Evening Star Newspaper, February 10, 1894, Page 14

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. (FACES ON THE WALL Alt the Races of Men Depicted on the New Library Building. SPHE*KEYSTONES OF WINDOW ARCHES ‘Carved Heads of Granite That Make an Interesting Record, A STUDY IN ETHNOLOGY NE ESPECIALLY interesting feature of architectural decora- tion on the new Con- gressional Library building ts the series of heads that orna- ment the windows of the first or library floor. These heads, which are two feet in height, are carved in the white New Hampshire granite, the stone used in the onstruction of the building. They form the Keystone ornaments of the copings of the arched windows. ‘The idea of making these ornaments an ethnological study was especially appropri- @te In more ways than one. A national li- brary naturally embraces some account of every nation on earth, and this, the main Feason for their being, would be surfficient, Dbut there are supposed to be from thirty to thirty-five distinct races of man on the globe. There were thirty-three windows cf the nature to require some special and @istinct form of ornament, hence the happy conjunction of purposes. The artist who made the models for the graduate of the School of Fine Arts at Edinburgh. The arrangement of the heads round the building has been made in accordance with the supposed degree of civilization of the various races, as will be seen aa we take the heads round the building. Ou the front, which is the west side, ‘above the windows on either side of the doorway are the heads of the Saxon and the Latin races, these representing the highest types of man. On the left is the Saxon. This is the “long-headed” kuro- pean, the Saxon of northern Britain, of Seandinavian origin. On the right is the Latin, the general name given to the peo- ples speaking the languages derived from the Latin. The pure Latin race is the Italian people, of course, but the Spaniards are largely of Latin origin. The French, Portuguese, part of the Swiss and other mations of Europe, whose countries were onquered by the Romans and occupied by its armies and colonists, are all partly Latin also, through the commingling of the na- tives with their conquerors. Negro. Japanese. Arab. Above the window on the south side of the central front pavilion the classic head of the Greek ts easily recognized. He bas the aquiline nose and oval face of his ‘race. Following the building southward the mext group of heads we come to on the west side of the corner projection are those of the Persian, Circassian and Brahmin. The Persian's face is, perhaps, the handsomest of the whole series. ‘The Circassian’s is the most interesting of the faces surrounding the building. It represents exactly our conception of the |ppearance of this now almost extinct Face. Next is the fine, strong face of the Brahmin. The features are regular, the face oval, the eyes and hair black and the skin dark, though not black. He wears the elaborately arranged turban of the Face. There ts depicted here all the intell!- ce, thought and conscious dignity be- p oo to the highest caste Hindoo. Greek Saxon Malay. Immediately round the corner on the @outh side, which the sun lights up so wiously these mornings, revealing every eament of the faces on this wall, are the heads of the Hungarian, the Semite and the Arab. In_the center of this group is the Semite or Shemite, the descendant of Shem, the child of Israel. This face reveals, with its Gark, piercing eyes gleaming from beneath the overhanging eyebrows, the intensity of character justly attributed to the Jewish The prominence of the profile, the fear- Jess, proud eyes and the familiar banded headdress proclaim at a glance the Arab in the third face of this group.. The Arab complexion is brown, always dark, owing, no doubt, ¢o the warmth of the climate of his home, for, though Arabia is surrounded on three sides by the sea, its chain of hills excludes, in a great measure,the modi- fving influence of the currents of air from the ocean. It is said that few nations have approached so near to the condition of standing still in a moral and social as — industrial point of view as has the Egyptian. At the far corner, on the south side of the building, we find the heads of the Turk, tian and the Abyssinian. The Turk- ish face, surmounted by the familiar fez, reveals the cunning, avaricious and cruel character attributed to this much humiliat- @4 family of mankind. The Egyptian’s is @ deceitful though intellectual face. It seems as if it were burdened with the thought of the lost greatness of his coun- try. The face has the thinness, high cheek- bones and thick lips which are supposed to be the distinguishing features of the an cient Egyptians. He wears the heavy,black turban pecullar to the Copts. His neighbor, the Abyssian, is a much more attractive type of countenance; at least it has the attraction of openness and apparent truth- fulness, if untrained to a certain degree. Round the corner, on the east side, is found the heads of the uncivilized races. There is greater diversity among them, and Yeally more interest attaches to them be- cause of their curious customs and the slight knowledge we have of many of them. The first group of heads are those of the Malay, the Polynesian and the Australian. The face here depicts the characteristics as well as the character of the race. It has the high cheek bones, high square skull, the depressed nose and large lips peculla: to them. The eyes and general expression show the flerce, restless, aggressive and al- together low character of this amphibian. The Polynesian is the neighbor of the Malay. In physical structure and appear- ance and general characteristics he is much like the Malay, though the two heads here show distinct varieties of both of the races. The third face ts that of the Australian, considered to be the most uncivilized of mankind. The face here reveals the ab- sence of civilization, but it also lacks the eraftiness, cruelty and fierce expression of many of the other faces on this side of the bullding. In a general way the features and complexion are much the same as those of the negro, but he has waving or curling hair instead of the negro’s wool. The 3 teo, is deeper and more piercing. The face here shows an exceedingly depressed nose, though this is not one of the race character- istics, as it is of the Malay or negro; it is, however, generally very wide. The group of five in the center of the east side represent rather a striking con- trast to the heads occupying the central po- sitions on the west side. They are those of Fe rcimaty Zulu, Papuan, Negro and Negrito—the Spanish diminutive of negro— is the name given to the race inhabiting the interior of some of the Philippine Is- The complexion is the same as the negro’s, the lips are thinner, the nose smaller, the hair is black, though less wool- ly. The Zulu's is qa dull and heavy counte- mance, though the face here belies to some extent the general character attributed to the Zulu, which is one of sociability, bright- ness, gentleness and hospitality, and they are said to be industrious and easily taught. When stirred up, as in the late war with the British, they show no ordinary spirit of bravery and revenge. The Papuan, whose head forms the cen- tral figure of the group, is in all probability the worst specimen of manhood on the face of the globe. The distinctive feature of these inhabitants of New Guinea is the friz- zied, bushy hair, of a coarse and wiry text- ure. It is impossible to show this to its natural extent in the granite, but we have all seen pictures of the Feejee Islanders, who belong to the Papuan family, and re- member the striking appearance of the hair. When dressed according to Feejee fashion it forms a resisting mass and offers no slight protection against the blow of a club. The hair dressing of this race ocupies a considerable portion of their time. In the next face we recognize the negro. The facial characteristics of the native Afriggn are all prominently shown here— the woolly hair, thick lips, projecting lower of face, long and iow retreating forehead. The Akka adjoin- ing the negro is known familiarly as “dog-faced” negro, from the peculiar dog- like projection of the lower rt of the face. He is also a native of Africa. The next group of heads on the west side are those of the aboriginal Americans—the Fuegian, Botocudo and the Pueblo. The representative of Terra del Fuego has the wild untutored face one can imagine as that of the child of this rude land. Th Fuegians are short and ugly, beardless, and with long black hair of a rusty iron color. They rank very iow in the scale cf civilization. The Botocudo is the represent- ative of a native tribe of Brazil, living in the forests of Rio Doce on the boundary of the province of Esp2rito Santo and Minas Geraces. The Botocu-loes or Aymores are an isolated tribe numbering only some 4,000. The Botocudoes disfigure their faces as that here shows by piercing the lower lip and inserting in the hole a large circular piece of wood. Negrito. Australian. Polynesian. The clean-cut face of the Pueblo comes as something of a relief after the long row of utter savages. This type of the Ameri- can Indian face is very familiar. The face here shows the square head, with long, coarse, wavy hair, low broad forehead, high prominent cheek bones and powerful jaws belonging to all the tribes of American Indians. Round the next corner, on the north side, we find the heads of the Eskimo, Plains Indian and Samoyede. The face of the Eskimo reveals the iow standard of civill- zation attained by these northern fisher- men. It is essentially a stupid, it is almost @ brutish, face and the granite has done well in its revelation in the face before us of the uncleanliness of this curious peo- ple. The Plains Indian's is, like the Pueb- Jos, a face we know well. ‘The difference in the mode of life be- tween the nomadic Plains and domes- tie Pueblo is clearly shown in the two faces. The one is peaceable, apathetic and home-loving, the other proud, adveature- some, cruel and immovable. The features are the same in the two men, but there ts all possible difference in expression of coun- tenance of the Indian from New Mexico and the Indian from the western plains. ‘The next group of heads on the north side are Mongolian types. They are the Corean, Japanese and Aino. The Corean and Japan- ese, as well as the Chinese, which is one of the next group, round the corner, are also quite familiar. The features of the Corean are more pronouncedly Mongolian than those of the Japanese, whom he most resembles. The face is broad and flat, the cheek bones standing out laterally. The eyes are oblique, and the distance between them is great. The eyebrows form a low, imperfect black arch. The complexion of the Corean is tawny, the ears are large and stand out from the head, and the hair is lank and thin. The Japanese and Chinese have both the same general fea- tures as the Corean. The Japanese hoad here shows the peculiar mode of hairdress- ing this people adopt. The hair is shaved off about three inches in front, combed up from the back and sides and glued into a tuft on the top of the head, where !t is confined by pins of gold or tortoiseshell. The Aino, the “hairy-faced” tan, is a native of the most northerly islands of Japan. Rounding the last corner to the west side again one finds the heads of the Burmese. Thibetan ard Chinese. The Burmese ha? the Mongoloid characteristics common to the Indo-Chinese races. They have a stout, active, well-proportioned form, they have a short head, broad skull and flat face, a brown complexion, with black, coars2, lank and abundant hair. The Thibetan’s is the same type of face as the Burmese, though stronger. The features of the Chinese, the third head of this last group, are too famil- jar to need any description. He wears the braided queue in the fashion of his country. The last head to be examin~l fs that of the Russian’s, which adorns the window on the north side of the central front pavilion. One sees the history of the Russian race in this countenance. It is the history of a down-trodden. czar-ridden >29nle, which has developed a heaviness of feature, re. vealing an absence of all hope or bricht- ness. a revengeful, taciturn, untrustfui, fatalistic character. —_———_ ‘The Difference. From the Ladies’ Home Journal. If men fail to understand women better it 1s largely due to their inability to see life from any other than their own standpoint. Some men cannot recognize the vast dif- ference between those things which enter into their lives and the elements which make up the life of a woman. It seems to me sometimes as if men will not see. Be- cause their Ifves are full of diversions, far broader in their scope, they cannot under- stand why a woman allows so many little things to influence her. Forgetful are they of the fact that the sphere of woman Is one of infinite detail. A home is not like a busi- ness office. But a man says: “You have your servants; I have my clerks. Where's the difference?" The difference lies In the fact that a womar must enter into the de- tails of a home, if she manages it conscien- tiously, far more than a man needs to enter into the minor affairs of a business. The domestic servant depends more upon her mistress for direction than does the clerk upon his employer. Infinitely more impor- tant is it that a wife should go into her kitchen and look into its workings than it ts that the employer should go into his ship- ping department and see that the packages are properly tied and the addresses legibly marked. He can detail this responsibility to the head of his shipping department. Not so the housekeeper. She is, and must be, the individual head of the kitchen, of the nursery. of each department of her home, just as she must be the general head of the whole house. She is general and captain rolled into one. And of this supervision of detail is her life made up, and her thoughts influenced. Woman ig a creature of detail, and all credit to her, I say, that she is such a good master of her sphere. And as is her life, so becomes her nature. —— Something Slower Wanted. From Puck. Ke Theatrical Man.—“I'd like five hundred posters for ‘Around the World in Two Years.’ Printer.—“You mean “Around the World in_Elghty Days,” don’t you?” Theatrical Man.—“That’s the usual title; but we're going to play in Philadelphia, and it wouldn't go there.” LADY LINACRE'S BRACELET. — ooo From Cornhill Magazine. N A MORNING early in the spring of last year, two men stood leaning against the mantelpiece of a room in one of the gove-nment offices. The taller of the two— he who was at home in the room—was a slim, well dressed man, wearing his hair parted exactly in the middle, and a diamond pin in the sailor knot of his tle. He had his frock coat open and his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. The attitude denoted com- Placency, and the man was complacent, “Well, the funny part of it ts," he was saying lightly, his shoulders pressed against the mat.telpiece, “that I am dining at the Burton Smiths’ this evening!” “Ah?” his companion answered, looking up at him with eyes of envy. “And so you will see her?” “Of course. She is to come to them to- day. But they do not know about our en- gagement yet, and as she does not want to blurt it out the moment she arrives— why, for this evening it will be a secret, Still I thought I would tell you.” He stepped away as he spoke, to straight- en a red morocco-covered dispatch box standing on the table behind him. It bore, besides the flaunting gilt capitals “I. O.,” a modest plate with the name “Ernest Wib- bezley’’— his name. The other waited until he resumed his place. Then he answered, holding out his hand, “Yes, I am glad you told me, old boy; and I congratulate you most heartily, be- lieve me.” “Thank you, Jack,” Wibberley replied. “I knew you would. I rather feel myseif that ‘Fate cannot harm me. I have dined “Happy dog!” said Jack, and presently disappeared. The Burton Smiths, whom we heard them mention,are tolerably well known in London. Burton Smith himself is a barriste:, with money and many relations—Irish landlords, Scotch members, Indian judges and the like. His wife is young, gracious, and fond of society. Their drawing rooms on the top- most flat of Onslow mansions—rooms with sloping ceilings and a dozen quaint nooks and corners—are seldom empty during the regulation hours. ‘rhis particular dinner party had been planned with some care. “Lady Linacre will come, no doubt,” Mrs. Burton Smith had said one day at breakfast, conning a lust she held in ner hand, “and Mr. May.” ut Burton Smith objected to May. “He Will talk about notning but Inula,’ ne p-o- tested, “and the superiority of Calcutta over wondon. A litle of tmese Bomoay ducks woes a long way, my dear.” “Well, yames,” airs. Burton Smith re- pifed piacidiy—the tion, Vereker May is a son Of Lord siawthorn—“he will take me in, and 1 uo not mind. unly 1 must nave Mr. Wapberiey on tne other sige to make coun- versation and keep me alive. Let me see— that Wil be three. anu Joanna ssurton— she comes that ufternoon—rour. Do you now, Jumes, when we were at ‘lemple 4tothiey lor Cnrisunas I thougnt there was sometning between your cousin and Mr. W ibberie, “Phen, Lor goodness’ sake, do not let them sit together!” burion Smitn cried, “or they will taik to one another and to no one else.’ “Very well,” Mrs. Smith assented. ‘“Lney shall sit opposite to one another, and air. Wibberley shall take in Mrs. Galantine. She will be sure to flirt with him, and we can watch Joanna's tace. 1 shall soon see if there is anything between them.” Mr. -Wibberiey was a young man of some importance, if only in his capacity of pri- vate secretary to @ minister. He had a thousand acquaintances, and certainly two friends—perhaps three. He might be some- thing some day—was bound to be. He dressed well, looked well and talked well. He was a little presumptuous, perhaps even @ trifle conceited; but women like these things in young men, and he had infinite tact. At any rate, he had never yet found himself in a place too strait for him. This evening as he dressed for dinner—as he brushed his hair vigorously or paused to smile at some reflection—his own, but not in the glass—he was in his happiest mood. Everything seemed to be going well with im. He had no pregentiment of evil. He was going to a house whe-e he was appre- ciated. Mrs. Burton Smith was a great ally of his. And then there would be, as we know, some one else. Happy man! “Lady Linacre,” said his hostess as she introduced him to a stout personage with white hair, a double chin, and diamonds. Wibberley bowed, making up his mind that the dowager was one of those ladies with strong prejudices, who draw their skirts together if you prove a home ruler, and leave the room if you mention Sir Charles Dilke. “Mr. May, you have met before,” Mrs. Smith continued, “and you know Miss Burton, I think?” He murmured assent, while she—Joanna —shook hands with him frankly and quiet- ly, with the ghost of a smile, perhaps. He played his part well, too, for a moment, but halted in his sentence as it flashed across his mind that this was their first meeting since she had said “Yes.” He re- covered from his momentary embarrass- ment, however, before even Mrs. Burton Smith could note it, and promptly offered Mrs. Galantine his arm. She was an old friend of his—as friends go in society. He had taken her in to din ner, that is, half-a-dozen times. “Who is that girl?” she asked, when they were seated; and she raised her glasses and stared through them at her vis-a-vis. “I declare she would be pretty if her nose were not so short.” He seized the excuse to put up his glass too, and take a look. “It is rather short, he admitted, gazing with a whimsical sense of pfoperty at the deficient organ. “But some people like short noses, you know, Mrs. Galantine.” “Ah! And theaters in August!” she re- plied incredulously. ‘And drawing-room games! And conundrums! But, seriously, she would be pretty if it were not for that.” “Would she?” he questioned gravely. “Well, I think she would, do you know?” And certainly Joanna was pretty, though her forehead was too large, and her nose too small, and her lips too full. For her eyes were bright and her complexion per- fect, and her face told of wit, and good temper and freshness. She had beautiful arms, too, for a chit of nineteen. Mrs. Galantine said nothing about the arms— not out of modesty, but because her own did not form one of her strong points. Wib- berley, however, was thinking of them, and whether a certain bracelet he had by him would fit them. He saw Joanna wore a bracelet—a sketchy gold thing. He wonder- ed whether he should beg it for a pattern, or whether it might not be more pleasant to measure the wrist for himself, But Mrs. Galantine returned to the charge. “She is a cousin, is she not?” she said, speaking so loudly that Joanna look- ed across and smiled. “I have never met her before. Tell me all about her.” Tell her all about her! Wibberley gasped. He saw a difficulty in telling her “all about her,” the more as the general conversation at the moment was not brisk, and Joanna could hear every word. For an instant, in- deed, his presence of mind failed him, and he cast an appalled glance round the table. But then he bent to his task. “Mrs. Gal- antine,” he murmured sweetly, confidenti- ally, “pray—pray beware of becoming a potato!” + The lady dropped her knife and fork with a clatter. “How horrid! A potato, Mr. Wibberley? What do you mean?” “What I say,” he answered simply. “You see my plate? It is a picture, Mrs. Galan- tine. You have there the manly beef, and the feminine peas, so young, so tender! And the potato! The potato is the confi- dante. It is insipid. Do you not agree with me?” “Bravo, Mr. Wibberley! But am I to ap- ply your parable?’ she asked, sharply, glancing across the table with her fork up- lifted, and a pea upon it. “Am I to be the potato?” “The choice is with you,” he replied, gal- lantly. “Shall it be the potato? or the peas?” Mrs. Burton Smith, seeing him so absorb- ed in his companion, grew puzzled. Look as often as she might at Joanna, she saw no sign of jealousy or self-consclousness in the girl's face. Joanna seemed to be get- ting on perfectly with her partner; to be enjoying herself to the full, and to be as much interested as any one at table. Mrs. Burton Smith sighed, if the truth be known. She had the instinct of matchmaking. And she saw clearly now that there was noth- ing between the two; that ff there had been any philandering at Temple Rothley,neither of the young people had put out a hand— or a heart—beyond recovery. But this success of Wibberley’s with Mrs. Galantine had its consequences. After the ladies had withdrawn he grew just a trifle presumptuous. By ill-luck, too, the Hon. Vereker May had reached that period of the evening when india—as seen through the glasses of his memory—was accusiomed to put on its rosiest tints, and the two facing one anotner tell to debaung on a suvject of which the returned civuian had seen much and thought ute, and the private secretary had read more and thougnt not at ail, ‘They were, therefore, about on a par as to incormation,and wnat the younger man lacked of obstinacy he made up by readiness, It was in vain tne navob blus- tered, asserted, contrauicted—tmauy grew sulky, silent, stertorous.. Wibberiey pusned his Lttie triumph, and soon, as we shall see, paid dearly for it. it happened that he was the last one to enter tue drawing room. ‘The evening was chilly. ‘Zhe ladies had grouped themselves about the fire, protecteu from assault, 0 to speak, by a couple of gypsy tabies bear- ing shaded lamps. ‘he iucomers, one by one, passed through these outworks—all but Wibberley. He cast a giance of comic de- spair at Joanna, who was by the nreplace in the heart of the citadel; and then, re- signing himself to separation, he took a low chair by one of the tables, and began in- dolently to turn over the books which lay on the latter. ‘there were but half a dozen. He scanned them all, and then his eyes tell on a bracelet lying by them on the olive- green plush; a sketchy goid bracelet, with one big boss—Joanna’s, He looked up at the party—himself sitting @ little asiae, us we have said—with a steal- thy glance. ‘there were none of them fac- ing his way. hey were discussing a pho- tograph on the over-mantel, a photograph of children by Mendelssohn. He stretched his hand out softly and covered the brace- jet. He would take it for a pattern, and to- morrow Joanna should ransom it. He tried, as his fingers closed on it, to catch her eye. He would have liked to see her face change and her color rise. It would have added to the faint charm he felt in the boyish, foolish act he was committing if she had been privy to it—yet unable to prevent it. But she would not look, and he was obliged to be content with his plunder. He slid the gold trifle deftly under the fringe of the table, and clasped it round his arm—not a very lusty one—thrusting it as high as it would go, that no movement of his shirt cuff might disclose it. He had a keen sense of the ridiculous, and he would not for all the world that any one besides Joanna should know of the act; that dod- dering old fossil May, for instance, who, however, was safe enough—standing on the rug with his back turned and his slow mind forming an opinion on the photo- graph. ‘Then—or within a few minutes, at any rate—Wibberley began to find the party dull. He saw small chance of a private word with Joanna. Lady Linacre, his near- est neighbor, was prosing on to Mrs. Bur- ton Smith, his next nearest. And he him- self, after shining at dinner, had fallen into the background. Hang it, he would gol It was ten o'clock. He rose, and wi stooping across the table, murmuring his excuses to Mrs. Bur- ton Smith, when Lady Linacre uttered an exclamation. He was leaning across her between her head and the lamp at the moment, and he fancied he had touched her headdress. “Pray pardon me, Lady Lin- acre,” he cried gayly. “I am just going— I have to leave early—so the encroachment will be but for a moment.” “It is not that,” the old lady replied. “But where is my bracelet?’ She was feel- ing about the table as she spoke, shifting with. her white, podgy hands the hait- dozen volumes that lay on it. No one on the instant, however, took in the situation. Mrs. Burton Smith had risen and was listening to Wibberley. The others were talking. But Lady Linacre was used to attention; and when she spoke again, her voice was shrill, and almost in- decently loud. “Where is my bracelet?” she repeated. “The one with the Agra dia- mond that I was showing you, Mrs. Burton Smith. It was here a moment ago, and it is gone! It is gone!” Wibberley was still speaking to his host- ess. He heard the old lady's words, but did not clearly apply them. He finished his leave-taking almost at his leisure, and only as he turned recollected himself, and said, with polite solicitude: “What is it, Lady Linacre? Have you dropped something? Can I find it for you?” He stooped as he spoke, and she drew her skirt aside, and both peered at the floor, while there was quite a chorus from those sitting nearest of, “What is it, Lady Lin- acre? Dear Lady Linacre, what have you lost?” “My Agra diamond!” she replied fussily, her head quivering, her fingers groping about her dress. “No?” some one said in surprise. “Why, it was here a moment ago. I saw it in your hand.” a The old lady held out her wrists. “See!’ she said feebly, “I have not got it! 4 “But are you sure {t is not in your lap?" suggested Burton Smith. Lady Linacre had rather an ample lap. By this time the at- tention of the whole party had been drawn to the loss, and one or two of the most prudent were looking slightly uncomfort- able. 'No,” she answered, “I am quite sure that I placed it on the table by my side. I am sure I saw it there. I was going to put it on when the gentlemen came in, and I laid it down just for a minute, and—it is gone!” : She was quite clear about it, and looked mildly at Wibberley for confirmation. The table had stood between them. She thought he must have seen it lying there, Mrs. Bur- ton Smith being the only person close to the table. Burton Smith saw that look. “I say, Wibberley,” he said, appealing to him, half in fun, half in earnest, “you have not hid- den it for a joke, old fellow, have you?” “I? Certainly not.” To this day Ernest Wibberley wonders when he first made the disagreeable dis- covery of what he had done—that he had taken the wrong bracelet! It was not early. It was not until the aggrieved owner had twice preclaimed her loss that he felt him- stif redden, and awoke to the consciousness that the bracelet was on his own arm. Even then, if he had had instant presence of mind, he might have extricated himself. He might have said at once, “By Jove! I think I slipped it on my wrist in pure ab- sence of mind,” or made some other ex- cuse for his possession of it which would have passed muster, though one or two might have thought him odd. But time was everything; such excuses, to avail, must be made at once, and he hesitated. He hat- ed to seem odd, even to one or two, and he thought that presently he might find some ckance of restoring the bracelet without being detected. So he hesitated, peering at the carpet, and the golden opportunity passed him by. Then each moment made the avowal more difficult and less possible, until, when his host appealed to him, “If you have hidden it for a joke, old fellow, cut with it! he had no choice—or it seem- ed to his uneasy conscience that he had no choice—but to answer as he did. He looked up, indeed, with admirably a ed surprise, and said his “I? Certainly noi somewhat peremptorily. Half-a-dozen of the guests were peering stupidly about as if they expected to find the lost article in a flower vase or within the globe of a lamp. Presently their hostess stayed these explorations. “Wait a mo- ment,” she cried, abruptly, raising her head. “I have it!” Well?” eagerly, from several. ‘John must have moved it when he brought in the tea. That must be it. Ring the bell, James, and we will ask him.” So it was done. John came in, and the question was put to him. “Yes, sir,” he said, readily; “I saw a bracelet. On this table, by the lamp.” He indicated the table near Lady Linacre. “Did you move it?" “Move it, sir?” the man repeated, sur- prised by the question, the silence, and the strained faces turned to him. “No, sir;cer- tainly not. I only saw it when I was hand- ing the tea to—to Mr. Wibberley, I think it was.” i very well,” his master answered. “That is all: You may go.” It was not possible, indeed, to doubt the man’s face and manner. But when he had left the room an uncomfortable silence en- sued, “It is very strange,” Burton Smith said, at last, looking from one to another, and then, for the twentieth time, groping under the table. “It is very strange,” Wibberley mur- mured. He felt bound to say something. He could not free himself from an idea that the others, and particularly the Indian Civilian, were casting special looks at him. He appeared calm enough, but he could not be sure of this. He felt rather as if he were each instant changing color and betraying himself to every eye. His very voice sound- ed forced to his ears as he repeated fussily, “It is very odd—very odd! Where can it be?” “It cost,” Lady Linacre quavered—irrele- vantly, but by no ineans impertinently—“it cost fourteen thousand out there. Indeed it did. And that was before it was set.” A hush as of awe fell upon the room. “Fourteen thousand pounds!” Burton Smith said softly, his hair rising on end. “No, no," said the old lady, who had not intended this mystification. ‘Not pounds; rupees.” “I understand,” he replied, rubbing his head. “But that is a good sum. “It is over a thousand pound: the In- dian Civilian put in stonily, “at the present rate of exchange.” “But, good gracious, James!” Mrs. Burton Smith said impatiently, “why are you valu- ing Lady Linacre’s jewelry—instead of find- ing it for her? The question is, ‘Where is it?” It must be here. It was on this table fifteen minutes ago. It cannot have been spirited away.” “If any one,” her husband began seriously, ‘is doing this for a joke, I do hope—” “For a joke!” the hostess cried sharply. possible!"” “I say, my dear,” he persisted, “if any one is doing this for a joke, I hope he wiil own up. It seems to me that it has been carricd far enough.” There was a chorus of assent, half indignant, half exculpatory. But no one owned to the joke. No one pro- duced the bracelet. “Well, I never!” Mrs. Burton Smith ex- claimed. And as the company looked at one another, it seemed as if they also had never known anything quite so extraordi- nary as this. I think that i “Really, Lady Linacre, it must be somewhere about you,” said the host at last. “Would you mind giving your- self a good shake?” She rose, and was solemnly preparing to agitate her skirts when a guest interfered. It was the Hon. Vereker May. “You need not trouble yourself, Lady Linacre,” he said with a curious dryness. He was still stand- ing by the fireplace. “It 1s not about you.” “Then where in the world is it Mrs. Galantine. “Do you know?" “If you do, for goodness sake speak out,” Mrs. Burton Smith added indignantly; while every one turned and stared at the Civilian. “You had better,” he said, “ask Mr. Wib- berley!” That was all. But something in his tone produced an electrical effect on every one. Joanna, in her corner—remote, like the In- dian, from the center of the disturbance— turned red and pale, and flashed angry glances round her. For the rest, they wish- ed themselves away. It was impossible to misunderstand the insinuation. The words, simple as they were, had in a moment put @ graver complexion on the matter. Even Mrs. Burton Smith was silenced, looking to ont husband. He looked furtively at Wib- rley. And Wibberley? Up to this moment he had merely thought himself in an unpleas- ant fix, from which he must escape as best he could, at the expense of a little embar- rassment, a slight loss of self-respect. Even the latter he might regain tomorrow if he saw fit by telling the truth to Mrs. Burton Smith; and in time the whole thing would become a subject for laughter, a stock din- ner party anecdote. But now! now at the first sound of the Indian's voice he recog- nized his danger, and saw clearly in the hundredth part of a second that ruin, social damnation, perhaps worse, threatened him. His presence of mind seemed to fail him suddenly at sight of the pit opening at his feet. He felt himself reeling, choking, his head surcharged with blood. The room, the expectant faces all turned to him, all with that strange expression on them, swam round before him. He had to lay his hand on_a chair to steady himself. But he did steady himself, so far that those who marked his agitation did not know whether it proceeded from anger or fear. He drew himself up and looked straight at his accuser, holding the chair suspended in his hands. “What do you mean?” he said hoarsely. “I should not have spoken,” the Civilian continued, returning his gaze and speaking in cool, measured accents, “If Mr. Burton Smith had not twice appealed to us—if any ij — ed being played—to confess to it.” ve ‘Well, only this,” the old gentleman re- plied; “that I saw you yourself take Lady Linacre's bracelet from that table a few moments before it was missed, Mr. Wib- berley.”” “You saw me?” cried Wibberley. This time there was the ring of honest defiance, of indignant innocence, in his tone. For if he felt certain of one thing, it was that no one had been looking at him when the unlucky deed was done. “I did,” ig oe the Civilian dispassion- ately. “My ba was toward you. But my eyes were on this mirror”’—he touched oval glass in a Venetian frame which stood on the mantelpiece—“‘and I saw clear- ly, quite clearly. I am bound to say that, judging from the expression of your face, I was assured at the time that it was a trick you were playing—a jest only.” Ernest Wibberley tried to frame the words “and now?"—tried to force a smile. But he could not. The perspiration sprang out in great beads on his face. He shook all over. He felt himself—and this time it was no fancy—growing livid. “To the best of my belief, Civilian quietly, left arm now.” Wibberley tried to master,but could not,the impulse—the traitor impulse—which urged him to glance down at his wrist. The idea that the bracelet might be visible—that the damning evidence might be plain to every eye—overcame him. le looked down. Of course there was nothing to be seen; he mftght have known it, for he felt the hot clasp of the horrible thing burning his arm inches higher. But when he looked again, fleeting as had been his glance, he found that something dreadful had hap- pened to him. He faltered, and the chair dropped from his hands. He had never met looks like these before. He read in every face save one suspicion or condemn: tion. Thief and liar! He read the words in their eyes, the eyes of his quondam friends! Yet he would, he must, brazen it out; and though he could not utter a word, he looked for them to—Joanna. The girl’s face was pale and scared. But her eyes—they answered his right eagerly— were ablaze wit indignation. They held no doubt, no suspicion. The moment his look fell on her she spoke. “Show them ycur arm!” she cried impulsively. “Show them you have not got it, Ernesi with such scorn, such generous passion in her voice, that it did not need the tell-tale name which fell too glibly from her lips to betray her secret—at least to every woman in the room. “Show them your arm!” Ah, but that was just what he could not do! And as he comprehended this, he gnashed his teeth. He saw himself netted and entrapped, and his rage and misery were so written in his face that the best and most merciful of those abcut him turned from him in shame and pity. Even the girl who loved him shrank back, clutching the mantelpiece in the first spasm of doubt and fear and an- guish. Her words, her suggestion, had taken from him his last chance. He saw it was so. He felt the Nemesis the more bitterly on that account; and with a wild gesture, and some wilder words, he turned abruptly and hurried from the room, blind- ly seized his hat, and went down to the street. His feelings when he found himself out- side were such as it is impossible to de- scribe in smooth, passionless sentences. He had wrecked his honor and happiness in an hour. He had lost his place among men through a chance word. We talk and read of a thunderbolt from the blue; but still the thing is to us unnatural. Some law-abiding citizen whom a momen - sion has made a murderer, some strong man whom a stunning blow has left crushed and writhing on the ground, a twisted cripple—only these could fitly de- scribe his misery and despair as he travers- ed the streets. It was misery he had brought on himself, and yet how far the punishment exceeded the offense! How im- mensely the shame and exposure exceeded the guilt! He had lied, and the lie had made him a thief! He went up to his rooms like one in a dream, and, scarcely knowing what he did, tore the bauble from his arm and flung it on the mantel shelf. By his last act of bringing it away he had made his position a hundred times more serious, but he did not at once remember this. After he had sat awhile, however, with his head between his hands, wondering if this really were himself—if this really had happened to himself, this dreadful thing!—he began to see things more clearly. Still, he could not at once make up his mind what to do. Beyond some hazy idea of returning the bracelet by the first post, and going on the ccntinent—of course, he must resign his employment—he had settled nothing, when a step outside made him start to his feet. Scme one knocked at the door of his cham- bers. He stood pallid and listening, struck by a sudden fear. “The police?" he said to himself. But a moment's thought satisfied him that it was improbable, if not impossi‘le, that his summons should be theirs; and he went to the door listlessly and threw it open. On the mat stood Burton Smith, in @ soft slouched hat, his hands thrust ir.to the pockets of his overcoat. Wibberley just glanced at him, and saw that he was alone; and then, leaving him to shut the door, returned to his chair, and sat down in his old attitude, with his head between his hands. He looked already a broken man. Burton Smith followed him in, and stood @ moment looking down at him uncomfort- ably enough. It is bad to have had such a scene as has been described at your house, but it is worse, if a man be a man, to face a fellow-creature in his time of shame. At any rate, Burton Smith felt itso. “Look here, Wibberiey,” he said at length, as much embarrassed as if he had been the thief—“‘look here, it will be better to hush this up. Give me this confounded bracelet to hand back to Lady Linacre, and the thing shall go no further.” His tone was curiously suggestive both of old friendship and present contempt and pity. But when he had to repeat his ques- tion, when Wibberley gave him no answer, his voice grew harsher. Even then the man with the hidden face did not speak, but pointed with an impatient gesture to the mantel shelf. Burton Smith stepped briskly to the place indicated and looked. He was anxious to spare the culprit as far as possible. Yes, there was the bracelet. He seized it, anx- fous, if the truth be known, to escape from the place with all speed. But he iaid it down the next instant as quickly as he had taken it up, and his brows came together he turned sternly upon his companion. “This is not the bracelet!” he said. Tnere added the “the bracelet is on your FOR LA CRIPPE SUFFERERS. The Reformer Editor Tells of His Expe- rience With This Dangerous Disease, « BENNINGTON, Vt., Dec. 16, 1893. In the spring of the year 1891 I was attacked with grip. I was laid by from business for about two months, a portion of the time as sick a man as ever lived through that mysterious disease. From the effects of the attack I was really ill all summer, weak and tired and dispirited. In the spring of the year 1892 I suffered another onslaught of the same diseasc, and lost seventeen pounds of flesh in two weeks. I went back to my duties again with 1 settled conviction that I would be obliged to pass through another summer of misery, but happily I resorted to the use of Paine’s celery compound, doubtingly I admit, for I was chary of so-called proprietary medicines. But before the first bottle was used. conviction dawned upon me that here was the elixir, if not of life, still of health, and within a month I was was no smack of old affection in his tone now; it was wholly hostile. His patience was exhausted. “Lady Linacre’s was a diamond bracelet of great value, as you know. This is a plain gold thing worth two or three pounds. For heaven's sake, man!” he added, with sudden vehemence, “for your own sake, do not play the fool now! Where is the bracelet?” No doubt despair had partially benumbed Wibberiey’s mind, for still he did not speak, and Burton Smith had to put his question more than once before he got an answer. When Wibberley did at last look up, :t was with a dazed face. “What is it?” he mut- tered, avoiding the other's eyes. “This is not Lady Linacre’s bracelet.” “It is not?” “No; certainly not.” Still confused, still avoiding the other's grave look, Wibberley rose and took the bracelet in his hand, and glanced askance at it. And then Burton Smith saw him start violently. “It is of the same shape,” re the barrister, ice in his voice; he thought the exchange a foolish, transparent artifice. “But Lady Linacre’s has a large where that has a plain boss. That is not Lady Linacre’s bracelet.” Wibberley turned away, the circlet in his hand, and went to the window, where he stood for quite a moment looking out into the darkness. The curtains were not drawn. As he stood there, otherwise mo- tionless, his shoulders trembled so violently that a certain dreadful suspicion seized his late host; and the latter desisted from watching him and looked about, but in vain, for a vial or glass. At the end of the minute Wibberley turn- ed. For the first time he confronted his visitor. His eyes were strangely bright, his face very pale; but his mouth was set strong and firm. “I never said it was!” he answered grimly. “Was what?” “I never said it was Lady Linacre’s. It was you who said that,” he continued, his head high, a singular change evident in his gg —¥ incisiveness almost harsh in is tone. “It was you—you who suspect me! I could not show you my arm tenon I had that bracelet on it.” “And whose bracelet is it?” Burton Smith murmured doubtfully, shaken as much by the sudden change in the man’s demeanor as by his denial. “It is your cousin's—Miss Burton's. We are engaged,” replied Wibberley sternly— so entirely had the two changed places. She intended to tell you tomorrow. I saw Mt on the table and secreted it when I thought no one was looking. It was a foolish thing to do.” “And it was Joanna's bracelet that Ver- eker May saw you take?” “Precisely.” Burton Smith said a word about the civil- fan which we need not repeat. Then he ad- ded: “But why on earth, old fellow, did you not explain?” “Firstly,” Wibberley replied with force, “because I should have had to proclaim my engagement to all those fools, and I had not Joanna’s permission to do that. And, secondly—well, I did not wish to confess to being such an idiot as I was.” “Umph!” said Burton Smith, slowly, ar odd lght in his eyes. I think you were a fool, but—I suppose you will shake hands?” “Certanily, old man." And they did so warmly. “Now, then,” continued the barrister, his face becoming serious again, “the question is, where is Lady Lincare’s bracelet?’ “That ts hardly my business,” Wibberley answered. I am sure you will excuse my saying so. I have had trouble enough with it—I know that—and, if you don’t mind, I am off to bed. But though his friend left him on the in- stant, Wibberley did not go to bed at once. Burton Smith hurrying homeward—to find when he reached Onslow Mansions that Lady Linacre’s bracelet had been discover- ed in a flounce of her dress—would have been surprised, very much surprised in- deed, could he have looked into the cham- bers a minute later—a minute after his own departure. He would have seen his friend cast down on his knees before a great chair his face hidden, his form shaken by wild, hysterical sobbing. For Wibberley was moved for once to the inmost depths of his nature. It is not given to all men to awake and find their doom a dream. Only in dreams, indeed, does the cripple get his strength again, and the murderer his old place among his fellow-men. Wibberley was fortunate. And the lesson? Did he take it to heart? Well, lessons and morals are out of fash- ion. Or stay—ask Joanna. She should know. see Small Opportunities. From Flarper's Bazar. Opportunity was well pictured as a man running, his hair as well as his garment streaming in the wind. Whoever would seize him must clutch his hair and hold fast, lest opportunity should slip out of his grasp. Our opportunities for ttle pleasures, the small delights of life, come constantly to every one. Yet so fleeting are they that they disappear as swiftly as we perceive them. Therefore, we cannot wait a day or an hour to grasp whatever pleasure life offers us. Stop and enjoy quickly the sun- shine, the sweetness of falling rain on the thirsty earth, the colors of the sunset, the solemn light of the stars, the heartines of the evening gathering, the brightness of the warm well-ordered home, the cordial greeting of friends, the exchange of sympa- thy from heart to heart, the unconscious grace of little children—the happiness that comes from perceiving these things, and possessing the ability to make the most of them. Do not wait to enjoy these until tomorrow, or next week, or even until your present employment is finished. The auspicious time is now. The leisure of the busy man «7 have vsed it in va with gratitying results.’ or woman is as great today as tomorrow. EDITOR J. H. LIVINGSTON. | | inherent in womankind, manages And now when tired from brain cares I take a wine ginss of cuery going to bed, and wake in the and fit to begin again -the toils fully the vexations that infest My wife, who ts not wholly consume the contents of tes of the compound « year, to of her health and my Understood that celery the palate as good ai Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. The a-la-mode woman at this season makes a specialty of dainty ome suppers after the theater, deliciousness. begins to shudder with ap»rehension, fear- ing that his busy, useful Gays are num- bered, and that soon he will not be called upon to furnish anything, not even guests. If something hot is desired at the little midnight banquet it can qu’ckly be com- pleted in the chafing dish. However, hot dishes are not essential, as cold ones have been stamped with the mal of fashion. Even at ceremonious G:nners each alter- nate course is a cold one. A Tempting Repsast. | | ounces of lean ham cut trto tiny dice; stir this altogether over ice til: it then put it into a round mold with hole in the center and about two hours. Turn it into a dish and fill up the center with chicken or A Creation of Dumas’. Vinaigrette mousquetaire.—This salad was invented by Alex. very small rounds of white Tubbed with onion and put of the salad bowl; yolks of eggs, six cold boiled potat six cold boiled beets, three some white crisp celery, two bers, sliced fine; whites the ped, and a pinch of Hungarian Rub the yolks of the eggs to a with olive oil; then add all ents in order, except the and pepper to taste, and which must be red wine quality. This salad should be salad bowl. When it pig it the red pepper on and area’ for twelve Boules an egg to a stiff i if j iif i l g i : | | i Ht Ir rf $f A i froth, with of salt; then stir into it ligh of grated cheese, a little salt, cayenne. Shape it into little balis of marbies, drop these into hot fat, a few a time—if too many are put in at once they will knock against each other and not rise properly—and fry for five minutes, till of a pretty gold color; then drain, dust over lightly with grated cheese, and they are ready to serve. Breadcrumb cream.—This is most dell- cious. Whip a pint of rich cream stifMfy, sweeten it with confectioner’s sugar, flavor with vanilla and cognac, and mix with browned, sifted breadcrumbs. It should be served piled high in an old china bowl, and strewn with more crumbs and glaced cher- ries. Amsterdam lqueur.—This is a veritable novelty, and consists of cognac and the best Dutch ‘curacoa in equal proportions. It should be sipped from short, bulging Sed if i : i & g Hy ® FOR DYSPEPSIA Use Horsford’s Acid Phosyhate. Dr. J. Guy McCandiess, Pittsturg, Pa, 2 vsed” forms of arapepaian