Evening Star Newspaper, February 16, 1895, Page 16

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1895-TWENTY PAGES, Is For Is For The Formula: IR « Rhubarb. go) fo] Peppermint « Aloes. Sod Om1ca oO0c. Box, At All Druggists. F. A. Tschiffely, 475 Pa. Ave., Wash., D.C. E. S. Leadbeater & Son, Alexandria, Va. o secret as to its formula. Ri- pans is the tablet or solid form of a very common prescription, ad- vised and prescribed by doctors all over the world as a cure for consti= pation, indigestion, loss of appetite, headache, pain in the side, dizzi-= ness, “full” feeling and other com= mon ailments of the stomach and. bowels. Your physician would prob= ably give you just such a prescrip- tion if you went to him with any of the above complaints. relieve you. Fi a nor will two--a box will. WHOLESALERS: One will It will not cure you-- LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER THE BOY OF THE LANTERN. BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. ———>— (Coprright, 1805, by Joel Chandler Harris.) “Of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “all of you can tell better stories than I can, because you are larger. Being taller, you can seo farther, and talk louder, but I sometimes think that if I were to climb @ tree I'd see as far as any of you.” “Well, I hope your feelings are not hurt, remarked Mr. Rabbit,sympathetically. “It not the fault of your stories that I fall asleep when you are telling them. It's my habit to sit and rod at certain hours of the day, and if you'll watch me right close you'll see that I sometimes drop off when I'm telling a story myself. I'll try and keep awake the next time you tell one.’ ‘m afraid I'll have to prop Mr. Rabbit's eyelids open with a@ straw,” sald Mrs. Meadows, laughing. “Ll just try you with a little one,” Mr. Thimblefinger declared. I'll tell you one I heard when I was younger. I want to see whether Mr. Rabbit will keep awake and I want to see whether there’s a moral in the tale.” So he took off his little hat, which was shaped like a thimble, and ran his hand over the feather ornament to straighten it out. Then he began: “A long time ago, when there was @ great deal more room in the country next door than there ts now, there lived a man who had a wife, one son, a horse, a cow and a calf. He was a hard-working man, #0 much so that he had little or no time to devote to his family. He worked hard in the field all day, and when night came he was too tired to trouble much about his gon. His wife, too, having no servant, was always bu: about the house, sewing, washing, cooking, cleaning, patching, milk- g and sweeping. Day in and day out it was always the same. The man was al- ways working, and the woman was al- ways working. They had no rest except on Sunday, and then they were too tired to pay much attention to their son. he consequence was that while the boy was a very bright lad, he was full of mischief, up to all sorts of tricks and vanks that some people cal] meannes: 2y hook or by crook—or maybe by book— he had learned how to spell and read. But the only book he had to read was one with big pictures of men dressed tn red clothes and armed with yellow cutlasses. The book was called ‘The Pirooters of Peru- Iaybe the name was ‘The Pirates of suggested Buster John. no,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I @on’t suppose any such country as Peru had been found on the map when that book was written. But never mind about that. The boy read only that book, and he became rather wild In his mind. He want- ef to be a plrooter, whatever that was, and ao he armed himself with old hoe helves and called them pikes, and he tied a shin- glo to his side and called {t a cutlass, and he pt him @ broom handle and called it a orse. “(his boy's name was Johany, but some- times they called him Jack for short. Somo ople sald he wag mean as he could be; ut I don’t say that. He was fonder of scampering over the country than he was Iping his mother. ‘t know an: be’ etter because r. But one m eouldn’t get out of bed. She had worn her- self out with work. The next morning she *t get up, nor the next, and then the who had come in to see what said that she would never So one day Johnny found still in the house, and the @erything very jeighbors who were there were kinder to iim than they ever had been, and then he new that his mother would never get tired any more. “He felt so bad that he wandered off into the woods, crying as he went. His eyes Were so full of tears that he couldn't see where he was going, and be didny care. He went on and on, until finally, when he took heart to look around, he found him- self In a part of the ne = that was new to him. This caused him to dry Ee eye: for he was perfectly sure that he had trav- efed neither fast nor far enough to be be- yond the limits of the numberless journeys he had made in all directions from his father’s house, and yet there he was, sud- denly and without knowing how he got there, in a country that was altogether new to him. “It was just like when you came down through our spring gate,” said Mr. Thim- blefinger. “The grass was different and the trees were different, and even the sand and the gravel were of color that Johnny had never seen before. Suddenly, while ho was wondering how he could have missed seeing all these strange things when he had fJourneyed this way before, a lady, richly @ressed, came out of the woods and stood before him. She neither smiled nor looked severe, but pity seemed to shine in her fa: ‘What now?’ she said, raising her hand to her head. ‘You have come fast and come far. You are in trouble. Go back. When you want me, go to the whispering poplar that stands on the hill and whisper my name.” “Who are you? asked Johnny, forget- ting to be polite, if he ever knew how. “Tho keeper of the cows that roam in the night,’ replied tho lady. When you go to the whispering poplat that stands on the hill, whisper this: O keeper of cows that roam in the light, Come over the hill and lend me your light.” “Johnny would have thanked the woman, but in the twinkling of an eye she was gone without making a sound, and not a blade of grass shook to show that she had been there. Johnny turned in his tracks and started home the way he came. Before he had gone far he stopped to look back, but the strange country was nowhere to be seen—only the old familiar hills and trees that he had always known. “When he got home there was a strange woman cooking and fixing his fathers supper. The table was set and every- thing was almost as neat and as tidy as ft used to be when his mother was alive. Even his own little plate was in its place, and his mug with the picture of @ bite castle painted on {t was sitting near. But Johnny had no appetite. He went to the door and looked in, and then went to the stable. Once there he sud- denly remembered that hé had forgotten to drive the cow in from the pasture. He went running to get her, but found her coming along of her own accord, something she was not in the habit of doing. “Johnny wondered a little at this, but {t soon passed out of his mind, and he got behind the cow and made her go fast- er. He drove the cow into the lot and waited a while for the woman to come and milk. But she delayed so long, he went to the house and found his father eating supper. Instead of going to the table he went and sat by the fire. “ ‘fave something to eat?’ sald the wo- man. “‘T am not hungry,’ he replied. “ ‘Have a glass of fresh milk, then,’ she sald. Not tonight,’ he answered. ‘TI have just driven the cow in from the pasture.’ ““{ brought her from the pasture my- self,’ said the woman, ‘milked her and turned her out again,” “Johnny said nothing to this, but he knew the cow had not been milked, and he wondered where the woman got the milk that his father was drinking. He thought about it until he forgot all about his grief. He noticed that as scon as his father drank the milk he began to smile at the woman. He smiled at the woman, but was cross to Johnny. “After supper the woman went out, and after a while Johnny went out, too, leaving his father sitting by the fire smeking his pipe. Johnny went to the lot, thinking the woman had gone there. He wanted to see whether she would milk the cow. He crept alongside of the fence, and scon he was near enough to peep through @ crack without being seen. He saw the woman rubbing the cow on the back,while the calf was getting all the milk. “*You see how gcod I am to you, sis- ter,’ said the woman. ‘Now I want you to be good to me. When that boy Jack pa? after you to the pasture I want you Oo lead him a chase. I saw him beating yeur caif today. But see how good Iam a calf, sister. I let it have all the milk.’ “The cow shook her horn and switched her tail, and Johnny, sitting in the fence corner, wondered what it all meant. “I see,’ said the cow, after a while. ‘You want to marry the boy’s father and the boy fs in the vay. But suppose they find you out. What then? “Trust me for that, sister,’ sald the worran; ‘trust me for that.’ “Johnny waited to hear no more, but crept away and went to bed. He was dressed and out by sun up next morning, but the woman was up befcre him and had breakfast nearly ready. Johnny asked her if she had milked the cow, and she replied that she had forgotten about {t. Johnny saw the milk pail sitting on the shelf, and when he looked at it he krew the cow had not been milked, else the sides of the pail would have been spattered. “But the cow had been turned out, and the calf was sleeping contentedly in the fence corner, instead of nibbling the grass. Johnny drank no milk at breakfast, but his father did and smiled at the woman more than ever. During the day Johnny fcrgot all about the cow, but when night came, he knew she must be brought up, so he went to the pasture after her. She was not to be found. He hunted over the hills and fields, and then, not finding her, began to cry. “Suddenly the lady he had seen the day before stepped out of the wood and spoke to him. She held in her hand a tiny lan- tern, “‘Teke this,’ she said, holding out the lantern. “You wouldn’t call me, and so I came to you.” ““q forgot,” whispered Johnny. ‘Don’t forget any more,’ sald the lady. ‘Take this lantern and run to the whis- pering poplar that stands on the hill. You'll find your cow tied there. Drive her home and don’t spare her.’ “Johnny found the cow tied to the poplar sure enough and he made her gallop home as fast as she could. He blew out his tiny lantern before he got in sight of the house, put tt dropped from his hand and he could find it no more. He ceased to hunt for it after a while, and drove the cow to the lot, where the woman was waiting. “‘Go get your supper,’ she sald to Johnny. “*Yea'm,’ replied Johnny, but he went off only to creep back to see what the woman would do. He could see she was angry. “She abused the cow terribly. ‘You are @ nice sister,’ she exclaimed, ‘to let that boy bring you home so early.’ “Don’t sister me,’ moaned the cow. ‘I’m nearly famished and that boy has nearly run me off my legs. Somebody that I couldn’t see caught me and tied me to a tree this morning and there I’ve been all day. We'd better go away from here. ‘That boy will find you out yet.’ “Then Johnny crept away, ate his sup- per and went to He slept late the next morning, but when he ewoke ho found that his father, instead of being at work, as was his habit, was smoking his pipe and talking to the woman, and both were ling at each other very sweetly, That afternoon Johnny went to bring the cow home before sundown, but he couldn't find her. He hunted and hunted for he until long after dark and then he wen to the whispering poplar that stands on the hill, and eaid: “©, keeper of cows that roam in the night, Coe Cee the hills and lend me your ight!” “Instantly Johnny heard the cow lowing in the valley, and saw a light glimmering faintly in the distance. In a little while,he heard a tremendous clatter of hoofs wy the hill, and the rushing of some large ani- mal through the bushes. It seemed to have one eye only and tiat eye shone as fiercely as a flame of fire, as its head swayed from side to side. It came lar tree where Johnny there. Johnny peeped from behind the tree and saw that the frightful animal was nothing more than his cow, with a tiny lantern hanging on her horn. She stood there panting and trembling. Johnny wait- ed to see if the keeper of the cows that roam in the night would make her appear- ance, but he waited in vain. Then he drove the cow home, turned her in the lot and wont in the house to get his supper. His father and mother were sitting very close together. “ ‘Have the wo- Row brought the cow d. She’s in the lot,’ replied Johnny. ‘You are a smart boy,’ said the woman. ‘Thanky, ma’m,’ exclaimed Johnny. “So it went day after day. The woman would make the cow wander farther and farther away from home,and Johnny would go to the whispering poplar that stands on the hill, and call for the beautiful lady, the keeper of the cows that roamein the night, and soon the cow would come running and lowing. Then Johnny would drive her home by the light of his little lantern. This hap- ened so cften that the neighbors and in- eed the people in all that cou they saw a light bobbing around at would shake there heads and say, ‘There oh goos Jack with his lantern,’ and then after a@ while they called ‘Jack of the lantern,” “One day he heard two of the neighbors talking about him, saying it was a pity that so bright a boy should have such a stepmother as the woman his father was about to marry. Then Johnny (or Jack, ag he was sometimes called) knew that his father was preparing to marry the woman who was keeping house for him, and it made the boy feel very wretched to think that this woman was to take the place of his mother. “That very day he went to the whis- poring poplar that stands on the hill and called for the keeper of the cows that roam in the night. The lady made her ere pearance and then, Johnny told her his troubles. The lady, smiled for the first time. Then she told Johnny that if he would follow her directions his troubles would disappear, Ske gave him a roll of blue ribbon, and told him what to say when he presented it to the woman just before the marriage t place. She told him also what to do with his little lan- tern. Johnny went home feeling very much better, and that night hjs father told him he was to have & new mother the next day. He said nothing in reply, but smiled as if the news please a "aut ; lay awake that nig! a long iovameed ‘once he thought the woman ame and leaned over his bed as if to lis- en, but just then @ cow not far away lowed once, twice, thrice. Then the wo- man went away, muttering something. The next day the invited guests began to assemble early, and after a while the preacher came. The women neighbors Would have the bride to stand up in the ddle of the floor to admire her just be- fore the ceremony, and when she stood up, Johnny began to march around her, waving his lantern and his blue ribbon and singing: “@ have for the bride ten yards of blue ribbon— Ten yards of blue ribbon, ten yards of blue ribbo! I haye for the bride ten yards of blue rib- mn, rich, and so soft, and so rare; ‘ive yards to pin on her snowy white bo- som— Her snowy white bosom, her snowy white _ bosom— Five yards to pin on her snowy white bo- som, And five to tle in her hair. “I have a lantern to light her along with— To penne along with, to light her along wit I have a lantern to light her along with, When forth she fares in the night; Out in the dark, the ribbon will rustle— The ribbon will rustle, the ribbon will rustle— Out in the dark the ribbon will rustle, And the lantern will lend her its light!” “Johnny threw the blue ribbon over the woman's shoulder and around her neck and waved his lantern, and instantly the woman disappeared, and in her place stood @ cow. Before the people could recover their surprise the lady that Johnny had seen at the whispering poplar came into the room and bowed to the company. ‘This is the most malicious cow tn all my herd,’ said she, ‘and this brave boy has caught her. Here is a purse of gold fer his reward. As for you, sir,’ turning to Johnny’s father, ‘you may thank your son for saving you from this witch.’ Then she bowed again, and went away, leading the cow, and neither of them was ever seen in that country again. “But to this day, when people see a light bobbing up and down in the fields at night they say, ‘Yonder’s Jack of the Lantern!’ ” Eseaie gene The Patent Baby Washer, From Tit-Bits. Mothers, read this. A most useful invention for nursery use, called a “baby washer,” is announced, and the inventor describes his infant machine as follows: You simply insert the begrimed infant in an orifice, which can be made any re- quired size by turning for four minutes a cog wheel with electrical attachments. The child glides down a highly polished plane. His ips are met at the terminus by an India rubber tube, from which the infant can draw lacteal nourishment of the purest and most invigorating character, secured for the special purpose at great expense from a choice breed of the Alderney cow. While in this compartment, which is plate glass, mirrored, the perturbed spir- it of the infant is soothed by its frantic efforts to demolish its own image, reflected in the glass, with an electroplated combined tooth cutter, nail knife, rattle and tack hammer, which is thrust into the baby’s hand by an automaton monkey. Fatigued by its destructive efforts, the infant falls to sleep, while the organ at- tachments play softly the ravishing melody of “Put Me in My Little Bed.” Then it slips into the third compartment. Here the body is washed. Another small tube administers a dose of soothing sirup, and the infant glides from the machine, its nails pared and its hair combed. Society and Lying. From the London Truth. Most people make a distinction between what they are pleased to call immoral lies and white lies, But they are at consider- able fault to define where the one ends and the other begins, and there is no doubt that the acceptance of the so-called society les has contributed in no small measure to deaden the qualms of conscience with re- gard to the untruths of a more serious de- soription, And yet, what would we do without these white lies? How could so- clety exist if there were not some such formula as “Not at home?” And what a a of disagreeable invitations we should be forced to accept did we not have at our beck end call the conventional lie with regard ee: “previous engagement!” Balls wou:d become a source of torture rathe? than of pleasure to the fair sex were they obliged to dance with overy awkward swain who considers it hig duty to ask them; and how, when demanded by our host for your opinion with regard to ig children, his wines or his cigars, can you possibly tell him the pies) unvarnished, d, in nine cases out of ten, disagreeable th, In fact, the whole routine of society, as at present constituted, is nothing more or leas than one continual, long-drawn-out lie, the only excuse for which that oan be of- fered {@ that the main object of all this hypocrisy and mendacity is to avoid giving pain. RARE AUTOGRAPHS, A Volume in the Senate Literally Worth Its Weight in Gold. Chicago Record’s Washington Letter. In the office of the Secretary of the Sen- ate is a volume of autographs that is as rare and interesting as any in America. As is well known, all of the official communi- cations from the President to the Senate from the beginning of this government are Preserved, and Gen. Anson McCook, when secretary of the Senate, selected a few of the greatest historical interest and had them bound in red morocco covers. They are all executive documents, and all but one are nominations to office. That one is a message from the President of the United States, and reads as follows: “Gentlemen of the Senate—The President of the United States will meet the mem- bers of the Senate in the Senate chamber at 11:80 o'clock to advise with them on the terms of the treaty to be negotiated with the southern Indians. “GEORGE WASHINGTON. “New York, Aug. 21, 1789." Another interesting document, in the handwriting of the second President of the United States, reads: “Gentlemen of the Senate—I nominate George Weshington of Mount Vernon to be Lieutenant General and Commander-in- Chief of all armies raised and to be raised in the United States. JOHN ADAMS. “The United States, July 2, 1798.” In the same penmanship appears the fol- lowing, which shows that John Adams was not above appointing his own son to an im- ortant office. It will be noticed that he lates all his communications “The United States:” “Gentlemen of the Senate—I nominate John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts as minister plenipotentiary from the United States to the King of Prussia, “JOHN ADAMS. “United States, May 20, 1707.” In addition to these are the nominations of Jefferson's cabinet and Madison's, which are written in his own handwriting on a single sheet of paper. The nomination of the Monroe cabinet and that of John Quincy Adams are also preserved, as well as that of Andrew Jackson, who wrote all his nominations with his own hand. Next comes the nomination of Roger B. Taney to be chief justice of the United States in the well-known penmanship of “Old Hick- ory.” The nominations of every cabinet from Jackson down to Cleveland are pre- served. Those of William Henry Harrison and Polk are in their own handwriting. A curious paper is Andrew Johnson’s nomina- tion of U. 8. Grant to be general of the army. It was written by a clerk on a sheet of ordinary legalcap paper with a blank place in which Grant’s name was inserted by Johnson himself. The list of Grant’s cabinet was made out the same way. A clerk had taken a sheet of foolscap and written “I nominate to be Secre- tary of State,” etc., and the blank was filled out in Gen. Grant’s own hand. One of the eR reads as follows: “To the Senate—I nominate William T. Sherman to be general of the army of the United States in place of Ulysses 8. resigned. U . Sheridan’s nomination to be Meutenant general accompanies this, and was made on the same date and in the same form. The nomination of President Hayes’ cab- inet was made out on printed blanks, a sheet for each eas are those of Presi- dents Garfield, Arthur and Cleveland. The last paper in the book is the nomination of Gen. Grant to the retired list of the army, and it is signed by Grover Cleveland. ———-~+ee. A Witty Reply. Frem the Amusing Journal. The Crown Prince of Germany, though only about twelve years old, has a very ready wit and a queer way of saying things, He sees the funny side of a situa- tion at once. One day, while visiting Po’ tle prince was amusing himself by, trying to make @ donkey draw a cart. But the donkey was stubborn and would not “go.” “Your donkey haa @ great deal of will power,” called out the emperor, who had pean watching the struggle between his lit- je son and the stubborn beast, “Oh, no, papa,” replied the little prin tsdam, the lt- quickly, “it isn’t will power that A troubles me; it is his won’t power. He won't go.” PART IN THE HAIR. A Ohange in the Style of Arranging Woman’s Locks. From the New York Herald. After years of struggling with curl pa- Pers, crimping irons and all sorts of de- vices to make straight hair curly, it is now the fashion to have smooth, well-kept, demurely parted hair, and a difficult mat- ter it 1s to change it back again, as every, truthful woman will admit. The smoothly brushed hair is in reality much more troublesome to attain than gurls and friz- zes, for the natural gloss of the hair ani the desired smooth look can only be at- tained by careful and long continu brushing, which few women who have not @ maid can give. “Parting is,” as one Woman says, “such sweet sorrow,” for when a woman is no longer young, or has lost the fine oval her face once possessed, @ parting is almost too severe to be be- coming, particularly if the hair be brushed smoothly back from the temples, Still older in effect are the waves of hair brought down over the brow and haif hid- ing the ears. Mrs. Kendal and scme few women with blond hair of her shade can stand it, but the majority of women will do well to leave it alone, and to show some indepen- Gence of character by arranging their hair in the most becoming manner, utterly re- gardless as t> what their younger sisters may elect to do. By the way, a rumor comes from Paris that parted hair is not to be the fashion much longer; that, even more trying still, the pompadour roil sur- rounding the face is to be the thing, If this be so, then for a return of the rats. Those curious abcminations of our moth- ers’ time, over which the hair is brushed, will once more te used, With the hair brushed back in this fashion, it is to be ar- ranged in the shape of a figure eight, quite high at the back of the head, and the Psyche knot, which has been with us long enough to become modified into quite a graceful Wee: will have to go. It would be well for all women when they start to arrange their hair in some new fashion carefully to study the effect on their profile. The line from the end of the chin to the back of the head can be made very easily grotesque, and this fow women seem to realize, and make them- selves look, from a cursory side view, strangely like horses. The heir also at the back of the neck should receive cereful at- tention. Very few women are blessed ag regards prettily growing hair at this part of the head, and the ugly, straggling locks must be carefully pinned up if a handsome contour is desired. = old oe ED you any clothes to Householder—“No; but I have a new suit I'd like to eell.”—Life. NOTHING LIKE IT. DR. KENNEDY'S FAVORITE REMEDY MAKES ANOTHER OoRE. @rom the Times Union, Albany, N. ¥.) ago Markham, whe cides ca Ea ee a apparently Defore tong. ra ose Sa pid a foes * Thiel tas ‘cokes ae A little than a. ago an acquaintance told ber about Dr. David Be Favorite Rem- a te ie iartiam's four Fonts ot 5 7. a made her skeptical, ease Sicinm ‘Wwho had attended ba Thee yen riend_ offered Feri Remedy: gine weal Sr We imprere acts treatments bare a