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WRITTEN EXCIUSIVELY FoR “THE EVENING STAR, ——_, EECHUR!" Mins Warren cast a xreat bulking youth ip the corner, then bent again © the slate upon which she wax demonstrating the work of a simple problem which the dull boy her side declared’‘wa'n't comin’ out like they anser in they ‘rithma- COA 47L tem The look st the offender seemed to suffice, for he subsided for the time and the “teechur” went on with her work, patiently explaining over and over aguin the simple theory till ight seomed to dawn on the bewildered boy. “There, I think you understand and can go sione, can you not) she asked, with an encour- aging smile. as she laid her bandon the um hempt head ae’m, Tit makes things “Oh, Wiley! how often must I tell you not to 4 i ‘git? Neither should you say J.” and it ‘alway ‘allers. teckon a= how we alls ain't made out’n the same kinder pears like we alle; but I tris the heavy Yer allers Li never Varn ter tall. Mise Sary. ‘deed I does, and looked wistfully up into the roubled face of the teac! With gesture of despair ehe balf tarned the pleading eyes restrained her and answered gently We were ali made in [is likeness, Wiley, but accident of birth has much to do with the ple, and education and culture rence wider, a il ms slow, hard work, but you are ged determ!- ho wus known the “poor white ot “Mizoory™ for short girl for the kind words Lio say. As she passed ok in for the bun- he incongruities of her e. perhaps, to her own lass, and what her fussy old pre- k of her opportunities for which ad been -d from its original uses. The stood clove under the brow ome twenty feet served as lecture room, church, ball art house, rt hail and school ion required It held the fort on what bad been the orig- fnal town site, but a more desirnble piece of ground was platted by a rival town company Just a the bend of the hill a qu: a inile distant, so the board shanties and tiny frame houses were one day moved over on the Rew town site. It was not a dificult thing to do, for the houses were could eatly haul them ab: In the relocation of the town and the subse~ quent movil shanties that bad kept the eld rocker and four horses ompany many unsightly holes Were left ancovered that had served as cellara. These holes soon became the homes of all man- ner of creeping things, which the school bove delighted to page into mad fury with long poles. It was no uncorimon occurrence for the lizards and snakes to forauke these haunts and glide inte the school rec causing = general stam- pede among the children, bat the rate and mice, something of « disturbing element at first, be- came quite tame and p samolested among fhe dinner pails and wraps deposited on the The great square room had but two windows, and on cack oue of them was painted, in glaring Fed and yellow letters: Some half dozen bright sf n colleges learned ther ents now in t letters from nd the first temperance lec- | im the great prohibition } mm the lips of that young ic for ber text that gaudy sign. © where the minister intoned each a shalt not kill” were the brown vod spilled by a murderer. 4 on Sundays, judge dispen« - and platform for the fiddlers and the teacher, was originally the bar of baman b jis queer school room were cc jowered paper, pleutifully twith ballet b d through the Fents im the canvas-covered ceiling the sun bone, rain dripped or wind whistied. just as he state of the weather happened te be fair or a. The pupils sat on rough boards laid over beer keg of the «mailer ones sat on big om the rock quarry near by fut legs were too short such high seats. The c ar was that rniture. Y hand spike bboards thned the teacher's 1 library there was 1 iead one to sy n ih of all would ¢ the slim young girl would "to teach there. Most juste small, but there who were at once the pride teacher « lif One of these years old and towering ove her, was in perpetual because be was always taking the 2 hands and oy who showed to the “little & seif-constituted er ber. much as a big Newfoundland emo a ald protect a little white kitten. be was doing penance for severely 44 dig boy whom he ‘oun’ ‘turing « t + Warren's svn. Sies were with him. but his exa% bad and the must be pun somehow. . aif from nobedy knew #here, but f-breed Indian. His earliest Indian life. He drifted at ‘aneas City from the “Nation,” ae In- dian territery was then called, and was picked Up by weattle outtit for general “chore” boy, & the droves of cattle were driven gradually wot xrase plains of Kansas He was then working for “buard and schooling” for the only storékeeper in Laredo. He wne Te- markabiv bright and intelligent, uncoath bat quick in bis ays, with @ singularly winning emile that lighted up his dark, handsome face and displayed even white teeth that a woman might beve 4 He suse ame “Modoc” to Miss Warren, end then she looked ber surprive said dog. It's all the name I've got.” “But what shall I call you? she asked in puczled amusement ne? Blazes, no ly. believing was making #po pod enuf handle. [ai to wear title tall I wins ‘em proper.” So Modoc he remained to the ead, the champion of the weak and the terror of evil doers. scarcely two minutes had elapsed since Miss Warren « withering glance at Modoc, when loud snapping of fingers from hi ber to turp with a severe reproof for his second fringement of rules, but # Iprit was be- while ber before she could give utterance to a woand. 1 Four the census, When! gits my sights on Babe be game kin perceed Modoc air a calls a bait right yere and insists on “ “Habe!” gasped Miss Warren, ax she caught bis arm, “why. wher be?” Weill. (certainly thinks females air queer,” be ssid. dingustedly. us be escaped from her inging bands. “Does it appear as if I know'd T'd be a askin’ you ail?” and be bounded out- doors with « ahrill whistle on bis ip® Before either teacher or pupils bad recovered from the shock of bus w: be ree>peared, Lis Yoo will learn it! »e patient and persevere. | | by her dress as he flew by tong black haf tossing in the wind and his big eyes full of concern. He reached inside and got his bridle, saddle, quirt and spurs, and as he strapped on the last asked | short | “Who seen Babe last?” | “Her was a makin’ mud pies by de well when | eat my dinner,” piped a small voice. “I guy ber an apple jist as school was tookin’ up,” said another. ‘She asked me to let ber go pick some ‘pitty fowers," and I thoughtshe meant the milk weed pods over there by the well, and told her to run along and not bother me." That was just as I j called school at 1 o'clock. Perhaps sho. is over among the tall weeds by the quarry’ “No, she ain't,” responded Modoc, as he slap- ped the saddle on his pony, which bad come at | his whistle; “she ain't round yere, an’ I stacks | it up she air strayed of som’era. Atthis the freightened children eet upa wail and began to huddie around him. “Now, cheese that chin music, 5 the howling cherubs caught hold of mooxe into that school house an’ No stampedin’ round yere now. critter at « time atranuff. Misa Sary, you ride herd on this yere bunch, and I pet ceeds to round up Babe all proper. He jumped into the saddle, pausing for an in- stant, standing bigh in the stirrups to take a look over the country. Just then Mizoory came tearing around the corner of the echool house on his mustang. r knows her all likes they water. like her mighta wentter they Kiote. I'll go this here-a-way by they new ford, an® you go down to they bri d laying the quirt about his zoory raced away, while Modoc, pting the advice, struck ont for the lower ford, leaving the teacher in white despair over the probable fate of her baby sister, vet exert- ing herself to calm the terrified children. is “Riots” san wear the school bouse aud emptied into the Arkansas river some 200 | or 300 yard» distant, to the south and west, od just there was’ crossed by the railroad bridge, while beyond the river was a long range of sand hills, over which the Indians still hunted baffalg. The proper name of the creek was the Corote, but, lke many other western names, {t had been peculiarly transformed into Modoc reached the brink of the stream and | glanced anxiously along its banks, but no child | was insight. The water was quite low and easily forded, but he knew that the little toddler could not have crossed there. Just then his eve caught the gleam of a bit of white flutter- ing from a bridge tie just across the creck. He dashed through the Water and ap the bank and swooped down on the bit of cambric, to find it to be the “handkshif” that Babe usually carried in her apron pocket. Raising it high above his head he waved it toward the anxions group about the school house door and pushed | on. “What Lasks myse'f is how that little trick navergates that bigh bridge all sufe, an’ ho: she effaces herse'f from this yere landacape so sudden,” he soliloquized half aloud as he seanned the wide expanse of hil] and valley. Just then he passed a point of high land that jatted down close to the creek, and a startled exclamation broke from his lips. Not a mile distant, to the north and bearing directly toward him'on the atrong north wind, was a big prairie fire. He could hear it crackle | and roarasitleaped and darted through the lowland blue stem. That was not the only danger that menaced, however. Just ahead of the fire and flying from it was 4 drove of Texas cattle, thousands in number. ‘Their mad bellowing and the rumbie of theit stampeding came like distant thunder above the roar of the oncoming flames. Modoc could see | the herders trying vainly to turn the fright- | ened cattle to the west. out of range of the fire, but just ag they seemed to have accom- plished thix the whoie drove swerved suddenly, and. like an avalanche, swept swiftly down on the bewiidered boy and’ directly in the track of | the dames. He hnd pansed but an instant, and | then it was to rise in his stirrups to scan the level space uear the railroad for the truant hild. His search was this time rewarded. Nearly half a away he saw a tiny figure clambering over the high embankment from the south, on which side of the railroad was com- parative safety, to the north, and directly in danger from both Hlecing cattle and flames Poor Modoc’s heart gave a mighty bound, then fell like a lump of clay ax he set spurs in | Pawnee's sides and headed him for the fated | child. He felt that his efforts were futile, for | the stampeding cattle were in direct line with sod much nearer the child than he, but he meant to rescue her or di Faster and faster sped the black pony, seem- | ing to know intuitively that something beyond the common run of racing was depending upon him. Lying low on his neck Modoc urged him with whip and spur till the mettlesome beast, unused to such rough treatment from his master, maddened with rage.fairly flew over | the rough prairie. Leap by leap they gained | on the bellowing herd. Modoc saw that be | could make it, and with a wild yell of exult.- | tion gave his faithful Pawnee a cut with the quirt that brought the blooi from the sweati: Jlauks. With a snort of terror the brate gav mighty spring, bringing him between the rail- | roa embankment and the child. — Modoc | swooped to the right and canght the little one jerking her from be- | neath the hoofs of the foremost catile. | His ery of exultation had hardly his lips as he held Babe an instant poised in air | above Pownees head when be felt a mighty sbock and was dimly conscious that the child had slipped from his grasp. Then came obliv- | ion. | . . - . . . ‘Pears “Tay, pard, ver circus summersets ain't up | in G yet. You doa't practice enough, mebby.”” Modoc heard the voice half in = dream with- out recognizing that he was the one addressed. but the next instant he felts little fat hand rub- bing his nose the wroug way and heard « coo- ing baby voice. } “Naughty Modot, to sleep in daytime. Wate up. Babe loves 00, ‘es her does, if 00 did fro | her in de mud.” | Modoc opened his eyes to see Babe, all drip- ping with slimy mad, kneeling beside him. | boy's hold she put both chubby arms around | kiskes. while her own ready tears began to flow. | tion with my legs, Jest give me a lift, won't | died upon | , thing on earth that loved me. There were tears in the boy's voice and Babe felt them. Serambling down from the cow- THE CHARMS OF STYLE Some Fashionable Arrangements for Thin Women, Modoc's neck and covered his face with soft “Babs ‘oves 00, Modot, “deed her do, an’ oo can frow her des where 00 peases, but I des does look dwedful,” she ad led ruefully. Just then Mizoory came burrying up. his mustang recking with sweat. Inan instant he was kneeling by Modoc’s side. “seed it all, an’ allows you was a goner. but couldn't hep ye none long of bein’ too furaway. Be you hurted much?” jot bad, I hopes: but I fails to get connec- ADVANTAGES OF PLUMPNESS. Stylish Palatines and Pelisses—For the Little Ones—A Drawing Rooni’s Chairs—Bric-a- Brac in Princess of Wales’ Drawing Koom—A Vromenade Costume, ou?” "Tt was no use, however. His lower limbs were like grent weights, and the two boys de- clared he couldn t sit « horse. “Got any wagon at the ranch?" asked the cowboy in misery, Babe's paw's got one. “Well, you cavort out an’ pillers an’ quilts ‘long, too. as Mizoory started, Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. New Youx, Ocr. 28, 1892. SEASON OF FANCI- fully fashiouable over- garments ia at hand and so thin women are at an advantage over thick ones, Many a stylish mantle or cloak won't do at all for broad figures. Typical garments in the new styles are herewith de- picted. Long on\ ‘opes are shown in the initial picture and the next on’, and I am bound to admit neither would look its very best ona lavishly rounded woman. However, gentle reader, don't mind if you are plump. Men always like plump women. Not fat, of course, but a woman can be very plump before she is fat. There is a charm’ about smooth he cailed, ‘corral this calf while you're about it," and be swung Bube up in front of Mizoory, who caught her under bis lett arm and, despite her indignant protesta, lore, he reached home. . . . . . ‘The old school house went with its mates to the new town site in time and.served many pur- poses in the twenty changing years that fol- lowed. A small lad who once wrote on ite weather-beaten boards with chalk, ‘Terry Hunkle, skolar,” finally became the proud owner of his cradie of learning and labeled the windows: held her till Tenny Hosxxy, Blacksmith. Very proud indeed tx he to advertise himself | as “biack«mith to the Warren horse ranch, the best-known blooded stock farm in the west,” and Mrs. Sara Warren Sutor’s big blooded bays always get an extra finish on their shoes from his own carefal hand. ‘And how is Modoc?” he asked Sara one day, as he tightened a shoe on Champion's foot. “I hear he may be helped by the new doctors from the east.’ “We have great hope that he will be restored to health,” she replied earnestly as she gath- ered the'lines closer. “Poor boy, he has suf- fered so long and so bravely. ‘Twenty years! It iw a life time,” and she drove aw “Its most worth it, though, to be loved as them Warren's love him,’ soliloquized Terry Hunkle, blacksmith, as he went about his work. . * . “Helpless and hopeless.” ‘The eminent and renowned specialists in spinal diseases brought atenormous expense to Laredo expressly to consult under the most favorable circumstances possible upon Modoc’s case had delivered their diagnosis and departed. ‘There never bad been any hope at any time of even temporary oure. ‘The case had been hopeless from the time the | big-bearted boy had ridden in front of the stampeding cattle to save a little curly headed | girl. The spinal cord or nerve had been par- tiaily paralyzed in the fall from Pawnee! “Helpless and hopeless,” murmured Modoe, | bitterly, as he sat in his big wheeled chair on | the vine-envelved veranda and saw in the dis- | tance the dust clond following the eminent and | renowned specialist's receding wheels, | “But not homeless nor loveless,” said a | gentle voice, as a young girl with siender, sup- lv form bent over him and laid in hix bands a auch of June's rarest roses, letting her fingers Test lightly on the wasted hands before she re- moved them, I thank God for that every hour,” and | he turned his grea: black eves up to hers, the adoration shiuing in their depths, irridating a | face whose dark handsome beauty framed in | masses of raven hatr had been refined and purified by twenty years of intolerable pain. “Do you suffer much this morning’ Your forehead is so hot,” said Babe, as she laid her | cool hand among the black locks straying over the broad white brow. “Ah, does it hurt so badly as that? Tam so sorr 5 felt him flinch under her light touch. haps the perfume of the roses will annoy you, and I thought their beanty would please you, Are they not lovely? Shall I take them away | | ! : 4 PELISSE, shoulders that makes uy for many things. The outlines may not be the most beautiful in the world, but smoothness goes a great way. Then the plump girl has dimples. She can't help it. r dear little arms have dimples in the elbows and her hands seem pretty, whether they are well shaped or not, if they are smooth and white and plump. Somehow plump hands Ways are emooth. Besides, they have dimples at the knuckles. Then, a plump little creature can do lots of pretty things that would seem horrid and awkward in a tail, lank thing. She can sit on tables and swing her little feet, she can—but what's the use of enumerating she can do most anything and the things she can’t do nobody wants her to do anyhow. The initial fashion plate shows @ dolman or now?" palatine made of chinchilla goods and orna- fo, | 1 like them—beeanse—you brought | mented with lace and ribbons. At the Joining them,” he said, alittle hurriedly. ‘They are| of the sleeves with the front breadths folds of ve them best beeause | they remind me of you. You-the doctors told you that [ need no longer hope for even par tial restoration to health; that my life may be a | Jong one, and [ am always to bea burden and care.” | “Dear heart, we knew long ago that our | noble sufferer must suffer to the end. Papa | wanted to have the best advice pomsible, how ever, and I tear ithas been a mistaken kind. ness, wince it has destroyed the little hope you ad. You know we don't think you are # bur- n or care, Modoc; we love you. Life would nk without you.” and kneeling by his chair Babe leaned her elbow on his knee, #0 that she could look up into the pale, sad face in the old childish way. “And Mizoory! What would poor, patient Mizoory do if you were taken out of his life? His hands would be empty then, and Um afraid he would die, too, Ob, we all need you too much to think of you as a burden, and —oh, Modoc. ‘t talk that way, it breaks my heart,” and ‘the golden-crowned head went down among the roses on Modoc’s lap. “Just think what a great, strong, hand- some man you would have been if it had not been for me. I should think you would wish had never been born. Don t you almost hate me sometimes?” she asked, gacing wistfully up at him again through ber tears. “Hate you, little one?” he repeated dreamily, as bis thin fingers pushed the curls back from her heated face. “Hate you? 1? Why the one gleam of sunshine throngh all these clouded years has been the thought that the suffering I have endured kept close to my side the little girl who crept into the heart of the rough, hard youth, who, until then, had never known the love of a human thing. ' There have been times when L have hugged my hurt to my heart, fearing that its healing might bring separation | most beantiful, but [1 gray silk ure placed. The lace, falling in the form of a collarette and forming o straight collar, is ornamented with bows of gray ribbon. The second garment, eketched full length, is a pelisse made of poplin or broad-ribbed bengaline and trimmed witn sable. The bias at the bottom, the cape and yoke are all made of maroon or brown velvet. Behind, both sides of the cape are hidden by the large double fold in | the midst of the back of the pelisse. The straight collar is trimmed with fur. The yoke | is adorned in front with ornaments of passementerie and at the back with a band of | fur, At the bottom the trimming is double, This pelisse can be made in cloth or any other | adaptable material. from —those I loved. he feeling of utter dependence is hard to bear, and sometimes the pam is bitterer than death, but I have now | What I might not have if 1 were strong and | well—the affection and esteem of those about me and—your love. No sister could ever be as kind as you I een to me, he added quickly, fearing he had said too much. “And is our love worth ail this suffering? Babe ten ¥ J ten times more.” Modoc caught the bands busy with the roses and beld them passive in his feeble grasp. “My heart wasn't Rare were my beck sas Babe, and it would have to be of tlin® if it did not'feel and recip- | Tocate all the love and tenderness that hax come | e ALIVE The little girls, bless their doll faces and co- | quette hearts, are delightfully picturesque in the new clouks. Look at the one in the pic- In the origmal it is made of cashmere. from yours to me, but-little girl—I—love you ded yoke is of the ordinkry shape and | as 1 do not love the others, I love you as a| the = ted folds are sewed on straight beneath | man loves the sweetest, dearest, tenderest | itall round. It is lined with surah. The coat is fastened in the front. It is trimmed with fur and ornamented by large rosettes of ribbon, the long ends of which fall down to the bottom of the cloak. The turned-down collar is trim- med either with feathers or fur. The sleeves are large and puffed, either wadded or lined, athered in at the Wrist and trimmed with fur. the rosettes and ribbons are not absolutely necessary and their omission does not injure thing that ever came into his life, a8 a man loves the woman be would make his wife. I/ have no busiuess to tell you thix in words, I, a poor, helpless cripple, but I know that it will not make dark one single hour for you, as you | must have suspected my love for’ years, and from your gentleness and gratitude you have tried to make me happy, and you have suc- | ceeded. I ask nothing more of you, sweet- | ) when L was in London. lin this herd up a whole lot till we gits | ler sunburned face was dirty and tear stained | heart. Just let me love you on to the end, and and her yellow curls damp and tangled, and |be to me what you have always been, the altogether she presented a woful appearance. | brightest thing in my whole perverted life. I Beside her stood one of the cow punchers.* | willl even try not to be jealous when ‘be’ comes, “Well, pard, it can’t be laid up agin you that | though God grant 1 may go before he puts in you didn’t go'to the slaughter pen this trip. & appearance. You—you will always love me | What in Gehenna was you an’ the kid doin’ out | @ little, Babe,” he pleaded, as he turned the | yere? You ain't no tenderfoot. What dad- blushing face up to meet his guze. as binged bull headedness made you ride intoa ““There is ‘he’ inthe case, Modoc, she | stampede that-a-way? You certainly mskes me | sid gravely, “‘there never will be now, though tired.” I never knew until today why my life has not | “Babe were lost an’ [ were a roundin’ of her | seemed to need what other girls so ardently replied Modoe faintly. | desire, a lover. Do you truly love me, just as | “Lost!” echoed the cowboy as he gazed at You did when I was a little troublesome child | the morsel of humanity. “Lost, did you say? | and sat on the arm of your chair and laid my | How in blazes did a veal calf like that git «0 far head on sour shoulder to be comforted for away from the corral. Say, kid, how did you | childish troubles and heart aches? git vere?” “Ten thousand times sironger than then, | “I wanned off.” replied Babe, tearfully. | little one,” replied Modoc faintly, wondering “Thara thed I wath a bover, an’ her bwaked my | Why she made him suffer so. heart, her did, and { wunned ever'n ever so far." | “And do you remember how I used to put up “Well, I'm akiote if you didn’t,” ejaculated | my lips to be kissed and say ‘I loves ‘oo, Mo- the cowboy, struck with the child's inde-| dot?” | pendence. “They'd better brand you an’ turn| “Yes,” he felt that he could not endure much | you loose, vou'll soon pick for yerse'f.”” more. ae, “How did you git away from me, Babe’ Babe stood an instant ‘beside bim, blushing questioned Modoc, as he began to regain his | and sweet as the half-blown roses in his lap. | senses. hen, leaning over a little, she said very ten- | “You frowed me, you did, Modot,” she sobbed | derly: “I'm too big to sit’ on the arm of your | | indignantly as his question brought back ber Chair now, but one never gets too big to kins | condition. “O's des picked me up off the | people who love them,” and as the sufferer ground an’ frowed me over Pawuee’s head wite arm — about her slim waist she pressed her |ina mud puddle under the wail woad, an’ I | soft, red lips on his forehead ang whispered finks vor des awful mean. I’se muddy, 60-0-0, shyly: ““I loves you, Modot, even as you would 1 wants my Thara,” and Babe wailed in be loved.” good earnest. ““Yere, quit that, bawlin’ kid," shouted the | cowboy as he picked the dirty little thing up gro, and clamuily attempted to sovthe ber. if he | 7 i hadn't alet you slide when the herd struck | | him you'd a been killed. It was the soft mud | in the culvert 't saved your pretty pink hide, | cause the whole herd would a fun straight over | | you. | “An’ the fire?” questioned Modoc. “Burned itse’f out ‘long the railroad fire guards.” | “But—the cattle an’—an’ what saved me? | Why kain’t I git up?” asked Modoc, as the first | dizziness ‘and he attempted to rise. | “Yer cayuse saved you. He’ right at | yer back, pard. A big steer horned ‘hint an’ he throwed you agin’ the railroad bank an’ fell most on top of you, an’ the critters shied around. He saved your lite.” “T'd rather a died myse'f than @ lost bim,” ——__ ee A Case of Sham P; } =— wy a | center. the general effect. CHAIRS IN THE DRAWING Room. Little Mrs. Clever tells me that she is never bored by people coming on her ‘day” and | staying and staying. Do you know what the | little woman does? She has the most uncom- fortable chairs that ever were made put in her rooms on her reception day. SHe declares nobody can sit in them more than five minutes. Of course the guesta do not realize why they cut their calls so short and Mrs. Clever does not mean them to, but all the same it's the chairs. The things look pretty, you know, but oh! to sit on them! Talking of chairs, what a blessing it is that tidies and scarfs and so on are being dispensed with. What more awkward than to gather up one’s own draperies and take along a chair scarf and very likely the chair, too. How de- lightful to emerge into the sunshine with a tidy sticking on the back of your sealskin cloak. How lovely to be ornamented with o fringed orange bow where you least want it, or to be decorated with a motto trimmed with bells and spangles. f A November caller is shown in the fourth sketch. Her frock is of pekin woolen material with jabot of Ince. The bodice only comes down as far as the waist and is fastened in the Tho back breadths have no seams, the middle thereof being indicated by a stripe, and care must be taken to make the stripes’ per- fectly correspond. The jabot ie made separ- ately in embroidered batiete silk muslin or China crape.2The bodice is ornamented by two ribbons that form a corslet, being taken at the seams under the arms. The balloon sleeves on tight fitting lining are trimmed with a fail of lace. The skirt is cut bias as usual and lined with satteen or silk. The bottom flounce is made of the same stuff asthe jabot and edged with small ruching of the same. ABOLISHING BRIO-A-BRAC. There is a movement of fashion to clear boudoirs, parlors and salons of the clutter of bric-a-brac thet for vo many years has crowded all space. Let us bope the movement will be successful. But do oe ey ee, the fad for crushing things our rooms ? From bi 9 — Fow - The drawing room tike » magnificent suction ne ‘The great rooms are separated by a curtained way. Thedrapery is dark and very E painted light A and mantel sur- ‘mirror is at the end of the ted b Lergacrores, be tuidice doce treat the beat are at the side and flanked by pier. Ab the mirrors are bracketed with There isa grand piano with a fringed cover. An enormous basket of growing palms is in the middie of the — room, in a corner feathery dried grase—like what we see here dyed pink and blne—are set up high. There are dozens of tables of all kings except solid Kinds. They are all Indep with bric-w-brac of ‘the most perishable sort. ‘There are quantities 4 CALLER. of chairs upholstered in all materials and all styles. There is a divan phenomenally broad, and even then jammed with pillows, which are magnificently covered, usually with’ velvet. on one side and damask or silk on the other. Vases crowded with flowers are everywhere. ‘The walls are all paneled and no pictures are hung. Several screens are spread, however, and “on the leaves pictures are’ mounted, which is rather a good idea. The ictures «re thus brought within easy Inspection range. An exquisite marble group is in the center of the «mailer room, reprosent- ing a young mother with a child climbing about her knee, ‘The pedestal is velvet covered and surrounded by blooming plants. Across a cor- ner of this room ina desk table. It is littered with dainty writing toolsand somewhat crowded with framed pictures and « three-leafed screen set with a lot of family cabinet photographs. ‘The table is lighted by four candles, each with @dainty shade, and placed here and there on the table. In the corner back of the table is an enormous palm. ‘The rooms are lighted by candies. The floors are inlaid wood and are strewn with rugs. Things are so arranged that Little pathways lead in and out about the fu: ture, but it would never do to get lost in the princess’ drawing rooms at night. Come to think of it, maybe the rooms are all different now. They’ were as I bave described a year ago Possibly their being cleared out i# what has started ihe movement | of our bric-a-brac in this country. Is THE PARK. The last picture gives a promenade costume. As drawn hereit is an armoured serge of a gray- ish green shade, trimmed with velvet of she same color, and with gray feathered trimming or fur, ‘The skirt is cut as usual on the bias, but is trimmed with a bias of velvet edged by « narrow band of feathered trimming. This bias is lined with muslin, hemstitehed onto the skirt and sewed on together with the feather trim- ming. The upper part of the skirt bas the darts necessary to make it set well on the hips. ‘These darts are very carefully sewed and pressed, in order to muke them invisible. At the back the dress falls in folds. The bodice, which is Joined to the cape, descends some inches below the waist, and the front breadths of it are lined. The yoke is of velvet edged with feather trimming, to which is adapted the fold that crosses the yoke. This fold can be made either in silk the «ame shade as the dress or ina dif- ferent shade, It gradually diminishes as far a the back, where it entirely disappears under- | neath the cape. The vest is perfectly straight, is fashioned on muslin lining withont darts and lined with silk. In cutting the cape, as it is | somewhat diicult, it would be better to try it in any worthless material first, so that there will be no danger of spoiling the good fabric. Itis cut out of a single piece. The pleated sleeves are sewed onto the armholes of the waist and trimmed with a band of velvet, The cape may be wadded and lined with silk. peiiten eer Koyal Favorites. From the London Graphic. ‘The King of Greece has just lost a little dog which he came by in rather a curious way. He was at some mancuvers a number of years ago, standing amid his staff, when it suddenly made its appearance, no one knew whence, and sta- tioned itself at the king's feet. Al! attempta to dislodge it were fruitlese,and it remained there until the end of the review. When the king went to his carriage the little dog walked in frout of him “tas proud as Punch.” with his tail erect, and scrambled first into the carriage be- fore any one could say him nay, Arrived at the palice le darted in first and insisted on re- maining with the king. His majesty, who is plightly superstitions, said the dog's persistency fras a good omen, that at any rtelie hed one faithful friend; and ftom that time forward, it slept in his bed room and scarcely ever left him. It was a most supercilious httle dog and would never take notice of any one except the king, whom it seemed to idolize. The dog died the other day, much to the sorrow of its ilies Ferdinand f Bulgaria also has a pet Prince Ferdinand of ria also has a dog, which is disliked and dreaded by his cour- tiers. It is a pug of very aristocratic lineage, given him by Queen Victoria, which he alwa: himself feeds at luncheon, after making it go through a variety of tricks. Ata signal from on its hind legs and prances across to the op Bite corner, keeping in time to the beat of the prince's finger. It “groans” for Russia and “cheers” for the Queen of England, and when told to “die for Bulgaria” it rolls dowa insen- sible in the drollest manner. The prince alway speaks to it in English, and it will not take slightest notice if addressed in any other lan- guage. | the prince it stands in the corner of the room | ‘ WOMEN AND POLITICS. | ‘They Are ik: Sinaia Clubs and Are Parading, A CONTRAST OF METHODS. = | How # Campaign of Education te Carried o1 in New York and How It Was Done tn a ‘Weetern Town, Where « Candidate's Daugh- ter Took s Hand. _—__ | | Correspondence of The Rventns Star | New Yong, October 28, 1892. . TM: GRACIOUS broke out an irate west | householder o: last week ‘m getting darned tired of this business.” “Yes,” returned the | man addressed, giving 8 decided “questic mark” infection to his *ympathetit monosyll bie. NI) fp : had to take cold scraps for dinner. Monday it was ‘tariff’ day at the ‘Woman's Reform Club,’ and my wife had to read u paper the discussion of which detained them until nearly To'clock, so I had pork and beans left over from Saturday and stale bread. Wednesday the class in political economy was in session and my daughter bad an essay on monetary standards orsome other fool subject, and I dined off of canned salmon and crackers. Here it ts Friday evening and both are out again ata meeting of women organized to form « company of young ladies for campaign pur- poses, and I bad cold hash and hominy. It} Masn’t ¥o bad until our cook left because her | club engagements conflicted with those of my wife and daughter, and they have been #0 busy | that they have had no time to get anothei Lord, but I will be glad when election is over. Tm as hungry as a Digger Indian. Let's go in and fill up, You've dined? Sorry. Good | evening.” And the hungry man parting from # friend entered a 14th street restaurant, whence your correspondent followed him and took a seat near. Just then two stylishly attired women came in and took the next table. The elder woman I recognized at once asa well-known member of Sorosis, while the other was her copy, only newer from nature's hand “Well, by Jove!” ejaculated the hungry man, | 4s the Sorosis woman said, with a jolly laugh “Well, my dear, were you starved out? Marie and I expected to be hoine early and get you a nice dinner—I have an excellent couk engaged for next week—but everybody was compliment- ing Marie on her paper of last We@nosday and | detained us sadly. Just order for un, dear. Something good and substantial, for we've been hard at work und are tired.” “Oh, papa,” gushed Miss Sorosis, “I do think the study of politics ix too lovely for anything. I didn’t get balf ws many compliments on my graduation essay as I did on my paper on “Monetary Standards. hat ‘is encouraging, surely, but I didn't know you bad studied very deeply on monetary subjects, at least no deeper than to invest gold eagies in fol-de-rols."” “Oh, I didn’t study much,” she returned vivaciously, “Senator Blank Wasup to call.and I got him to outline the paper. Then he sent me several congressional epeeches on the sub: ject and after that it was just as easy. 0 course I dou't quite understand it all, but it rends beautifully. Oh, papa, I shall want some money tomorrow. We are forming a club, you nother?” groaned Mr. Sorosis, as he poised his fork in air, yes, I sup it would be calleda though it will be just an offshoot of form Club. It will be awfully swell, won't it, mamma?” “Quite so," was the proud answer. “It will be one of the finest features of the campaign. in my opinion. The young Indiesare to be uni- formed and they will march in the processions and sing at the club rallies in our ward. I think it will go along way toward eliminating the objectionable features from political meet ings, because mer will be more careful what | Pay say wud do. ‘Chen i will be such an execl-| ple for the young voters, and will in- | duce to vote the ticket favored by the | women, “Whose illuminated brain evolved this bril- Viant idea?” asked Mr. Sorosis, in stony resigna- tion. “{ don't know exactly,” replied his wit it was a splendid iden, wasn’t it? “And how much will at tex my pocket book?” | “Oh, not a great deal. Probably $50 for the campaign. “We are to have such lovely suits,” an- | nounced Miss Sorosis. ‘Blue velvet dresses with white vests and facings, red hats with long white plumes,and white gauntlets. You see, papa, it is to bea campaign of education and we must make ourselves as attractive as possi- ble. AsI quoted in my paper the other da: ‘Education, in the long run, is the decisive tor in national elections and to prevent its mis- direction it must be guarded at its two greatest | sources, the home and in the educational insti- | tutions. The student body—the college boys— | in this great auniversary, Columbus year, comes tramping into politics with resounding tread. So, too, the women, the mothers and wives, sisters and daughters, who have sons and hus- bands, brothers and sweetbearts, who are voters or will be, are to have a bigger chance hence- forth to show their feclings and say their say in the matter whether constitutional principles shall be preserved or not. Education and en- thusiasm are the watchwords.’ ‘Miss Sorosis fairly paralyzed her father with the glibness with which she rattled off her little | piece, but he still had strength to say feebly: “Well, daughter, that all sounds philanthropic enough, but do you intend to trail ali the finery you have enumerated through the dust and debris of the Bowery or the Tenderioin district and shall you carry torches?” “Ob, papa, You are 80 obtuse, yon know we don’t belong in ‘de ate’ nor the Tenderioin precinct either. Ours isa ward club and we shall select nice clean streets; besides it is to be # mounted calvacade.” ‘e3," added Mrs. Sorosis, ‘we have ridden hobbies long enough, now we intend to ride horses. There will be a club of younger girls formed as soon a8 we can get to it. Their uni- form will be alittle on the zouave order, and they will wall. ‘But papa, the very cutest thing of all will be the ‘Woman's Bicycle Campaign Club.’ The is will wear red dresses, white slceveloss Eton jackets und blue caps, with a mpon. I wauited to join that, but Iwas ates wouldn't want to Pay $100 for a bicycle for me, and, be- sides, I have not got time to learn to ride, so concluded join the calvacade, because I knew you could hire a riding horse for me.” “Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure,” replied Mr. Sorosis, in what might have been called a “tone earcastic,” as the party having di of their dinner moved away from the tables. Thad Just settled myself to the consumption of the viandsI had ordered and neglected, when a male party, who sat opposite me, ob- served mildly: “Them females is some sperited, I takes it, clogn strain, dinaro plont “They are among New York's swellest, though not the richest,” I replied, noticing for the first time the heavy sombrero on the rack, the iong hair and red necktie of my neighbor. “T sabes that all safe en I knowed the dad when we was kids, but I allows that he don't know me none no more. Politics kinder ‘but Paintin’ up for war?” “Pretty lively,” I “Fi whoopin’ up lively?”* re bomen to, get interested in the in from impertinent, importation from the west. He was evidently honestly seeki information, co I told him that the club bust ness was comparatively new and the women like velty of it. incuri'as, “41 allows Ni ae os | Yotere is | Uquors up on sech occasions, | ehe fixes | you was off on a drunk—” | liftin’ my pocket book the day old Molly was ” Need as Rest Oe Oe ae ee a ie ts sat THE EVENING STAR: D. C. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1892—SIXTEEN PAGES. ° returned Modoc, eadly. “He wae the oaly | AM the wood work, walle, 2c, aro : “Vismnpistecs, Gas scentivw Raagrinegiad wo and kicks «ome vigorous Why ain't nobody doin’ tionary work ‘mong these yere sote’”” she asks some petalant one day. “Icoppers the Harrison an’ Morton deal an’ Tin : makin’ the attempt to con- Vert this vere town to my way of thinkin’, wich I believes to be mighty indifferent to there great issues. So this young female goer oe air Some te Se Teservation in a way which reminds mee i oddess, an’ her mission comes | e goes mo: “along of havin’ to county e roundin ‘em female explains, | over this blamed | the mavericks an’ brandin’ | HM! ail proper. “They calls them sev >, which air short Har Jooks | mighty personable m blue togs with ‘red trim- mine an’ dead white sombreros with red,white | an blue streamers, all mounted on Diack’ mne- tangs, same as millionairesses, An’ they bolds their heads bigh an’ very haughty as they rides at the head of the young bucks in the parades ‘The way these yere young femules ropes in the me scand ious considerin® it aire democratic county But the man as had the temerity to advance idees apecial opposed to them was jest pawin’ round for trouble an’ liable to get shot up a whole lot long of the sote ne banked on the females. “"Lection @ay most of these females gete leery an’ declines to take a hand accordi: to Togramimy ‘drive ‘round in the carriages rought to Laredo express for carryin’ voters, long of bein’ afraid of the objectionable fre: quency with which Laredo's male population “I don't aim to shirk no duty mayor's daughter, “but-I air s mingle with these yere note today, They ain't meanin’ no harm to nobody, of course, but they gets to makin’ mighty awkward gun plays sbout fourth drink time, when they air ex- cited.” T'm proper ashamed of you, Mary Jones,” | eaid the sheriff's daughter, « e scornful, but Teabes there air females as air weak an‘ can't he'p it nohow. You line out for your own wickiup an'Irans this game by mye" ? the shore does. She takes the swell bayrouch, with throe weats an’ side lamps. sent over from ‘Tucson an’ drives the big boys herse'f. No- body don't challenge the men ehe brings in an’ the ballots au’ sees ‘em voted, “Idon't give you boys no chance to stack no cards on me,” she announces some determined, an’ nobody don’t try it. * "Long ‘bout 4 o'clock #he comes dashin’ up, the bays some lathered, an’ suyeas the throws the lines to Big Bender an’ Jumps out, ‘I'm dead tired,” and draws out of the game at this p'int an’ site right vere by these judges to see honest play an’ a fair coi Laredo bas a rep- pertation to sustain an’ I he'ps her to doit Anybody know of sot who fails to assert his manhood an’ vote today? I takes it dad needs a few more. There's Cooper,” suggests one of the loafers, timid. Ain't that ungrateful wretch of « African ed yet?” she aks, fretful, asxhe pulls on her a'gin. “What have you sots been « do: Ileaves orders special ‘bout him | sald the afraid to * ordere we executes ‘em prompt. We goes to his wickiup about second drink time | and bauls him yere all safe, but be rcfases to | vote, We turns him loose’ to reflect an’ the | dimmycrats seizes him. He refuses to take their word. About third drink time we rounds him up ag'in, but he remains obdoorate, The law bein’ somewhat opposed to our stuffin’ bis Vote in ourse'vs we gets some mixed on what air exact an’ proper. so we waits fur orders, i vote him,” says the sheriff's d: hter, some vicious, an’ orders me to get in the car” riage with her. She drives like mad to Cooper's reserve an fin’s him readin his Bible, a pre- rin’ of his sermon fur Sunday along of bis Pein a preacher. “Abednego Cooper climb, in this carriage #n’ canter ovt to do your duty,” shouts the sheriff's daughter. ~I declines to vote dis yere trip, Miss Lou- isey. I hain’t no pusnal ‘quaintance wif de caudderdates fur president an’ I believes a ignerent vote air a crime.” The sheriff's daughter argues till she air | plum’ wore out. An’ then ehe tries another play. Pw ibednego Cooper, you all ain't fargothow I took vare of your little baby when it goes over the divide with measles?” “You shore remembers how dad nurses you when you got shot up through toolin’ round the senator's hen roost—" Yes, bat— “Nor how mother took her wedding night dress to make your poor old wife a shroud when “But Miss Lo “Well, we ain't never asked no favors of you before, but L asks you now to come an’ vote | wy ticket. Dad air an’ honest man and things isclose. I want him elected sheriff ¥o I kin go to school another year. “Like to obleege ye, Miss Louisey,but I ain't vote agin my principles.” “Well, I shore abomimates sech ungrateful lots as you an’ hates to dirty my han's, but I don't let nary man renig in my game. With that she jumps out an’ orders me to hold the strings. Then ebe yauks the whip from the socket. “Now, Abednego Cooper, I ain't aimin’ to coerce you in no way, but you'll be a heap more shore of goin’ to bed ‘tonight with « whole hide | if you remembers what you owes to us an’ God | an’ git in that carriage. You can have four minutes to decide an’ if you ain't come to my way of thinkin’ in that time you'll get the soundest thrashin’ you ever got in your life, an’ Jim here will help me. Tbe thrashin’ ain't to make you vote, but to pay you for stealin’ cbickens from dad, an’ takin’ my Bible, an’ planted, and borrowin’ Kid Jin’s chain an’ fog- gettin’ to return it, an’-— “But, Miss Louisey——" “I don't want no chin music. Fither you obeys my orders or you don't. One minute left,” au’ shoot me for a cussed cowardly coyote it Cooper don’t sneak into the carriage an’ go vote the ticket she gives an’ never winks red, When the ballots air counted that night, Miss Lou sees it done, and her father comes out jest one vote ahead, an’ nobody raises no howl of ballot box stuftin’, neither. “I banks on the females winnin’ every deal.” ————_ Written for The Evening Star. Columbus, the Prince of Explorers. Air lumbia, thg Gemof the Occan.” Columbus, the prince of explorers, ‘The finder of homes for the free, All nations become thy adorers— ‘The world turns in homage to thee: ‘The country to which genius bore us ‘Sings anthems of pralses with glee, And millions ate swelling the chorus All over the earth and the sea. All men are rehearsing the story ‘Which daring and courage unfurled, And fame has embiazoned ta glory ‘The man who discovered a world: Four hundred of years passed before as In stlence of houor to thee, But nations now praise thee in chorus All over the earth and the sea. ‘The people of Burope and Asta Now come to American shores And meet those from distant Australia, ‘Where nations pay homage in scores; ‘Where gentus and mind lay before us ‘Their tokens of honor to thee, And choirs of all nations tn chorus Are singing a grand jubilee. Where wealth and endeavor and learning Join hands with both genius and art, And justice, at last, is discerning A world in the hope of thy heart— ‘That worid of America before us, Unknown to mankind but for thee, ‘Which heralds thy praises tn chorus All over the earth and the sea. Oct. 21, 1892. —BunrowT. Dorie WSs OF JAPAN, From the New York Uribone. The Optimiatie. We following Lines were written with the tight shining fall upon the Bay of Tokta, er a good dinner at tim Grand Hetel The Dr. Will h of this ofty, retu frome dehghtfal excursion 1a beautiful dey in Julye bad Js to Kamakura. The Pessimistic These verses were composed by Dr. Helmut, while | bed at Miyanoshita, during the drying of bis the latehe hours’ expe roane of rain and wind (a portion yphoon of July 22) over one of the highest pases in J shrive ame to the Hotel at Miyanoshita, and thought im bie misery: he Use of thew bea, Ladd poor «knives and forks, - sae 21m fa, Fed lacguer wane Nis First Appearance. Pree Press try fellow from away up the Lavisit tothe county town ac by his wife. He drove up to the side tel, left his mule and rocks= r, took the lady in and followed ® hal! along until he came to the office. From the Ds He w “Anybo: a tavern?” be inguired, sticking his i in the door “Yes, Ido,” responded the landlord, coming forward. “Can I get stoppin’ here over night fer me an’ the 4 informed him that he could. e and a rockaway outside,” keep them, tor mice livery stable ate in vo to the hor ood enough; Ill stop with you.” ‘Well, step thix way, please, and register,” and the landlord got benind the counter en@ ved it cautiously. writin?” be inquired mere shoved the ok « The guest aj “Got to do any ously. “Not much, only your name and whoever te with you.” “It's safe enough to do it, I reckon?” be hall inquired, taking up the pen awkwardly. .' seid the landiord, ssuringiy. ‘All the guests do it.” “What have I got to write “The name, where from and #0 forth “The guest wrestled with the pen for « mim © two, is tongue out about w inches in his efforts to ‘get it straight, aut the book back again, “Thar, that's what you want, I reckon?” ‘The landlord looked at it and with « soften® sunny smile said it would do, The guest had written “Jolin Ligley, mule aud rockaway end Bigieyville, Perry county, Ky., and +o forth.” Faxcusable Intoxication. From the London Trleeraph Persons who have the misfortune to become intoxicated in a casual way, instead of in the orthodox fashion, sometimes put themselves te much trouble to discover reasons for their ills nese. Sometimes it is indigestion, sometimes smoke, sometimes excitement that is adjudged responsible, but Ellen Baker, who was in o docket at Thames police court on @ ¢h inebriety, has to 4 Daleersa: quite unexpecte: returned. ping” in Ki \ Pn made her drunk ny human being, particu larly a woman, deserved commiseration in suck circumstances, and it is not surprising, there= fore, that Mr. Tose, the magistrate, allowed the defendant to be discharged. i Johnson (who has apeut the greater ard the summer in the country, bids farewell to hig landlord as the train starts)—“"Well, gooddyq, old man—— i & “Possibly I'll be around but just puta few more wisps of ax | bed, will you, please? And you may es put only fresh water tn the milk, and—