Evening Star Newspaper, March 24, 1894, Page 15

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1894-TWENTY PAGES. EASTER IN PARI Everybedy Visits the Gingerbread Fair in the Suburbs. RATHER GAUDY BUT VERY INTERESTING The Ancient Puppet Show of **Hell” and Other Curiosities. A RACE OF WRESTLERS Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, March 2, 1894. ITH THE FIRST days of spring in Paris every one goes out to the suburban fairs. The carnival, with its cold fogs, seems long ago. Lent came, with sermons by crack Jesuit and Dominican preachers in fashionable churches, and with ladies walking seri- ously along in black and violet. Mi- Careme, which stirs all Paris to its depths to see the washerwomen doing their parade, has ended with the last masked ball at the opera. Then comes a lull. But even be- fore Easter the ham fair, with the sale of salted meat, of horses and asses at each end of its long stretch, and of junk, old fron and battered bric-a-brae along its edges, has begun the series of the fetes Foraines. Then there ts Easter, glorious, golden in the springtime. The ginger- bread fair has come, and the Parisians, who are professionals in finding pleasure an] seek a constant change in their dis- tractions, Know that to miss its rude and crude delights would be to let slip am op- Pertunity for laughing curiosity. The, suburban boulevard, or avenue, or open square, is broad and flat. It is early evening, with the long twlight of the north. The sun sets in a dust of gold. The fair booths are in Jong lines, furiously painted, They Seid You a Song and Teuch ou the Tune. gneven, humped, misshapen, lItke the side shows of un American circus wrecked by a eyclone. Sharp odors float through the air; sharp music beats against one's ears. The grinding organ takes your soul by the hand and leads it a dance to tts own bawling measure. The cry of the hot-watie mer- chant, the roar of performing Mons from the depths of their tents, mingle with the tooting of gazous, the banging of drums, the e queals of children, and the hever-ending, breathless chatter of French ecnversa: with its battering monotone and mincing syllables. Over all there is a mixed smell of wild animals, fried batter cakes, burnt gunpowder, the smell of Ilacs and the flavor of ten thousand human bodies. The Parisian stands Mstening de- lighteily to the harangue of ahy show- Man nearest to him. Cheap, but Lively. All the Pacis suburbs—once independent towns and vill fairs, which, through famine, war and revolution, have succeeded each other with scarce a break from the middle ages to the Present time The lecal spectacular at- tractions are swollen and magnified a dezen-fold by shows and cir- cuses, whose proprietors and performers ead very much the same roving Ife they have eve: led since the Cawn of history in Eurupe. During these weeks of fair-time the tie and prosaic residents of the quartic become nothing. ‘They are Bwail up in a maelstrom of light and noise a’ where every possible kind of and foreigner in Paris Trubs elbows and jostles in a crowd so im- nd so di d yet so united for choked and tousled It is an atmosphere that with cheap gayety, with some stra mense likely proper name, Robert, Adele.” r every Antoinette, Drawing a € s the announe : “We make in a minute. A rival yo the sign: “Our pigs baptized 2 On the front of the booth The Great Museum of Progress” is dis- 1 in lette-s of gold—*Metempsychosis lace at every explanation!” What- ¥ nis mean. it sounds well, and sets one to reading the signs and listening to the hurangues of the showmen, stand- ing on their balconies outside. The mest are the wrestlers, strong men, boxers fencers from the south of France, with innocent brag and good nature. They the public to come in and strive with fighters have special manners, eyes, the gymnast’s bust and the f laws. They are surrounded with e of Bohemia. Wanderers and there is something about them the adventurous imagination nd touches the susceptibilities 3 isian dames. Artists or they have both beauty and y are childish tn their tastes k instincts as of primitive They have the pride of their art nd a feeling for beautiful poses. And they love gigantic stage-names and the roll of eloquence. They may sometimes be brutes. but they are always interesting —sood at heart like all poor devils. fous thing put their women is the dia- monds they wear in really great quanti- ties The spectators look on these queens of the fair smilin, imagining that all these Biltterimg jewels are but glass. In reality they are true and of good water; it is in them that the receipts are invested, and when luck turns they can be sold or pawn- ed. ‘The booth, in which they live, is on Wheels. is r home; and they are hom w bev are forced to dwell n rooms. 1 wrestlers was Al- from the Abruzzi. His lotine a few years since fm furnished on t lorte, keep up these annual | riginal and attractive of all these show-| A cur- | e bank,” as they say themselves. | called general attention to him. He had been engaged for the part they call “the count,” and had to represent the amateur who, from among the audience, provokes the wrestler and accepts his challenge. It was his cue to allow himself to be thrown; and for this he received daily a few francs and a plate of soup. While wrestling one everring @ pretty girl called out from the crowd: “What! a handsome fellow like that allows himseif to get the worst of it!” Allorto heard this and straightway lifted his master from the ground and flung him over his shoulder. He lost his place on the spot; but the young woman took him home and no more was heard of him until she was taken to prison. She had been ar- rested for breaking the police regulations, He remained faithful to her, but found himself without food or lodging. thought to be uninhabited. A caretaker, however, was found inside the door of the house and was stabbed to the heart by Al- lorto’s companion. Allorto was arrested the same night, but he refused for days to give up the name of his accomplice. he was brought to the morgue, the corpse of the murdered man led to in the name of the mother vietim. “If you refuse to speak, be avenged,” said the wily Par- fsian magistrate. The laws of the vend@tta were sacred to men like Allorto; | and he confessed the details of the crime. It was a period of alarm, and he was con- victed and sentenced to death along with the principal murderer. He died bravely, remembering his mother, his country, and his religion. His fate had come from one girl's thoughtless compliment: “What! a handsome fellow like that allow himself to get the worst of it! Museum Freaks. It would be a tiresome task to count up the number and variety of these provin- | cial arenas that line the long squares of | these Easter fairs, together with side shows and strange theaters presenting time-honored plays, pantomimes, dances, | mysteries and mummeries. At the Panopticun there is the “phe- |nomenon of the century, abowls,” who \drinks eighty glasses of beer in fifteen minutes. The glasses «re ine ordinary | “bocks” of Paris, holding a little less than ‘a pint. The placarl states that Kabowls |has consumed 9,24) bocks smce the com- | mercement of the ham fair. You pass be- |fore the Living Sirens, queens of the locean, ard stop before an anatomical mu- e the only “containing no German seum, which proclaims itself to | in Fi nee In the which is sal to be dn unchanyed survival fzom anciert times, you may see and hear curious little theater of “Hell,” the most naive discourses. The curtain rises to disclose the very depths of the comfortiess abode, with real flames in the foreground, lighting up a glowing cavern of red tinsel. Around the scene are gro- tesque, horned. tafled, misshapen fiends, the size of large dolls und made of wood. They are worked with strings and springs and make a fearful clatter in their evolut tions. Some are forging red-hot handcufls on an anvil, some are prodding furnaces with poles of gold, cf which hell ts known to be full. Others chop viciously at hu- man souls that lie in red-hot vats. The door bell rings. A devil with a three-prong- ed fork calls, “Who ts there?” In a forced and mournful voice the answer comes: “it's me, oh, it’s me.” And a puppet dressed as a lawyer (in the costume of the time of Louls XIV) enters limply. “Ha! ha!” a big bine devil yells. “It's tho Thou hast pleated so many evil causes, thou art not able today to plead thine own. “Put him down! put him down!” a great voice chants. And the lawyer is turned down. The flames dart up, the anvils ring. “Hoo, hoo!” screech the littie devils. There is a pandemonium of whistling, groaning | and hooting. The Judgments of Hell, To the tailor who on earth @i@ not return the pieces of unused cloth and who cut garments too small to increase the import- ance of his thefts the tiend says: “The devil is going to cut you a gown. Ah! ah! they have found your cut.” To a damned apothecary he says: “Here you are, mer- chant of sudden death. You have ointments for burns. They will be of use for you.” There has never been a time in France when this show of “Hell” did not flourish, with very much the same scenery, cos- tumes and dialogue as today. In the cos- tumes used wt present a few are modern, but the great majority straggle, as it were, from 400 years baek. The apothecary is dressed in the style of the last century and carries the large squirt which wa much din thore days. “A vain and frivolous weman” is bedecked tn a style which «p- pears to be of the fourteenth century. This spectacle, which, like children’s games, has thus been handed down nearly untouched for four hundred years, is mentioned as a seul-saving sight in middle-age chronicles and sermons, and people are warned to “take it in’ so that they may not in the detauchery of the fair forget the issues of eternity. Ali of this mild debauchery ts coupled with a selling ef cheap goods. At the ginger- bread fair there are booths for the sale of a Man!” the Ladies Say. . left over from the ham fair just sausages of Lorraine, of Arles or ‘avoy and the ders in coun- i the east of the Norman ants of hot apple fritters and old-fash- for consumption on the Its name comes from the selling of country-made ginger-bread, which Is not very good to eat, but makes excellent nat- ural barometers if hung at a window where it can show the moisture in the air, and | WFen it is soaked in hot water it is an ex- cellent poultice for boils. There is also an immense variety of home-made candy, | wooden shoes, brooms and other articles of provincial hand manufacture,much of which is said to be really produced in Paris. There are flower booths, fruit booths, sales of old fron, old books and other trumpery an- tiquities, gathered together from the four |corners of France. All this makes up the merchandise department. The cheapest of all this merchandise are be Strasburg,of the M J ore, g the songs at are hawked about at a penny a sheet, and they form the connect- ing link with the amusements of the fatr. The people stand around the fiddler and learn the songs which they have bought | frcm him, to the painfully repeated tune which he saws out for them. With the average Parisian’s lack of musical ear, a penny’s worth can in this way be made to last a long time. Crazy Round of Bieycles. These flying horses are new and bright with paint, and there is no end to their variety. Some give a double motion, a combination of going round and round and up and down. like a vessel laboring in a heavy sea. It is two sous’ worth of nausea, and the people love to tempt it. There is one merry-go-round of bicycles in a ring, upon which a certain type of young ladies love to mount and show their patent! leather slippers. They work at the pedals | | furiously, with moist eyes, flushed cheek: and parted lips. It is for them an escta {of motion and of action when, swayed by the churning muste and palpitating with the delightful consciousness that hundreds of eyes regard them with flattering atten- tion, they hear the cries: “Go it,chaussette Vive les bas noirs!” Faster and faster | turns the crazy round of bicycles, more | furiously the gzinding pedels jump. The | white knees flash, and garters, rose, green, | gold and blue, ‘shoot out their darting | colors like a fireworks exhibition. Hair pins drop, hats fly loose and flutter to the! ground like birds, the organ screeches out | Its strident waltz, until the music ceases | and the bicycles are stopped, all ‘too soon | for those who ride, and the voice of the| proprietor 1s heard again monotonously: “Hygienic exercise for all! Combination of! | music, motion and mirth! Come on! Come on!” |°"Xnd it 1s exactly as the showman cries, |come on, come on. For these suburban fairs are a swift show, and nobody should | Stop too long. STERLING HELLIG. | dition of the primitive church. EASTER TRADITIONS That Have Gathered About This Ancient Festival. HOW THE DAY WAS CELEBRATED The Use of the Easter Eggs in Many Countries. THE RABBIT IN THE EGG@ ‘Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. HOSE OF THE teaders of The Star who are the possess- ors of prayer books may find therein the following rule: “Eas- ter day is always the first Sunday after the full moon, whisa happens upon oF next after the 2i=. day of March, and i: the fuil moon has- pens on a Sunday, faster day is the Sunday after." Those of the readers of The Star who are the possessors of alma- nacs will find on consulting them that the moon “fills her horns’ this year on March 21, so the Easter of 1804 comes on the Sun- day but three days after full moon. Every- one in Christendom knows, of course, that the festival is the commemoration of Christ's resurrection, but it 1s quite pos- sible that to the curious student into the origin of things ts confined the knowlew that the mode of fixing the time 2 ‘ts celebration was only settled after a con- troversy that brought about a disruption ef Christian unity. It will not savor of pedantry (being but @ brief quotation from Webster's una- bridged) to say that in the French paques, the Italian pasqua and the Spanish pascua, all standing for Easter, an unbroken lne- age is estublished with the Hebrew pe- sach or passover; while apart from this etymological connection there is the festal coincidence of the Jewish passover and the Christian Easter falling at or about the same time; and the historical fact that Christ was crucified at the feast of the Passover, A. D. 32. The first Christians, being drawn trom, or intimately connected with the Jewish Church, naturally contin- ued to observe the Jewish festivals, though in a new spirit, making them commemor- ations of actual events, where before they had commemorated only the type, the shadow, the promise. In this modified per- petuation of the Pesach, Easter was then called the Pascal feast. ‘The Fixing of Easter Day. But although Christ's death and resur- rection were settled points, the day upon which the events were to be observed was not fixed without a long continued and bit- ter difference. The Jewish Christians, of course, considered that the death of Christ as the true Fascal Lamb should be ob- served according to the Mosaic dictum; that is, at the exact time ef the passover; and that Easter should immediately follow without any regard to the day of the week. The Gentile Christians, on the other hand, knew that Christ had arisen on a Sunday and wanted that day kept as a resur- rection festival, following Friday as the day of crucifixion, without any regard to the day of the month. In Its position as arbiter in chief, the church of Rome set- tied the difference and favor of the Gentile cu: being issued about A. D. But even after the settlement of this question there remained the more intricate problem as to the particular Sunday upon which Easter should be observed, that question being finally disposed of more than 500 years after, or to be exact, in A. D. 669. Easter is not fixed like Chrtst- mas day, but is wh is known as @ mov- able feast, and moves backward or for- wan, ording as the full moon next after the vernal equinox fails nearer or further from the equinox, the exact rule for its location being that quoted at the beginning of this article. In addition to the chief alm of securing {ts common observance by all the churches, a distinct rule to find er day Was very necessary, as upon its date depend all the movable church feasts and fasts throughout the year. The nine Sundays before and the eight follow- ing after are all dependent upon {it and form, as it were, a body guard to this queen of festiv: Ancient Customs. In the second step towards tracing the origin of Easter is the curicus fact that while, as we have seea. the Latin races have adopted the modified Hebraic name for the festival, our English word Easter, like the Gernan Ostern, is derived from the old Teutonic mythology—Eostre or Ostra having been the goddess of spring, to whom the month of Apcil, Eostur- monath, was dedicated by the Anulo- Saxons. The venerable Bede, indeed, says that this month was the same as the Mensis Paschalis, when “the old festival was observed with the gladness of a new solemnity.’ Faster 1s peculiar in that, while the cen- tral idea of the modern celebration is the great event of the resurrection, it is sur- rounded by what ts either the growth of offshoot observances or the survival of antique customs, some of them being par- ticulacly bizarre, and many of them in- explicable. Who can explain, for instance, except on the far-fetched ground of a faint shadow- ing of the resurrection, the ridiculous cus- tom which still obtains in some parts of England of “lifting’’ or “heaving,” that is, of lifting up from the ground everyone met with. The strange part of this custom is that on Easter Monday the men lift the women, and on Easter Tuesday the women lft the men. Another instance of this amiable retalfation is still found practiced in the county of Durham, England,. where, | on Easter Monday, the men take off the women’s shoes, and on the following day the women perform that office for the men. As remarkable and queer a custom as any is that which used to prevail in many English parishes of both the clezgy and laity playing a geme of ball in the church; while in many parts of Dorsetshire and Devonshire the clerk of the church, or beadle, after the morning service carries round to the various parishioners a few white, bitter-sweet cakes as an Easter offer- ing. So great was the now-forgotten virtue of these cakes at one time supposed to be that in one parish of the county of Kent, England, an endowment of unknown date is still used for making a distribution of cakes on Easter Sunday afternoon. Foot Ball and Easter Egas. In the good old city of Chest. abounds with mediaeval antiqui: only lately that young fellows have jiven up parading the streets carrying a chair lined with white silk and decked out with ribbons and garlands, on which ev gurl met with was seated, poised as high as pos- sible in the air, and then released on pay- ment of a kiss. In past years, too, the whole city corporation used tw turn out in full regalia on Easter morning and play a game of foot ball. In Chester, als game of ball in church was at one at Strictly, religiously even, carried out. Tue bishop and deans used to take the ball into the cathedral and at the commencemert of the antiphone used to dance, throwing the ball to the choristers, who then threw it to each other during the time of dancing and antiphone. The custom, however, which seems to have longest survived and to be most gen- erally observed is that of givi and re- ceiving Easter eggs. The usage ‘3 tound among all the different Christian co:amum- ties, and seems to embody a symaoiical tra- "t ta ex- One authority, exercise his in- plained in various manners who seems determined t the parents of the Roman Emperor Aicx- ander Severus is said to have iaid on the day of his birth. The most >robable expla- nation that one can draw out of all the guesswork seems to be this: Among the pagans of the old world the egg had airways a mystic importance, on account, probabiy, of the latent life it contained, and th‘s tra- dition was, I surmise, embodied with so many others in the new religion that the ezg became the symbol of Christ's resur- rection. At any rate, it is certain that it was formerly the fashion among the early Christians to carry eggs to the temple to be blessed by the priest, the eggs being aiter- i ward distributed among the members of one’s family and friends. Some Artistic Eg; The coloring of the eggs in all probability grew out of a fancy to make the gift look bright-.and gay, and, like all fancies, it has had its crescendo and diminucaio. The height of the fancy is marked by the eggs which were offered on Easter to Mme. Vic- toire de France, daughter of Louts XV, and which are still preserved in the brary of Versailles on account of the beautiful paintings which they bear, the work of no less artists than Lancret and Watteau. The declension of the fancy is found in England today, where plain, hard-boiled e: usual- ly form the Haster offering. In lrance the natural egg is almost done away with, and the jeweler and confectioner supply the sometimes valuable and always “sweetly Pretty” counterfeit. With us hens’ ergs colored and those made by the candy man are about equally used. In Belgium lovers exchange eggs diversely colored, acccm- panied by poetical and sentimental d-vices. In Russia Easter eggs are a creat inst'tu- tion. From the czar to the lowest moujik every one conforms thereto. The po) give and receive eggs that are simply stain- ed; but the aristocratic egg is 4 gorgecus affair, painted and decorated with much artistic skill. In Poland the giving of EF: ter eggs is not confined simply to friends Every householder and noble offers an es to each comer on Easter Monday. The ag is broken tn two, and while the host 1s al- lowed simply to touch his lps to the con- tents of his mofety, the visitor is expected to eat the whole of his half. The Germans, at once the most phlesmat- fe and tmaginattve of people, have fringcd the custom of giving eggs with the “ded custom of bringing in the rabbit as part of the Easter offering. The custom has been traced back as far as a legend that if a child of simple heart watches v’ atten- tively on Faster morn she miay see a rabbit burst, full furred, from its eeg—the enly requisite to this charming surprise bh the simple one of first finding the rabbit's egg. Though the tracing back of the Ger- man Easter rabbit to this little fair 1s easy enough, It Is by no means So es) to take up the tracing line from this pott and find out why the fairy story should have been tacked on to the Christian feast. Possibly the connection may go as far back as the Scandinavian mythology, which, as has been said, embraced in {ts pantheon the fair-eved Eostur, at whose smile all the sleeping things of earth sprang into life. oe WOES OF THE NEWLY MARRIED. Tilastrated by a Young Man Who Tried to Do a Plumber's Work. ‘They were young married folk and were making us a Sunday afternoon call. We were young married fol too, and, as we four were all but strangers in the city, we did considerable visiting among ourselves, says a writer in the St. Louls Republic. We had pretty well exhausted all general topics this afternoon and were stretching stray suggestions into conversations, We were boarding, so we had no domestic af- fairs of our own, and we had exchanged opinions of our respective landladies so often that neither’s grievances were of in- terest to the other. A long silence was broken by the young husbaund—the other one. He began with a smile, whicn de- veloped into a grin, and tinaily ame a chuckle. He had vidently thought of something and we all brightened with ex- pectation. “Well, what {s it?” I asked, and then he told this story. His wife tried at the be- ginning to stop him, but we would not bave it. “Down at our place we have two rooms,” he said. “In one of them is a stationary washstand. About a week a my wife imagined that she smelled sew gag, and upon investigation concluded that it came up eros leading from the wash: a. We tried all sorts of ways of remecying the evil, but nothing succeeded until I pro- cured a lot of small orks and fitted them tightly in the outlets of the busin. You know, there are a number of small bole near the top of the basin to ald the main duct, if necessary,in carrying off the ‘uter, Of course these had to be filled. I had quite a time getting the right size of corks, but I persevered and was successful. ‘This was in the morning, and whea } he pleted the task I went downtown. followed I know only from he: That has it that there were gathered around the table at noon five women; there were no men in the house. During the meal it v noticed that a drop of water fell on table. This called attention to the ¢ which was darkened by moisture. was an immediate rush for the next ff above. IT have ‘never been able just what happened when those women found the water running full force and the chairs and tabies all but floadng. ic ever, from circumstantial evidense, that they went directly for those corks, I had put a cork in the bottom also, as we fancied that the old rubber stepper was loose. Well, those corks were so swotlen with the water that it was imp: pull them out or drive them through. A great deal of feminine fuss and hysterical, unavailing work may he imasined here. which finally resolved itsalf into a message to the next house for help—maseutine preferred. The son of the house r “Yes,” L suggested as he paused, “what did he do”’ The young married man wife with a qu! al smile. nervously at him, srew ré then, as our attention was entirely “ to her, she saw that some reply was ex- pected. “Weill,” she said, “the tirst thing he did was to tum off the water.” SHOES FOR SPRINGTIME, New Styles in French and Dongola Kid for Wear by Fashionnble Women. A woman's congress shoe of the whole foxed variety of bright dongola ts produced, says the Shoe and Leather Reporter. The foxing at the back extends tapering to the top of the shoe and at the front is tipped with patent leather. The top is of plain light-colored cloth, with goring to match it in color. This is in {mitation button style, the scalloped button plece forming seam line against the goring at the front, | and the extension of the fox!ng to the seam | line at the back. By this method the shoe is simplified as to the number of pieces re- | quired for the top and a minimum of seams el and a nar- hoe is neat in ap- kid, is obtained. With mediy row, rounded te pearnee. A similar shoe is of French the difference being that the han: broad button piece instead of cloth, forming a 7 to the dull black goring, inst of matching it as in the former. A sample shoe, with a pretty name, is low cut and a combinat of button and lace fasteners, of soft, kid. Down the front is a line of sca wearer. The elaborate piece has three diamond responding to the three cular hole 1s made by through which also the hosiery is visible when on the foot. It has a broad, perfor- ated heel foxing of the same material. see Spelling. From Jenness Miller Monthly. That spelling is not the neces attri- bute of cleverness, or inability to spell the necessary mark of a fool, is plain enough. No one who thinks for a minute or two on the matter will fail to remember that he knows one or two men who cannot write the simplest note without misspellings, and that these are by no means the most stupid of his acquaintances, but often the cleverest. The Duke of Wellingjon, it is notorious, could not spell, and there have been plenty of other men of his mental caliber quite as illiterate. Some one has lately collected a list of distinguished Frenchmen who could not spell, and heads it with Thiers—who, though not a genius, was certainly one of the cleverest men that ever lived. Thiers never could manage to spell his native language, though as a writer he wag correct enough. —_——__+ e+ —_ Baby's First Shoes. From the Philadelphia Times. A recent fad among young mothers is to have baby’s first shoes made objects of beauty and sentimental interest through the agency of some metal preparation that 1s poured over the little shoe, causing it to retain its shape and showing all those dear little spots and dents so precious in eyes of the fond parent. An enterprising firm has hit upon this plan and from the success they are making the idea proves itself a very popular one. ss Set the Style. From Lif “Papa,” said the Fiji Island maiden, as she laid down her paper, “I have 5 that ball room dresses are daily be more and more decollete. What doe mean?” “It means, my child,” replied her griz: that warrior father, as a flush of pride strug- it gled with the Pacific tan on his brow, means that, uncivilized as they call we are not beyond establishing a prece- dentl” om- | What , | iting her g ,{ the ¢ look} at his | fon | the | 1804, by Harper & Brothers. “And Ulyssa—you've forgot Ulyssa! Leavin’ out the richest girl in town! You fellows must be wanderin’. Ulyssa Betts. question is, which of you aims to ask the | pleasure of her comp'ny Wednesday night, April 1, to a party at the house of Mr. Josiah Hight?” There was a momentary silence on the part of the young fellows gathered round the station agent's desk. His big’ lamp cast a mellow light on the broad shoulders, bronze faces, and rough woolens of the throng. It also picked out edges of black and white in the bunches of bills of lad- ing hanging on the deal wall, and studded with steely points the telegraphic instru- ment muttering crazily to itself below the fron-stayed window. Through the barred Panes the village winked fitfully in the gloom of the night, lying low in a lurch of the Kentucky hills. Spring leafage frothed the sides of the hollow in a mist- ing waste of shadow, creeping up the steep rises, and cresting them in furzy darkness, over which stared pale and blank the thin face of a new moon. “Well, who lays off to take Lys to the dance?” repeated the station agent, listen- ing for the night express, and holding his official blue pencil aloft to jot down the name of the man who should speak first. Some one laughed. “It'd be much as eny fellow’s life was | worth to offer to carry Lys anywhere while Vercamp’s around! Heh, Bert? You | don't "low any Interference in thet direc- tion?” The man stopped short. Vercamp had uttered an angry exclamation. He was lounging against the high desk with his wide hat far back on his head in @ way which left in evidence the girlish lock of yellow hair above his eyes. He was slight and handsome,with a bronzed throat which rose splendidly from the loose turn of his gray flannel collar. Something in the carriage of the blond young head, or in the droop of the fair mustache, or per- haps in the Ine of the Ups themselves, differentiated Vercamp from the other log- gers and the sprinkling of mill men and stave workers about in the group. He look- ed, almost poetic,” except, indeed, when he looked, as at present, dangerously nettled. “Look here,” he rasped out, “I'm sick of this! I tell you all I'm sick of it! If any one mentions that subject again, ‘sociating my namé with a girl I've never looked at scarcely, it won't be: well for him!” The agent seemed to resent this. “T don’t know as I lay out to rile you up, Bert,” he deliberated, “but there ain't no man living can tell me what to mention and what to let alone. See? And as far as Ulyssa Betts goes, you don’t like her. We all Know that. She knows it too, pore lit- | tle skite! But seeing the whole town krows she thinks you're "bout the Ikeliest thing God ever turned His hand to, why | you can’t expect that folks won't run you about it.” “That's all right, Ed. I~” “Then don't git off your base so brash. *Tain't safe in Pulaski count And if you're willing to take a pointer— Yh, go on! Looks Nke I can take most anything!” “Wh just this. She ain't over-pretty, Lys ain't. “T should say not!’ “Fact is, I don’t know as I ever set eyes orto a homelier sprig of a girl. But you might dance with her now 2nd agin with- out hurting yourse’f. Heh, fellers? He wouldn't break no bones by acting a Mt- tle decent, would he?" There was a cordinl growl of acquiesc- in this considerate view. Vercamp | | she'll come to herself all right,” he surmised, {ndifferentlv. “She's no more | than a child—fifteen or so. And she don’t need any person's pity, She’s proud as pea-fowl, and uppity as the cock on a va True, for searing. the ground w walk on, he she's always hed a constitution Shi ‘s been raised to think n't good enough for her to conceded the a lling the signal for a train to tor pass at since you've handled wood for | the mill—a_year k, ain't {t?—she’s | knuckled! e hes tha She's begun to | see that t » hundred ars a year can’t make a black skin fair or a big mouth little. Well, sir, 1f you won't take her to T reckon’ I'll hev to. D'know’s T care much, so long as Bain hes put in a_cinch claim on carrying Lobelia Ivens! | You and me ‘ll come to guns over that girl, Rain!" In the midst of the laugh which rose | upon this good-natured menace Vereamp \ strolled out and across the dark platform. He was very distinctly sensible of being [deeply irritated. In some sort she was j making ear both ridiculous and rude—this ugly little creature who had chosen to anoint him king over her fanc It only made the matter worse that she | was a person of importance, and lived in the best house in town—a white-painted frame, with green facings to its windows. Had been poor and obscure, no one would have noticed her unfortunate re- gard. But position accentuatess personal failings, and the villagers chuckled con- siderably over Ulyssa’s infatuation for a man in whom it roused only a resentful displeasure. “T reckon dance,” meditated Vercamp, striding down the rough road to his boarding house. “Folks seems to think I ain't acting just right.” And he kicked a stone out of his way, exasperated that public opinion could | have an effect to coerce his judgment. He was still resentful on the night of the party as he tied his crimson scarf and plastered his fair locks down so smoothly | that his head seemed at last to be covered with gold leaf. Even in the intricacies of | his tojiet making he was aware of re- | flecting with anno: ¢ upon the single thorn which his r asure hid. How could he be happy as the young blood tn his veins demanded,when he knew that his gay banter over the hands of the Village beauties would be watched from some melancholy corner by a pair of dull dark eyes pathetically helpless and hope- | less? | He groaned at the prospect, hurling his brush at a hound pup which had stolen in- s room. The yelp of pained surprise h greeted this ill-temperad action gave compunctious thrill, and he nm forth to the dance. ft was cool for April. The sun had long been down, but a broken band of bronze still girded’a sky swept over with a glam- or of purplish blue. Against it the cliff summits leaned soft and black. dark rises river mists were weaving tis- sues of dense white. Beyond the banks sparkled the village lights, and still fur- her on, like a great red star fallen out of heaven, the railway signal shone from the tracks along the eastern heights. The residence gf Mr, Josiah Hight, the livery stable man, sat next door to his place of business. ‘It was half way up the road and two steps below the curbless street, and as Vercamp approached his eye noted the oblique brightness which its kayly lighted porch cast over the road- wa ri y iirls in stiff muslin chattered on the rail- rms akimbo was rattling me jig steps in the center of the liv- ing room. in the midst of it the fiddler, chinning up his instrument, waved his bow, and cried, vocife: “Pardners for cud- ri At this there was a movement among the young men at the gate. The | girls gave their starched skirts a final pat, and suffered themselves to be led out. Vercamp, with a determined frown on his good looking face, thrust forward and drew up before a little figure leaning upon th 1 of the further windo Pleased to have your com’ny for this set,” he specified, gruffy. The girl looked at him with a startled flush. She was dressed in notably better fashion than the cther young women. Her white frock— | soft, fine, frilled with delicate lace, the broad blue ribbon binding her bush of dark | hair, the thread of gold about her neck, | the ‘ring on her finger—all these signs her apart from the red-cheeked damsels coquetting with their partners in the room beyond. “On,” she fluttered out in an excited un- @ertone—“oh, thank you! 'd be gladif you care to dance.” But even as she spoke a plaintive uncertainty stole over her face, as if she realized with deadly precision the grounds upon which this handsome | young fellow had approached her “Pleased to have your comp'ny,” repeat- ed Vercamp, unable to cast into his tone an accent of courtly reassurance. He bit his lip, noticing the slight shiver which went over her at his words. He had meant to be considerate, but it struck him that per- haps an utter uneoncern on his part would {have been less cruel than perfunctory kind- |A DISDAINFUL YOUTH | From Harper's Bazar, Easter number, copyright, | There's the name wrote down. Now the I better ask her out in a) s satiny ear as he went | Under the | \ less veranda. Astride of a keg the vil- | lage fiddler was already tuning up, and $ ude to the rustic cotillion and tokens of fortune marked her among | her fellow without mollifying the plain- ness of feature which more effectually set Nervous, Skin and Blood Diseases. All diseases ; ERVOUS DERILITY, DECAY OF RoDY AND MIND, WEAK EYES, LACK GF ENERGY, IMPOVER- ISHED BLOOD, HEADACHE, ‘ULNESS, DESPONDENCY, WEAK DEFECTIVE VITALITY, PROS- NEURALGIA, EPILEPSY, Pa- | RALYSIS, STOMACH and LIVER DIS- ORDERS, WHEN CAUSED FROM DIs- EASES OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM, 4BB PRIVATELY, S§APELY AND PERMA- NENTLY CURED. Persons ruined tn health by nature suc- the Latest Scientific Principles. ACure Warrante Perfected tn old cases which have been *| Varicocele Fourteenth Street Cable Cars pass the door. ©7 Cases and correspondence BACREDL ‘CONSU! of a special | cessfully |w* treated upon | mano Remarkable Cures NO EXPERIMENTS OR FAILURES. POSITIVELY CURED BY A NEW AND NEVER-FAILING METHOD, AND A GUARANTEE GIVEN IN EVERY CASE TREATED, OFFICE HOURS: 9 to 3 and 6 to & Sundays, 10 to 2 Saturday evening mat] ®& LTATION AND y MEDICINE AND SURGERY, 807-809-811 14th St. N. WASHINGTON, D. C. 4 PERMANENT INSTITUTION FOR THE SCIENTIFIC TREATMENT AND CURR OF Nervous, Mental and Special Diseases. W. (Bet. H and I Sts.), ORY Pretenders, who keep trifling with them month after month, giv pononous and ° i — compounds, apply imme i. neglected or unskillfully treated. Y CONFIDENTIAL EXAMINATION FREE fess. He gazed helplessly at Ulyssa, ob- serving without interest that her skin, at once pale and dark, was the chief reason of her ugliness. For distinctly the —_s ‘wen o As she rose he drew a sigh of relicf. He had been momentarily afraid she meant to decline his proffer, and he was glad that this did not appear to be her design. He wanted to dance with her so that he might without remorse dismiss her utterly from mind, and give himself to the delightful pastime enraging the other men by | monopolizing Lobelia Ivens, % buxom young person, whose frizzed end pink lawn shoulders and loud laugh were impressing him even then from the door- way. | _As he tramped through the figures of the | dance, Vercamp kept before him the at- tractive graces.of Miss Ivens bouncing gayly to her partner across the room. It | cheered him to exchange a smile with this florid beauty; and he needed , for | the changes of the set brought him always |back to the sad abstraction of Ulyssa’s eyes, and the chill touch of her Little | fingers, that were so much softer and slighter than the fingers of the other girls. At the end of the dance he conveyed Ulyssa to @ seat. When, presently after, he cast a glance toward the place where |he had left her, he saw that she was no longer there. “Lookin’ for Lys?” queried Lobelia Ivens, with a giggle. “She’s went home. Had a headache”—she giggled still more, and added—“or a heartache” As Vercamp drew his brows at this, she thrust her el- |bow at him with condescendi ness, saying, “She's real sweet, is.” “I didn’t say she wasn't,” contended Vercamp. No doubt she was sweet, but the girl his side, in her exuberant color and curves, was more to his liking. That was all. Yet, strangely enough, as he lay awake that night reviewing the night's | happenings, it was not Lobelia’s face which (recurred most insistently to his mind. | The moonlight streaming in his window, | the sheen of far-off stars, the black bushes grazing the sill—these things, oddly enough, united to recall the pallor of Ulyssa Rett's face, the glow of her eyes, the crinkly black of her hair. Vercamp did not at- }tempt to account for this freak of his |imagination. But as he drowsed nearer sleep he formulated a decision that he was | glad the time of tides in the river was at an end, and that he would soon be leaving | the village for a prolonged trip through the mountains to brand timber for the mill. In the three months of his absence Ulyssa would forget him. Common sense would come to her aid. She would remember that though she was not beautiful she was an heiress and that Vercamp was not only | unloving, but also just a poor logger, with |no_ prospects whatever. He saw nothing of her in the few days preceding his departure. But on the morn- ing when he rode up hill on a shagey hill horse, with a branding ax in his saddle | bags and a massive spur on his heel, be | Saw the curtain of a window of the house in which Ulyssa lived with her uncle's family move a little. It fell together sud- denly, as if a shaking hand had loosed it. And Vercamp, replacing his broad hat, had a tugging sensation at the heart which seemed only accountable on the theory | that he was sorry if Ulyssa was in grief> Lying by night rolled in a blanket under | some great tree, or perhaps {n a mountain hut, with stars staring pensively upon him | through the insufficiencies of the cetling, | the young man more than once thought of Ulyssa. But after a time, in the ardor of trade and the exigencies of mountain travel, the idea of the girl wore off; and when, along in September, he came back to the river town, bearded like a Persian and | brown as the hillside ledges, he had almost | lost all notion of the littie village hetress. Nor did the first day serve to recall her. | In the enthusiasms of renewed friendships and of a great rise in Ve-camp's commer- cial fortunes, Ulyssa was not,even a pale | wraith of memory. For the young man | had brought about what was spoken of as “a big deal” for the mill while away on hig ‘journey, and in recognition of his tactful handling of a certain gruff old fellow who owned a tract on which the mill had long desired to lay its hand, Vercamp was of- | fered the high position of superintendent. |_ “Don’t reckon you'll mix with us fellers | Ro more,” tentatively advanced the sav- a = log. “Heh, Bert?’ “Oh, get out!” laughed Vercamp, a tered at this tribute to his new ares | “No bell stuff in that timber, Jones. It’s wind shook. Cut it into inch goods. What pase 4 7 | you? Ain't my bead the si nid ‘ize it always “I was jokin’," signified Jones, “My os ooe = f a, Ways Hines | ton! ’0" PI to hev sam- mee goer cake.” “Proud to do it!" erted Vercamp. He had not seen any of the girls as vet, and the wedding would give him a chance to renew old interests of this kind. He had hardly stepped into the house of the sawyer's assistant before he became aware that his value as an individual was subtly enhanced by his business successes. | Every one doffed the cap to Vercamp’s ris- ing crest. Those who had formerly be: merely friendly now were almost servile. The bride left her husband's hand to sTeet the superintendent and Lobelia Ivens, re- splendent in pink ribbons and wiry iaces, fairly ignored her court to smile on him. Vercamp expanded genially. He was | young and adulation ts pleasant. He felt that he desired nothing more in life. And | as this fact dawned upon him he suddenly | recollected the girl who had been accus- tomed to spoil his pleasure with the simple —— i her presence. le cast a swift eye round him. But tl big low-beamed room held no hint ae the | Small, richly clad, pieintively ugly crea- ture he sought. He had an impulse to ask about her, but just then supper was an- Fergal bf the bride’s mother, a cordial | bu ixious person, and V: | his arm to Lobelia” iaccinemas The clatter of heavy crockery, of boots, the table was set. Candles sputt red 0} the mantel, branches of green thrust for ; ward here and there from a whitened |beam, and bunches of late flowers were grouped woodenly at corners of the board. | Everything wore an air of festival. as Sd ee eye Mghted on the empty compot In the center of the tabi Bhi i a little shriek. — |. “Well,” she said, “4f you haven't £ {te set the weddin’ cake o1 — Mrs. Jones clapped a distracted hand to her head. “I'm nigh near deranged, uny- how,” she admitted. “Set up, every one, | jand fall to.” Then, opening the kitchen door, she called out, tch in the ca |and watch out you don’t jar the frostin’ Vercamp, arranging himself at Lobelia’s side, caught a murmur of admiration. “The handsomest cake I most ever saw!” “A rale picture?" “*Tis so! Too pretty to eat!” ‘And them {cin’ roses!—ain’t they prop- | er?—as fair-favored as the stone flowers on | | Jay Linn’s wife's tombstone!” Vercamp looked with awe at the big white shape, from the middle of which bristled a | tuft of glittering tinsel. As it was solemn- jly lowered into the comport, the young }man gave a start and then sat clutching his fork and staring blankly. She who had brought in the cake, and who now stood settling it into place—who was she?—this small person covered to the slight soft | throzt in an apron of coarse blue stuff?— this girl with unribboned hair, with a hand which in touching the gilt decoration of | the frosted loaf showed a tollworn texture? | yer’s assistant, putting the big saw through} A fine manhood or womanhood cap | |do you mean by saying I won't mix with | of chairs in movement, sounded fr the | echoing deal walls of the room in webich | But) If it were Indeed Ulyssal But of that could be no doubt, for even as at her poor attire, her attitude of went through Vercamp, the girl's fell upon the bride’ she clapped a quick hand ®pron’s high bib and turned very ped back and away. “Didn't you know dy fy ~ 4 “She's changed considerable, think heaps better “ ‘works with Lys to buckle bed to my her hands Vercamp still held fast and fork. He had frgotten “the get Senge bis throat was “sornething Sit hore y oe ing, stifing sensation made him jerk away from the table and rise and tur to the door, 4 enanyains te matter? rose an anxious orus, “No,” muttered Vercamp; “na I want Droath of alr.” re a etter hev a taste of Buck rer 4 vised Jones. But Vercamp the “SCS STRAST vom tne amy vy le I; is the the side porch. To his left a rangle lay upon the yard—the production of the kitchen window. it @ narrower gleam indicated a and a moment later Vi on the single stone placed for a kitchen threshold. ‘The room had the éisorier which panies unusual occasi: but Vercamp not notice anything ‘erly engrossed with the ‘a re- there, gazing straight beams overhead. ad not look blue cotton lap, sat up at the onk She wes not crying. mournful or appeal! as ae _ She stil tl @ tragedy of complete impas- sive despair In her wide clear eyes. “Ulyssa!” cried Vercamp. The word was jolted from him with a vigor which jer instantly to her feet “Oh, Ulyssa! oh, zoe poor little dear! living ike this—you iving like this! I never knew about it till |Just now, Ulyssa. I never even dreamed of such @ thing happening to you. And when I heard it, I knew why I kept think- ing about you so much, wg A | to \get away from the table in and find you, and—and snatch you up tn my arms protect you from—from oa if the tin pans and tron pots were Sate ee teed attemp' he ol | pened to think of tert potter | used to be: and you shall have thing you've lost—the house, ring—if only you'll take honey.” Ulyssa stood wit 00d to pity me so much,” “Pity!” shouted Ver of her hand at last. “Well, R ‘inating: Maing hep “Lord ha’ mercy? Ulyssa wheeled round, face in the blue apron. emit ea (tame on his “Ulyssa’s gding to marry me* “Will you bake our ena Jones?” ————+e+—______ CHILDREN’S RIGHTS. A Phase of the Untversal Pretéem That Confronts Society, From Jenness Miller Menthin There 1s no substitute for « gemutme, freq, serene, healthy, breat-ané-butter chilGhepé. built on no other foundation, ang American homes are so often hurry and worry, our manner of ®0 keyed to concert pitch, our istence so complicated, that we babies along in our wake and to our artificial standards, “sweet Sowers are slow, and weeds haste.” If we must, or fancy that we this false, too feverish life, let are them! By keeping them toe we are in danger of producing army of conventional Mttle priga know much more than they should = which are profiess even to ers. As to keeping chfldren too clean for any mortal use, I suppose nothing is more a:trous. The divine right to be | dirty a large portion of the tine, when is a necessary consequence of ful, friendly contact with all sorts esting helpful things, ts too clear denied. The children who have to \of their clothes before playing with | dogs, digging in the sand, | shed, building a bridge or jgarden never get half their Jegi | jcyment out of life | I bave a good deal of sympathy | little people during their first eight years, when they are just | learn life's lessons, when the which govern them must often seem 80 | Strange and unjust. | The child has a right to @ place of bis |own, to things of his own, to # which have some relation to his his \desires and his capabilities, How should we like to live hi IE ef fy fs i s is a2 li SE SERE i I | door knob at an impossible mantel shelf in the sky; where every mor- tal thing was out of reach except # collec- jtion of highly futeresting objects on Gress- jing tables and bureaus, 6 how- jever, by giants three times as large and powerful 8 ourselves, forever ‘Mustn’t touch.” if we did touch we hould be spanked, and have no otber |method of revenge save to spank back ically on the inoffensive persons of is? our dolls? The child probdi at the o ontrol is really nee nt constitutio rule dually ending in parental abdica- @ must not expec jectual an et children to be too a 00d. ral precocity pro- duced by stimulation wi at the expe of the future charac’ In these mat the child ri ht to expect examples. Fie lives In the senses; he can only learn through object lessons,'can only pass from the concrete examples of goodness to ® vision of abstract perfection. A TONIC, Horsford'’s Acid Vhosphate, Dr. J.C. Wilson, iphia, Pa, enver “Z | have used ft as a ge tonle, sind to particular in the debility and dyspepsia of overworked ana with satisfactory results.”