Evening Star Newspaper, December 15, 1894, Page 23

oer ore eye TH EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1894-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. ayy TERRIBLE AS A DEMON. LETTING IN THE JUNGLE Further Adventures of Mowgli. BY RUDYARD KIPLING. (Copyrighted.) CHAPTER II. “Men must elways be making traps for men, or they are not content,” said Mow- gill. “Last nigat it was Mowgli—the last night seems many rains ago. Tonight it is Messua and her man. Tomorrow and for many nights after it will be Mowgli’s turn again.” He crept along outside the wall till he came to Messua’s hut, and looked through the window into the room. There lay Mes- sua, gaggea an cound hand and foot, breatning hard and groaning, and her hus- band was tied to the gaily painted bed- ‘stead. The door of the hut that opened into the street was shut fast, and three or four men were sitting with their backs to it. Mowgli knew the manners and customs -of the villagers very fairly. He argued that so long as they could eat and talk and smoke they would not do anything else; but as soon as tuey had fed they would be- gin to be dangerous. Buldeo would be coming in betore long, and if his escort had done {ts duty Buldeo would have a very interesting tale vo tell. So he went in through the window, and stooping cver the man and the woman, cut their thongs, pulled out the gags and looked around the hut for some milk. Messua was half wild with pain and fear (she had been beaten and stoned and cuffed all the morning), and Mowgli put his hand over her mouth just in time to stop a scream. Her husband was only bewildered and angry, and set picking dust and things out of his torn beard. “I krew—I knew he would come, va sobbed at last. “Now do I know that e is my son,” and she hugged Mowgli to er heart. Up to that time he had been Perfectly steady, but now he began to tremble all over, and that surprised him immensely. “What are all these thongs? Why have they tied thee?’ ne asked after a pause. “To be put to the death for making a son of thee—what else?” said the man, sul- lenly. “Look! I bleed.” Messua said nothing, but {t was at her wounds that Mowgli’ looked, and they heard him grit his teeth when he saw the blood. “Whose work ts this?” said he. “There will be a price to pay. “The work of al) the village. I was too rich. I had too many cattle. Therefore, she and I are \itches, and because we gave thee shelter.” “I do not understand. Let Messua tell the tale.” : “I gave thee milk, Nathoo; dost thou re- I Am Old, but Not Yet Toothless. member?” Messua said timidly. “Because thou wast my son whom the tiger took, and because I loved thee very dearly. They said that I was thy mother, the mother of a devil, and therefore worthy of devil?” death.” said Mowgli. "Death I have seen.” “And what fs a The man looked up gloomily under his eyebrows, but Messua laughed. “See,” she her husband, “I knew I said that S$ no sorcerer. He is my son—my “Son or sorcerer, what good will that do man answered. “We are as dead ler is the road to the jungle.” pointed through the window. your hands and feet are free. Go e do not know the jungle, my son, as as thou knowest,” Messua began. “L do Rot think that I could walk far.” “And the men and women would be up- d rag us here again,” said m!" said Mowsll, and he tickled the palm of his hand with the tip of his skin- ning knife. “I have no wish to do harm to any one of this village—yet. But I do not think they wilt stay thee. In a little while they will have much to think of. Ah!” he lifted his head and listened to shouting and trampling outside. “So they have let Bul- Geo come home at last. “Hoe was sent out this morning to kill * Messua cried. “Didst thou meet we—I met him. He has a tale to at I am certain; and while he it there is time to do much. But ill look and see what they mean. e would go and tell me when ded through the window and ran along again outside the wall of the vik lage till he came within earshot of the crowd around the pecpul tree. Buldeo was lying on the ground coughing and groan- ing, and every one was asking him ques- tions ll at once. His hair had fallen about his shoulders; his bands and legs were skinncd from’ climbing up trees, and he could hardly speak, but he felt the tm- portance of his position keenly. From time to time he said something about devils end s evils and magic en- ohantment, just to give the crowd a taste of wkat was coming. Then he called for said Mowsgll. “Chatter—chatter. kk. ‘These men are brothers of log. Now he must wash his mouth with water; now he must smoke; ‘and when all this is done he has still his story to tell. They are very wise people— men. T will have no one to guard fleasua their ears are stuffed with Buldeo's And-I am becoming as lazy as He shook himself and glided back to the but. Jvst as he was at the window he felt @ touch on his foot. “Mother,” said he, for he knew that tongue well, “what dost thou here?” “T heard my c oe lren sing through the gvoods, an 1 the one I loved best. Litue Frog, I h ® desire to see that woman © gave thee milk,” said Mother [Wolf, all wot with the dew. “They have bound end mean to kill her. have cut those ties, and she goes with er man through the jungle. “I also will follow. I am old, but not yet Yoothiess.” Mother Wolf reared herself upon end, and looked through the window into the dark of the but. In a minute she dropped iselessly, and she said was: “I gave iy first lk; but Bagheera speaks true. goes man at last.” bi @s Mowsll, wi ppossnt iook en his acer “But fonight £ am very far from that trail. Wait here, but do not let her see.” “Thou wast never afraid of me, Little Frog,” said Mother Wolf, backing into the high grass, and blotting herself out, as she knew how. “And now,” said Mowgli, cheerfully, as he came Into the hut again, “they are all sitting around Buldeo, who is saying that which did not happen. When his talk is finished they say they will assuredly come here with the Red—with fire, and burn you both. And then!’ “I have spoken tc my man,” said Messua. “Kanhiwara is thirty miles from here, but at Kanhiwara we may find the English” ‘And what pack are they?” said Mowsll. I do not know. They be white, and it ts said they govern all the land, and do not suffer people to burn or beat each other without witnesses. If we can get thither tonight we live. Otherwise we die.” “Live then. No man passes the gates to- night. But what does he do?” Messua's husband was on his hands and,knees dig- ging up the earth In one corner of the hut. “It is his little money,” said Messua. “We can take nothing else. “Ah, yes! The stuff that passes from Did They Not Sing Sweetly to Buldeo! hand to hand and never grows warmer. Do they need it outside this place also?” The man stared angrily. “He is a fool, and no devil,” he muttered. “With the money I can buy a horse. We are too bruised to walk far and the village will follow us in an hour.” “I say they will not follow till I choose, but the horse is well thought of, for Mes- sua is tired.” Her husband stood up and knotted the last of the rupees into his waist belt. Mowgli helped Messua through the window, and the cool night air revived her, but the jungle in the starlight looked very dark and terrible. “Ye know the trail to Kanhiwara?” Mowgli whispered. They nodded. “Good. Remember, now, not to be afraid. And there is no need to go quickly. Only— only there may be some smail singing in the jungle behind you and before. “Think you we would have risked a night in the jungle through anything less than the fear of burning? It is better to be killed by beasts than by men,” said Mes- a's husband, but Messua looked straight Mowgli and smiled. “I say,” Mowgli went on, just as though he were Baloo repeating an-gld jungle la for the hundredth time to a foolish cub, say that not a tooth in the jungle is bared against you; not a foot in the jungle is lifted against you. Neither man nor beast shall stay you till ye come within earshot of Kanhiwara. There will be a watch bout you.” He turned quickly to Messua, saying: ‘He does not believe, but thou wilt believe.’ “Ay, surely, my son. Man, ghost or wolf of the jungle I believe.” “He will be afraid when he hears my people singing. Thou wilt know and under- stand. Go now, and slowly, for there is no need of any haste. The gates of this vil- lage are shut. Messua flung herself sobbing at Mowgli’s feet, but he lifted her very quickly with a shiver. Then she hung about his neck and called him every name of blessing ehe could think of, but her husband looiced enviously across his fields and said: “If we reach Kanhiwara and I get the ear of the English, I will bring such a lawsuit against the Brahmin and old Buldeo and the others as shall eat the village to the bone. They shall pay me twice over for my crops un- tilled and my buffaloes urfed. I will havea great justice.” Mowgli laughed. “I do not know what justice is, but—come next rains and see what Is left.” They went off toward the jungle, and Mother Wolf leaped from her place of hid- ing. : Sirollow! said Mowgli, “and look to it that all the jungle knows these two are safe. Give tongue a little. I would call Bagheera.” The long, low howl rose and fell, and Mowgli saw Messua’s husband flinch and turn Ground, half minded to go back to the t. Go on,” he called, cheerfully. “I said Throwing Stones at the Witch. ight be singing. That call will fol- aati fo Kanhiwara. It is favor of the jungie.” Messua urged her husband forward, and the darkness of the jungle shut down on them and Mother Wolf, as Bagheera rose up almost under Mowgll’s feet, trembling with the delight of the night that drives the jungle people wild. “Tam ashamed of thy brethren,” he sald, purring. “What, did they not sing sweetly to Bul- deo?” said Mowsll. ‘00 well! Too well! They made oven me forget my pride, and by the Broken Lock that freed me, I went singing through the jungle as though I were out wooing in ng! Didst thou not hear us?” e afoot. Ask Buldeo if he liked the song. But where are the four? I do not wish one of the Man-pack to leave the gates tonight.” “What nee@ of the four, then?” said Bag- heera, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes ablaze, and purring louder than ever. “I can hold thom, little brother. It is killing last? The singing and the sight of the men climbing up the trees have made me very ready. What !s'man that we should care for him? The naked brown digger, the hairless, and toothless, the eater of earth. I have followed him all day—at noon—in the white sunlight. I herded him as the wolves herd buck. I am Bag- heera! Bagheera! Bagheera! Look! As I dance with my shadow so I danced with those men.” The great panther leal as a kitten leaps at a dead leaf whir! over! at left and right into the empty air that sung under the stro! landed nofgelessly, and leaped again again, while the half purr, half growl gathered head as steam rum! in a boiler. “I am Bagheera—in the jungle—in the night, and all my strength Is in me. Who shall stay my stroke? Man cub! With one blow of my paw I could beat thy head flat as a dead frog in the summer,” “Strike, then!” said Mowgli, in the dla- lect of the village, not the talk of the jun- gle, and the human words brought Bag- heera to a full stop, flung back on his haunches that quivered under him, hi eyes just on the level of Mowsli’s. Once more Mowgli stared as he had stared at the rebellious cubs, full into the bervl- green eyes till the 'red hair behind their green went out like the light of a light- house shut off twenty miles across the sea; till the eyes dropped and the big head with them—dropped Tower and lower, and the red rasp of a tongue grated on Mow- gll's instep. “Brother — brother — brother!" the boy whispered, stroking steadily and lightly from the neck along the heaving back. “Be still, be still. It is the fault of the night, and no fault of thine.” “It was the smells of the night,” said Bagheera, penitently. “This air cries aloud to me. But how dost thou know?” Of course, the air round an Indian village is full of all kinds of smells, and to any creature who does nearly all his thinking through his nose, smelis are as maddening as music and drugs are to human beings. Mowali gentied the panther for a few min- utes longer, and he lay down like a cat be- fore a fire, his paws tucked under his breast, and his-eyes half shut. “Thou art of the jungle and not of the jungle,” he said at last. “And I am only a black panther. But I love thee, little brother.”* “They are very long at that council under the tree,” Mowgli said, without noticing the last sentence. “Buldeo must have told many tales. They should come soon to drag the woman and her man out of the trap and put them in the Red Flowe They will find that trap sprung. Ho! ho! “Nay, listen,” said Bagheera. ‘The fever is out of my blood now. Let them find me there! Few would leave their houses after meeting me. It is not the first time I have been in a cage, and I do not think they will bind me with co: “Be wise, then,” said MowgH, laughing, for he was beginning to feel as reckless a8 the panther, who had glided into the hut. “Pah!” he heard Bagheera say. “This place is heavy with man, but here Is just such a bed as they gave me to lie upon in the king's cages at Oodeypore. Now I am lying down.” Mowgli heard the strings of the cot crack under the great brute’s weight. “By the Broken Lock that freed me, they will think they have caught big game! Come and sit beside me, little brother; we will give them good hunting together. “No. I have another thought in my stomach. The man-pack shall not know what share I have in the sport. Make thy own hunt. I do not wish to see them.” “Be it so,” said Bagheera. “Ah, now they came.” The conference under the peepul tree had been growing noisier and noisier, at the far end of the village. It broke into wild yells and a rush up the street of men and women waving clubs and bamboos and sickles and knives. Buldeo and the Brah- min were at the head of it, but the mob was close at their heels and they cried: “The witch and the wizard! Let us see if hot coins will make them confess! Burn the hut over their heads! We will teach them to shelter wolf devils! Nay. Beat them first. Torches! More torches! Bul- deo, heat the gun barrel!” Here was some little difficulty with the catch of the door, It had been very firmly fastened, but the crowd tore it away bod- ily and the light of the torches streamed into the room, where, lying at full length on the bed, his paws crossed and lightly hung down over one end, black as the pit and terrible as a demon, was Bagheera. There was one-half minute of terrible si- lence as the tront ranks of the crowd clawed and tore their way back from that threshold, and in that minute Bagheera raised his head and yawned—elaborately, carefully and ostentatiously—as he would yawn when he wished to insult an equal. The fringed lips drew back and up, the red tongue curlea; tne lower jaw dropped and dropped till you could see half-way down the hot gulict, and the gigantic dog teeth stood clear to the pit of the gums till they ran together, upper and under, with the snick of steel-faced wards shooting home round the edges of a safe. Next minute the street was empty; Bagheera had leaped back through the window and stood at Mowsgli’s side, while a yelling, screaming torrent scrambled and tumbled over one another in their panic haste to get to their huts. “They will not stir till the day comes,” said Bagheera quietly. “And now?’ The silence of the afternoon sleep seemed to have overtaken the village, but as they listened they could hear the sound of heavy grain boxes being dragged over the earthern floors and set down against doors. Bagheera was quite right; the village would not stir till daylight. Mowgli sat still and thought, and his face grew darker and darker. “What have I done?’ said Bagheera, at last coming to his feet, fawning. ‘Nothing but great good. Watch them now till the day. I must go to sleep.” And Mowgli ran off into the jungle and dropped like a dead man across a rock, and slept and slept the day round and the night back again, When he waked Bagheera was at his side, and there was a newly killed buck at his feet. Bagheera watched curiously while Mowgli went to work with his skin- ning knife, ate and drank, and turned over with his chin in his hands. “The man and the woman came safe within eye-shot of’Kanhiwara,” Bagheera said. “Thy mother sent the word back to Chil the Kite. They found a horse before midnight of the nigift. They were freed and went very quickly. Is not that well?” “That is well,” said Mowgli. “And the man-pack in the village did not stir Ull the sun was high this morning. Then they ate their food and ran back quickly to their houses.” “Did they by chance see thee?” “It may have been. 1 was rolling in the dust before the gate at dawn, and I may have sung also a little song to myself. Now, little brother, there is nothing more to do. Come hunting with me and Baloo. He has new hives that he wishes to show and we all desire thee back again as of old. ‘‘he man and the woman will not be put into the Red Flower, and all goes well in the jungle. Is it not true? Let us for- get the man-pac! “hey shall be forgotten in a little while.. Where does Hathi feed tonight?” “Where he chooses. Who can answer for the Silent One? But why? What is there Hathi can do which we Cannot?” “Bid him and his three sons come here to me.” “But, indeed, and truty, Little Brother, it is not—it is not seemly to say Come and Go to Hathi. Remember, he is the Master of the Jungle, and before the man-pack changed the look on thy face he taught the master-words of the jungle.” “This is all one. I have a master word for him now. Bid him come .to Mowsli the frog, and if he does not hear at first, bid him come because of the sack of the fielis of Bhurtpore.” “The sack of the fields of Bhurtpore,” Bagheera repeated two or three times io make sure. “I go. Hathl can be very angry at the worst, and I would give a moon's hunting to hear the master-word that compels the silent one. He went away, leaving Mowgli stabbing furiously with his skinning-knife into the earth. Mowgli had never seen human blood In, his life before till he had seen and —what meant much more to him—smelt Messua’s blood on the thohgs that bound her, And Messua had been kind to him, and, as far as he knew anything about love, he loved Messua as completely as he hated the rest of mankind. But deeply as he loathed them, their talk, their cruelty and their cowardice, not for anything the jungle had to offer could he bring himself to take a human life and have that terrible scent back again in his nostrils. (Lo be continued.) ++ The “Regulation ’Bus.” From the London Telegraph. A gentleman grumbler, who occupied a front garden seat on a "bus bound for the “northern heights,” was yesterday com- plaining bitterly of the snail-like pace at which the vehicle was proceeding. “Any- thing wrong with the horses?” he inquired of the driver. “Bless me, no,” was the re- ply, “it’s their fust journey.” Not satis- fied, the complainant again protested against the conveyance being turned into a funeral car, and asked, with some irony, whether it’ was a “Favorite.” “No, not exactly, sir,” was the answer; “but it's known ‘as the ‘regilator.’” Asked to ex- plain his meaning, the tmperturbable oc- cupant of the box retorted: “Why, ‘cause it’s the "bus all the others ‘go by. ——+e+-______ Farewell. From Truth. “Farewell, farewell, my bonny lad!" His aged father cried. “Farewell, my boy!” his mother wailed; “Farewell, my joy and pride. “Faywell!” his little sister piped, And tears from all eyes came— ‘He was starting for the Polo Grounds ‘To play in the foot ball game. MOTHER GOOSE CLUB Some Feminine Views About the Op- posite Sex, FATHERS’ DUTIES IN CHULD TRAININ To the Womaily Woman All Men Are Children. THE POWER OF MUSIC Weitt» Exclusively for The Evening Star. HE MEMBERS OF the Mother Goose Club assembled in the drawing room of the bride's pretty flat last Thursday afternoon. They came early, and the business of the meeting was not taken up until a dainty little luncheon had been served. The table was set with PS the silver and cut NANG glass that were wed- ding presents, and on the side board were five carafes and three cake baskets, all just alike. The luncheon was a distinct success, although it was evident to every- bedy that the forks were washed in the pantry between courses, and that while there was an abundance of fruit knives, the table spoons had to be skillfully managed, and not used too lavishly. The motherly looking woman presided over the meeting, while the young hostess sat on a piano stool near her, as there was a slight scarcity of chairs. It was Mrs. Fin de Sicle who opened the meeting. “The poem I shall read,” said she, “is brief, but remarkably full of meaning.” ‘Little Tommy Tittlemouse Lived in a little house, He caught fishes In other men’s diiches.* “This is a situation we so frequently see in life. An unknown somebody digs the ditch, Tittlemouse profits by his labors. Let us say that the man who dug the ditch was a poor inventor. He has spent the greater part of his iife in perfecting a wonderful invention. Yet the capitalist, who buys the invention at starvation prices, or perhaps even cheats the inventor out of it, reaps all the gains, and his name is known the world over, while the inventor dies poor and un- known." “It seems to me,” said the literary mem- ber, ‘that it might signify the lazy, good for nothing son ©? an industrious, money making father, The father spent his life laying up a forturie, He died without hav- ing caught one fish in his ditch. His son lives to enjoy the fortune he did nothing to lay up.” “Well, it isn’t the/son's fault,” remarked the tailor made woman. “The father ex- pended all his industry in making money. He had none leff’to transmit to his son. ‘There is nothing '#o ruinous to a boy, you know, as having a gyeat man for a father. A man can live gow, his father’s reputa- tion. To live up to it is a very different matter.” ‘J The Infldence of Home. “I think you are wandering from the sub- ject,” said the Congr I'll just read you ‘a trivial bit of verse that the opening of Congréss suggests to me: “ “Hark, hark, the dogs do bark; The be, aie coming to town; Some in , some in tags, Some in velvet gown,’ ” nd by the beggars you mean Congress- men?” said the department woman, with emphasis. x “Certainly not!'t the Congressman's wife returned indignantiy; “I mean the of people who want something from the gov- ernment, who always turn up about this time. They're of every class of society.” There was just the briefest possible pause, during which the matron fluted the leaves of her book. “Here's a poem that has always inter- ested me,” she said, hastily. “It is a litle longer than most of Mother Goose's poems, but simple in the extreme: “Three children, sliding on the ice, All on a summer's day, It so fell out, they all fell in; The rest they ran away. Now had these children been at home, Or sliding on dry ground, Ten thousand pounds to one penny, They had not all been drowned.’ “AN that, of covrse, is a trifling obscure. I think Mother Goose, by speaking of ice in summer means that danger is frequent- ly present at those times when we least expect it, The moral of the story, ever, lies in the last stanza: “You parents all, that children have, And you, too, that have none, If you would have them safe abroad, Pray keep them safe at home.’ “You may provide fer the moral teach- ing of children in public institutions in whatever way you will, but just so surely as water cannot rise higher than its source the child will not be superior to the moral teaching he receives at home. It is to the home influence we must look for the bet tering of the world, If children are sur rounded in the home by the proper train- how- ing, which will enable them to withstand the temptations of the worl, they will be as safe in the world as at home. Most of the mischief in the world lies at the doors of the good women who do not do their duty as mothers. They let their boys grow to manhood without one word of counsel against the temptations of the darker side of life. The Innocence of ignorance is the innocence of weakn, and the boy or girl armed only with that yields to the first temptation.” “‘The hand that rocks the cradle," quoted the literary member, “ ‘is the hand that rules the world. Duties of the Father, “Oh, bother the cradle!” said the woman with the past; “it is a barbarous institution that physicians no longer approve. How- ever, Mrs. Mater Familias, T heartily agree with you. But don’t let's forget the dutie: of fathers. Mother Goose says ‘parents, yet where do you find a man who really gives serious thought to the bringing up of his children? Man, my dear, is a com- fort-loving animal, and he isn’t going to put himself out for his children, He will buy them toys, or even whip them when he happens to feel out of temper, but not one man in ten thousand pursues a systematic, self-sacrificing course of training his chil- dren. Lay all the,stress you please on the duties of mothers,;but)don’t let the fathers escape. They ought to be made to realize what Whitman calls “Ihe great sanctity cf paternity to match the great sanctity of maternity.’ ” f “You misquote,”..said the Mterary mem- ber, with an air, “Sanctity is not the word he used.” j “Mother Goose speaks, too, of ‘you par- ents who have none,’ ”’ said Mrs. George- town Heights. “I think that the duties of parents ought to be favght to our young women and men. Herbert Spencer’ says, you know, that future races will think our system of education was for celibates only, for the important duty of rightly rearing a family is noftaught at all.” “If there’#ne thing more than another I’m thankful for,” said Miss Pension Bu- reau, ‘it is that I.don’t have to be a child again to have any pew-fangled ideas of ed- ucation tried on mé. I'am glad I was torn before all this talk of properly educating children began. The result of it all is that you are bringing up a lot of prigs. Why, children really don’t believe in Santa Claus these days! I call it shameful.” “The mothers of the club were disposed to take fire at this, and the discussion ran far from Mother Goose. It was the wo- man-in the cerise collar who brought them back to the business in hand at last. “[ want to read a poem that you may discuss as long as you please,” she said. “*Q, mother! I'm to be married to Mr, Punchinello, ‘To Mr. Pun, to Mr, Chin, to Mr. Nel, to Mr. Lo, Mr. Pun, Mr, Chin, Mr. Nel, Mr. Lo, Mr, Punchinello.’ “That has always seemed to me to em- body the idea that when a girl loves man, she straightway loses sight of the fact that he is not the only man in the world, or rather, she becomes aware that he embodies in himself all the several ex- cellences of all the other men. He Is, In fact, all the men in the world to her, He has all the virtues in the catalogue. To the rest of the world he is Mr. Punchin- ello, a commonplace fellow. To her he is noble Mr. Pun, handsome Mr. Chin, brave Mr. Nel and brilliant Mr. Lo.” Then They Discussed Man. “Mightn’t it mean, too,” suggested the bride, shyly, “that a man shows ever so many different sides of his nature to the woman he loves?” “It might,” remarked the woman with a past, “if a man ever did show different sides of his character to a woman; but he doesn’t. He’s always the same. That's why married women look so bored. Men are not changeable enough.”” “Oh, but a changeable man ts effeminate,” objected Mrs. Fin de Siecle, “and there's ro hope for an effeminate man either in this world or the next.” “The verse may stand for the attitude of a fiancee,” said the matron, “but the love of a woman is always really or poten- tially maternal, The wife gradually comes to consider her husband only a big boy. Mother Goose illustrates the all-pervading maternal in a woman in this poem: “‘T had a little husband no bigger than my thumb, I put him in’ a pint-pot, and there I bid him drom I bought a little handkerchief to wipe his little nose, And a pair of little garters to tie his little hose.” “To the womanly woman in whose heart dwells the divine mother love al) men are children, and the man she loves best, how- ever much she may revere him, is only a child to her at last. When trouble comes to him it is the mother loye that makes her comfort him, excuse his weakness and forgive his sin, ‘The maternal love in a wo- man is vider than the race and deeper rooted than the love of life itself.” “Yes, but all women haven't it,” put in the bivet hat. “How do such women love their husbands?” “Not at all,” said the matron, decidedly. “They love pet dogs, dress, themselves, but when they seem to love a man, it is only the purring of a cat whose fur is stroked. It ig simply the gratitude of flattered van- 1 think we have neglected one of the keenest, and surely one of the most popu- lar, poems Mother Goose ever wrote,” said the woman in the biuet hat. “‘Old King Cole was a jolly old soul; A jolly old soul was he; He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.” “This illustrates the fact that a man does not care for the intellectual pleasures till his physical wants are satisfied. The king smokes his pipe, drinks his fill and is then ready for music.” “But, surely, you don’t call music an in- tellectual pleasure,” said the woman with a past. ‘Why, yes, I do; isn’t it?” “Weil, Bach fugues and Beethoven sym- phonies may be, though I don’t know that you can really class them as pleasures. Sut the music that stirs the blood, that makes men rush into battle—well, that’s all emotional, and music has done more mischief than any other one of the arts.” “I don’t agree with you at all,” said the matron, as everybody rose and began to adjust vells and wraps. “Music is one of the greatest powers in the world. Why, you know, they say that the constant vi- bration ofa single violin string would final- ly destroy a stone bridge, and the singing of a temperance song will finally, 1 am confident, almost abolish drunkenness. Mu- sic is one of the greatest pleasures, too.” “Ah, yes,” answered the woman’ with a past, as she drew the brand-new portiere aside, “but don’t you know that the great- est pleasures are always those which nav just a soupcon of wickedness about them” There was a general disapproving shak- ing of heads, and the club adjourned. = uP Except in the Matter of Bonnets— What Paris Modistes Show. Nowadays they seem to have the fash- ions in New York practically as soon as they do in Paris,” said a lady who had just returned from France, bringing with her her winter outfit. ‘There are so many dressmakers who go over twice a year and personally select the latest novelties, that it is really quite disappointing when you imagine that you have brought over a lot of new things that are sure to fill the breasts cf your friends with envy to dis- cover that they all have just the same styles, There really seems to be not more than two weeks’ difference in the date of a fashion’s introduction between Paris and New York. “Curiously enough, however, on reaching my native land last month, I was surprised to find that the hats worn here are en- tirely different from any I saw in Paris— that source from whence all new ideas in millinery are supposed to spring. In this country velvet hats seem to be the most popular, and their most marked feature !s the curious, and, in my humble opinion, often hideous combinations of colors. I have seen several creations of late which showed dahlia, the new blue, yellow and purple on black frames. The French milli- ners are making no combiratiors of color whatsoever. Another thing that strikes me is that I have hardly seen any hats NEW YORK TO DATE. that are not either felt or velvet, and abroad they are using hardly any other material than that employed for men's silk hats. Also the French hats, which are very large, are worn very far back on the head, and have usually five ostrich tips in front, falling so as to produce a very high, as well as a broad effect. Women have been admitted to the o: estra chairs at the Paris theaters this year, and are now seen in that part of the house in large numbers at every performance, each one of them wearing on her head one of these enormous edifices, and the result is a great outery from the men, whose vision has thus been cut off. The little evening bonnets worn here are literally weighted down with jewels, sometimes actually real diamonds and other precious stones being used, and noth- ing of the sort is worn in Paris. I saw a lady at a New York theater the other evening who had a diamond bracelet twisted in with the ribbon on the back of her bonnet, and in front a ‘amond star shone. The effect was certainly dazzling. ‘A very pretty French idea, Introduced late chis fall, is th» use of artificial flowers on the velvet neck bands, either in the same or in a coatrasting color. A very effect one of dahlia velvet had, for instance, two rosettes, the centers of which were ex- quisitely shaded in s.lk dahlias, and one of Violet velvet had two bunches of violets. A pale green band also had violets, which continue to be the fashionable flowers Blue forget-me-nots decorated a turquoise- blue colla:, and on a pale pink one moss roses were U THE INSISTENT FURNACE SOOT, A Clever Plan by Which One Woman Abates the ‘Nuisance. Every housekeeper whose home fs heated by a furnace deplores the influx of dust and grime into every room when that fur- nace is started in the late autumn. Deplore it as she may, however, it seems Mevita- ble that her furniture must be injured, her draperies soiled, and the ceaseless cleaning made necessary by the cellar outpour through register flues. A clever woman thus harassed has, as chronicled by the New York Evening Sun, evolved a plan which she finds of value, and which is certainly worth passing on. To ex- actly fit the registers in all the upper floors she has made a series of light-wood frame squares. Over them she tacks two thick- nesses of ordinary Swiss muslin, between which is laid the most delicate veiling of cotton batting. These fasten on by little brass clips at the four corners of the reg- ister, and the result, she finds, is not to check appreciably the volume of hot air that pours freely through, but on mus- lin and batting is left so heavy a deposit of black coal dust that at regular intervals of forty-eight hours fresh screens have to be substituted. Every register has a double set, for the muslin needs to be washed and replaced again for use, while the black- ened batting is merely tossed into the ash varrel. Adds Nothing to It. From Life. “The telephone is like a woman; it tells everything it hears.” “Yes, that’s so. And it’s unlike a woman, too; It tells a thing just as it hears it.” ee Harry: “You look white. Is it the salad?” Jack: “No, it’s the punch. It was drunk, and now it’ disorderly!”"—Life, FUN FOR THE CHILDREN, Some Modern and Unique Ideas for Christmas Entertainment. From the New York Herald. Christmas 1s, of all holidays, the chil- dren's, and under every roof where the sound of childish prattling is heard, there is a delightful bustle, a gentle thrill of preparation for the festivities in honor of the birth of the Holy Child. What to do for the children 1s the universal question. What unique and interesting functions can be designed for the little men and wo- men who are trembling with joyous ex- citement and anticipation over the deli- cious mysteries which are preparing be- hind closed doors? In one superb mansion on Murray Hill a charming surprise is in store for the for- tunate little sons and daughters of the house. The resources of the conservatory and those of fashionable florists will be taxed to make the large music room a@ veritable summer land. The furniture will all be removed and the room crowded with palms, the windows draped with vines, the window seats covered with moss. Flowers will be massed everywhere to give the semblance of beds. Rustic seats are set out under the palms and Chinese lanterns dangle from every projecting point. In the center of this fairyland stands the tree. It, too, is covered with lanterns, instead of the orthodox tapers. The decidedly unique idea is to have a Christmas tree in a summer garden. Lemonade, fruits and ices will be served to the children after the presents are distributed, and in every way the pretty topsy-turvy faney which is sure to please the children will be carried out. Stories for the Childre What sort of story would the average boy rather listen to than eat? Stories about Indians. A lady who has been traveling through the west this summer, and who has four lusty sons ranging from two to ten,has evolved this brilliant Christ- mas entertainment: She has allowed her boys to invite their boy friends, and upon the Christmas tree she has hung a present for each, some sort of a souvenir which she purchased in the land of the setting sun, and each one of which is of Indian manufacture. When each boy has received his gift, the hostess will tell him all about it. There is an Apache war club for one yout»; there is a Navajo silver ring for another. One of the older boys gets a Navajo blanket, another a Pueblo water bottle. For the little girls, whom the hostess herself invites to this unique enter- tainment, there are the baskets, strings of beads and wild eyed Ingian doll babies. ‘Still ancther ingerious fashion of stimu- lating the jaded appetites of our fin-de- siecle babies has been evolved by a clever mother, who proposes to paraphrase the Easter egg hunt idea. On Christmas morn ing she will call ber children, five in num- ber, reinforced by the addition of three or four cousins, together, and tell them that somewhere in the house are presents hid- den for them, carefully wrapped and prop- erly labeled, and that they are to hunt for them. Then the fun will begin. One shudders to think what that house will lock like when the search is over. But the children will have a good time, and the main object of this mother’s life is to give it to them. A Unique Plan. Still another original idea will be carried out in a well-known New Yorker's family, where the search for something novel is censtantly going on. The children are to be dressed in fancy costume to represent the various dishes of a Christmas feast. One boy will be made to resemble a tur- key; another will be garnished with celery. A littie girl will have a wreath of raisins on her curls and apples sewn on her gown to indicate that she is mince pie. Tho range here is a very wide one, and will tax the ingenuity of the older members of the family, while the children are fascin- ated with the scheme. “I’m afraid I'll eat my wreath up,” was the warning uttered by Miss Mince Pie when her character was assigned her. Two little girls are to be dressed as holly and mistletoe, in dark green, with sprigs of these dear flowers trimming their frocks, and wreaths of the same on their heads. Did you ever hear of a Mrs. Santa Claus? It appears that there ts one, who has been wofully neglected all these years, for she will visit a house on 59th street this Christ- mas and assert her claim to some sort of recognition by the youngsters. She will be robed, I am told, in a wonderful white silk frock, covered with crystals, to represent ice. She will wear a long cloak of white fur. Her hair will be white as the snows of winter, and a spray of holly will serve for Mrs. Claus’ bonnet. No one will know how the lady looks, for she will wear a mask, and for once her husband will be of sec- ondary importance. Across her breast will be a placard bearing this inscription: o— ——_—_—_—_—__—o I AM FOR SUFFRAGE and I DEMAND MY RIGHTS. Mrs. SANTA CLAUS, o- Se | Still another pretty idea is being carried out by 2 matron who lives only in her cl dren. She has asked several of her women friends to co-operate in a Christmas tree of all nations. The room is to be hung with flags of various countries, and the children, who are to hand round the presents from the tree, are to adopt the dress of some foreign land. The little daughter of the hostess will wear a gown made of American flags. Then there will be a Spanish assistant, Japanese, French, Swede, German, Italian ‘and so on. After the presents are distributed there will be dances of various nations, perform- ed in costume—a Christmas kirmess as it were. Several women have combined in a scheme which is absolutely novel. They give a Christmas fair in the parlors of an uptown house. There are cunning Ittle booths, where all sorts of games, books, dolls and toys are sold to the children to give to each other. Of course the parents see to it that no child is neglected. The presents are sold at a price within reach of a childish pocketbook and the proceeds of the miniature fair go to charity. see Retrogression, From the Detrott Tribune, A large company was table d’hote, as is usual romance. The large lady had just troubled the bald gentleman for the vinegar. she was saying, “woman will not ward.” pt when she gets off a street car,” observed the cynic, who had been hitherto gathered at the in the modern silent. The youth with the blonde mustache got choked with his soup, but said nothing. _ see Saved His Life. From Life. “Speaking of miraculous escapes,” sald Smith, “young Brown was shot full in the chest the other day, and yet was unharm- ed.” ‘Mother’ Robinson “Pac Jones. “You are not up-to-date,” said Smith. “The bullet struck him in the chrysanthe- mum!” Bible in his pocket?” said of ecards, more likely,” remarked She Studicd to Plea: It was a little New Hampshire village among the mountains, where the country store served as post office, circulating library, shoe store and everything else combined, that a Boston lady, glancing over the books, inquired: “Have you Browning?” “No,” said the attendant, somewhat regretfully, and not knowing just what kind of an article Browning might be, “we have not.” Then, more bright "We have blacking and bluing, and have a man who does whiting. We occasionally do pinking. Would any of these do?” +0 Scientific Progres From the Indianapolis ‘Tribune. “I notice,” said the tall, pale girl with the high forehead, “that there is much progress being made now in photographing the stars. “Oh, yes,” answered the fluffy girk “They use them for cigarette pictures.” ESOT GP PU Triumphont in His Purpose. From the Chicago Record. The Impassionist (conducting a friend through his studio)—What do you think of this new picture of mine? - The Friend (gazing at canvas)—-Oh—er— what—w—what ts it a picture of? ‘The Impassionist Goyously)—Heaven bless you, my friend, for those ; now I know it fs a success. 23 VACATION IS NEAR Teaching School is a Weary. Tetions Lot. Papils Drain Teachers of Nervous Energy—There Must Be No Delay in Keeping Brain and Nerves Well Fed. It is a fearful trade—this teaching school. A horde of restless, growing boys and girls—ng wonder every day slowly brings down the strength and nervous power of the bard-working school teacher, “Tired as a school teacher” would express the utter languor and collapse that so few escape before the long weeks are over. * Of all the work open to girls and teaching seems to wear est nerves. Each day ts not able Rervous expenditure of the there comes the usual result of but badly nourished; the frequent loss of strength, no color in lips spirits, nervousness and a distaste What ts needed is at once plain sician’s eye. He says at a glance: ‘Your ‘want more food." Get some red corpuscles into your thin blood—the red corpuscles mean health. Paine’s celery compound will cause fresh, or cheeks, for work. to every actually sick, but never really well, who are @ burden to themselves as well as to others, find Just the help their system craves to restore them to sound health and a happy frame of mind, Healthy color, animation, clear eyes and & well filled out frame, the signs of health that never fail, come from the reasonable use of Paine’s celery compound, It is peculiarly adapted to cor recting the depressing effect on the system ot long hours of hard, trying work in the school room, bebind the store counter, in the office and wherever there is @ constant strain on the nervous and physical system, = SST BAD AIR AND COLDS, Why Catarrhal Troubles Are More Common in the Winter. From the New York Times. The season of colds, at least the season accepted as such, being upon us, it is well to remind ourselves that the best authort- ties ascribe the prevalence of these distem- pers to bad indoor air rather than to se- vere outdoor air. “Cold air,” says a writer in a recent magazine, “does not cause throat and lung diseases, but only bad air.” The fact that there is a marked increase in these diseases during the cold weather he fits to his theory by declaring that such disorders are produced, not by the cold air, but by the indoor life that accompanies the season. “An open fire in every living room in every house,” says another enthusiast on the same subject of ventilation, “would do trore to lower the death rate {rom respira- tory diseases than any medicaticn or other existing remedial agency. Barring this, he urges frequent airing of rooms constantly occupied, but also insists that the ventila- tion be done on principles of common sense. “Steam-heated rooms,” pursues this carping critic, “particularly in apartments, usually reach a temperature of 80 degrees. This, I may say, is a mild statement. Any persons living in such places endure this or greater heat until it becomes intolerable, and then throw windows open recklessly. The temperature is lowered too suddenly, a chill is sure to follow, and often serious mischief. Why not take the pains with our own lives that a florist does with his plants? The air in a green house is regu- lated by a thermometer and kept even ard pure without a sudden chill or overheating. It is the high temperature and bad air of our houses that has made us a race of ca- tarrhal wheezers, and not at all, I believe, climatic conditions. 200 STAGE STARS GET SCARED. Few of Them Able to Make a Speech Before the Curtain, From the Philadelphia Press. As a rule actors are not speechmakers. The very people who are always easy and self-possessed so long as the curtain re- mains up and the footlights interpose be- tween them and their auditors become confused, nervous and often positively awkward whenever they have to appear in front of the curtain and talk to the aud- ience instead of for it. The change in their manner and appearance is often al- most inexplicable. Tre man who can play the most difficult of parts with effect, and who can, in conversation with his friends, talk brilliantly and wittily, is at a disad- vantaze when he stands on the narrow strip of boards between the curtain and the footlights. “I don’t know why it 1s,” said a well- known actor the other day in trying to explain this phenomenon to a writer for the New York Advertiser, “unless it is because of the sudden and complete change of attitude toward the audience. On the stage we have our lines committed to memory. The mental exertion of recalling them and of doing the rehearsal business keeps our minds off the fact that there are a thousand or more people lstening to us. When we are called before the curtain we are for the first time face to face with cur audience. Ergo, we get nervous and em- barrassed, and very often make a show of ourselves.” ‘There are a few actors, however, who make a really good footlight speech’ with- out minute preparation, and enjoy doing it. Richard Mansfield ts one of them. Hi is always ready to make a speech, and he does so without notes, easily and forcibly. Mr. Mansfield’s speeches are not often, however, the stereotyped phrases of grati- tude to which most actors confine them- selves. When he comes before the curtain he has something to say besides “I thank you,” and he says it without fear or favor. His delivery is a little halting, but he is always self-possessed and the peculiarity of his elocution seems to add not a little to the effect of his words, <n The Revolver Agent, or a Onse of Ocular Demonstratio From Fiiegende Blatter. The mer not only have to sit behind high hats at the theater, but they have to pay, for them.—Atckison Globe.