Evening Star Newspaper, December 22, 1894, Page 20

20 UETTNG THE JUNGLE Further Adventures of Mowgli. —_+-_—_—_ BY RUDYARD KIPLING. (Copyright by Rudyard Kipling, 1894) CHAPTER III. Is PLAN WAS simpler, but much > more thorough, and he laughed to him- self when he thought that it was one of old Buldeo’s tales told under the pee- pul tree in the even- ing that had put the idea into his head. “It was a master- word,” Bagheera whispered in his ear. “They were feeding by the river,and they obeyed as though they were bullocks. Look where they come now!" Hath! and his three sons had arrived in their usual way without a sound. The mud of the river was still fresi: on theic flanks, aad,Hathi was thoughtfully Ghew- ing the green stem of a young banana tree that he had gouged up with his tusks. But every line in his vast body showed to Bagheera, who could see things when he came across them, tnat it was not the Master of the Jungle speaking to a Man- cub, out one who was afraid of coming be- fore one who was not. His three sons relled side by side, behind their father. Mowgli hardly lifted his head as Hathi gave him “Good hunting.” He kept him swinging and rocking and shifting from ene foot to another for a long time before he spoke, and when he opened his mouth it was to Bagheera and not to the ele- phants. I will tell a tale as was told to me by the hunters ye hunted todzy,” said Mow- gli. “It concerns ag elephant, old and wise, who fell into a trap, and the sharp- ened stake in the pit scarred him from a little above his heel to the crest of his The Deer and Nilghat Were Willing. shoulder, leaving a white mark.’ Mowgli threw out his hand, and as Hathi wheeled the moonlight showed a long white scar on his side as though he had been struck with a red-hot whip. “Men came to take him from the trap,” Mowgli continued, “but he broke his ropes, for he was strong, and he went away till his wound was’ healed. And I remember now that he had three sons. These things happened many, many rains ago, and very far away—among the fields of Bhurtpore. What came to those fields at the next reaping, Hathi?” hey were reaped by me and my four "said Hathi. nd to the ploughing that follows the reaping?” said Mowali. “There was no ploughin aia Hathi. ‘And to the men that live by the green crops on the ground?” said Mowgli. “They went away. the huts said Mowgli. We tore the roof to pieces and the Jun- e swallowed up the walls,” said Hathi. 4 what more beside?” said Mowgll S much good ground as I can walk over in two nighi3 from the east to the west, and from the north to south as much as I can walk over in three nights, the jungle took. We let in the jungle upon five villages, and in those. villages and in their lands, the grazing ground and the soft crop grounds, there is not one man today who gts his food from the ground. That was the sack of the fields of Bhurtpore, which I and my three sons did, and now I ask, Man-cub, how the news of it came to thee?” said Hathi. . And now I see even Buldeo can speak the truth. “A man told me. It was well done, Hathi, with the white mark; but a second time it can be done better, for the reason that there is a man to cirect. Thou know- est the village of the man-pack that cast me out? They are idle, senseless and cruel; they play with their mouths and they do not kill the weaker for food but for sport. When they are full fed they would throw their own breed into the Red Flower. It 1s not well that they should live here any more. I am tired of them.” Kill, then,” safd the youngest of Hathi's three sons, picking up a tuft of grass, dust- ing it against his fore-legs, and throwing it away, while his littie red eyes glanced furtively from side to side. “What good are white bones to me?” Mowgli answered, angrily. “Am I a cub of & wolf to play in the sun with a raw head? in which the men They Be ike Of the Poles With Their ‘Tronks. I have killed Shere Khan, and his hide rots on the Coumeil Rock, but—but I do not know where Shere Khan is gone, and my stomach is still empty. Now, I will take that which I can see and touch. Let in the jungle upon that village, Hathi!* Bagheera shivered and cowered down. He could understand, if the worst came to the worst, a quick rush down the village Street, and a right and left blow into a crowd, or systematic killing of men as they ploughed in the twilight, but their scheme for deliberately blotting’ out an entire vil- lage from the eyes of man and_ beast frightened him. Now he saw why Mowali had sent for Hathi. No one but the long- lived elephant could pian and carry through such a war. t them run as the men ran from the fields of Bhurtpore, till we have the rain water for the oniy plough and the noise of the rain on the thick leaves for the pat- tering of the spindles—till Bagheera and I lair in the house of the Brahmin, and the buck drink at the tank behind the temple. Let in the jungle, Hath “But I—but we have no quarrel with em, and it needs the red rage of great 2 tear down the pla said Hathi, doubtfully. he only eaters of grass In the jung Drive in your peoples. Let the deer and the is and the Nilghai look to it. Ye need never show a handsbreadth of hide till the fields are naked. Let in the jungle, Hathi!” “There will be no killing? My Tusks were red at the sack of the fields of Bhurt- pore, and I would not wake the smell again.” “Nor I! I do not wish their bones to lie on the clean earth. Let them go and find a new place. They cannot stay here. 1 have seen and smejt the blood of the woman that gave me food—the woman whom they would have killed but for me. Only the smell of the new grass on their doorsteps can take away that smell. It burns in my mouth. Let in the jungle, Hathi “Ah!” said Hathi. did the scar of the stake burn on my hide till we saw the villages die under in the spring growth. Now I see. We will let in the juni Mowgli had barely time to catch h's breath—he was shaking all over with rage and hate—before the place where the ele- phants had stood was empty and Bagheera was looking at him with terror. “By the Broken Lock that freed me,” said the Black Panther at last, “art thou the naked thing I spoke for in the pack? Master of the jungle, when my strength goes speak for me—speak for Baloo—speak for “us all! We are cubs before thee! Snapped twigs under foot! Fawns that have lost their doe’ The idea of Bagheera being a stray fawt upset Mowgli altogether, and he laughed and caught his breath and sobbed and laughed again till he had to jump into a We Are Cubs Before Thee. pool to make himself stop. Then he swam round and round, ducking in and out of the bars of the moonlight like the Frog, his namesake. By this time Hathi and his three sons had turned each to one point of the com- pass, and were striding silently down the valleys a mile away. They went on and on for two deys’ march—that is to say, a good sixty miles—through the jungle, and every step they took and every wave of their trunks was known and noted and talked over by Mang and Chil and the monkeys and all the birds of the forest. Then they began to feed, and fed quietly for a week or so. Hathi and his sons are like Kaa the Rock Python. They never hurry till they have to. At the end of that time, and no one knew who had started it, a rumor went through the jungle that there was better food and water to be found in such and such a val- ley. The pig, who, of course, will go the ends of the earth for a full meal—moved first by companies, scuffing over the rocks, and the deer followed with the little wild foxes that live on the dead and dying of | the herds, and the heavy-shouldered nil- shai moved parallel with the deer and the wild buffaloes of the swamps came after the nilghai. The least little thing would have turned the scattered, straggling droves that grazed and sauntered and drank and grazed again, but whenever there was an alarm some one would rise up and soothe them. At one time it would be Sahi, the porcupine, full of news of good feed just a little further on; at another Mang would cry cheerily and flap down a glade to show it was all empty, or Baloo, with his mouth full of roots, would sham- ble alongside a wavering line and half frighten, half romp it clumsily back to the proper road. Very many creatures broke back or ran away or lost interest, but very many were left to go forward. At the end of another ten days or so the situ- ation was this: The deer and the pig and the nilghai re milling round and round in a circle of eight or ten miles radius while the eaters of flesh skirmished round its edge. And the center of that circle was the village, and round the village the crops were ripening, and in the crops sat men on what they call machans—platforms like pigeon perches made of sticks at the top of four poles—to scare away birds and other stealers. Then the deer were coaxed no more. The eaters of flesh were close on them and forced them forward and on- ward. lt was a dark night when Hathi and his three sons slipped down from the jungie | and broke off the poles of the machans with their trunks and they fell as a snap- ped stalk ef hemlock in blooms falls, and the men that tumbled from them heard the deep breathing of the elephants in their ears. Then the vanguard of the bewilder- ed armies of the deer broke down and flooded into the village grazing grounds and the ploughed fields, and the sharp- hoofed rooting wild pig came with therm, and what the deer left the pig spoiled, and from time to time an alarm of wolves would shake the herds, and they would rush to and fro desperately, treading down the young barley and cutting flat the Where Hathi Gleans There is No Need to Follow. banks of the irrigating channels. Before the dawn broke the pressure on the out- side of the circle gave way at one point. The eaters of flesh had fallen back and left an open path to the south, and drove upon drove of buck fied along it. The others, who were boider, lay up in the wild sal thickets to finish their meal next night. But the work was practically done. When the villagers looked in the morning they saw their crops were lost. And that meant death if they did not get away, for they lived year in and year out as near to starvation as the jungle was near to them. When the buffaloes were sent to graze the hungry brutes found that the deer had cleared the grazing ground, and so wandered into the jungle and drifted off with their wild mates, and when twilight fell the three or four ponies that belonged to the village lay in their stables with their heads beaten in. Only Bagheera could have given those strokes, and only Bag- heera would have thought of insolently dragging the last carcasses to the open street. ‘The villagers had no heart to light fires in the fields that night, so Hathi and his three sons went gleaning among the pump- kins and what was left of the maize; and where Hathi gieans there is no need to follow. The men decided to live on their stored seed corn until the rains had fallen, and then to take work as servants till they could catch up with the lost year; and es the grain dealer was thinking of the well filled crates of corn and the prices he would levy at the sale of it, Hathi’s sharp tusks were picking out the corner of his mud house, and smashing open the big wicker chest heaped with cowdung where récious stuff lay. thvhen that last loss was discovered it was the Brahmin’s turn to speak. He had prayed to his own gods without answer. It might Be, he said, that unconsciously the village had offended some one of the Gods of the Jungle, for beyond doubt the jungle was against them. So they sent for the head man of the nearest tribe of wan- dering Gonds—little, wise, and very black hunters living in the deep jungle, whose fathers came of the oldest race in India— the aboriginal owners of the land. They made the Gond welcome with what they had, and he stood on one leg, his bow in is hand, and two or three poisoned ar- rows stuck throvs> his top-knot, looking half afraid and hast con‘emptuousty at the anxious villagers °*d their ruined fields. They wished to knw whether his gods— the old gods—were angry with them and what gacrifices should ‘be offered. The Gond said notl.ing, but picked up a trail of the vine that bears the bitter wild gourd and laced {t to and fro across the temple door in the face of the staring red Hindo image. Then he pushed with his hand in the open air along the road to Kanhiwira and went back to his jungle, and watched the jungle people drifting through it. There was no need to ask his meaning. The wild gourd would grow where they had worshiped their god, and the sooner they saved themselves the better. But it is hard to tear a village from its moorings. Shey stayed on a2 long. 08 any p BA a ee go ee = highs and they tried ther nuts in the jun, but shado with, glaring eyes watched them and rojled before them even at noon, and when t! i, ran back afraid to their walls oh the tree trunks they had passed not five minutes before, the bark would be stripped and chiseled with the stroke of some great-taloned paw. The more they kept to their village the bolder grew tho wild things that gamboled and bellowed on the grazing grounds by the Waingunga. They had no time to patch and plaster the rear walls of the empty byres tacking on to the jungle, so“the pig trampled them down, and the vines hurried after and threw thelr elbows over the new-won ground, and the coarse grass whistled he- hind the vines like the lances of the goblin army following a retreat. ‘Che singie men had left earlier, and carried the news far and near that the village was doomed. Who could fight, they sald, against the jungle, or the gods of the jungle, when the very cobra had left his hole in the plat- form under the peepul? So their little commerce with the outside world shrunk as the trodden paths across the open grew fewer and fainter; and the nightly trump- etings of Hathi and his three sons ceased to trouble them, for they had no more to lose. The crop on the ground and the seed in the ground had been taken. The outlying fields were already losing their shape, and it was time to throw them- selves on the charity of the English at Kanhiwira. Native fashion, they delayed their depart- ure from one day to another till the first rains caught them and the unmended roofs let in a flood, and the grazing ground stood ankle deep. And all nature came on with a rush after the heat of the summer. Then they waded out, men, women and children, through the blinding hot rain of the morn- ing; but turned naturally for one look at their homes. They heard, as the last burdened family filed through’ the gate, a crash of falling beams and thatch behind the walls. Then they saw a shiny, snake black trunk lifted for an instant, scattering sodden thatch to and fro. It disappeared, and there was another crash, followed by a squeal. ,Hathi had been plucking off the roofs of the huts as you pluck water-lilies, ard a rebound- ing beam had hit him. It only needed this to unchain his full strength, for of all things in the jungle the wild elephant en- raged is the most vantonly destructive. He kicked backward at a mud wall that crumbled at the stroke, and as it crumbled melted to yellow mud under the torrent of rain, Then he wheeled and sauealed and tore through the narrow streets, leaning against the huts right and leit, shivering the crazy doors and crumpling up the eaves, while his three sons raged behind as they had raged at the sack at Bhurt- pore. “The jungle will swallow these shells,” sald a quiet voice in the wreckage. “It is the outer wall that must lie down,” and Mowgli, with the rain sluicing over his bare shoulders and arms, leaped back from a wall that was settling like a tired buf- falo. “All in good time,” panted Hathi. “Oh, but my tusks were red at Bhurtpore! To the outer wall, children. With the head! Together! Again! With the tusk stab and weaken! Now!” ‘The four were in line side by side, and the outer wall bulged, split and fell, and the villagers, dumb with horror, saw the savage, clay-streaked heads of the wreck- ers in the ragged gap. Then they fled, houseless and foodless, down the valley a¢ their village, smashed and overturned, shredded and tossed and trampled, melted behind them. A month later the place was a dimpled mound covered with soft green young stuff; and by the end of the rains there was the roaring jungle in full blast on the spot that had been under plough not six months before. (he End.) -_ — PARLORS MU Go. Each Room Must Have a Decided Character. “Oh, dear me! I fear I shall never be able to keep up with the times,” sighed pretty little Mrs. Boggs. She was seated on a scfa with a big ruffled plliow at her back stitching hard at‘a flannel petticoat destined to keep some poor child warm this winter. Mrs. Tubkins, who occupied the other end of the sofa, was fitting a sleeve into a diminutive canton flannel nightgown. It was the weekly meeting of the sewing class and a better oppor- tunity for a quiet chat could scarce be imagined. “What has distu-bed yonr peace of mind this time?” questioned Mrs. Tublets. “It is about my drawing room,” said. Mrs. Boggs. “Last year my chandelicr was taken away from me by that wretched, tyrant, Fashion. It was explained to me that a great thing hanging from the ceil- ing was horribly inartistic, and although my chandelier was of al and had been a great source of pride with me I tear fully gave it up. But worse was to follow. My parlor, as you know, was finished in the light and airy style with pretty spindle- legged furniture, and I learned this fall that nothing is proper now but furniture im the style of George IV—great heavy, massive sofas and chairs in which all beauty, according to my way of thinking, is sacrificed to comfort. I remember the great big sofa in my grandmother's partor, with the round cushion at either end, and covered with black haircloth! Ye gods, I wonder if the haircloth will come next, and the wax flowers under glass cases! “Pray do not suggest such horrors!” cried Mrs. Tubkins, “It is a perfect nightmare! “I was just making arrangements to have my pretty, dainty little sofas replaced by large, ugly one: continued = Mrs Boggs, “when I learned that it was very bad style to have a parlor at all—that only big establishments were entitled to such a room. Each apartment ehould have a dis tinct character, such as a library or a music room, or a studio, but a room that is simply pretty and cozy in which to re- ceive one’s friends is now considered in very bad taste. What is troubling me at present is the question as to what dis- tinctive character my poor little drawing room can possibly have given it, for, alas! I am not musical and novels and poetr are the only books I care for, and a li- brary made up of that style of literature wouid never do, and even Mr. Boggs laughs at my artist! “Poor de don’t know sort of a room yor could have,” said pathetic Mrs. Tublets, “unless you what ‘m- raade it very oriental and’ decorated it with fancy pipes and called it a smoking room. I am sure Mr. Boggs would delight in that, and you would have so many gentlemen callers that we should all turn green with envy.” “Very nice, undoubtedly, but what wo! the old ladies say en they came to sec me? And oh! just fancy what a dreadful odor of stale would collec moke the oriental draperies oo _ Color of Sens. From All the Year Round. The colo: varying sh: are met with are still further diversified by the coloring effects of the enormous multitudes of various forms of oranized life, which sometimes mask the natural color of the surface of the sea and ting extensive areas with remarkable colors. Red appears to be most frequently met with, In the southern parts of the Red Sea and in the Arabian Gulf large areas are colored blood-red by microscopic ant- malcule, and in the Indian Ocean similar forms of life cause, in addition to red, milk-white or yellow spots of great extent, the appearance of which is frequently alarming to the ignorant sailor. Off the Guinea coast ships sometimes ap- pear to float in milk. Extensive red streaks are also known to occur in the South At- lantic and South Pacific, which are caused by hosts of small red crustacea. The “Ver- million Sea” of California, owes its bril- liant color to infusoria. Areas colored green have been noted, especially in the arctic regions, which are due to myriads of dia- toms, and in some portions of the Antarctic seas diatoms of rusty color make the water a dirty brown. se An Indelible Mark. From the Baltimore Sun. Aluminum has the property, when used as a pencil, of leaving an indelible mark cn glass or any other substance having a siliceous base. A deposition of the metal takes place, and while this may be removed by a suitable acid wash, the mark itself cannot be removed by rubbing or washing. Megnesium, sine and cadmium have a sim- ilar property, but the mark of magnesium is easily removed; the application of sinc requires a wheel, and zinc and cadmium tarnish, while aluminum is permanent and remains bright. This property is suscepti- ble of a variety of practical applications in decorating glass. LET US BG MERRY ‘And Do Our Part to Give Others Se 8 SENORA SARA CHATS ABOUT CHRISTMAS If You Haven't, a. Home Make Another's Home Happy. FORGETTHE HARD SIDE 8 WEAK IMITA- tors of the lowly Nazarene, we have our duty to perform this holiday season. We do not have to search for the duty, for it Nes under our hands. Not to our own, alone, must we bring the incense of the holy season, but to the strangers within our gates, the y neglected ones along our pathway, the lonely ones in dreary haunts, called by courtesy “home;” we must extend the right hand of fellowship, ard bid God-speed. It is sometimes a com- fort to reflect that no matter how badly the world may treat us, our condition 4s not as hopeless as that of yet another whom fortune has mocked and happiness deserted. That other is the one whom we should reach out after and upon whom we should bestew a bit of our greater bounties. Our first duty, of course, is to those nearest and dearest to us, but it is not meet that we should expend upon them all our energies, nor yet upon our friends. The gift-making that becomes a duty is a dreary farce, and loses to us the delightful essence of the season, When Christmas giving descends to the level of a business proposition, simply a fair exchange of pres- ents with’ sense of obligation discharged, the custom is degraded and we are sensivly lowered iu our own esteem. One of the surest indications of good breeding is the ability to make acceptable presents in an acceptable manner. The value of a pres- ent should never be the measure of its ac- ceptability, and it never is with the nicest people. A showy present, given, ostensibly, for its costly character, calls attention to the fact that the donor is a person of coarse in- stincts, devoid of taste and breeding. Cost- liness ‘in surroundings and benefits be- stowed are the only ways that some peo- ple have of showing that they possess mon- ey and you do not. Presents bestowed in that way smack of patronage and conde- scension, and that is something that no self-respecting American can endure for a moment. ‘The true woman gives from her héart and not from her purse, and her presents .always bring pleasure, because good taste and judgment have guided the selection, and the monetary value has not once obtruded itself before her, nor will it to you, unless you have been an ungrateful recipient. - The Children Come First. It cannot be denied that present giving has got to be a terrible strain, and that we come perilously near the edge of deserving the- criticism of our foreign friends, v-ho say that we are vulgarly fond of display. We air this folly at home and abroad. Our social functions are made the medium for the greatest display of all, and from christ- ening to coffin we overdo the matter all along the line. It is *m-American. If the democ of a republican form of govern- ment means anytting, it means simplicit and it is unpatriotic to degrade our institu tions, whether public or private, by an os- tentatious display of wealth. It is quite time that we get away from the commer- cial exchange of courte: and back to the beautiful Christmas customs of by- gone when the presents given had a purpose, and that purpose was not to ex- ploit the riches of the gi The children come fi may be that in your home there are chiidish feet to patter down the stair the gray Christmas light to the stocking hung close to the chimney. Perhaps the child that crept into your arms last Christ- mas to show its presents lies under the drifting leaves in God's acre, and your heart is too sove to enter into the joys of the day as it comes to others. For that one day, at least, nurse your sorrow in si- lence, and do not let your sad thoughts intrude themselves upon those about you. Perhaps the little one who has slipped from your arms had playmates less fortu- nate than herself. You might lavish on them some of the wealth of affection that fills your aching heart, and in the self- effacement there would come much comfort. It was a lesson of self-abnegmtion such as this that the Christ child taught, and if we would enjoy to the fullest extent the bless- ings of the anniversary we must practice the precepts of Him whom it commem- orates. © Friendly Hand. Perhaps you have prospered far beyond some of your friends in the year that has passed. It may be that while your path has seemed to be rose-covered that of your friends has been strewn with shards, flint and pebbl There are many ways in which you can meke the day brighter for her and the season holier. Not by charity, in the shape of a present, for charity 1s cold comfort to one who needs instead an encouraging word, a friendly grasp of the hand, a sign that she has not been for- gotten, though the gay world that was once at her feet has turned aside from her. Some one said not long ago that the most pathetic rentiment ever expressed, and the truest, was th Sorrow's crown of sor- row is remembering happier thin doubt not that this is Never to possessed is never to have enjoyed. to have enjoyed is never to have reg! Those who are born poor and distressed take charity kindly, nay, demand it and accept it as their due. 1 ay long for joys that are out of the’ ch, but the bereavement, the bitterness of ito thelr desire for pos- t element of regret must ing. But to those who have towers of benefits the ac- rity is the keenest torture. of fortune such as this are common in this country of sudden changes, and to them, indeed, “sorrow’s crown of sorrow” is in remembering at thi ason the “happier things” of the dear, dead days. It takes the gentlest tact, the most thoughtful grace of a true-born gentie- woman to make the Christmas anniversary one of pleasure to these. _ Spirie of Christmas Giving. Then there are the poor—those who have never known what it is to have enough to eat, or clothes enough to keep them warm. ‘They are legion, and you do not have to seek them, for they are at your very doors. Remember them as lberally as lies within your means. “Be merciful after thy power. If thou hast much, give plenteously; if thou hast little, do thy diligence gladly to give of that little; for £0 gatherest thou thyself a good reward in the day of neces- sity.” “Do thy diligence gladiy to give of that little;” that is the essence of the spirit of Christmas giving. And 80, whatever may be our circum- stances, let us endéavor to make this Christmas day as merry and as joyful to ourselves and those around us as possible. If absent ones are thought of let them be remembered with gladness. If reverses and sorrows have come with the year just ending let us bury them on Christmas eve. To the discouraged let us be a healthful and life-giving stimulant, ever mindful of the power of a sunny and buoyant exam- ple. Let us make our crosses seem as light as possible to those who love us. Let frowns be buried in smiles just for a day, the merriest, happiest day of all the year. Try the panacea of laughter on the sick, better than all the medicines ever invented. Wherever there exists a sorrow let us try, even if we can do ever so little, to wipe it away for the day. If ingratitude has come to us, let us believe that there must exist a cause of which we know not. If the spirit of unforgiveness has come to any of us, let the Christmas joy soften our hearts. In mercy, let us remember our enemies, never forgetful of the fact that life is too short to harbor ill feelings. No matter what we have borne during the year, or what we feel we may be called upon to ver lac been be ce of ¢ reversal be for THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1894—TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. bear during the Axeat, to come, let us! be merry on this anniversary of the Natal day of rist, who, it is promi will mend every wrong, who will sét all things right, though His ways are not our ways, and His blessings sometimes seem slow in’ com- The Pleasure of Childhood. And whatever may be our trials, let us not show them to our children. Christmas is their day. If it be not for us, it is cruel for us to take it from them. Before them at least let us carry a smile. Let us be young again, if but for a day, renewing our youth in their games and romps. And in the innocent pleasure of childhood, per- haps, we shall forget the world and the hard side of our lives. The happiest hearts are never far off from a home filled with the love of a good wife and the mer- ry laughter of children, but children are not in every home, and hot everybody has a home, so the next best thing is to find somebody else's home and somebody else’s children to make happy. Failing that, try the effect of Christmas cheer on the dren older grown.” Here is a whole Christmas sermon in a little verse that Rose has written in a book for a friend of hers: “What is the thought of Christmas? Giving. What is the heart of Christmas? Love. What is the hope of Christmas? « Living. What is the joy of Christmas? Love. If you feel at all skeptical about it you might put the second line into practical effect, and I feel pretty sure that the last two lines will come to you, and “Love is the fulfilling of the nek: —_—>— BLACK AND WHITE GOWN. A Costume Which » Woman Cannot Well Dispense With. Nowadays any woman who makes the slightest pretense to being fashionable must include in her wardrobe at least one black and white gown, for they are just as much liked this year as they were last. Besides always being “just the right thing,” they are invariably becoming, and for the woman who can indulge in but one, or; per- haps, two really nice gowns during the sea- son they are far above and beyond any other economical device, especially when made in a style resembling the accompany~- ing sketch, which allows silk or satin bodices of different colors to be worn. ‘A deft touch here and there, a bit of lace artistically applied, a few lace, satin or velvet rosettes, some ribbon, or, perhaps, @ yard or two of jet trimming, will transform one of these gowns almost beyond recog- nition. For dinner, reception or opera wear noth- ing could be handsomer in design than the costume shown. The skirt, which is a plain one, fitting closely about the hips and across the front, but measuring six yards around the bottom, is of white satin, hav- ing inch-wide stripes of black velvet. The velvet brace, which, by the way, is copied from a very recently imported “creation,” 1s aut very low, both in front and back, sharply curved over the hips, with a mod- erately deep rounded point in front and a short rippled skirt at the back. It is closed invisibly on the left side, but four big jet buttons give a pretty double-breasted ef- fect. The bodice is merely a blouse of rich white satin, the square yoke being over- laid with heavy black lace, the same trimming being again used for sleeve frills or epaulettes. The sleeves have as much material as can be put into them without making them gouble, ard barely reach to the elbow. Less Elaborate. Should something less elaborate be de- sired the skirt might be of black satin and velvet, in which case the bodice could be of bengaline, satin, fancy or plain silk, in any becoming color, and instead of the square yoke the fullness might extend to the neck and have one of the pretty lace Vandyke collars tacked over it, to simulate a yoke. Last winter evening bodices were left open about the throat, this season stock collars reach almost to the ears, and the “czarina buckles” stylishly used for their decoration, with excellent effect, particu- larly when they are of cut silver or bril- liants. Plain skirts are decidedly the most fa- vored, but notwithstanding their apparent simplicity they are cut in a great variety of shapes; around the bottom they vary in width from four to eight yards, but are always very close and tight fitting around the top. y must be made to just es- cape the and, or else the round appear- ance—which ig the effect desired—cannot be obtained. For street wear little or no trimming 1s used on the lower part, but hardly one is seen without a trimming of some kind or a ribbon sash at the back. —— The Sleep of Plants. From Chambers’ Journal. The sleep of plants Is so conspicuous a phenomenon that it excited discussion end speculation as early as the time of Pliny, and many explanations were given, which science has since disproved. The drooping of the leayes was attributed by some bot- anists to an aversion to moisture, a theory which had to be abandoned when such movements were made on cloudless days and dewless nights. The clover tribe, which always close their leaves at night, revei in rain; and nasturtiums will go through a day of tempestuous Weather without show- ing any inclination to change their position, Linnaeus was the first to give to the sub- ject special study and scientific research, While watching the progress of some plants of lotus, he began that series of observa- tions upon which his great work “Sleep of Plants” is based. He found that nocturnal changes are determined by temperature and the daily alternations of light and darkness; movement is not actually caused by darkness, but by the differences in the amount of light the plant receives during the night and day. Many plants, notably the nasturtium, unless brilliantly illumined in the day, will not sleep at night. If two plants were breught into the center of a room, one from the open air and the other from’a dark corner, the neutral Hght which would cause the former to droop its leaves would act as a stimulant upon the latter. ——__+ 0+ —___. They Made a Deal. From the Cincinnati Tribune. “Excuse me,” said the seedy man, sidling up to the well-dressed citfzen, “if I don’t mistake, you are going into the saloon to buy a dyink or a cigar or something?” “I am going to buy myself a drink,” an- swered the citizen, with an accent on the see “Oh, I didn’t want to brace you for no ball. What I want you to do is to take this here nickel ard ask me to have a beer “J—I don’t quite catch on. “T’'ll tell you; if I go in and drink with a fine, well-fixed man, like yourself, I kin afterward stand there and stow away all the lunch I want to. If I go in lookin’ as I do, with my little old one nickel, I'd get throwed out*before I had a chance to take more than four or five forkfuls of the beans and a sandwich or two.” ‘The deal was made. AND WEBSTER SANG Enthusiasm ata Jenny Lind Concert in This City. A NOTABLE AND IMPOSING OVATION Interesting Features of the Great Singer's Tour. SHE MADE A FORTUNE Written Exclutvely for The Evening Star. HE TOUR OF Jenny Lind through America stands out still as the great musical event in the life of the nation. Other song-birds have come and gone, ), they have delighted | audiences, and reap- ed rich returns in the way of applause and money, but none of them have ever rivaled Jenny Lind in the hearts of the people, as they could not rival her in song. She was the queen of hearts, as she was the queen of song. More than a generation has passed since she captured all America by her singing and by her pure, womanly life, yet none who heard or saw her have ever forgotten the emotions of that hour. She was trium- phantly above all others the human night- ingale, warbling notes that rivaled those of her feathered namesake. She had experienced a wonderful Euro- pean career, such as no other had won, be- fore she was heard on American shores. She had sung before immense audiences in every capital of Europe, and before all of the crowned heads. She had been the wel- come and honored guest of the highest and best in all the countries of the continent, and was the idol of the people. Her fame had leaped the ocean and extended to America. An English actor or two, had made professional‘tours through this coun- try, and had been moderately successful, but no singer of great note had ever cross- ed the At'antic to try her powers on these shores. She was the pioneer in that line, and although she has been followed by many other birds of song, Jenny Lind still stands without a rival in this country. It was a daring venture for Mr. Barnum to attempt to introduce this new and un- tried ‘feature in entertaining American au- diences, and no one of less daring spirit, or with less faith in his own powers, would have undertaken it. He made to her what was then a fabulous offer for a series of 100 concerts. It must be remembered that the population of the country was less than half what it is now, and its wealth was not one-tenth as great. Washington was scarce- ly more than a straggling village, and Chi- cago was almost wholly unknown. There were scarcely a dozen cities where it was thought possible that paying audiences could be obtained. Yet she carried away with her as her share of the proceeds of the ninety-five concerts a very large for- tune, after giving away more than $50,000 to various charities. Welcomed in New York. It was in August of 1850 that the wonder- ful singer sailed from Liverpool for New York. On Sunday, September 1, the steam- er reached New York, where every prepa- ration had been made to receive her. Thousands of persons crowded the shipping and piers, as the Atlantic steamed up to her landing place, while other thousands were crowded on the wharf, A bower of green trees, decorated with flags, and two triumphal arches were arranged upon the wharf. As she aopeared on the deck of the steamer, leaning upon the arm of Mr. Barnum, a great shout of welcome went up frcm the thousands who had been standing there for hours awaiting to get a gliinpse of her. Never before had there been such enthusiasm in New York. The day was forgotten, and within a few minutes of her arrival at the hotel not less than ten thousand persons had gathered around the entrance. At midnight she was serenaded by one of the musical societies of the city, numbering on the occasion more than 200 singers. At least 20,000 persons were pres- ent. The musicians had been escorted to the hotel by 300 uniformed firemen, bearing torches. The calls for the songstress were so vehement that Mr. Barnum was compeil- ed to lead her out on the balcony, when the cheering lasted several minutes. The enthusiasm continued unabated for several weeks She was the idol of society, and her rooms at the hotel were thronged with visitors, including all those prominent in church and state, and the carriages of the leaders of Gotham society were seen in front of the hotel during all fashionable hours. When her carriage appeared at the door it was immediately surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd. The first concert was to take place at Castle Garden on the evening of September 11. Great preparations had been made for this first appearance. The great parterre and gallery of Castle Garden were divided off by imaginary lines into four compart- ments, each of which was designated by lamps of a peculiar color. The tickets were printed in colors corresponding to those of the lamps, thus designating the position of the seat of the holder. One hundred ushers wearing appropriate colors were in attendance. The tickets were sold at auction, Mr. Genin, a hatter, paying $225 for the first choice. The Audience Went Wild. When the singer was led down to the footlights the entire audience arose and received her with shouts of applause and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs, and th ting of bouquets on the stage. It was by far the largest audience that had ever greeted her, and the enthusiasm agi- tated her at first so that it was with diffi- culty she uttered the first notes, but in a moment she recovered herself, and then her triumph was complete. The enthusiasm had been wrought up to the highest pitch, but the wonderful musical powers of the singer were far beyond anything ever before heard, and many times the singing was lost in a spontaneous outburst of applause. A voice so rich, so full, 0 clear, and so sweetly musical had not been dreamed of. At the conclusion of the concert she was several times called before the curtain, the applause lasting for several minutes on each occasion. At last the audience called for Mr. Barnum, who appested and an- nounced that the entire proceeds of the concert would be devoted to charitable ob- jects. On this announcement the audience went vild with its cheering. From New York she went to Boston, Philadelphia, Providence, Baltimore, Wash- ington and all the principal cities of the country, meeting with the same wonderful success. Wherever she appeared she was feted and honored. In this city President Fillmore called upon her at her hotel, and entertained her one evening at the White House. While here all the prominent men of the country then in the city, including Mr, Webster, Mr. Clay, Mr. Crittenden, Gen, Cass and Col. Benton, called upon her. Two or three very amusing things occurred during the two concerts she gave in this city. Both of the concerts were at- tended by the President and his family and by every member of the cabinet. At the first concert, while the overture was being played by the orchestra, the vener- able Henry Clay, feeble wfth age and in- creasing infirmities, entered the door. A murmur of applause greeted his appear- ance, but it was hushed, and the number gompleted by the orchestra. On its com- pletion the audience broke into a wild cheér, The leader of the orchestra did not notice the thin and feeble figure of the popular idol slowly making his way to his seat, and took the appiause as a tribute to his orchestra, and began bowing right and left. He soon discovered that the eyes of the people were all turned in one direction, and that was not toward him. About that time some one shouted out: “Three cheers for Harry Clay!" and they were given with a will, as the abashed orchestra leader sunk into his chair. Webster Joined in the Chorus. On the next evening several of the mem- bers of the cabinet were detained by a dinner given by the Russian minister, and it was late before they made their appear- ance. Soon after they had settled in their seats the second part of the concert was opened by Jenny Lind si “Hail Co- lumbla.” At the close of ti first verse Mr. Webster's enthusiasm and patriotism got the best of him, and he arose to his feet and joined his bass voice with the bird-like tones of nightingale in singing the chorus. Mrs. Webster, who sat immediately behind him, tried in vain to get him to sit down, but the great master of parliamentary oratory stood like a Greek god, and joined in the chorus to each verse, to the great delight of both Jenny Lind and the audience. At the close of the air Mr. Webster, hat in hand, made her a bow, such as even Chesterfield could not have surpassed. The singer in return curtesied to the floor. The audience broke forth in vociferous applause, when Web- ster again bowed to the singer on the stage, who again returned {it with a deeper courtesy, and the house again applauded, This was repeated several tim Her charity was unbounded, and she gave away large sums to one object or an- other. No one from her native Sweden called upon her without receiving the most friendly welcome. It was told of her that while in Boston a poor Swedish girl, a domestic in a family living in one of the suburbs, called on her. The divine Jenny welcomed her and detained her for sev- eral hours, and in the evening took her to the concert jn her own carriage, and after the concert Was over sent her home in the "The deatre of all ch he desire of all classes to hear her is best illustrated by the story told one of her concerts in Boston. A girl ap- proached the ticket window, and, laying down three dollars, the price of a ticket, said: “There goes half a month's earnings, but I am determined to hear Jenny Lind sing.’ Jenny's secretary was in the tick office at the time, and on going to the room of the singer told her the incident. She immediately asked him if he would know the girl again, and, on being assured that he would, gave him a twenty-dollar gold coin, and told him to seek her out and give it to her with her compliments, a A GIRL’S EVENING DRESS, How to Make One That is Pretty, Be- coming and Cheap. ‘There ts hardly a girl who does not just at this season of the year require at least one evening dress, and it is also not an unusual thing for the young lady’s mother to be literally at her wits’ end to devise scme festive robe which is at once easily made, inexpensive, becoming and calculated to effectually conceal the sharp corners and acute angles which fall to the lot of most school girls. ‘The dainty dress shown here fills each of these requirements, and the small woman herself can hardly heip being satisfied with it, which counts for a good deal. Such lovely cashmeres, crepes and crepons come at such very low prices that there should be no difficulty in procuring suitable material, but great care should be taken in the selection of a becoming color. In making the gown there must first be a close-fitting princess lining, left slightly open about the throat. The dress proper is then made in slightly gored lengths reaching from the neck straight down to the hem, the back and sides being jyst a trifle longer than the front. The lining, with its Mother Hubbard-like overdress, then put on the girl for whom it is being made, and the material basted to the lin- ing; first, just under the bust; again, a trifle above the waist line, and once more just around the waist at the back, but dip- ping down on the left side, as shown in the drawing, a slight puff being left between each line of bastings. ‘The gown is then removed and the places firmly secured, after which they are cov- ered with either satin, velvet or moire rib- bon matching the prevailing tone—or con- trasting, as desired. The dress should be fastened at the back, and the ribbons, invisibly, on the side. The sleeves are merely big puffs reaching to the elbow. ——— DIPLOMATIC EPISODE. How an American Minister Rode in Exciting Horse Race. When President Taylor selected Bailie Peyton, a prominent Tennessee whig, to represent the United States in Chile, horse racing anc cock fighting were leading pub- lic amusements, and the bare announce- ment of one, date and location stated, never failed to attract a large crowd. Many pub- lic men, both north and south, were devo- tees of the turf, and none of them took greater pride in their racing stud than Col. Peyton. Hence,when he learned that horse racing was unknown in Chile, that the peo- ple there rode on donkeys, and used mules even in state coaches, he threatened to de- cline the appointment, “fearing he would died of ennu! there,” and when he accept- ed, said: “I will go to Chile, not only as my country’s representative, but as a mission- afy to teach those benighted South Amerl- cans some gentlemanly accomplishments. Shortly after his arrival in Santiago a race, with two noted entries, was planned. Col. Peyton bet a large sum of money on one of the horses and the English minister an equal amount on the other. There being no professional jockeys, some had been im- provised and duly trained. All arrange- ments—and on a splendid scale—were com- pleted, when, on the morning named, the jockey slated to ride Peyton's horse became disabled and could move neither hand nor foot. The colonel searched Santiago and vicinity for a substitute, but could not find one, and to postpone the brush or abandon it seemed the only alternative, when Peyton dumfounded the judges by saying: “Gentlemen, when a boy I often rode and won races. I am heavier now, not in training, but I will take my jockey’s place and do my best.” He was tall and stout, but active, strong and self-possessed, and at the right time presented himself trim and dapper in a jockey suit, sprang into the saddle, at the word dashed off, took and kept the lead and, winning the race, was awarded the wager. Such an unusual diplomatic performance could not escape public notice even in those ante-cablegram,ante-personal journal- ism days, and the United States newspa- pers soon had graphic accounts of it. There were many severe criticisms of Col. Pey- ton’s Chilean adventure, but when Gen. Taylor, “Old Rough and Ready,” as he was called, heard of it, he cut off a fresh piece of acco, chewed it awhile and qui- ‘Bailie is a smart fellow and can do anything and do it well. In after years Col. Peyton, who, in spite of crushing reverses of fortune, always re- tained his sunny spirit, once jocularly re- marked: “Those Chileans owe me a pension and a monument, for I was their greatest benefactor. I not only taught them how to manage a race, but how to ride a horse. ‘Now they have fine horses, superior tracks, capital jockeys and exciting races—all illus- trating the virtue of a good example. From Life. Totling—“I have a labor problem for you.” Dimling—“Go ahead.” Totling—“If four men can do a piece of work in seven days, how long will it take six men and a waiking delegate?” patie ledeeae Sai cee The Fatal Test. From the Syracuse Post. Voice at the head of the stairs. have you been drinking?” George—“No'm!” Voice—"Say chrysanthemum.” George (silent for a moment) — drunksh, m’ dear!” “George,