Evening Star Newspaper, January 6, 1894, Page 13

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 6, 1894-TWENTY PAGES. THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. She Deserves More Consideration Than She Receives, >—_—_ A PROTEST FROM A FAMOUS NOVELIST. | Arraigning Young Married Men for | Their Neglect. DEMAND FOR FAIR PLAY. Written for The Evening Star. OTHERS -IN- LAW are the mothers for whom there is no law, no justice, no sym- pathy, nor yet that} share of fair play) which an average! American fs willing to/ grant, even to an open adversary. Every petty punster, every silly witling, considers them as a ready-made joke; and the wonder and the) pity of it is that abuse so unmerited, and so long continued, has called forth no cham- pions from that sex which owes so much to woman, in every relation of life. The condition of mother-in-law Is one full of pathos and self abnegation, and all the reproach attached to it comes from those whose selfishness and egotism ought to ren- @er their testimony of small value. A young man, for instance, falls in love with a girl who appears to him the sum of all perfec- tlons—perfections partly inherited from, and partly cultivated by, the mother at whose side she has lived for twenty years. She fs the delight of her mother’s heart, she fills all her hopes and dreams for the future; and the girl herself believes that nothing; can separate her from a mother so dear and s0 devoted. While the man {s wooing the daughter, this wondrous capability for an absorbing affection strikes him as a very pretty thing. In the first place, it keeps the mother on his side; in the second, he looks forward to supplying this capability with a strictly per- sonal object. At this stage his future mother-in-law is a very pleasant person, for he is uncomfortably conscious of the beloved one’s father and brothers. He is then thank- ful for any encouragement she may give him. He gladly takes counsel with her; flatters her opinions, makes her presents, and so works upon her womanly instincts concerning love affairs that she stands by his side when he has to “speak to papa,” nd through her favor and tact the rough places are made smooth; and the crooked places, plain. Until the -narriage is over, and the longed-for girl his wife, there is no one so important in the lover's eyes as the girl's mother. A Different Atmosphere. Suddenly all is changed. When the young people return from the bridal trip there is a different tone and a different atmosphere. ‘The young husband is now in his own house, and spreading himself like a peacock in full feather. He thinks “mamma” too interfer- ipg. He resents the familiarity with which she speaks to his wife. He feels as if her speculation about their future movements was an impertinence. He says without @ blush that her visit was “a bore.” And the bride being flattered by his desire for no company but her own, admits that “dear mamma, is fussy and effusive.” Both have forgotten the days in which the young hus- band was a great deal of a bore to his} mother-in-law; when indeed it was very} hard for her to tolerate his presence; and both have forgotten how she, to secure their happiness, sacrificed her own wishes and wee “often does this poor méther go to see her child before she realizes she is a bore? How many snubs and heartaches does she bear ere she comprehends the position? She hopes against despair. She weeps, and wipes hes tears away; she tries again, only to be again wounded. Her own husband frets a little with her, and then with a touch of arger at his ungrateful child, advises the mcther “to let her alon But by and by ther= is a baby, and she can po longer keep away. She has a world of loving cares about the child and its mother. She is sure no one can take her place now. She is very much mistaken. The baby is a new kind of baby; there has never been one quite such a perfect pattern before, and the parents—exalted above measure at the perfection they alone are responsible for—regard her prid: and delight as some infringement of their new honors and re- sponsibilities. Happit ess has only harden- ed them, and after a little the mother and the mcther-in-law urderstand her loss and humbiy refrains from interfering. Or, if she has an imprudent tongue, she spegks | unadvisedly with it and her words bite home, and the “mother” is forgotten and the “in-law” remains, to barb every ill- natured word and account fer every selfish unkindness. Where the Trouble Lies. Of ccurse in a relationship which admits of endless varieties this description fits only a certain number. But it is a very large number, for there are few families who will not be ible to recall some such case among their members or their ac- quaintances. Still many daughters do more virtuovely and cherish a loyal affection for their old home. If they are wise and lov- ing, and specially ungelfish, they will likely their matrimonia! berk safely through 2 narrow shallows which rate the | two households. bi the trouble is, that newly married people are both selfish and foolish. They feei themselves to be the only persons of consequence and think that all things ought to be arranged for their pleasire. The solemn majesty of the young | wife's housekeeping is not to bé criticised, Qualified or ins; ; the new made house- holder does pot believe that the “earth is the Lord's,” or even the children of men’s; it is all nis own. And their friends tacitly agree to smile at tuis ezotism awhile, be- cause all the world rezlly does love a lover, and every one is ing to grant the bride and bridegr: © shert respite from the dreary care: jay business of life. Two points are able in this persist- ent antazonism to the mother-in-law. The first is that the hvsband who is often | specially vindictive azainst his wife's motuer has very little to say against her male relatives. If the girl he marries is rless, he does not quarrel with bis law, though he may be quite as g as any mother-ir-law could be. | Yet if the giz! instead of being motherless, ig fatherless, the husband at once begins to show bis love for his wife by a syaiematic disrespect toward her mother. Yet per-| haps a month previovsly he had considered her a very amiable ledy, he had shown her ¢ had asked her advice | about all the duvails of his marriage. What | makes him a little later accuse her of every domestic fault? How is it that she has suddenly become “so self-opinionated?” Never before had he discovered that she treats his wife like a child and himself as} an appendage. And hew docs he manage to make his bride aiso feel that “dear mamma | is unable to understand | thins & mystery that ends, how- | ever. in the mother-in-law being made to feel that her new relative totally disap- Proves of her. The truth is, the lover was afraid of the men of his wife's family be- fore marriace. hey might seriously have interfered with his intentions. After mar- Fiage he knows they will be civil to him for the sake of his wife. Then the women of the family were useful to him before Marriage. after it, he can do without them. Tle has the woman he was so eager to get by any m *, and he wishes to have her entirely. 4 smile, or a word, or an act of kind: any one else is so much taken from his rights. He desires not only to usurp her present and her future, but also her past An Unjust Discrimination. The other remarkable point is the unjust shifting of all the mother-in-law’s short- comings to the shoulders of the wife's Mother; this is especially unjust, because not only the newspapers of the day, but also the private knowledge of every indi- vidual, furnishes abundant testimony that ic is not the wife's mother, but the hus- band’s mother, who is at the bottom of nine-tenths of the domestic misery arising from this source. The wife’s mother with emall encouragement will like, even love, | fort in his disappointment. | Jealous mother the man who has chosen her daughter above all other women. The husband's mother never realiy likes her son's wife. And young wives are apt to forget how bitterly hard it is for a mother to give her son up at once, and forever, to a-girl whom she does not like, in any way. Perhaps hitherto the son and mother have been everyone, and everything, to each other, and it is only human that the latter should have to battle fiercely and constantly with an involuntary jealousy, and a cruel quick- sightedness for small faults in his wife. It is oniy human that she should try to make trouble, and enjoy the fact that her son ts less happy with his wife than he was | with her, and that he comes to her for com- The love of a mother is often a very jealous love; and a is just as unreasonable as a jealous wife; she can make hfe bitterly hard for her son’s wife, and to do her justice, she very often does so. Then if the wife—wounded and imprudent—goes to her own mother with her sorrows and wrongs, it is the natural attitude of the husband to shift the blame from his own mother to his wife’s mother. There are indeed so many ways by which this misery can enter a Sepeeheta that it is impossible to define them for there is just variety enough in every case to give an individu- ality of suffering to each. What then ts to be done? Let us admit at orce that our relations do give us half the pain and sorrow we suffer in life; but each may do something to reduce the lia- bility. We may remember that all such quarrels come from excess of love, and that a quarrel springing from love is more hopeful thi one springing from hate. As so etn Ww, we may tell ourselves that en our children are married we no longer have the first right in them. The young people must be left to make the best of their life, and we must never inter- fere, nor ever give advice, until it is asked for. Another irritation, little suspected, is *he palpable forcing forward of the new re- lationship. On both sides it is well to be in no hurry to claim it. A girl takes a man for better or for worse, but does not there- fore take all his relations. Love for her husband does not inciude admiration for all within his kindred; nor will it, until the millennium makes all tempers perfect. And, again, 2 man does not like to be dragooned into a filial feelin; for his Z family. Many a man would Hae bis nee relatives better if they left him with » sense of perfect freedom in the matter. The Duty of the Men. The main point is that men should pu it a stop to a traditional abuse that pow every woman in every household. They can do it! Many an honest, manly fellow would burn with shame, if he would only consider how often he has not only per- mitted, but also joined in the silly, unjast laughter which’ miserable bunsters and negro minstrels and disappointed lovers and other incapables fling at the women of his own household. For if a man is married or ever hopes to be married his own mother is or must be a mother-in-law. If he aes sisters their destiny will likely put them in the same position. The fairest young bride has the prospect before her; the haby daughter in the cradle may live to think her own mother a bore, or to think some other mother one, if there is not a better understanding about a relationship which is far indeed from being a laughable one. On the contrary, the initiation to it is ¢2 erally a sacrifice, made with infinite hear: ache and anxiety and with many sorrowful tears. In the theaters, in the little circles of which every man’s home is the center, in all Places where thoughtless fools turn women and motherhood into ridicule, it is in t] Power of two or three good men to make the habit derogatory and unfashionable. They can cease to laugh at the wretched little jokes, and treat with contempt the vulgar spirit that repeats them. For the men who say bitter things about mothers- in-law are either selfish egotists, who have called trouble to themselves from this source, or they are moral imbeciles, repeat ing like parrots fatuous jests, whose men ing and wickedness thev do not even un- derstand. AMELIA EF. BARR. soe Physical Cultare ta Schools, From the New York Times. b Boston has proved to her satisfaction that physical culture is a success in her schools. A Swedish teacher who has made herself acquainted with the matter says there is no question that the general health of the boys and girls was markedly better at the end of the school year of 183 than 1890 or 1891. She believes that the fifteen- minute daily exercise has caused this im- provement, and predicts that time will show more perfect physique, graceful bearing nd healthy carriage. There is no doubt in the minds of stu- dents of health upon this point. The blood grows sluggish with sedentary habits, and the brain does poorer work for it. Start the circulation by active respiration and muscular action, and give the correct pose to the body. whether walking or sitting, and the child is sure to prove more robust and more intelligent. Brooklyn has her director of physical culture of the public schools, following Boston's system closety, and it is hoped success will attend the new regime. e, ——-- cee Great om Wings. Fron Life. Critic—“I tell you what it is, Mr. McDaub, those ostriches are simply superb. You shouldn't paint anything but birds. Artist (disgusted)—“Those are not os- triches. They are angels!” ———__ -+e- ‘Why the Sale Was Not From Puelt. Co Intending Purchaser.—‘‘Now, just one more stroke of your brush, and I'll take the picture at your own price. Artist (turning around in delight).—“On, thank you, sir!—" THE CARE OF CLOTHING. Prevent Wear and Tear by Br Carefully and Folding. From Harper's Bazar. Much of the wear and tear which uses up good clothing may be averted by constant care. Gowns should be brushed before hanging up in closets. It is best to have this done as soon as possible after taking them off, thoroughly removing the traces of street dust and mud from facings, seams and gathers. The neat woman does not brush her gown in her own chamber, but takes it into the bath room and brushes it beside an open window, or, better still, has it carried out of doors for the operation, Disease germs may be carried home in clothing, and, were this not the case, it is @ very untidy proceeding to put into one’s wardrobe an article of dress which has not been thoroughly cleansed. When the French woman takes off her bonnet she does not bundle it at once into @ bandbox, or throw it hastily on a shelf, or hung it up on a peg. Not she. Every Uttle loop and bow is pulled out and put into shape, strings are gently caressed into smoothness, jets and aigrettes are straight- ened and fastened in position, and the bon- net receives the touch of the brush to re- move dust, and then it is laid between folds of tissue paper, and is ready for its next appearance, as fresh and new, to all intent, as when it left the milliner’s hand. Gloves are expensive ariicles, no matter how sedulous the care bestowed upon them. But gloves will last a third longer than they usually do if pulled off the hand from the wrist down, and turned inside out, as is done when they are tried on in the shops; if laid by themselves, properly straightened, and not crumpled into a tight ball, and if mended at the instant a rip shows itself a pair of gloves will re- tain their pristine freshness. It is good Policy to have best and second-best gloves, and gloves for shopping and running about. In our chilly winters the last mentioned should be of dogskin, and sufficiently loose not to cramp the hand. Light gloves may be cleaned more than once to advantage. Shoes with yawning gaps where buttons should be at once convict the wearer of heedlessness. A gentlewoman may wear course shoes or patched shoes, her boots may be clumsy or ill-fitting if the state of her purse forgids her having elegance, but she will not be seen in boots from which the buttons have become loosened or lost. A large needle and stout thread will re- place a button, and it requires only a moment's work, and the wearer will part with no portion of her self-respect if she does this as a matter of habit. Neckties, ribbons, belts and the several little fanciful adjuncts which add a touch of distinction to a woman’s costume should be kept in dainty boxes of their own. coe These’ Women Were Friend: From London Black and White. In a room, half study, half bed room, two women were talking. They were both young, both moderately good looking and both, in a different way, had intelligent bright eyes that observed much and be- trayed little One woman was a small pas- sionate little person with a delicate mouth and she was called Isabel. The other woman was a small passionate person with full pale ips and an aggres- sive chin. She was called Lilian. It was a cool summer evening, after din- ner, but the room seemed hot to both of them, owing to the point in discussion. Isabel spoke. “Yes, I have done with him altogether. Are you really surprised?” “No, nut in the least. I was surprised at the beginning of your friendship, but I was quite prepared for the end. You never un- derstood each other.” “That's just it, and in consequence con- tinually quarreled. And continual argu- ment is so tiresome. I assure you for months I have felt quite worn out.” “And he—” “Oh, he.” The woman's face softened. “I am very sorry, but I fear I must have been a trial Lilian. I alternated between trying to act up to his idea of me and ruthlessly tearing it down. The curious fact is that he never had any instinctive recognition of my real self.” “Were you"—Lillan straightened her small person and arched the pretty pert chin—‘were you ever really engaged, Isa- bel?" The other answered rapidly: “Oh, no! How could we be? I am so poor, and he earns very little. Now, if it had been you, with all your money, it might have been different. Still, I did look for- ward to marriage, when he would be jeal- ous no longer and I should be all his. And then I was jealous, too.” ‘ou! Who were you jealous of, dear?” “Wasn't it absurd, Lillan?—of you—and— of others.” “Weil, yes, about you—sometimes.” “How horrid of him.” There was a pause. Isabel paced the room, and large tears appeared in her gray eyes, which she did not allow to fall. Lilian had two malicious dimples at the corners of her mouth, and in distinct contradiction to their presence she sighed. “You see, Isabel dear, you were not suited.” “How could we be?” broke out the other passionately. ‘In all his love for me he had no trust; in all my love for him there was a certain amount of fear. I am morbidly sensitive, and he wounded me day by day. Be is sensitive, too, in a different way; and my wish to have him all to myself, to rob him from his too numerous lady friends, seemed absurd in his thinking. He refused to believe in the depths of my feel- ings, because I was timid of expressing them. I wanted him to understand me by instinct, and a man so often lacks that.” oon is very clever and has plenty of tact.” Isabel stopped short and faced her com- panion. “Tact is an elastic thing. In his case it was onesided, and only applied to his dealings with certain natures. As I said, he made a mistake about mine.” “Well.” Lilian smiled and then sighed in. “It’s all over now.” “And I remember,” continued the other, as if she had not heard. “The first time I saw him, I remember the curious thrill, the curious certainty that came over me, that he would play some large part in my life. I wonder if he remembers too. I wonder if he remembers his first impression of me. I was horribly shy—and I know he thought me pretty.” “He is a great admirer of female beauty, certainly,” admitted Lilian, dryly. “Will _you—shall you see him much now?” “Surely, my dear Isabel, you can’t expect me to give up an old friend just because you have quarreled with him.” “But still he might talk of me.” “TI don’t think so. And if he did I can de- cline to discuss the subject.” The other suddenly knelt down beside her friond. In her small face, in her gray eyes there was a hungry, wistful expression that Lilian could not be blind to and it gave her an uneasy pang. “Lil, dear. Tell me. Do you think I have been very unwise?” “No, Why?" “Because my heart is aching till IT can scarcely breathe. Because I am longing just to know what he is doing, not to be wholly shut out of his life. Because I—I miserable.” ‘Oh! This is only for tonight. You will soon get over it.” With child-like submission the other ask- ed simply, “Shall 1?” “Of course you will.” “Lil, do you think I should be very stupid if I tried to make it up?” Her friend laughed harshly and a little nervously. “Quite mad,” she said. “Do you? IT am not sure. I am so terrt- bly lonely. He seemed my destiny. I miss him every hour of the day, and his letters by every post.” “You are quite maudlin, Isabel.” ‘What!’ The woman sprang to her feet. “What did you say?” “T meant that you are too ridiculous over this man. who didn’t love you, and who never will; who never understood you and who was never appreciated by you in re- turn. The sooner you forget him the bet- ter.”” “T can’t forget him.” “You must.” There was another pause. Isabel walked to the window, drew back the curtain and threw it open. “T am suffocating.” she cried. ‘The other arose and stealthily seized her cloak from the bed. “T can't forget him,” Isabel repeated. “T love him. I want him now—always. I must write to him at once. I must— Lilian, what is the matter?” “You are a little fool. The man ts sick of you. You can’t have him back.” “Why, how do you know? What do you mean? How dare you—' “T mean that he proposed to me today and I accepted him.” She slipped on her cloak and tripped down stairs, and the other woman, who had been her friend, knelt silently by the open window with a face that seemed to be slowly growing old. TOMKYNS GOES TO A PARTY. He Meets His Butler There, Somewhat to His Sarprise. “My butler is no end of a clever fellow,” said Snoozleby Tomkyns last night at the Platypus Club. “Jim, eh?” responded little Biggs, light- ing a cigar “Yes, that's his name. What are you fellows going to have to drink? Whisky for me, John. Well, as I was saying, my butler is a remarkably ingenious person. Possi- bly his imagination is even too highly de- veloped. At all events, he hates the prose of facts. Whenever he tells me anything I wonder what fraction of it may per- chance be true.” “In other words, he is a liar,” suggested Noodles. “That is rather a bald way to put it,” id Tomkyns. ‘In fact, it scarcely does the fellow justice. 1 should rather say that he has a genius for romance. For in- stance, when he asked for an evening out one day last weck I knew that his excuse for the demand would certainly be a plaus- ible one. I was not mistaken. He told me, with a slight choke in his voice, that his grandmother was dying, and that his pres- ence was required at her bedside.” “Nothing particularly original about that,” remarked young Snigglesby, sucking the head of his cane. “Ah, but it was the way in which he did it, my dear boy. You might have known that the fellow never had a grandmother, and yet you could not have helped admir- ing the art with which the lle was told. He had put a little vaseline in each eye, 1 think, to make them glisten as if with tears. Anyhow, he got the leave of ab- sence he wanted, though it was decidedly inconvenient for Mrs. Tomkyns, who was going to have a few friends of hers in to tea that evening. I myself was going out. “Poker?” said Noodles. “No—just a_Ittle stag dinner party at Bill Jones’. You fellows know what that means. Bill is kept pretty straight by his wife. Wien she goes away there is a re- action, as it were. Bill starts in by giving a dinner party, the concluding features of which are always rather wild as well as mixed. In fact, the entertainment par- takes somewhat of the nature of an orgy.” “Bill calls that sort of thing a ‘Bezam, put in little Biggs. “Yes, that’s it,” replied Tomkyns. “On this occasion Bill's wife hadn’t been away for a long time, and the celebration was un- usually earnest. I went with the firm in- tention of keeping sober, as becomes a fam- fly man. You may imagine my surprise when champagne was offered to me by my butler, Jim. He was employed for the even- ing as a waiter. You might suppose that he would have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t so a bit, and only grinned from ear to ear. I asked him how his grandmother was, and he informed me that her illness had suddenly taken a turn for the better.” aeteee nerve!” observed young Sniggles- vy: ‘Not remarkable for Jim, I assure you. Perhaps, as the sequel proved, the deception he had practiced was advantageous to all concerned. Notwithstanding my good res- clution, I partook not wisely but too well of Bill's Veuve Cliquot. At the close of the festivities, Jim helped me on with my overcoat and whispered in my ear: “Don’t you think you had better let me see you home, sir?” “I was glad to accept the offer, no cab being available. What followed I do not very distinctly recollect. At all events we got home at last, and, as Jim unlocked my house dcor with my own latch. key, he said to me deferentially: “I hope you will not say anything to mkyns, 2 word,’ I replied. ‘Here's $2 for you, Jim; and don’t you say anything to her either.’ “Up to date neither of us has said a word. A deuced clever fellow is my butler, Jim. wee you fellows going to have to Mrs. ———__- ++ —____ Modern Chess Players Compared. From the St. James’ Gazette. The American, J. Showalter, is an excep- tion among the strong players of the day. He has preserved and cultivated some of the best features of the imaginative and attacking style of the past generation of chess experts, while he at the same time endeavors to move on the safe lines which modern analysis of the openings shows to be free from reproach and danger. In this he follows in the footsteps of the late Capt. Mackenzie, Both the latter and Showalter almost exclusively confined themselves to the trusty Ruy Lopez debut, but once through the opening they both parted com- pany with the tactics of the modern school. In the games of Dr. Tarrasch, for in- stance, a struggle for position will succeed the introductory play, where: in the games of the two players named prepara- tions and a struggle for attack—if posel- ble on the king’s side—will be the leading feature of the play in the middle game. In elegance and boldness of attack Showalter's play will be found second to none. Lasker but the latter will than the former and will, generally speaking, keep his game well in hand, basing his movements on a very sound and intuitively reliable judg- ment of position. Tschigorin has greater powers than Showalter, but he is handicap- ped by acting in exact opposition to the strategy pursued by the American player in the openings. The Russian plays every- thing, and makes a point of not implicitly following authorities. Needless to say, such tactics enormously increase *:e work to be done, and the difficult task results in a cor- responding percentage of failures. At times, also, the movements of the Russian player seem labored and his mind clouded (per- haps by the exuberance of his own imagina- tion), detracting a great deal from the effec- tiveness of his play. Lasker does combine the best features of both styles of play, whereas Tarrasch only partly succeeds in doing so. He will, of course, occasionally get up fine attacks, but only if the positions will readily admit of that being done. He will not go much out of his way to invent attack or to conjure it out of the “blue,” like an electric storm, as may be seen in many of Mac- kenzie’s best games. There is also a ten- dency in his play to place too much reli- ance on the theoretical view of the posi- tion, and therefore to underrate attack. The interesting question therefore presents it- self: Supposing Tarrasch were opposed to so keen a player as Lasker, who, while be- ing as keen in attack as Tschigorin, at the same time knows all about the openings and the modern school theory of position, what then would the result be? Perhaps one of these days chess players will have the pleasure and gratification of receiving an answer to this question by means of a real match. ISIDOR GUNSBERG. From the Albany Argus. He had strayed into one of the public buildings and was looking wistfully at a rack on which there were a number of hand-grenade fire extinguishers. He was a very mild-looking little man, and he called out “Say!’’ to several people before he could get attention. At last a watchman saw him and said: “What are you doing here?” “Nothin’ in particular. But now that 1’m here I've got an idea. 1 want to borry one of those fire extinguishers.” “What for?” ‘Cos I'm cold and hungry, an’ the only place I can be anywise comfortable in is jail. But I don’t want to do anything that'll hurt my conscience to get in.”” “But how will the fire extinguisher help you “Why, I'll Jest grab it and muss my hair up, and run through the street, ‘Then I'll git arrested for being a crank an’ git more square meals than I've had before in months.” ———-+ee. Looking Ahea: From Puck. Robert of pie? Mama—“Why do you ask, when you have not eaten all that you have on your plate?” Robert—“‘Well, if I could have another piece I wouldn't eat the crust of this.” eae A Sure Sign. ‘Mama, can I have another piece From Trath. Mr. Murray Hill—“Hurry up; that train is going in a isl Mr. Fulton—“How do you know Mr. Murray Hill—“Because they've stop- ped yelling ‘All aboard! Step lively now!’ 18 THE BRISTOL BOWL B. Nesbit in Black and White. My cousin Sarah and me had only one aunt between us, and that was my Aunt Maria, who lived in the little cottage up by the church. Now my aunt had a tidy little bit of money laid by, which she couldn't in reason expect to carry with ner when her time came to go, wherever it was she might go to, and a houseful of furniture, old-fash- jored, but strong and good still. So of course Sarah and I were not behindhand in going up to see the old lady, and taking her a pot or so of jam in fruiting season, or a turnover, maybe, on a baking day, if the oven had been steady and the baking turned out well. And you couldn’t have told from aunt’s manner which of us she liked best; and there were some folks who thought she might leave half to me and half to Sarah, for she hadn’t chick nor child of her own. But aunt was of a having nature, and what she had once got together she couldn’t bear to see scattered. Even if it was only what she had got in her rag-bag, she would give it to one person to make a big quilt of, rather than give it to two persons to make two little ones. So Sarah and me, we knew that the money might come to either or neither of us, but go to both it wouldn't. Now some people don't believe in special mercies, but I have always found there must have been something out of the com- mon way for things to happen as they did the day Aunt Maria sprained her ankle. She went over to the farm where we were living with my mother (who was a sensible woman, and carried on the farm much bet- ter than most men would have done, though that’s neither here nor there) to ask if Sarah or me could be spared to go and look after her a bit, for the doctor said she couldn't put her foot to the ground for a week or more. Now, the minister I sit under always warns us against superstition, which, 1 take it, means believing more than you have any occasion to. And I'm not more given to it than most folks, but still I al- ways have said, and I always shall say, that there’s a special Providence above us, and it wasn’t for nothing that Sarah ag | laid up with a quinsy that morning. So put a few things together—in Sarah’s hat tin, I remember, which was handier to carry than my own—and I went up to the packeoe was in bed, and whether it was the sprained ankle or the hot weather I don’t know, but the old lady was cantan- kerous past * believin; “Good morning, aun! went in, “and however did this happen’ “Oh! you've come, have you?” she said, without answering my question, “and brought enough luggage to last you a year, T'll_be bound. When BR goons oes ld go to spend a wi withor of boxes or the like. A clean shift and a change of stockings done up in a cotton handkerchief, that was good enough for us. But now you girls — all be young ladies. I’ve no patience with you. Taidn't answer back, for answering back is a poor sort of business when the other person is able to make you pay for every idle word. Of course, it’s different !f you haven't anythig to lose by it. So I just sald: = “Never mind, dear aunt. I really havn't brought much; and what would you like me to do first?” 4 “[ should think you'd see for Langa says she, thumping her pillows, oun there’s not a stick 2 — been dust- —no, nor a stair sw aT sea to clean the house, which was cleaner than most people's already, and I got a nice bit of dinner and took it up 4 tray. But no, that wasn’t right, for I’ put the best instead of the second best loth on the tray. + aj ooThe workhouse is where you'll end,’ says aunt. ut she ate up all the dinner, and after that she seemed to get a little easier in her temper, and by and by fell off to sleep. I finished the stairs and ti up the kitchen, and then I went to dust the parlor. Now my aunt's parlor was a perfect marvel. I have never seen its like before or since. The mantelpiece and the corner cupboard, and the shelves behind the door, and the top of the chest of drawers, and the bureau, were all covered up with a per- “fect Utter and lurry of old china. Not sets of anything, but different basins and jugs and cups and plates and china spoons, and the bust of John Wesley, and Elijah feed- ing the ravens in a red gown and standing on_a green crockery grass plot. There was every kind of china useless- ness that you could think of; and Sarah and I used to think it hard that a girl had no chance of getting on in life without she dusted all this rubbish once a week at the it. ‘Well, the sooner begun the sooner end- ed,” says I to myself. So I took the silk handkerchief that aunt kep’ a purpose—an old one it was thi belonged to uncle, and hemmed with aunt's own hair and marked with his name in the corner. (Folks must have had a deal of time in those days, I often think.) And I began to dust the things, Inning with the big bowl on the chest of drawers, for aunt al- vi Would have everything done just one way and no other. You think, perhaps, that I might as well have sat down in the arm chair and had a quiet nap and told aunt afterwards that I had dusted everything; but you must know she was quite equivalent to asking any of the neighbors who might drop in whether that dratted china of hers was dusted properly. tw: a hot afternoon and I was tired ‘Aunts ands a id dmoth: “Aunts and uncles and grandmothers,” thinks I to myself. “Oh! what tupid old lot they must have been to have set such store by all this gimcrackery. Oh! if only a bull or something could get in here for five minutes smash every precious--Oh! =f cal live don’t know how I did it, but just as I Was saying that about the bull, the big bowl slipped from my hands and broke in three pieces on the floor at my feet, and at the same time I heard aunt thump, thump, thumping with the heel of her it on the floor for me to go up and tell Ber I tell you I wished what I had broke: from my heart at that moment that it was the quiney instead of me that had had veins was so knocked all of a hea} couldn't move,and the boot went r4 Hecutd thump, thumping overhead. I had to go, but I was flustered to that degree that ‘as I went up the stairs I couldn’t for the life bop oedema bas I should say. unt was sitting up in bed an her fist at me asi went in, 7 She Shook “Out with it!” she said. “gs; truth. Which of them is it? The china aia or the big tea pot, or the w tobacco jar that bel — : es then all in a minute I knew what to say. The words seemed to be put in my mouth, like they were into those of the bie ee of old. 2. aunt!” I said, “you give me a turn battering on ‘the foe that peed poe ey — want? What is it?” “Wha ‘ave you broken, you heartless girl? Out with it, avtel ee “Broken?” I says. “Weil, pe you won't mind much, aunt, but I have had a misfortune with the little cracked pie dish that the potato pie was baked in, but I can easy get you another down at Wilkins’.” Aunt fell back on her pillows with a sort of groan. “Thank them as be!" she said, and then med sat up again, bolt upright all in a min- ute. “You fetch me the pieces,” she says, short and sharp. I hope‘it isn’t boastful to say that I don’t think many girls would have had the sense to bring up that dish in their apron and to break it on their knee as they came up the stairs, and take it in ard show it to her. “Don’t say another word about it,” says my aunt, as kind and hearty as you please. Things not being as bad as she expected, it made her quite willing to put up with things being a bit worse than they had been five minutes before. I’ve often noticed it is this way with people. “You're a good girl, Jane,” she says, “a very good girl, and I shan’t forget it, my dear. Go on down, now, and make haste with your washing up, and get to work dust- ing the china. And it was such a weight off my mind to feel that she didn’t know, that I felt as if everything was all right until I got down- stairs, and see those three pieces of that red, and yellow, and green, and blue basin lying on the carpet as I had left them. My heart beat fit to knock me down, but I kept my wits about me, and I stuck it to- gether with white of egg, and put it back in its place on the wool mat with the little teapot on top of it so that no one could have noticed, unless they took the thing up in their hands, that there was anything wrong with it. The next three days I waited on sunt hand and foot, and did everything she asked, and she was as pleased, till I felt that Sarah hadn't a chance. On the third day I told aunt that mother would want me, it being Saturday, and she was quite willing for the Widow Glad- ish to come in and do for her while I was way. I chose a Saturday because that and the yaller wedg- your Sunday were the only days the china wasn't dusted. I_ went home as quick as I could, and I told mother all about it. “And don’t you, for any sake, tell Sarah a word about it, or quinsy or no quinsy she'll be up at aunt's before we know where we are, to let the cat out of the bag. I took all the money out of my money box that I had saved up for starting house- keeping with, in case aunt should leave her money to Sarah, and I put it in my pocket, and I took the first train to London. I asked the porter at the station to tell me the way to the best china shop in Lon- don; and he told me there was one in Queen Victoria street. So I went there. It was a beautiful place with velvet sofas for —¥ to sit down on, while they look- ed at the china and glass and chose which pattern they would and there were thousands basins far more beautiful than aunt's, but not one Ike hers, and when I had looked over some fifty of them, the gentleman who was them to me, said: “Perhaps you could give me some idea of what it is you do want?” Now I had brought one of the pieces of the bow! up with me, the of the back where it didn’t show, I pulled it out and showed It to him. “I want one like this,” I satd. “Oh!” said he, “why didn’t you say so at first? We don’t keep that sort of thing here, and it’s a chance if you get it at all. You might in Wardour street, or at Mr. Aked’s in Green street, Leicester square.” Well, time was getting on and I did a thing I had never done before, though I had often read of it in the novelettes. I waved my umbrella end I got into a hansom cab. “Yeung man,” I said, “will you, drive to Mr. Aked’s in Green street, ter square, and drive carefuily, young man, for I have a piece of china in my hands that’s worth a fortune to me.” So he grinned and I got in and the cab started. A hansom cab is better than any carriage you ever rode in, with soft cush- ions to lean against and little looking glass- es to look at yourself in, somehow, you don’t hear the wheels. I leaned back and looked at myself and felt like a duch- he gave it back to me very carefully. « s not a piece of this ware in the market. The extant are in private ve collections. “Oh, dear,” I said; “and can’t I get an- other like it?” “Not if you were to offer me a hundred down, 5 away like the “roseate early dawn” in the hymn. come,” said he, “‘what’s the mat- ter? Cheer up. I suppose you're in service and you've broken this bowl. Isn't that it? But never mind—your mistress can't do anything with you. Servants can’ made to replace valuable bowls like this.” ‘That dried my eyes pretty quick, I can tell you. “Me in service!” I said. “And my grand- father farming his own land before you were picked out of the gutter, I'll be bound”—God forgive me that I should say such a thing to an old my own aunt with a better lot of fal-lals and trump- ery in her parlor you've got in all your shop.” With that he laughed and I flounced out of the shop, my cheeks flaming and my heart going like an eight-day clock. I was 80 fluttered I didn’t notice that someone one ah Km Eh I had walked a dozen down the street be- fore I saw that someone was of me and saying something to me. It was another old gentleman—at least not so old as Mr. Aked—and I remembe-ed now having seen him at the back of the shop. He was taking off his hat, as polite as you “You're quite overcome,” he said, “and no wonder. Come and have a little dinner with = oa somewhere, and tell me all about it” hues of myself, for it's all over and I've nothing more to look for. My brother Harry will have the farm, and I shan’t get a penny of aunt's money. Why couldn’t they have made plenty of the basins while they were about it?” “Come and have some dinner,” the old gentleman again said, “and perhaps I can help you. I have a basin just like that.” So I did. We went to some place where there were a lot of little tables and waiters in black clothes; and we had a nice dinner, and I did feel better for it, and when we had come to the cheese I told him exactly what had happened; and he leaned his head on his hands, and he thought, and thought, and presently he said:— “Do you think your aunt would sell any of her china?” “That I’m downright sure she wouldn't,” I said, “so it’s no good your asking.” “Well, you see, your aunt won't be down for three or four days yet. You give me your add: id I'll write and tell you if with that he I think of any: 4 And paid the bill and had a cab called, and put me in it and paid the driver, and I went along home. I "t sleep much that night, and next day I was thinking ever I could do, for it wasn’t in nature that my aunt would not find me out before another two days was over my head; and she had never been so nice and kind, and had even gone so far as to say:— “Whoever my money's left to, Jane, will be bound not to with my china, nor my old chairs and presses. Don't you for- get, my child. It's all written in black white, and if the person my money's to sells these old things, my money goes along, too.” ‘There was no letter on Monday morning, and I was up to my elbows in the suds, do- ing aunt's bit of washing for her, when I on the brick path, and there old gentleman coming round by the water-butt to the back door. i says he. “Anything fresh hap- “For any sake,” says I ina whisper, “get out of this. She'll hear if I say more tan two words to you. If you've thought of any- thing that’s to be of any use, get along to the church porch, and I'll be with you as gin, I have so many things to say. I want to see your aunt and usk her to let me buy her china.” “You may save your trouble,” I said, “for she'll never do it. She's left her china to me in her will,” I said. Not that I was quite sure of it, but still I was sure enough to say so, The old gen- tleman put down his brown paper parcel on the porch seat as careful as if it had been a sick child, and said: “Kut your aunt won't leave you an: — knows you have broken the bowl, she No,” I said, “she won't, that’s true, and you can tell her if you like.” For I knew very well he wouldn't. “Well,” says he, speaking very slowly, “if I lent you my bowl, you could pretend it's hers and she'll never know the difference, for they are as like as two peas. I can tell the difference, of course, but .ren I'm a col- lector. If I lend you the »owl, will you Promise and vow in writing, and sign it with your name, to sell all that china to me directly it comes into your possession? gracious, girl, it will be hundreds of Pounds in your pocket.” That was a sad moment for me. I might have taken the bowl and promised and vowed, and then when the china came to me I might have told him I hadn't the wer to sell it; but that wouldn't have looked well if anyone had come to know of it, and on that account I couldn't do it. So I just said straight out: “The only condition of my having my aunt's money is that I never part with the silent a minute, looking out of the the green trees waving about in the sunshine over the gravestones, and then he says :— ‘Look here, you seem an honorable girl. I am a collector. I buy china and Keep it in cases and look at it, and it’s more to me than meat, or drink, or wife, or child, or fire —do you understand? And I can no more bear to think of that china being lost to the world in a cottage instead of being in my collection than you can bear to think of your aunt's finding out about the bowl, and leaving the money to your cousin Of course I knew by that that he had been gossiping in the village. “Well?” I said, for I saw that he had ething more on his mind. “I'm an old man,” he went on, “but that need not stand in the way. Rather the contrary, for I shall be less trouble to you than a young husband. Will you marry me out of hand? And then when your aunt dies the china will be mine and you will be well provided for.” No one but @ madman would have madc such an offer, but that wasn't a reason for me to refuse it. I pretended to think @ bit, but my mind was made up. “And the bowl?” I said. you oid Soe, has twenty-five “Of course, I'll lend you the bowl, shall give me the pieces of the Lord Worsley’s specimen rivets in it. “Weil, sir,” I said, “it seems to be a way out of it that might suit both of us. So, if you'll speak to mother, and if your circum- Stances is as you represent, I’ offer and I'll be your good lady.” And then I went back to aunt and told her Wilkinses was out of sago, but they would have some in on Wedn 3 ee ese eee 8 8 It was all right about the bowl. She never Noticed the difference. 1 was married to the old genticman, whose name was Fytche, the next week by special license at St. Nicholas Cole Abbey, Queen Victoria street, which is very near that beautiful glass and china shop where I tried to match the bowl, and my aunt died three months later and left me everything. Sarah married in quite a poor way. quinsy of hers cost her dear. Mr. Fytche was very well off, and I should i was crammed full of it, and of nothing else. No, more ner; no amusements; noth! me had a right to look for. told him straight out, I thought better give up collecting and sell 5 FF 8 ~ Hy “But, my dear,” he said, “you your aunt's china, She pressly in her will.” And he rubbed his for he thought he had “No, but you can,” yours no’ 1 kn know that; and you shail.” And so he did, whether it for you can make a man you only give your mind your time and keep all the great Fytche sale, and I the money he got for it when he died I bought with it and married a a § E acgke af a bit of china in the house that's than twenty years old, so that whatever's broke can be easily 5 As for his collection, which would ha’ brought thousands of pounds, they say, I have to own he had the better of me there, for he left it by will to the South Kensing- all sermon-time of what-! and) left. ton Museum. ——_--0-- MACHINES FOR BUSINESS. An Office Containing AN the Appli- neces for Quick Communication. “The desk of a business man nowadays is quite a mass of machinery,” said the manager for a commercial firm to a Star writer. “Observe this one of mine, for ex- ample. “To begin with, here is a phonograph, in- to which I dictate all my letters. After- ward a young woman, who acts as my amanuensis, takes the cylinders and copies |them off. For communication otherwise than by stand which supports a ornamental and movable. telephone. I put it out of | the way or set it in front of me, accord- | ing to my convenience. | “with this little instrument T can talk from my desk with all the world. It is a long distance telephone, and with it I can call up Boston as easily as Baltimore. RBe- jeldes, I have at my other elbow a similar contrivance for communicating with the various rooms under my superintendence in this building. At a moment's notice I can make connection with any one of them by sticking the plug into the proper place in this circuit board. “My desk is a center to which ever #0 many wires run for a score of different pur- poses. Some of them furnish me w |tric lights. Others give power to m | tric fan. Overhead you will notice a clock, which at noon every day is corrected by | elect ty from the naval observator; My office is a nest of machines and wires, the soon as I can get these things through the) latter reaching out to the uttermost ends ringe water, and out on the line.” “But,” he says in a whisper, look round and see what the rest of the bowl is like.” ‘Then I thought of all the stories I had heard of peddlers’ packs, and a married lady taken unexpectedly ill, and tricks like that, to get into the house when no one was about. So I thought:— “Well, if you are to go in, I must go in with you,” and I squeezed my hands out of the suds, and rolled them into my apron and went in and him after me. You never see @ man go on as he did. It's my belief he was hours in that room, going round and round like a squirrel in a cage, pieking up first one and then another bit of trumpery with two fingers and a thumb, as carefully as if it had been a tulle bonnet just home from the draper’s, and setting everything down on the very exact spot he took them up from. More than once I thought that I had entertained a loony unawares, when I saw him turn up the cups and plates and look twice as long at the bottoms of! them as he had at that were meant to time he kept perfectly unique!” or “Bristol, as I'm a sinner,” large blue that stands at the back of the bureau, I thought he would have gone down on his knees to it and wor- shiped it. “Square-marked Worcester!” he said to himself in a whisper, speaking very slowly, as if the words were pleasant in his mouth, “Square-marked Worcester—an eighteen- inch dish! I had as much trouble getting him out of that parlor as you would have getting a cow out of a clover patch, and every min- ute I was afraid aunt would hear him, or hear the china rattle or something; but h never rattled a bit, bless you, but was as quiet as a mouse, and, as for carefulness, he was like a woman with her first baby. I didn't dare ask him anything for fear he should answer too loud, and by and by he went up to the church porch and waited for me. He had a brown paper parcel with him, a big one, and I thought to myself, “Sup- pose he’s brought his bowl and is willing to sell it.” I got those things through the blue-water pretty quick, I can tell yo often wish I could get a maid who work as fast as I used to when I a girl. Then I ran up and asked aunt if she could spare me to run down to the shop for some sago, and I put on my spun bonnet and ran up, just as I was, to the church porch. The old gentleman was skipping with impatience. I’ve heard of people skip- ping with impatience, but I never saw any- one do it before. “Now look here,” he said, “I want you—I must—oh, I don’t know which way to be- parts ‘nique, jof the earth For, by means of this tele- ‘just let me| €raph-sounder a. my left hand. I can trans- into the parlor for five minutes, to have a, mit Intelligence to Purope, to India, to Nev Zealand, or to Hong Kong. It is sot with- jout reason that this is called the age of mechanical civilization.” Mock, SUED BY TA. ru Misfortunes in in One Day. The Levy Fam Losing Things From the Chicago Herald. If anybody in Chicago possesses a magic talisman he can get a good price for it by | applying to J. W. Levy, 4211 Calumet ave- nue. M>. Levy is of the opinion that a large sized hoodoo has moved into his neigh- | borhood ana gone to housekeeping. Wednesday morning Mrs. Levy lost her | pocketbook containing $25. Two hours later Miss Levy had her muff and pocketbook | stolen in a State street store. That same | day Mr. Levy received a telegram that ot | of his firm’s creditors had failed. The credi tor was in debt to the firm for §200 worth of | goods, And to round out the hard luck story of a day Mr. Levy discovered, upon retiring, that some one had stolen a scarf | pin which he had worn that day for the | first time. |_ “I'm not a believer in hoodoos,” said Mr. Levy last night, “but it Is very strange that my wife and daughter and myself should all be robbed the same day. I never experi- enced anything of the kind before.