Now! gwine say good- bye ut? parse Jeoms, Miss Mittie an’ de ebillun—TI lubs em ali too good fer to fetch any disgrace on de family name.” It was bright New Year day. euch as wo often have inthe south. ‘The air was balmy, the sun shone warmly and there were a few butterflies on the wing. Just after the wi yal geod New Year dinner Tom a: adanha and then was lostto sight’ She chook her bead dolefuliy as she turned away. caying: “De Lord knows ebby-ting. an’ Idon't, but I'se got er feelin’ in byah Pin to dat boy Itwas near bod time that night before Uncle Pete returned, but he came to the back door to Say that Tom started out with good luck, hav- ing gotten the place as boy of general work at the hotel in G-—, for which he was to receive bis board and fair wares, and that “he say ho gwine come back fer to see usall in ‘bout fo woeks, sh Tom was a great favorite with the childrot @ud they missed him cadly and looked fort $0 Bie with childieb nd bathed it | m oecupiedby Uncle Pew | ‘aed by a narrow flight of | 7 ras WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR. % SY MARGARET ANDREWS OLOHA lll THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C. SATURDAY, JANUARY 2, 1892—SIXTEEN PAGES. At the exp tion of the four weeks, earlier on Saturday evening than he had promised, Tom came, and slipping unobserved into the kitchen, stepped up behind Aunt © put bis hands over her eyes. Dat’ Tom, knows it’s tu’n loose an’ let yer ole mammy look at yo" once mo.’ Lord bless de boy, how he is grow'd!™ How is you, mammy?” said Tom. “an’ w daddy? “Dar he come now-—hello, daddy!” called Tom, stepping outsuddenly from bebind the door. The old man let fall his armful of wood and rushed toward his boy with outstretched urme. Aftera warm embrace, he looked at hiv off- spring fondly, and said ‘om? Aim't forgit yer raisin’ “Ain't forgit nuthin’ dadd er praise fum de folks what I wo'k fer, dey ain't fin’ no fault wid me, an’ hyah's avy cent o' money what { yearut. I fotch hoi yo" to put erway in de big chist, upstar's ” old folks Were very proud of he im then, and | when be put om his white hotel apron to show them how he looked in town they gazed at him 't he er with doting love, saying: + likely boy!" He brought his old mammy some fine snuff, and Uncle Pete some “extry geod tecbaccer fer er Sund'ys"—these were purchased out money#—and they were abundantly sat- isfed with bim. He brought each of the children, likewise, sume littie token of remem: ich served to heighten their regard Early on Sunday evening he bade all good- bye, and trudged merrily off, afoot, as he bad e e. The close of another month brought Tom again, and heslways had pleasant stories of town life to tell, and uever failed to bring cheer and sunlight to Wildwood, and through the entire year his visite as regular se Clockwork, regardless of the weather Jucle Pete would take bim back in the ox cart ifthe weather was very bad, but most of the time he walked, both coming and going. It was almost New Year again, and ns it fell on Friday Tom had promised to come home on Thursday evening and stay until Sun- day night, and there was great rejoicing over this good news by the old parents and the children at Wildwood. ‘Thursday evening found Aunt Charity ‘“spruced up,” witha little brighter beaddress, a new apron’ and a white kerchief around her neck, standing in the kitchen door looking for ‘Yom, her face full of smiles acd her heart full of love; but, although she kepts cheerful fire in the big kitchen fire- place and « good supper for him, Tom did not come. il the next day he was anxiously looked for, but was not seen, anda sad New Year xt was for the old folks. Saturday came. and Aunt Charity said she “bilievd’ he was coming that night, just like he had always done, maybe be couldn't get of from his work, and surely he would come Saiurday evening. But still he did not come, and thequiet sabbath morning brought no news of the truant. Then Aunt Charity mother love decided the course to pursue. “Ole man,” she said, “dar'ssump'n up, sho’ yo" baw, dar's sump'n mity wrong; dat po’ x sump'n done happen to ‘im. 0 an’ hitch up oie Jerry to de cyart, an’ go as fas’ as yo’ kin, an’ see what ail our bos, ‘case I feels in hyzh, ole man, sump'n de matter. Ef Tom done git sick, yo’ look in his chist, an’ dar yn'll fin’ er little culicer sack full o' yarbs, an’ yo" knows what to do wid ‘em, good as I does, an’ hyah—put dis buckeye in one breeches pocket, an’ er rabbit foot in Vother, fer to be sho’ er good luck; an’ fetch him home, ‘case bis ole mammy done gone er mos’ erszy fer to see him.” Uncle Pete did as he was directed by his “ole "oman" snd was soon on the way to G the old ox going at full speed. Aunt Charity kept « good dinner hot for the travelers till late enough to add a hot supper to it, and then, long afterward, she heard the way down town in de sto’s, so I starts ont in er fae’ walk—an’ goes erlong a street what mighty dark, ‘ease it war whar dey wan't no to's, but houses whar folks lib, an” dey war all ‘sie Jong ergo, an’ ebbyting war es still es er grave- ‘4. An’ I walic ‘long. tinkin’ how I gwine daddy er new barlow, an’ er plug er ter- baceer, an’ mammy er new hankcher, an’ er bladder o' snuff—when all of er suddint some- body hist er winder right up ober my haid an’ jump right spang out inter de strect—he fall ergin me an’ knock me down es flat es er pan- cake. ‘Jes’ den somebody else come to de winder an’ holler out. “Thief, robber. ketch ‘im,’ and den de feller what jump out'n de winder git scyard an’ drap er gol’ watch au’ chain. er han'ful o’ money an’ et whole paxsel o° tings down on do groun, long o' mo an’ den tock to ‘is heels an fly: but Iseed dem shoes erfo’ he run an’ I know'd dey war de same shoes what I done black soon in de mornin’ erfore, case dey war a eu’s—some kin’ o° shoes. wid little ridges on de top an’ er shiny uew buckle Well, fus’ ting I know, fo IT bab time’ to git up fum dar, somebody ju’k holt er holler out: ‘Hysh he is; an’ hyah's all « what he stole, done drapt long o' ‘im.’ An’ Tsay. ‘No sah ree. dis ain't him nnther! I ain't neber steal nothin’ in all my bawn days. An’ dey say: ‘Whar is he den? An’ Isay: ‘He Jamp out'y dat winder am’ fall er gin’ me an nock me dewn, an’ when somebody holler out ‘Thief, robber, ketch “im,” he drap his tings what he done stole an’ run; but I weed bis shoe n dey Inugh an‘ eays dey reckin I does shoes what come troo dat winder. jes’ grab) er holt o’ mean’ tell me to y Tain't gwine ter sing none, 6m dey laugh at de bes’ wa Dey wo d’a listen to nairy wo'd whet I say, walk me up hyal an’ slap me_in jail. De rex’ mornin’ dey cyar me to co't. I swar— jen’ Inck I doos now, dadiy—dat 1 nebber hab nuthin’ todo wid dat stealin’, but dey say dar want no yether way fer to fix it. Dar I wuz, er westing down @at urder de winder wid do tings long’ o’ me, an’ dey say dey war sorrs, ‘An’ di sing low but I'd batter goto jail. Mr. Dixon step up 5 tT bener stayin’ wid him er yer an nebber iiss puthin’ an’ dat I tT good-behave’ nigger as ever Bo sey hell pay de cos to keep me out'n jail, but dey would'n let ‘im do it, Dey axt me how de man look, what jump out'n de winder, an’ I tell ‘im he war Pierre wid light ba’r on little eves, an dey say dat wont do, caze dar war plenty o dem kynd o' men right dar, den I tells “m, lack I tells yo’, daddy, dat dey aint but one way left fer to ketch iat rascal, and dat air by bis righ foot, what got de bigges’, ongainlis’ black mole on de top © it dat over yo’ cot yer eya on. An I tell ‘em how I know dat: at ourhotel, an’ atter in’ an’ cyard ‘em in he say ‘John. T way ‘Dat ain't my name, sab.’ Den he say, ‘Waal, I don'teyar what yo" name is, but if yoll put dew plago-taked tight shoes ‘on fer nie ['ll gi’ yo'erdime.’ I ain't got time, leswan I oes it dat minute, and he jump. up an éay, ‘Waal, yo" kin do it dis minute,’ an’ erfor git his sock on I sco dat bluck mole on de toffo" his foot, what bigger'n de dime what he gi: me, an’ Isay, Lordy massy, mister, what on ‘arth 0° foot?’ An’ he say, ‘Tain'tnuthin’ but er mole, greeny: hit'ser sign yo’ gwine ter war golden slippers,’ an’ den be laugh to hisse'f lack Le know whar he gwine ter git ‘em. n’ dat’s alll knows bout dat man, cep'n he had mity little feet, an’ dem hoes wor de mis- chief fer tu git ou. "I say “Ibankee’ when he giv me de dime an’ go on bout m4 yether wo'k, an’ dat’s de las’ time I seo dat man tel be jump out’n dat winder an’ drap de tings what he ato 2 long 0° me, id o” him.’ 1 v'hicves yo,’ Tom. my boy, says I; ‘y daddy knows yo's Lonest, but if limos’ kill po’ ole mammiy, ease her heart's 80 sot on ¥ “Tell mammy,’ he say 1 out fer oF foot wid er black'mole on'de top o' it; I gwine ight an’ day dat de Lord’ll hep Ler to I kin be ketched fer thief “I tole yo' so, ole man,” exclaimed Aunt Charity, triumphantly; “I know'd somebody done luid off sump’n on my boy, an’ by de he’p ’ Gawd I'l Gin’ him out yit.” CHAPTER IL. They had never seemed the same again— uncle Pete and Aunt Charity—since poor Tom’ creaking of the cart wheels and ran out in the bright moonlight toembrace her boy, but there was only Uncle Pete, slowly and deliberately unhitehing old Jerry. “Whar's Tom?" demanded she. ‘-He'sin town. whar I lef’ ‘im, ole ‘oman. “Loot hyab, Pete, none o° yer foolin’ wid me, now, ‘cue I tells yo", ole man—I's mos’ done fer. Whar's my boy?" T dons tole “Warke dead?” she asked, holding up both hands aod rolling her tearfui eyes. ‘No he wa'n't,” replied Pete. aii e%;2l¢ man, for Gawd's sake tell me what “Wait‘ol I onhitch ole Jerry an’ put erway de eyartjen' den I gwine come in an’ tell yo" all erbow it, She sav it was useless to say any more then, so she burried into the kitchen and spread out his supper, as she said half aloud: “De sight o’ sump'n good ter cat allers puts ‘im in good Bs rita.” Then Unele Pete came in, with weary step, ‘ai look, and while he slowly partook of the supper Aunt Charity had spread out so temptingiy be told the news she was so im- patient to hear: ‘Ole “oman,” he said, “yo’ nee'n ter be Tised st nuthin’ in dis worl’; ef somebody come erleng an’ tell yo’ dat de man in de moon done fallout an’ drap on de groun’, don't yo | say nuthin’ tel yo’ see him. I b'liew'd our y Tom wares good er nigger as dey kin be: he got good blood, he got geod raisin’ an’ he got Sood sense ernough, an’ n cted tse de day dat one er ole marster’s niggers done disgrace de fam'ly name, and git in jail.” ‘Ob, Lord!" groaned’ poor Aunt Charity, rocking herself backward and forward, while Great pent-up tears rolled down on her new “pron “Ob, my po’ boy! Ifcel in byab, ail de time, Ick sump'n gwine happen to him, ebber sence he tu'n he back on de ole planta: tion whar be ben bred an’ bawn, but I never spectetto hvab dat—and Pete, it ain'tso!” she’ said, rising up with flashing eyes, and shaking her clinched tistin his face. “I don't cyar who oa) ‘ain't so!" in't so?” he said quietly. it our bey done it. Sump'n’s ben im.” “Jes: set down, ole ‘oman, an’ wait tel yo’ hyab de necked trafe.’ Waal, when I gits to town, an’ onbitches Jerry fam de eyart an’ pute ‘im away, I gow to dehotel, an’ axt fer to sce de boss, an" I aes him what ails my boy Tom, dat he ain't come home fer to see his ole daddy aa’ mammy, an’ spen’ de New-yer-day wid ‘em, lack be promus. An’ he say: ‘I mity sorry fer to tell yo’, but Tom war ketched er stealin’, an’ misfortune. Although the old man would tell his rainy-day stories he secmed sad and sighed heavily and liked, more than anything else, to sit still and think. Now, chilluns, run ‘long.” he'd say, after telling a few short stories. “I can't ‘member tales lack I useter, peer lack Imos’ lose my min’ sometimes, I tink so hard ‘bout my po boy sbet up in de penertenchry fer five yers By dat time me an’ de ole ‘oman'll be done laid in our graves an’ nebber know when he gits out. Ebby night when yo’ says yer little pray'rs, chillun, yo’ mus’ axe de good Lord to he’p us fin’ de what stea! dem tings an’ drap ‘em long o' Tom so he could be ketch as er thief. Ef we could fin’ him, ¥, yo" kno’, po’ Tom could come out'n’ dat prison quick as yo’ could wink yo’ eye an’ he'd come back yah an’ stay wid us all de time an’ nebber le: inquiring Bob. “De Lord’ll tell yo’ when yo’ fin’ him, ef he's de right one, honey, an’I hope we'll fin’ ‘im is made a very serious impression on the minds of the children and they were ever faith- ful about praying over it. Even little Jeseie did not forget to praf to “hep us fin’ de bad was the identical black mole he had prayed God to help him find. Attho new house a startling conve: was going on. Detective Bennett. father timate, life-long friend, came driving up and seeing no one else about said, “Well, Stacy, T'm hero after a jailbird. ‘I bope I'm not the luckless bird,” father re- plied, laughing. Xo, but your Mr. Lennox, alias Bronson, alias Carter, is, so hope for your accommo- dation that he has fintahed bis work. “Yes, Le has just finished today,” said father, ‘and will be leaving for Boston.” “Not if Jim Bennett knows it. Yes, I know he has ‘every appearance of a gentleman,’ but you have probably heard that appearan deceitful.” ‘on astound me. Bennett,” father claimed. “What is the chargo against him? “Oh, @ fine collection of charges. Notes forged, houses robbed, jewelry filched, be- sides an ugly looking array of suspicions as an accomplice. In fact, Le is a regular lark." ‘At this point in the conversation old Fire- ball came tearing up with white foam dropping from his mouth, never stopping until he bad rubbed his head caressingly against father's arm “This means that my ‘lark’ has been killed or spirited aw: wid Mr. Bennett ‘Ah, I fear it means something terrible.” father replied. with a troubled look, “let's walk alittle way—or say, I'li jump up in your car- riage and will ride on and find out something about this bad piece of business.” They passed by the children, who said Uncle Pete had gono across. the stream to look for poor Mr. Lennox, so they drove on, and met the old man, just starting back. ‘I jos’ started atter you, Marse Jeoms," he '« he much hart, Pete?” asked father. Dunno, sah; he look lack he mos’ dead, but dary oue ting I does know. haf er pull off is boot, case he say it war hu'tin’ o” bis foot so bad, an’ while wor er doin’ it, he done faint erway lack he er dyin’, an’ his foot commince to swell tel it look lack itgwine ter bust de sock wide open; an’ s0 I pulls dat off, too, an’ fo'de Gawd of Jacob, Marso Joems, dar war berry black mole whut I done pray de Lord r lemme fin’, an’ what b'long tode man dat orter be shet up in de prison etid or my po' bor — nebber steal autbix’ in ali his bawn leve.”” “It nover rains but it pours,” observed Mr. Bennett; “one more crime to wid to the others, maybe. ‘I remember the circumstances that convicted poor Tom and I hope this clue may help him ye ‘When they reached the spot Mr. Lennox had Togmied consciousness, but was moaning with the pain of—what atterward proved to be—» broken ankle “Iam very sorry, indeed, Mr. Lennox,” father suid, “that Fireball has proved to bo so treacherous; I trust you are not much hurt?” “I think ‘there is nothing serious but my foot,” he replied. y riage, awaiting my return to * said Mr. Bonnett, “and I will drive you over; I'm sorry to inform you, sir, unde: the circumstances, that I have papers for your ar- rest, and I have been waiting for your return dinner.” ‘My arrest!” exciatmed Lenn ask the charge brought against me “I will show you my official papers, sir.” A. glance at them caused his face to grow adeadly pallor and he shut his eyes with groan. He ‘Was assisted to « seat in the carriage by father, who said as they drove off: “I am truly sorry for you, Mr. L x," then, turning to Uncle Pete: “Not a word to anybody now, Pete,about that black mole, don't tell Charity or the children; keep it to yourseif, and I'll see what can be done about it Drive on with the chil- dven; I'll follow directly with Fireball.” ‘The now house was soon finished and we were nicely fixed in it by the 15th of December. Ali were gay and happy in the preparations for Christiaas and the holidays. Aunt Charity raid she'd be “happy enough, Gawd knows,” if Tom could only be there to spend New Year day with his “ole mammy.” “it peer lack Pete—ne done fergit. He ain't tink bout Tom no mo’. He do Inck he done hyah some good news what he keepin’ all to hisse'f. I dunno what ail Fete, nohow,” she said. Mr. Lennox was tried, and found guilty of the charges brought against him, and thinking to make his sentence lighter had made a clean breast of it. by confessing crimes that were not even suspected of him. Among his confessions Was the theft that caused poor Tom's imprison- men sentence was then “thirty years in the state penitentiary.” j Christmas had come with all its merriment and gone; New Year day was close at hand again, and as it grew nearer Auut Charity's rt grew heavier, while Uncle Pete's seemed to grow lighter. He looked as though he were literally running over with good feeling, 50 much so that Aunt Charity hinted at a'sly visit to the wine cellar. Early on New Year morning father called Uncle Pete and Aunt Charity to his study, and said, with a preoccupied air: “here's your New Year gift behind the door—take it and enjoy it” +e yell of delight from Aunt Charity as she embraced Ler boy, and Tom's “howdy mammy ! howdy daddy! how does yo’ do!” made tor us all « happy New Year. +o.—_____ TALL GIRLS RESPONSIBLE For the Additional Heights of Heelg and Hats for the Average Man. From the New York Sun. “Put two oxtra lifts on the heel,” accom- panied an order to a shoemaker. “Tally another victim of the tall girl,” the shoemaker remarked. man Unele Pete is lookin’ for," and a beautiful icture she made, kneeling at father’s knee in er long white gown lisping her baby prayers. Ithad been nearly three years since poor Tom entered the penitentiary for five years’ imprisonment, but it had seemed a much longer time to his old parents and the children at Wildwood, Father had determined to build a new house, near thesuburbs of G in convenient driv- ing distance to its schools and churches, and let the old place—which was becoming dilapi- dated--out to tenants, who would keep up the farm andstock The carpenters had already nearly finished their work on the new house, and the surveyor was laying off the grounds and gardens, about the middie of a mild November, 59 we hoped to spend Christmas in our new home. Mr. Len- nox, the civil engineer, who had been somo time directing the work on the grounds, and who wasa gentloman of exquisite tastes, dined at Wildwood, “for the lest time,” Le said, as his work was all Anished, and he was going to Florida to spond the winier. He wasa man of polished attainments and fine conversational powers, but impressed ono more as beinga “French dancing master” than anything else. His eyee wore small, yellowish gray, very close together and ever wandering; they’ made you have the queer feclin, that they ‘were looking bebind you an all around you—everywhere but into your face. As be bade mother good-bye she ‘aid: “Uncle Pete has driven the children over to the new house again, for they think they must see every nail that goes into it, and they have overstayed their time; if you mect them on the way, Mr. Lennox, please teil them to hurry on to dinne: bo jumped on old Fireball, that no one except father ever dared to ride, mother looked anxiously after him, and said: “That man certainly doesn’t seem to realize the great anger he is risking in riding ire never knew at ride bi safety but his master. “Ura apate mmhas Just as Uncle Pete, driving slowly back home with the children, had gotten beyond sight of the uew house where father was awaiting the return of his horse before he could go home to dinner, they saw old Fireball coming toward them with terrific speed, snorting and’ kicking and with bis ears pointed up as if in fright— and no rider. How awlully suggestiv ia 9 riderless horse! had ter goto jail’ I war dat tuck back I could’ iy fin’ my tongue, but after while I a T don’t b'lieve my bey done it; but ef he have,’ says I, ‘he de tus one to fetch an: disgrage to his fam'ly name. Den be tole me better go roun’ to de juil, an’ let Tom tell me "bout it bisse'f, and sol goes. “Soon 6s belay bis eye on me, hesay, ‘Daddy, ob, daddy, I sin't fergit my raisin’ nor nuthin” yit, an’ Dnever techt what don't b'long to me, i swar I nebber, daddy, an’ Gawd kuows I ain't er tellin’ no lie.’ “I war dat sorry I sot di an At to bust, but Isee dat gwine te: 80 cry tel I moe’ r do ne good. ‘Tom, yo" ole daddy ain't gwine ter no lies on yo’; tell me ebby wo'd er- bout it, my boy, dis what he say. es nigh as I kin ‘member it: “Yo! know, daddy, he say, ‘I war — home fer to de Now Yer's day an’ ly an’ Sundy wid yo'an’ mammy an’ de chillun, an’ I ‘low'd dat gwine ter be or good ole time, an’ 2 tak crbous it while I war er doin’ my wo ‘Iwar gwinofetch yo’ aller New Yer'sgif’, but de po'ter he tuck sick an’ Mr. Dixon he ‘low as how! can't be spore tel stter de New Yer's, ‘caso deywar so many gemmun what hab ter be waited on an’ hab der "so much #0 I ‘low'd to git off om Saddy evenin’ us done er! ‘Dar was so much wo'k dat it keep us all ergoin’ till atter midnight er Leas Do I war dat tir'd I war "bout to dap. but I ‘lowd’ sshow I won't bab time on Saady fer to git sum Year's 1 it em dat night—ef itwar kite’-or, I better on mighty scon in de mornin’. Tose delights, “Dar wad Uncle Pete, springing out of the carriage and trying to head om whieh, however, eluding his grasp” iets manner truly suggestive of his name. acpbar, news be re ate vt ben spectin’ t man to git el ce he fus" ole Fireball. ee “1 done tole’im dat day dat it wor mity dan- gersome piece o° business fer anybody. cena Marve Jeems, to be er triggerin’ wid dat hore, in ‘im. Stay right dar, jun, tel I look roun’ fer dat po’ man wid ‘is neck’broke an’ layin’ by de side a’ de road somwhar.” He walked on, slowly, looking on each side of the road, acrous the little stream to the curve of the road beyond, in « few yards of which he found Mr. Lennox lying, and looking in truth like a dead man, but moaning piteously. There was a dark bruise on his forehead and a bicod stain on his face, but he complained most heavily of his foot, that he said horse bad stopped on and almost crushed. “Just pull off my boot, there, old man, and sce what your plagued old. horse has dono for me.” Uncle Pete didn't like his commanding tone and felt like saying “I tole yo’ #0,” but he said nothing, and knecling down on the brown leaves commenced to draw off the tight boot from the shapely and almost dainty foot; this gave such acute pain that the man fainted away iutoa deadly swoon. When the boot had booa removed tho foot commenced ewelling 80 fact that Uncle Peto said to himself, “I better take dis hyah sock off, too, ‘case it look lack it mos’ fit to bust now,” and as gently as ‘though ® woman had done it he pulled off the hose, when “Gawd A'mighty!” he exclaimed, jamp- ing up and gazing into the pallid face of unconscious man. On the instep of that foot “How is that?” ‘Why, there are 60 many tall girls nowadays that the averago height of men must be raised. Up toa few years ago the lowest heel was the rage, but now the heel is decidedly higher—I gure it between half and three-quarters of an inch. It is all the growth of recent years. It n't fashion, either, for you'll not find the high heel among tall men. It's only among the little fellows who try to add to their height by ever go little. But even half an inch counts ina man’s height. A few years ago a man of five fect six wus seldom overtop a lady. Now the man of five fect cight is not infre- quently looked down on. I don't suppose any city in the world can show so many tall girls a8 are to be seen in Broadway, 14th and 23d streets these days. They are not thin girls, either, but well proportioned and solidly bwilt, which makes their height ali the more exasperating to au undersized man. You seo, by adding a little to his heels and to his hata man just undor the average can lift aimself up to it." Wouldn't bo surprised if the tall girl has agreat deal to do with booming our ingh hat trade," a Broadway hatter said.” “It must be, for none of my tall customers has asked for a higher hat. ‘Thoso who have worn felts and Derby crowns still wear them, but I have ob- served a steady change from low to high tops for my short customers. I think sometimes that the tall girl is responsible for this change, Decanse & fivo-foot-six customer came in hero not long ago und asked for my highest hat. He had u good pair of shoulders and could carry it woll, but ho had always worn a low hat. { asked him why ho changed. ‘Oh, D'vochangod girls, and the new one is about half an inch taller than. If I get a high hat it will even us up when we appear on the otrest.’”* ‘A 23d street deuler in women's shoes has felt the influence of the tall girl “We have ou tomers now to whom we cater with low heels, he said. “The tall girl differs from a man in not being proud of her height. Sho knows » little girl is more likely to be esteemed affoo- tionate and loving by the men than is a tall girL So she tries to getdown to the loving level. Then, again, they know that tho little girls have more chance of securing beaux, for the tall girl must restrict her hopes to the ave age sized or tall meu. Short men do not lik to go out with gisle several inches taller, and 40 fall buck on the petite. So, whers men are having their heels mado extra high, girls and women ace having theirs lowered. What is true of all girls’ shoes is equally true in regard to their hats. They aro lowering them, too, and the fat hat is as sure to come in again as it is that the tall girl is here today, Senator Gibson’s Double, From the New York sun. Senator “Charley” Gibson of Maryland is an Addition to the handsome men of the Senate, and yet he is not the only handsome man from Maryland about the chamber. The doorkeoper at tho west end of the lobby, near the Presi- dent's room, is Billy May, a well-known Balti- Upper floor, conference room, of which the npgstn t sentinel, and, 'm awful #4 ou kni and ’ CaTS AND DoGs. Curious Points About the Origin of Mankind’s Favorite Pets. DOGS DESCENDED VARIOUSLY FROM COYOTES, WOLVES AXD JACKALS—CATS DOMESTICATED BY THE ANCIENT EOYPTIANS—HOW THEY SPREAD OVER THE WORLD—80%f QUEER CATS. 66QNATS AND DOGS HAVE A VARIED ancestry,” said a naturalist toa Stan writer. “People commonly imagine that in speaking of dogs they are referring to a singlo species which has many varitios. But in reality the name is merely a conventional ono, under which are grouped in popular parlance allof the domesticated canide. ‘The North American.coyote is in fact much nearer to the greyhound, zoologically speaking, than the pugis Itis simply a wild dog. So is the wolf likewise. From just such wild typos man’s faithfal four-footed friends aro descended. THE DoGs OF THE RED MEX. “When Columbus discovered America he found that the Indians possessed dogs. They were direct descendants of the wild coyotes of the plains. ° You can find a beautifully inounted group of coyotes in a glass case at the National Museum—a male, female and young one. Thoir resemblance to certain domesticated dogs is very striking. On tho other hand, the Eskimo dog is derived from the wolf. Doubtless the first dogs which were trained to servo mankina were tho jackals of Asia, which are to this day very intelligent and docile when tamed. ‘There was akind of dog kep: by the ancient Egyp- tisns which was ovidently obtained by breeding from aslenderly built species that is wild in Africa at tho presont time. PROGENY OF THE JACKAL. “Wherever the canide have beon found by man the maost docile of them have been trans- formed into domesticated dogs. Young o were reared and bred from, the best tempe: and most intelligent specimens being presor from generation to generation, until finally the beasts became gontlc und affectionate servants. Spreading over Europe from Asia the human race brought with it the tamed progeny of the jackal, and from this original source are pre- sumably derived most of the Europeun breeds that ero best known today. By artilicial selcc- tion mankind has actually boon ablo to create races of useful brutos. AbOUT CATS. “With cats the case is in some respects the same. The first people known to have domos- ticated them were the ancient Egyptians, on whose monuments represontations of these ani- mals are found as early as 1600 B.C. Itis on @ tomb erected about 1300 B.C. that puss first ap- ears unmistakably as a domesticated creatur Being shown seated beneath a chair. In ancient Egypt the cat was an object of religious wor- slip and was cven an inmate of the temples. ‘There was actually a cat goddess uamed Bu- bastis, who was always depicted as having a head. Behind the temple dedicated toher Beni Hassan great pits have boen found con- taining multitudes of cat mummies. The cat was alzoregarded as an emblem of the sun, ite eyes being supposed to vary in color with the progress of that luminary through the heavens. Likewise ite gyes were believed to undergo @ change each [Star uronth, for which reason the beast was also sacred to the moon. DIFFERENTLY VIEWED IN DIFFERENT PLACES. ~ “Herodotus says that when a cat died a nat ural death in an Egyptian house the occu- pants of the dwelling went into mourning and shaved off their eyebrows. When a fire oc- curred they were tore anxious to save than to extinguish the conflagration. theless in some parts of the same country cats were regarded as unclean animals, for @ crea- ture which was considered sacred in one town wus often viewed with horror as impure in a nyighboring city. That was the case with the crocodile in Egypt, which in some parte was ruthlessly hunted’ and destroyed, while in others it was made a pet of, laden with gold or- naments and waited upon by priests. THE ANCIENT EGYPTIAN CATS. “The ancicnt Egyptian cat was the progeny of 8 species that is wild in that country today, being known as the felis maniculata. This lat- ter may be regarded as the ancestor of nearly all extsting pussies of domesticated varieties. Its descendants wero brought from Egypt to Greece and Rome, whence they spread over Europe. When the Romans invaded Britain they found plenty of wild cats in the woods, but the people owned no tame ones. ‘The felis maniculata is of a yellowish color, darker on the back and whitish on the belly, with obscure stripes on the body and a tail ringed toward the end. Doubtless somo domesticated cats are derived from different origins, ae is pr sumably the case with the Angora or Persian variety, which is thought to be descended from an Asiatic wild cat. ‘THE VALUE OF CATS. “Cate are so common nowadays that people do not realize their value, although they would soon dosoit they had to get along without them for awhile and suffer from the plague of vermin which would arrive through unre- stricted multiplying of the pests which the pussies destroy und drive away. So late as the middle ages cats were comparatively scarce in Europe and were so highly prized that any erson who killed one was obliged to pay = Ree. This penalty sometimes was required to be paid in the shape of a pile of wheat big enough to cover the slain animal when it was held vertically by the tip of its tail, the nose touching the ground. TAILLESS VARIETIES, “Conditions other than those of more breed- ing seem to have much influence on the de- velopment of physical character in cats. In one authenticated case a tabby which had lost her tail by having that appendage run over, gav. birth in her next litter to three stump-tailed kittens out of seven. The Manx cat is not the only tailless variety. In the Crimea is found another kind of cat which has no tail. The domesticated Malay cat has a tail that is only about one-half the usual length and very often it is tied by nature in a sort of knot which can- not bestraightened out. It issaid that in China there is a cat that has drooping ears, though I am notable to vouch for the truth as to that point. The Mombas cat of the west coast of Africa is covered with stiff, bristly hair. A Paraguay cat is only one-quarter as big ag the ordinary cat of this part of the world. It has a long body and short shiny hair. “In South America thero isa race of cats which do not know how to mianow. PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. “Cate are often accused of being cruel ani- mals, because of the habit thoy have of teasing and torturing the prey they catch before kill- ing it. ‘As a cat plays with a mouse’ is a phrase has passed into a proverb. St. George Mivart hay published his theory to this effect that, inasmuch as pussy always secures her game by pouncing, this playing with the vic- tim after she has caught it, lotting it go a little way and pouncing upon it again, is done for the sako of practice in what is necessarily a difficult exercise requiring much expertness. ‘The insfinetive fear which cats have of dogs is illustrated very amusingly by stroking a dog and thon caressing « blind and new-born kitten with the same band that has touched the dog. At once the kitten will spit and fluff itsolf up in the most absurd way, distinguishing the smell of the beast which experience for thousands of generations has taught it most to droad.”” art. From “‘Interludes," by Thowas Bailey Aldrich, in the Century. beret art be i im all one = salt AS way stirred the rcritic Taald not, “Let technique be sit In all,” But arte wider meaning. Worthless, dead— ie shell without its peari, the corpse of things— Mere words are, till the spirit lend them wings. ‘The poet who bresthes no soul into his lute Falls short of art: 't were better he were mute, ‘The workmanship wherewith the gold is wrought ‘Adds yet a richness to the riches, ‘gold: Who lacks the art to shape bis thought, I hold, Were little poorer if he lacked the thought ‘The statue’s slumber were unbroken Mithin the marbie, had the: hand ee Disparage not the magic touch that gives ‘The formless thought the grace whereby it livest HOW TO ESCAPE THE GRIP. See That All the Vital Organs Are in Good WALKING ADVISED AS A PREVENTIVE—BENEFI- CIAL EFFECTS OF EXERCISE AND PURE ain— CHILLING OF THE FEET DANGEROVS—THE TREATMENT OF THE EPIDEXIC. From the Philadelphia Press. r theory is that the grip is of bac- or, in other words, is caused by a micro-organism or germ. This is yet to be proved, for the special germ has not been definitely recognized and its identity estab- lished. The theory has much support, how- ever, and physicians generally have ac- cepted it. The fact that tho first real epidemic here came from St. Petersburg in about sit weeks would seem to indicate that the germs of the Giseaso float easily in tho aif, and that this is the usual medium of transmission. As the air Passages are very generally first affected it would seem, also, as though these gorms have an especial aftinity for their lining mombrane; which fact, moreover, supports the theory that they are sproad by the air. fj Assuming that the germs of the grip fly about like dust, it is easy to accept that it 1s in- fectious, and that all who breathe the tainted air aro in danger of falling victims to the dis- ease. Now comes the question, is it eommun- icable from one person to another? Investiga- tors differ upon this point, and the majority seem to believe that iF"contagious, it is only mildly 80, and persons suffering from it are no [ity Srewt menace to others in contact with om. Deaths from the grip are occasionally re- corded, and tho idea is quite prevalent that it often threatens life. Alone there is not much dangor from it except when the recuperative powers are low, as (a invalids prostrated by other diseatos, or in childhood and old age. Under bottor conditions when death results it can almost always bo attributed to other and Gravor discases that occur during its course. PNEUMONIA FOLLOWS IN THE WARE. Pneumonia is one of the most serious of theso complications, and it would seem as though the relationship between it and the grip was near one. Itis doubtful, however, if they are even distantly related. Why, then, are they so often associated’ This question has never been satisfactorily answered. Pre’ monis, like the grip, 1s probably a germ ease. Moreover, certain investigators have found that what ‘are accepted by many to bo the germs of pnoumonia abound in an atmos- phero with the germs that they have thought to be those of the grip. If this is so the fre- quency of the grave complication. is easily ac- counted for. ‘Tho latter put theair passages in & favorable condition, and tho former, nat- urally, take advantage of the invitation, as it were, to intrench themselves. So much for the nature of the grip, and now to the measures of prevention. Man's susce tibility to all infectious diseases varies greatly with hie general health. When disease germs find their way into his body they meet with re- sistance andastruggle takes place between them and the parts attacked. If the germs are Victorious they makefurther ingress, and their special disease is the consequence. But, fortu- nately. more often than otherwise they meet defent and are destroyed. Obviously the chances of the individual's es- caping depend not only upon the number of invading germs and their virulence, but upon his own strength, and if feeble and ailing he is likely to fall an easy victim. Hence, im the rosence of an epidemic like the grip, when [oats of powerful germs are floating about, it Decomes all persons to look well to their means of defense, and strengthen them in every pos- sible way. ‘The first important step is to see that all tho vital orgas are in condition to do their work casily and promptly. Commencing with the stomach, more than likely it wili be found that is organ has been somewhat overtaxed, and if so the most of the others will be more orless sluggish. The remedy ie easy; reduce the quantity of food and take only what is neces- sary to maintain health and strength. Restrict the diet also to substances that are nourishing and easily digestible. ‘Open also all the waste avenues, and in this way relieve the more or less congested organs and quicken their functional activity. If con- stipation exists a laxative—as Hunyadi water— should be taken every morning on rising in half a pintof hot water. EXERCISE AND PURE AIR. Nothing can favor and strengthen nature's means of defense against disease more than ex- ercise in pure air; therefore, a brisk walk of from two tofour miles should be taken each day, and, asa matte: of fact, so potent is this measure that when the disease is coming on canoften beaborted by a walk in heavy clothing, prolonged untila free perspiration bas been produced. The living, working and sleeping rooms should be kept well ventilated, for if the air breathed is impure the blood for the time be- ing must, inevitably, be more or less impure, and the tone and resistance of the body low- ered in consequence. It should be borne in mind that the skin is not merely s covering for the body, but is an organ of vital importance, and unless it kept in order good health is simply impossible. Froquent bathing and friction with a coarse towel or flannel should be the rule. Asa means of prevention tepid sponge baths are better than full baths, and they should be taken just before retiring. If the skin is chilled it is crippled fora time, hence, in order to prevent this accident, it should be covered with woolen undergar- ments. As to the outer clothing, that should Le the lightest possible consistent with comfort; then exercise will be encouraged, whereas a: excess of covering must interfere with it. ohilling of the feet is another danger which cannot be too strongly emphasized, for it is one of the influences that must frequently in- Vite the occurrence of the grip as well as ail other acute diseases of the air passages. Thick woolen stockings, thick boote, with thick soles, and walking exercise are the surest preventives against it, ‘A word as to alcoholic stimulants. They have been often prescribed in the grip, and, not unnaturally, the idea is quite general that they are efficient preventives. Far from such happy effect they render one much more liable to this disease. because of the depression which is inevitable after their use. Considering the fact that complications, in the form of grave diseases, are li to occur during the grip, also that even in mildattacks there is often Very much prostration and ner- vous shock, that leaves the victim greatly de- bilitated for » long time. it is obvious that the proper treatment should be applied early in every case. Also that such treatment should be intrusted toa physician, ‘This is the only wiso and safe course for the victims of the dis- ease to pursue. ‘HOW GRIP IS MANIFESTED. The urgent need of this is more apparent when the fact is understood that the grip mani- fests itself ina variety of ways, and that there is no one line of treatment applicable to all forms. The most pronounced varieties are three in number and are termed by physicians the neurotic, the catarrhal and the gastric. In the first the symptoms ore mainly ner- Yous, and include severe pains, neuralgic in character, in the head, chest, back and limbs, with extreme nervousness, often delirium, great prostration, &c. In the catarrhal form the air are most involved, with symptoms characteristic of inflarmation there, as sneezing, discha1 from the nose, sore throut, hoarseness, coug! tightness of the chest, &c. In fact this form rosembles closely a “hard cold.” And it is in this that liability to pneumonia is the greatest. In the gastric form of the grip, as the name implies, the, most prominent symptoms are referable to the atosach and aasocate organs There is nausea and usually vomiting, an other symptoms which are often conveniently termed “bilious.” The air also f n ‘These throe distinct f¢ may all be combined. Every case of one form only, however, may have marked ties. Moreover, the complications and the after dis- pelea y the grip must, unl vietim ‘8 time be in doubt as to the termina: E otis | such conditions, notwithstandin ally be ap; ite in mild cases, lest the vio- tims trifle with dangerous drags. As for se- Yere cases it would be almost suicidal for « Person who has not had the advantages of a professional education to undertake to treat them. If during this epidemic a person euffers from marked ciilly sensations or a distinct chill, followed by high fever and any of the other symptoms described as those of the grip—and he will not call in a physician—let him send to the nearest druggist, known to be trust- worthy, for two pills of quinine, each contain- ing five grains. Both of theso pills should be taken at once, | and for anadult they areasafe dose under the much | that bas been written about the injurious | effects of quinine. If ho ie well covered in | blankets and given hot water im copious | draughts frequently more than likely he will sweat freely in the course of three hours. If he does so his pain will have been measurably | relieved and munch been accomplished in the way of a cure. ‘The following morning, if he bas “‘stuffiness of the nose,” he will find that the following treatment will afford him much relief: Put one teaspoonfal of powdered camphor into ® pitcherful of boiling water. Over this place a | cone, made of thick paper or pasteboard, and | hold the nose or mouth to the small opening. | Breathe the vapor for five minutes, and repeat every three or four hours until relieved. If the deeper air passages are affected, and there is tightness of the chest and cough, the | patient should apply large and strong ‘mustard plasters to the front of his chest twice daily, morning and night, and after they have | “drawn” well substitute for them a towel wrang | out of hot water, which should be covered by a dry towel and this in turn by several fold# of flannel. ‘The mustard pastes and the wet pack should be persisted in until all the soreness has disappeared from the ches A cough medicine wili be needed, and the simpler the better. The syrup of wild cherry bark is an admirable remedy and it is perfectly safe and harmless, which is more than can be said of mest “cough medicines.” The dove is one teaspoonful every four or five hours. Be- tween doses it wili be well to drink freely and often of flaxseed tea. This is about all the dosing that the sufferer from the grip is justified in doing own responsibility. His strength should be kept up with milk, either alone or combined with Taw eggs, strong beef teas or other nourishing liquids. ‘If he is very weak he must call in & physician, who will prescribe stimulants and | tonics if they are needed. And unless they have professional indorsemont certainly these agents should not be resorted to. In mild and uncomplicated oases the treat- ment advised in the foregoing will very gen- erally suffice. But those who resort to itshould bear in mind the dangers pointed out, and on the first apprehensive sign send at once for their physicians; a course which, as said in the beginning, is the wisest in every case of tho erp. +02 - — THE LATEST TRICK. A Restaurant Neatly “Worked” for # Good Dinner and G1 Besides. From the Chicago Tribune. Two men went into a restaurant on Dearborn street inst Saturday evening. One was a tall, | pock-marked pilgrim, who wore a heavy ulster. | ‘The other was a short, heavy-set man with a Bold-headed cano and an eyeglass. They took | seats at different tables. The tall man called for a cup of coffee and a | doughnut He ate slowly and not at hungry person. The other man put his cane carefally down through the back of the chair behind bim, in- pected the bill of fare and ordered autelope | steak, frogs’ legs and champague. | Before he was half done the other man fin- | ished his doughnut and coffee. sawptered slowly past him, paid his bill at the cashier's desk and ali like a | little man ate his luxurious dinner as | if he enjoyed it, and lingered long and lovingly over his champagne. But at lust Le dizished, picked up his check, | gathered up his bat and overcoat and looked for his cane. It was gone. ‘Then he strode to the cashier's desk fall of wrath and asked for the proprietor. That functionary was summoned, and he | opened out on him “Do you protect yeur gueste, sir,'from spolia~ tion and robbers’ lust have you beon robbed off” inquired | the proprietor. “Of a gold-headed cane, sir—a fine gold- headed cane!” exclaimed the fat little mar. “Tam sorry such a thing hus happened in my esteblishment,” rejoined the proprietor, “but we are not responsible for the loss of anything | of that kind. You can see the notification to | thateffec: by looking at one of the framed | signs on the walls.” 8, sir, L vee them, and the notification i that you ‘are not responsible for hats, over- coats or umbrellas. sir! I didn’t lose any hat, overcoat or umbrella, sir’ [lost « gold-beaded cane that cost the friends who presented it to mea ten-doliar bill! I demand payment for that cane, sir! Your head waiter saw me come inwith it, sir! It's gone!” The raised voice and excited gestures of the indignant guest had begun to attract attention, aud the owner of the restaurant tried to quict him, but without effect. = "he shouted. “I don't go out of bere without redress, or I'll spend £1,000 in suing this establishment, and I'll carry the case to the highest cour: in the land!” “Don't make any further fuss, my friend,” said the proprietor, much worried. “What's the amount of your check?’ “It's a beggarly dollar.” “Then let's talk business. How will you compromise? I don't think we ought to suffer for your own negligence in losing that cane, but Tl meet you half way. Will you give me that check, take a dollar and call it square: “Siz, Iwill. It has cost me 5 to patronize your place, but you bave acted like gentle- man, all things considered. Good evening?” He surrendered his check, picked up the two halt dollars the cashier pushed toward hit and went out of the restaurant with the heavy dig- nity of the man who knew his rights, and, knowing, had dared to mamtain them. ‘As he passed a corner a biock and a half away he was joined by a tall, pock-marked pilgrim in along ulster, who handed him a long, slender thing that looked like a gold-headed cane, closed his hand over something in return that had a metallic clink, and the two went on down the street in solemn silence. Patent Now Year Resolves. From the Ladies’ Home Journal. I will get up and dress when the breakfast boll rings. I will not complain when everything goes to suit me. I will treat my wife as politely as though sbe was a perfect stranger. I will strive to be more thoughtful for my own comfort, that others, seeing me happy, may also endeavor to be contented. Twill not spend so much money this year on the useless frivolitics of life. I will remember the poor if I have to make a memorandum to that effect every morning. Iwill endeavor to impress upon my family the duty of greeting, with cheerful voices and laughing facee, the father of a family when he returns home, wearied with the depressing cares and labors of a long business day. I will go out by myself oftener, in order that ily may enjoy the tranquil and improv- uninterrupted ty of a happy home. I must bo more unselfish, and take better care of myself that I may long be spared to the joy and light of the home which it has pleased ‘an appreciative Providence to bestow upon me. Twill pay my pew rent this yeaz, if Ihave to deny myself new overcoat and my children have to go without shocs. I feel that we have not heretofore sufficiently denied ourselves in good will rear up a family that will love and respect e and render to me prompt and cheerful perfect deference to my wishes for my comfort, or I | th | burst of | soldiers « What the Most Brilliant of War Correspoud> ents Has to Say of It. Archibald Forbes in the New York Morning Journal. Asa skillful, untiring and far-secing organ- izer of the means w! jecess in war Moltke has nevor bad an equal and probably ean never have a superior. The unequaled suo- cess of the efforts on his part and that of | his coadjutor, Von Roon, to perfect the national Preparedness for war produced the result that While these two lasted Gormany would find im no European power an equal antagonist Still less did any power prodace @ strategist who gave proof of ranking as Moltke’s peer. Thus it is impossible to gauge the full measure of his potentialities. He may have had reserves of strategical genius which were never evoked. It ts impossible t etermine whether in the he put forth his full tionate known inferiority of the a. NE WAS HELPED BY FORTUNE. ‘One thing is cortain, that never was fortune kinder to any director of a great war than she was to Von Moltke in 1870. Spite of the sig- nificant warning of Sadowa it seemed almost as if in later 3 second empire, as re- garded its army, had been deliberately “riding # fall.” With the melancholy exposure of its decadence aii the world shal Niei enjoined the defensive as the comple- ment of the chasscpot, he throttied the tradi tional elan of the soldicrsof France, Her army, deficient in everything save innate courage, lacked most of all competent jeadership, and the assumption of the chict command by the emperor made the Germans @ present of the issue before a shot was hred. The campaign begun, fortane seemed to shower her favors on Molt the very stars in ieature of his plan was to nemy's capital. Baraine helped him in this imself up in Metz. MacMahon 0 fair way by moving Out of Lis path. Itina true saying that nothing succeeds like and tte uverse is not less true—that nothing fails like failure. But the eye-witness ar must be purblind oF warped, writes Archibald Forbes in the Nine- teenth Century for December, who dare aver that the old spirit had faded out of th on which had shone the san of Austerlitz, hich bad stormed the Malakoff with « rush. 4 ORAND PICTURE. No; the poor, miscommanded, bewildered, harasre, overmatched, outnumbered soldiers in the blue kepis and red breeches fought on yal valor that ever commanded respect tion. The sad, noble story of un- i devotion ix to be’ told of the French regular arty trom the first battle to the enaing at Sedan, aot th swelling heart and wot eyes T looked ow ual scene of the awful tragedy. Te Tikes now betove me of that ter- e afternoon, The stern ring of German fire ever encircling with stronger grip that plateau on which stood huddled the French- men in the shambles; the storm of shell fire that tore lanes through che dense masses, all the vebo- exposed there Ment yet impotent p evitable in the shape of fu headiong charge of Marg ndering in glittefing, sorties —now a itte's cuiransiers, teel-clad splendor wn the slope of Lily with an imp that seemed resistless, till the tire of the German trymen smo’ nquad face and strewed the sward with ing; now the frantic gallop to th regimeut of light horsemen on thoit gray Arab stallions, up to the very muzzios of the neodle guns which the German linestwen held with 0 unwavering eteadiness; 4 passionate out unered against a cha: ment, too our dauking tire 0 semblance to be crushed by the ruthless of order there, no token of leaderstip, eimply a heli, in the Leart of which writhed au indescribabic mass of brave mon, with no thought but tighung it out to the bitter Ishudder as I write at the recol- lection of that ghastly field's horrors on the day aiter the battic The shell fire huried on the exposed French masses Lad been eo close and so inesssant that numbers had Leen torn or blown into frag- meu ill slippery with blood, The ground was and in the hollows lay little puddles, to look at which made one faint. Yet this fell experience did not deaden in the the French army the passion to keep on fighting. leon # One wise act was his displaying the white flag on the afternoon of Sedan. But with what fury the soldiers ex- ecrated him und his conduct! — MINCE PIE AND PLUM PUDDING. Twe Wholesome Dishes That Can Be Di- gested If Made Properly. From the New York Sun. Mincemeat ought to be extremely wholesome for the same reasons that taake it good to eat— its flavors of swect and sour, of meat, apple and spice, which relieve each other, and ite finely divided particies, which allow the choicer blending of flavors and save the stom- ach. What gives mincepie its ill repute aa the very spawn of nightmere are its overdrese ing with suct and butter and its drogging with spices. Spice is the very food of the nerves, rightly used, growing more essential as circulatio: and sense dull with age. But i should be delicately, discorningly used not te lose its potency. Economical cooks make mincemeat of beefs heart, with the thick fat pared away before and the juicy flank strips cooked with 4 both boiled down an the peusive foundation which, tainc ks tongue or the high-priced prec tenderloin, fillet or round. ‘The fat is taken off, the rich liquor of the meat boiled down to gravy’ and added to the mince. One quart bowl of cho) ped meat to three of apple is the rule, and with tiis neither suet, butter, brandy nor wine is used. iwin apples are used, with one quince te the four bowls of mince, one lemon and peel, two ilavana oranges chopped, the peel boiled ten yory Gely cut, half a cup of cider jelly, two cups of raisins, one of currants, e tab! ful of cinnamon, two nut andes teaspvonful of cloves, one coffee cup of sugar. The juice of the meat gives richness instead of suet. In place of the wine and brandy, what? One-helf cup of the best Porto Rico molasses, not sirup; one large cup of strong tea and one- third teaspoonful of cayenne pepper. That gives a zest that isa fair imitation of brandy and aids digestion. When the pies are made one teaspoonful of butter, in small bite, is spread over tho mince before putting on the upper crast. This mince has not an indigesti- Ue ingredient in it, while the flavoring is very rich. Fine flour mingled with oil bas been a regale ever since patriarchal times, when Sarah set cakes before theangel at the door of Abraham's tent. Wewere meant to like it and to eat it. If, instead of the pale brown flour mingled with olive oil and baked on the hearth, which Sarah animal fat, which no juices of the stomach can dissolve any more than they could pieces of glue, itis ourown mistake. The family hasgone back to the primitive pastry of Mamre, not from any superstitions about the injuriousness of justry in iteelf, but because it likes pie and cae best kind’of it, eaten. ‘Try it, with brown four or white,using ‘one partcil to three of flour, with ice water, salt and a pinch of baking powder. Brash the top with milkon putting it in the dake 16 There a]