Evening Star Newspaper, August 31, 1895, Page 13

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1895-TWENTY PA’ GES): =» PARIS TOLONDON A Franoo-American’s Impressions in Crossiag the Silver Streak. THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ENGLISH Scenes on the Boat in the English Channel. FRENCHEYES; AMERICAN EARS Gpeclal Correspondence of The Evening Star. LONDON, August 12, 1895. ROM PARIS TO London is not far, yet there are some who think there should be a shorter way back. The newly \\ arrived Parisian, \)coughing along Northumberland ave- \ nue in a seasonable August evening shower, gazes through the dank mists and driving = = rain at the sombre ines of Trafaigar Square with a low heart. Where are the lights of the Boule- vard? Perhaps they are at Piccadiliy Cir- cus. Where is the ease and peace of my cafe? Try your hotel coffee room. Where are the ekady loafing places of the day, the lounging walks where one may sit and muse? Oh, yes, Kew Gardens; there Is a fine tea house at Kew Gardens. Where are ten thousand chatting, smiling, flirting, in- quisitive, uncensorious, good-natured people, English, men and women, all intent on doing noth- eserved, unstilted, frank and free? re the street sights? Where is the Where is beauty? Where is Anything to see or do, to have cr try for or regret? There is no exterior life, no continuous show of outside grace. London kas no profile, no unity, eitier ar- chitectural or living. You go along the streets of mingled monuments and squat shops or dwellings, and see nothing except now and then an oadi There are a mil- lon well-dressed people hurrying past a million ill-dressed people. All is heavy, dark, forbidding, hurried, .chopp2d up, jangiing, cruel, unpracticed, dangerous, to the man from Paris. I need not that this impression changes—slowly—as week follows week. The tenderfoot from Paris—a real country- man in London—learns to breathe a stronger air, to plunge with pleasure in a tide more furious than the gentle flowing of the Bovlevard, to be a man and hunt for pleasure, rather than sit on a chair and wait for it to come.“ But the first week is hard—hard as the trip is easy. From Paris to London is not far, and yet it is the most momentous journey in all Europe. No short trip in the world contains such bustle, such excitement, such exhilarating changes. « Be Leaving Paris. The keynote of the transformation is struck the night before, in Parts. You have bought your ticket, changed your money into English. Yet these actions do not really rouse the mind. At the boarding house your trunk is packed, your bill is paid, you have wept on the mature should- ers of madame’s maiden sister, have tipped the concierge and listened for the last time to the tale of woe about his wife who left him, tipped the sad-eyed, sickly chamber- French, maid with formal justice, chid the pretty, bouncing one for cruelty, received the com- pliments of table neighbors, drunk the last glass of unadulterated wine; there is a moment’s pause around the table, from which after-dinner cigarettes and lHqueurs do not drive the bright, alert and bubbling ladies of the land of France. “Oh, madame, you know I am leaving for England in the morning.” “Monsieur is leaving for England. nd suppose I shall want a meat breakfast.” Silence. Meat breakfast! Stupefied admiration. Ernestine laughs hysterically. “Certainly,” says madame, the patronne, “you shall have a meat breakfast, omelette, beefsteak, ham, pota- toes, Worcestershire sauce—everything!” More murmurs. “Meat breakfast......voyage......epatant! In France they only give meat breakfasts to criminals about to be guillotined, and to travelers to England. “And you will eat meat breakfasts for the next five weeks, monsieur?"—‘“‘Dame, I suppose so.” General discussion of meat breakfasts. Joon! “The servants would refuse to cook it “Tt is that which makes the English have such big front teeth!” It would be easy to imagine very different sentiments, quite as sincere and logical, from an English or American company. Whether you take simply a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, after the fashion of all Europe, or a square meal, in the man- ner of the Anglo-Saxons, is a small thing— but it sums up all the difference in the world. In London one is sure of a lunch of roast beef with hot sauce from a bottle, otatoes and string beans boiled in water, Reavy bread, a piece of cheese and a cup of tea—for the beer is undrinkable to many and the wine is dear and alcoholized to the point of razzle dazzle. To the Frenchman there is no esthetic reason to save an ap- petite for such a stoking-up. The delicate and appetizing cookery of the French de- jeuner, with its mild wine and leisure, is another story. We are bound for Englan@, and the meat breakfast is the sign. Wel- come solidity, simplicity; welcome Bath buns, tea wash and the cold joint, in the moral world as in the physical, for, like the Scottish minister, I ask permission to speak mystically. We Are of. The concierge has called the cab and put the luggage on, the cab has whisked us to the station, we have paid our freight on extra baggcge, hustled through the giant salle des pas perdus, bought our last 1l- lustrated literary supplements and week- es, found a smoking wagon and sit, stir- red up with a ‘high enthusiasm. Hurrah for free specch and free tobacco and 87 Crossing the Channel. shilling suits of clothes! Hurrah for the Londen policeman, the London hansom cabs, the London music halls! Hurrah for the English girls, who have the prettiest faces in the world, for all they are so awk- ward! Hurrah for the English language, hurrah for Tommy Atkins in his red jack- et and his cockey little cap, hurrah for the roast beef of old England, and God save the queen! The long and heavy train is lumbering through the countryside of France. It is the Dieppe-New Haven route, the longest end the cheapest. The scenery has an opera-comique look, for all this part of France is very much a summer garden for Parisians. On the level roads, lined with their graceful poplars, gaily-dressed bi- cyclists of both sexes dart; pedestrians and tourists saunter, chatting, resting at each village cafe, and open carriages from village livery stables roll along with dig- nity and ease, lit up with colored parasols from Paris. Every village has its monu- ments, its little Gothic church, its ruined chateau or its ruined walls, its park, its quaint hotels and wayside restaurants, where one may do exactly as he pleases; its river drives, its boating, fishing, swim- ming. For we never leave the Seine, but travel down its valley. The rolling fields are like rich-colored checker boards, cut into funny little squares of varied cultiva- tion, without fences, with the boundaries of the roads and properties marked off by rows of trees. It is a very playground for Parisians, with nothing lacking In the local color. The villagers and peasants look like real ones, as they should, not dressed in rusty city clothes. The peasant girls sing in the fields, the goose-maid tends her birds down by the water. Through Normandy to the Sea. On, on through the sweet, fertile land of Normandy, rich in its oats and apples, milk and honey. In the meadows canter troops of splendid horses, tender colts and fair young mothers; or it is a herd of blooded cows, short-horned, sleek-sided, sweet- breathed and tender-eyed, as beautiful and Peaceful as an English country girl. Oh, on to England! Take one last glimpse of the fair Norman iandscape and the new, the unexplored, begins. You have already smelled the sea afar. And it is now Dieppe—not the Dieppe we knew as seaside loungers, but a terminus where French things end and English things begin. The train maneuvering slow- perding that she shall be married, and it ig supposed that men and women may lead their own lives. It is an easy thing to say, but now the changing atmosphere chokes the words in How Different. ly to the steamboat landing, after it has given up its proper Dieppe passengers, however, gives you long glimpses of this French life on the beach, where ladies dress so delicately, men so fancifully, where little children dressed like dolls are always guarded by young nurses dressed like angels, where the smell of absinthe and the fresh ink of the Figaro, the aroma of the universal cigarette does for the nose what clicking roulette, the whirl of “little horses,” faint caterwauling from the cafes- concerts do for the ear, while for the eye are there not bathing costumes strange beyond the dreams of Black Crook ballets? A poet, in a frock coat, straw hat and an 1830 dickie stands by the strand snd “breathes out his soul to the splendors of nature,” knowing that he is known, and pleased with the regards of every one. A celebrated actress sits beneath a tent um- brella in the full promenade, costumed as from a fashion plate. And madame, rich, aristocratic madame, stands in char- ity beside the bath house in her revealing costume of the waves, that all may pass and worship. They are as playful as so many little rabbits,. kicking, jumping, tumbling in the clover fields at evening, these Parisians by the sea. The ‘ncon- venient young miss of fifteen is locked up, cne's breast. Already we have set a seal upon our lips and made a covenant with our eyes; already we have trembled when a gawky, red-faced, English school girl tourist, thrust by her own wish into the smoking carriage, lifts her voice against the smoke. New country, new ways. We have left the train; we are on the dancing charnel steamer. The smell of the salt water, of fresh paint, of pipes and bitter beer, the accents of the good old English language, tell their tale, and all is changed. For an American who has lived ygars in France, and yet is on his first real trip to England, the shock of the chamnel boat is strong. The English are as strange to me as they are to any Frenchman, yet I un- cerstand their language. In the American colony at Paris it is a standing joke that “you must not forget the English language vntil you have learned French,” but It is a much more genuine and unaffected mis- take to lose American habits of thought as one unconsciously absorbs the French. Such a man will view the English with French eyes, and have an added thrill !n- knowing what the people say. At the same time his English reading and his memories of home will put him on his guard against Whoroughly English. the more stupendous of French errors. With all this, the first impressions are most complicated. Was there ever such another race cf people? The English stand apart from all the nations. They are white, they are Christians, they are strong and handsome, they read languages and speak them, they travel always, everywhere; and yet they never yicld an inch, They dress like no one else, they walk like no one else, their food is different from every other, their rules of life are mysteries to their conti- nental neighbors; while they play, drink, rest, take exercise, work, court and marry in a manner all their own. There are no essential differences between the ways of Paris, Kerlin, Rome or Vienna. The tray- eler glides comfortably enough from one capital to the cther, finds the changing local color pleasing, stumbles through the languages which he can always 5 out with his French and English; but does = not change his ways, his habits or his views of life. Yet rere on this small chan- nel boat, which ploughs its way to a small isiand a the coast of France, you might a8 well be on the planet Mars. Here js an Anglican bishop retvrning with a party of ladies from a continental outing. He has side whiskerg, knee breeches and a short black silk apron which the wind blows flapping round his flanks. He sits 4n the center of the upper deck with fif- teen pretty girls around him, putting lumps of sugar in his tea. Here is a pretty girl, who sprawis with the most shocking abandon upon three chairs and looks with frank eyes at each passer- by. Here is a couple seated on a pile of dirty ropes and eating bread and butter, never minding that the lady’s parasol, used as a screen, is inconveniencing each one who walks that way. Here is a young man with his cane beneath his arm at a right angle, in the middle of the prome- nade and sucking on a black and juicy Pipe. He is not sick, and why should any- body else be sick? The Englishmen. The dressing is the strangest. It was Poticeable on the train, but now, when all ere Englishmen together on the boat, it strikes with a new force. The strong and careless hefty men look like the creatures of another world in their loose tweeds, rich 3et so rough; in heavy tan shoes, so well made and yet so clumsy. They have the healthiest faces in the world, strong, clear- cut, fresh, unspoiled, and yet because they all are of exactly the same type, the rame Greek profile, with the same smooth chins and drooping brown mustaches, rather stumpy, with the same powerful, lazy negligence. silent, contemplative, pulling at their pipes; their hulking shoulde:s rather bent, with no flirtation in their eyes, they cannot but cause laughter in a continental. As for the Frenchman, he rages inwardly with envy; with such a physique what might he not do? yet there they sit, these se baie not knowing how to talk, unanimated, unimaginative, unambitious, like so many ruminating buf- faloes, a-sucking on their pipes, while their How They Bathe. fair sisters sit around them, trained to the same self-repression, contented—patient— waiting. In her dress the English girl is a true anarchist. Beside the most appropriate costumes you will see the most outrageous oddities, and this in the same party, as with sisters. If a girl is well dressed she has hit on a lucky combination. If she is iil dressed she has been unlucky simply. They are at one upon one single point—at one against the world, and have been so for two full years. This Is the chignon, now in vogue in all degrees from barmaid to stock broker’s daughter. Sometimes it is a bun-shaped mags in a coarse net, almost as large as the girl's head itself. Sometimes it is a knot of natural hair, and only am- plified by a small rat. But it is always there, a sinker, keeping the head well thrown back and the face up, accentuating the frank, unaffected gaze, which is the torment of the continental European until he comes to understand that it means noth- ing. Again, they all wear very funny hats, by sea and land. All these upon the deck are travelers, and so boys’ straws pre- dominate. The great majority wear cloth skirts of most beautiful material, well hung. Up to the waist they are superior to their French sisters—but the corsage universally refuses to “go” right! The whole concern is crooked: it is never right about the shoulders; it is always full to bursting or hangs moodily. Perhaps a great deal of this effect is due to the sprawling awkwardness of these so won- derfully pretty-faced English girls. Even where they are to most advantage, in the simple, rough gowns made for travel, they appear not to know how to hold them- selves. Indeed, they are like boys in girls’ clothes, if you will imagine cherub-faced English boys grown to a larger size un- changed. ‘ Down in the cabin they have spread a prix fixe table d’ hote, three shillings six- pence, not including drink. It seems dear— four francs fifty—and there are some who try the bar rcom sandwiches! Four sand- wiches? Twe shillings, sir. And a bottle of bitter? sixpence. Thank you.” Now Children Everywhere. see the gentlemen come up and take their whisky! Whisky, whisky, the boat reeks of whisky. Now those four sandwiches are chasing one another in our stomach, swirl- ing in the too-late-regretted bitter beer like playful dolphins in the briny deep. The channel boat ducks like a sea bird. The sunlight fails. The strong man trembles. Thank heaven for the comfortable galleries of _ strong-partitioned, heavy-cushioned. bunks! First Sight of England. Half of the passengers sleep on these bunks in the large cabin. To them three hours pass as nothing, while above, on deck in the pure air, the great majority have spent the time in fighting illness off. All rise with enthusiasm at the sight of land, the pink chalk cliffs of England, shining in a glorious sunset. That point is Beachy-Head, on which so many vessels have been wrecked. There are the fortifica- tions built into the rock. Here is the steam- er’s pier, with fifty waiting young men, un- uniformed, with no official place, mere vol- unteers, prepared to jump the rail before we touch, to get a shilling job at carryin, luggage to the custom house. They boar the boat like pirates, though good natured and obliging. But it is a strange sight es Frenchman or a rman, habituated to seemly routine uniforms, delay and order. English freedom is begun. Henceforth every man must fight his way, protect him- self, hunt his own goods, and hasten to be first. Look out for your own luggage, see that you take the right train, forgthere is no one to answer your questions, no one to. prevent your going wrong. Along the Newhaven pier the seaside cottagers have gathered in some force, consisting principally of ten thousand well-dressed little boys end girls, all of the Same age, ie. nine to twelve. You might think that the business of the cottages was raising the population. Where do 1 the children come from? Who ever saw so many children? Who ever saw so many men smoking pipes, so many pretty girls without their moth- ers, 80 many advertising signs, so many dogs, so many comfortable cottages? The treeless, relling fields beside the sea are hideous with great advertising board- ings, some hundred feet in length. In France there is no law against such de- yastation, the French peasant may be iked_ for op aeons 2 space to rent in his fair fields, he wants the money, he is greedy, there are English advertising firms who would buy up the track from ‘Dieppe shea Tasca esate | HOW GREAT AMATTER too much. The very @tunken would revolt at such a desecration. On io London. Through the breaks in advertising there are glimpses of a pretty n, @ sountry where large flelds in grass for the great part are interspersed with comfortable towns and suburbs. Undoubtedly all the suburban cottages and are in great- er taste and comfort thay in France, but then to counterbalance it ,the poorer peo- ple seem to live in grimy rows of little two-story barracks, like sp many state-ar- ranged-for paupers. I would rather live in a three-hundred-year-old hovel in Gisors or in a mansard of a bij tment house peasant in Rouen. The eyes I stlessly out in the twilight. It is a pa f England not too interesting, no fal tt. The train moves with astounding , smoothly without dust or noise. second-class compartments are much ‘than the first in France. The smoking{car is full of fragrant, clean pipe smoké, cut plug fresh from America and not the taporal cabbage of the French monopoly; two gentlemen are drunk already and still drinking from their pocket flasks. The train has stopped on a long bridge. The guard is taking up the tickets. Are we near London? Yes-- just outside Victoria station. And this river?—Is the Thames. ‘These are the Ughts of London. They are far away from Paris. STERLING HEILIG. ——_ CHOLERA AND WAR. Japan and Other Countries That Have Suffered From Epidemics. Berlin Cor. of the London Standard. The last number of the “Transactions of the Imperial German Beard of Health” states that “according to official intelli- gence, dated June 2, cholera is spreading in a most alarming way among the Jap- anese troops stationed in China, 500 fatal cases being reported to have occurred in the guard regiments alone at Port Arthur. It is feared that the impending return of the troops will cause a further spread of the disease in Japan. A communication from Seoul, dated July 17, states that the cholera has broken out in Corea.” This intelligence is of interest, as it once more confirms the observation that the seat of war is & fruitful ground for the propaga- tion of disease, and that cholera in par- ticular develops in places where war 1s be- ing or has lately been carried on. The ap- prehensions that the disease may spread in Japan by the return of the troops are abundantly warranted by the history of cholera, as shown by the facts collected by Herr A. Hirsch. ‘When cholera first appeared in Europe, in 1830, It was soon geen how important a part was played by war in spreading the disease. It first became prevalent in Rus- sia in 1830, where it had asserted itself in spite of the hard winter that preceded the cutbreak, The Russo-Polish war took place in that year, and an outbreak of cholera followed on the marching of Russian troops into Poland. From there the disease pass- ed, by way of Warsaw and Kalisch, over the Prussian frontier, and in a very short time was raging in the Prussian provinces of Posen and Silesia; then, following the course of the Oder, it penetrated into the provinces of Brandenburg and Pomerania. In 1831 it was seen that this was not the only way in which war aids in dissemi- ating cholera. In May of that year some Russian warships arrived In Danzig harbor with several cases of cholera on board; through these the inhabitants of Danzig became infected, and the disease spread thence by way of Elbing: to Konigsberg, and to the district of Koglin and Gumbin- nen. lant It has been clearly established that chol- era was introduced in /1S49 by Austrian troops into Vienna, and fin 1966 by English troops from Malta and Gibraltar, and this in times of peace. The miost instructive ob- servations, however, aresthese made dur- ing the wars cf the year 1866. A few cases of cholera had occurred:in Austria in the summer of 1865, at Fiume and Trieste; but in 1866, starting from ~the-Bukovina, it spread over the whole ofith@Austria-Hun- garlan monarchy, those ces suffering most in which the prin vents of the war’ had been enacted. is, from the province of Moravia. 50, ses were re- ported; from Bohemla, , 30,090, and from Lower Austria, 10,000; agg itis well estab- lished that the choiera wes then introduced into Prussia and Saxony from there. The influence of war was plainly, discernible. in the observations made in Bayaria, and i this case’ from the fact thai fered most of all the South German states, while, as the pestilence was especially virulent just in the districts of middle Franconia,"Aschaffenburg, Suabia and Neu- enburg, we may safely affirm that war was responsible, most essentially, for the severe character of the plague. +o QUEEN VICTORIA'S CROWN. Gems by the Thousand Make It the Henviest Dindem in Europe. From the Manufacturing Jeweler. Queen Victoria's crown is constructed of jewels taken from old crowns, and other stones provided by her majesty. It con- sists of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and diamonds. -The stores, which are set in gold and silver, incase a crimson veivet cap, with a border of ermine, the whoie of the interior being lined with the finest white silk. Above the crimson border, on the lower edge of the band, is a row of 129 pearls. Round the upper part of the band is a border of 112 pearls. In the front, sta- tioned between the two borders of pearls, is @ huge sapphire, purchased by George IV, set in the center of valuable pearls. At the back, in the same position, is another, but smaller, sapphire. The sides are adorned with three sap- phires, and between these are eight emer- alds. Above and below the sapphires, ex- tending all around the crown, are placed at intervals fourteen large diamonds, the eight emeralds being encircled by a cluster of diamonds, 128 in number. Between the emeralds and sapphires are sixteen orna- ments, each consisting of eight diamonds. Akove a circular berfd are eight sapphires, set separately, encircled by eight diamonds. Between each of these eight sapphires are eight festoons of eighteen diamonds each. In front of the crown is a diamond Maltese cross, in the center of which glistens the famous ruby given to Edward I by Don Pedro the Cruel. This is the stone which adorned the helmet of Henry V at the bat- tle of Agincourt. The center of the ruby is hollowed out, and the space filled, in accordance with the eastern custom, with a smaller ruby. The Maltese cross is form- ed of seventy-five splendid diamonds. At each of the sides and at the back is a Mal- tese cross with emerald centers, contain- ing respectively 132, 124 and 130 sparkling diamonds. Level with the four Maltese crosses, and stationed between them, are four orna- ments shaped like the fleur-de-lis, with four rubies in the center, and surrounded by dia- monds, containing eighty-five, eighty-six and eighty-seven diamonds. From the Mal- tese crosses spring four Imperial arches, composed of oak leaves and diamonds. The leaves are formed of 728 diamonds; thirty- two pearls represent the acorns and tifty- four diamonds the cups.! From the upptr part of the imperiaberches hang suspended four large pendant-shaped pearls set in diamond cups, each cup beimg formed of twelve diamonds, the stems from each of the four hanging pearls® betng incrnsted with twenty-four diamdnds:: Above the arch is the mount, which is:made of 433 diamonds. The zone and are are repre- sented by thirty-three diamonds. On the summit of the throne is a:cross, which has for its center a rose-cut sapphire set in the center of fourteen larger:diamonds. Alto- gether the crown comprises one large ruby, one large sapphire, twenty-six:smaller sap- pbires, eleven emeralds, ‘four rubies, 1,683 brilliants, 1,273 rose diathonds, four pend- ant-shaped pearls and 2%8 smaller pearls. It is the heaviest and most uncomfortable diadem of any crowned head sin Europe. ——__+ e+ -+_+—_ Continuing the War ii Stories. From the Westminster Gazette. ~. An endless number of Franco-German war stories is going the rounds of the con- tinentai press, the occasion being, of cours, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the war. Almost a wer is just now being waged over one of these stories, which is as energetl- cally defended as “gospel truth” in. Alsa- tia as it is denounced for a “scandalous invention” in France. According to this story a number of French officers went gcross the frontier fn 1870 and demanded from a village schoolmaster a map of the district, the Palatinate. A map was quietly torn, by the owner, from an atlas, and handed to the military gentlemen, who looked at it most carefully, and then went off to act according to its guidance. But the map was of Palestine instead of the Palatinate, and none of the officers ever suspected the fact. Bavaria séf-' A LITTLE FIRE RINDLETH, BY W. J. LAMPTON. Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. Ah me, what perils do environ the man who meddles with a summer girl, and I had been in imminent peril for as much as threo weeks and the summer was as yet but in its childhood. It was June, leafy June, rosy June, time to rapture and to spoon, and I was engaged in the exercise of all my faculties in both particulars. In the vernacular of the vulgar I was going the whole ho—I mean the whole June, and I was fairly blooming, not to say booming. I, Edward Leffert, aetat, thirty-eight, married, was raving in love with one of those soft, white fluffy things called sum- mer girls, and I wasn’t ashamed of it, either. And I was married. Bighteen years be- fore the time of which I am now pees | I had wooed and won Katherine Lee. was twenty and she seventeen, and within the year we were married. That was eigh- teen years ago, within a few months, and it seemed as ages and ages. Is it that marriage clips the wings of time that it flies so slow? Or is it—well, I think I might as well not*go-into too many inquiries upon this subject so near to the lives of so many in the bonds of maurimony. It is enough that eighteen years had gone by since I had welded Katherine Lee, and it seemed to me now as if she had never been. The sweet Kitty Lee of my boyhood romance, the girl that I adored and married. Ah me, what perils do environ the man who med- dies with a summer girl, and eighteen years ago there were no summer girls. They are the projuct of a newer civilization, At thirty-eight, I think, I am quite as ro- mantic as I was at twenty, and when I came to this summer resort, alone, I felt that I had the rights of a young man and could court whatever girl my heart dictated, and I had done so. It began the very first night of my ap- pearance on the spot. Etta Shelton, in a fluffy cloud of white, had fioated into my ertire attention before I met her, for I had been sitting among the chaperons getting points on the people at the springs, and when this young girl came tripping down the piazza like a belated sunbeam in the paler blaze of the electric light, I knew that the old song was singing in my heart, and she was the accompaniment. ‘After a man has had some experience in these matters he is much less Hable to make mistakes in his conclusions, and it was so in this instance, for later in the evening I met Miss Shelton, and there was that affinity established at once which to some never comes in a lifetime. For two weeks after this meeting we walked together, and talked together, and read together, and drove together, and rode together, all the time drawing closer together. Under such circumstances, what other but one result could eventuate? Of course, I was sixteen years older than she, but until after a man is sixty his age doesn’t count serlousiy against him, more especially if he should happen to be blessed with such an allowance of this world’s gcods that he has a negotiable, not to say marketable, value. In my case, at least, I heard no objection to my years. On the contrary, Miss Shelton was one of those young women who take pride in an- nouncing that they like older men much better than any other brand, and that they abhor boys. Along at the beginning of the third week, it was Sunday night as I remember very distinctly, Miss Shelton and I strolled out and sat dewn on a settee E beyond the shadow cast across the floor by a corner @vhich ce veniently thrust itself across the line of light from the great are burner which was suppgsed to illuminate the entire piuzza. But they never do. I've never seen a summer hotel piazza which hadn't one or more shady nooks and corners, and J wouldn't stop at a hotel where I had seen such an unromantic ano: Anyhow, I wouldn't stop there in the suinme “What a night s is for lov to her when we had been sitting there for several minutes. “What lover: less grace that “Any lovers who tentatively. “Don’t all lovers.Jove, Mr. Leffert?" she asked, looking out into the shadows of the great trees on the lawn. “I presume they think they do,” I said with somewhat of the air of experience or cynicism, as you may prefer; or both, if you are of the kind who thinks experience is cynicism. I had never told her the story of my life, and, as a consequence, she could not know I was rot as she was in the matter ‘oung Love's dream, and of the poetry 3 h that unsubstan- she inquired with a guile- as entrancing. love,” I responded what earthly good could there he in my taking the risk of turning this lovely June dream into it disagreeable nightmare? Not a particle, and my resolve was firm to tell her nothing of my marriage. A married man has some rights that are bound to be respected, and a half dozen or more of them are embodied in his richt to make love to a summer girl in the Summer time. Besides, the summer girl has some rights as well, for would she not be utterly mis- erable, and would not her life be quite in vain if every man she met did not make | love to her? Of course, for she expects it, and it would not’ be fair to disappoint her. It was with some such thoughts as these in my mind that I said what I did to her. “Don't speak that way,” she replied, al- most pleadingiy. “Love is such a beauti- ful and delicate thing that even a hard thought let fall against it will break it.” “Not all I contended. though, this summer girl iove is of that kind,” “IE ventured. said, “may be as deep and as lasting as the love that even death cannot end.” “It always seemed to me to be a fluffy kind of thing, like the girl's gown Is, said, still pursuing the course of conten- tion, “That is probably because you never sought further than the fluff and the fizz. I confess that summer girls are efferv: cent, as one meets them in such places as this, but I can assure you that in most cases It is artificial. It is merely an armor they wear to protect them against men who are just as fluffy and fizzy as the girls are.” “I like that,” I said, aggressively. “Take yourself, for example,” she re- sponded.” You have been making love to me desperately for weeks, and I have been receiving all you said as if you were the one man in all the world I cared to listen to. Would you have liked me as well if I had told you after the first few talks and walks we had that you were a fraud, and the truth was not in you?” This was putting the matter in a differ- ent light from that I might have expected. “But you could not have said that if you—” I began with downright seriousness, when she held up her hard warningly. “Now don’t try to make it any worse,” she said. “We are having too charming a companionst ip to spoil it all with an on- slaught of the plain unromantic truth. What do we care if we both are capering with Cupid? It will orly be for a little time, anyway, and we might as well enjoy it as the ignorant always enjoy.” “But we can’t enjoy it any longer,” I said. “You have done the very thing you say we should not have done.” “And what is that?” she asked with per- fect “innocence. “You have shown up the fluff and the fizz of it all, and now we know that there is no longer any seriousness in it, and that we are merely playing parts.” “Well, what difference does it make? Aren’t we?” The time had come, if ever, and I was not going to be left at the post. “My dear Miss Etta,” I said, with more seriousness than I had ever manifested. “I can’t speak for you, but as for myself, let me assure you on my solemn honor that I am not of the fluff and the fizz. I have known you for two weeks now, and we have seen a great deal of each other. What you may have thought of me I can only tell by the permission you have grant- me_to be your constant companion. What I have thought of you has grown hourly until now it has reached that point which can find expression only in the words ‘I love you.’” I would have taken her hand, but she drew back as if startled by what I had said, and for a full minute was silent, with her eyes turned away. “But men have always said that to wo- men,” she answered me at last. “Have I ever said it to you?’ I asked, and this time she did not take her hand away when I clasped it in mine. “N-n-no.” She hesitated. “Then listen when I say it now,” I whis- pered, “and believe me.” I waited for her answer, “Perhaps, | ummer girl love,’ as vou call it,” she | the | _. “But you don't say it,” she sald present- ly, as if waiting for me to finish the sen- encé, and she laughed such a coy little ra) that my pulse went up to a hundred and foi sf beatg to the minute. ‘Oh, Etta,” I said as strongly as our contiguity to the crowd on the other part of the piazza would permit, “I love you;” and there in the sweet June night, with the £tillness of the mountain on the one hand, and the throng of people on the other, as we stood in the shadow of that friendly corner of the piazza, I told her over again the rapture of Sie whe ho ee oa on harmonies. ees aig It was all right, and I was happy, with- cut one thought of the morrow. On the morrow Miss Shelton was called away by the sudden illness of her father in town, and for a week I did not see her, though I heard from her every day. Then she returned, her father's illness not being dangerous, and I met her at the train, more exuberant in spirit than ever; but she was not. On the contrary, her recep- tion of me was cold enovgh to have made the reputation of the springs, if that tem- perature could have been distributed and maintained all summer. “W-w-what's the matter?’ I stammered, as I felt the dreadful chill, clothed, as I was, in the lightest summer toggery. I should like to see you at the hotel in an hour, Mr. Leffert,” she said, haughtily, and left me standing on the platform like a post driven into the ground. I don’t know how I ever got back to the hotel; but I did some way, and at the ap- pointed hour I was in the reception room awaiting her coming. I may say I was there as soon as I could get there from the railroad station, where I had met that pipping frost. Sed thing, that frost, mer girl to y with her, wasn’t. it? pa eadeeae “Now,” I said, putting on my most for- mal manner, when she appeared, “if you wall be. kind gnoush to explain your re- m nduct you w: 1 me, Miss Shelton.” epi sens “And if you will explain your remarkable conduct, ir. Leffert,” she Said, just as for- mally, “you will greatly oblige me.” “What conduct?” I asked. enerily. “My conduct doesn’t need explanation, unle: loving you needs explanation.” F “Don't talk of loving me.” she exclaimed, angrily. “That is the shame of it all,” and she broke into a sob which quite unnerved me. “What do you mean?” I ingnired, in the greatest astonishment of my life. “This,” she said, recovering her firmness of manner and steadiness of voice. “On the train coming up here this morning I overheard some yeozle talking—pzople whom I did not know—ard they said you were here, and later one of them spoke of your wife. Oh, Edward,” and once more she sobbed. “Well,” I said, ‘and what did they say?” “Oh, oh,” she sobbed, “why didn’t you tell me you had a wife?” ‘Then it began to dawn upon me, and de- spite the seriousness of the situation I be- gan to laugh, and on that she left her sob- bing and blazed out in a fit of righteous wrath that was really beautiful to look at, considering that she was a summer girl, posed to be without depth of feeling. “I didn’t tell you,” I sald to her, quietly, “because I didn't have one. My wife died sixteen years ago; that was when you were a little girl six years old. Now, is that an explanation of my remarkable conduct Miss Shelton?” A rainbow of a smile arched itself through her tears as the sunshine came again. “And I always doted on widowers,” she said, with her lovely head on my shoulder. W. J. LAMPTO: see ee A Submerine Dinner Party. From Harper's Rotnd Table. Sume time ago the labor of leepening the burbor of Ciotat was completed. To cele- brate the completion of his iabor, and to make the ocession ‘memorable, the contrac- tor gave to the members of his staff and the representatives of the press a banquet unprecedented for its originality. The table was set eight meters below the level of the sea, at tle very bettom of the harbor, in- side the “caisson” in which the excavators had been at work, and only the narrow Ms of this caisson separated the guests from the enormous mass of water around ani above their heads. The new-fashioned lanquetinz hall was splendidly decorated and lighted, and but for a certain buzzing in the ears, caused by the pressure of air kept up in the chamber in order to prevent fis inrush of water, nobody would have uspected that the slightest interruption in the working of the airpump would have sufficed to asphyxiate the whole party. Af- ter the banquet an improvised concert pro- lor ged the festivity for several hours, after which the guests reascended into the open air. oe A Great Success. From the Philadelphia Record. Buggins—“That’s a fine picture of Closc- fist. 1 never saw him look so pleasant before. Muggins—“Well, you see, he made his terms with the photographer in advance and succeeded in beating him down in his price. The Rhinoceros and the Bergamot Pear. in three pictures.) RAILROADS. pe Spd le effect July 12, 1895. Leave Washington from station, ‘corner of New Jersey avenue and C ‘street. For Chicago and Northwest, Vestibuled Limited trains, 17:30 a.m., 8:20 p.m. For Cincinnatt,’ St. Louis and Loutsville, Vesti- buled Limited, 3:45 p.m.; express, 12:01 For Pittsburg and Cleveland, express, a.m. and 9:10 p.m. For Lexington ‘and Staunton, 11:30 a.m. For Winchester and way stations, For Luray, Natural elage Hoanoke, “inoxvitle, Sattsocee, Memphis: and Aad ‘Orleans, 11:20 p.m. a care for laay $3 pam auity. ‘week daya, 0; 38:00, 4:55, 5:00, 6:35, X8:30, x9:30, x10:00, 30, x8:00, 3:25, 5.35, x6:20, 6:30, x12:01 hts al 37:00, x7: ae it ih Se fan 12:15 and 11:30 a. "1:15, *4:30 p.m. = For Hagerstown, *11:30 a.m. and *%5:30 p.m. For Boyd and For Gaithersburg Sod way polars > 12:60, 3:00, way 6:00, 200 “Saiad, 28/35, $67:05, "*°0:40, #*9:00, topping Junction and way points, 115 p.m. Express trains stations only, 80, 380 p.m. 215 a. 28 p.m. week 8. 9:85 a.m.,'1:30 and 3:15 p.m. ROYAL BLU LINE VOR XW ORK AND PHILADELPHL All trains Auminated with Pintech Hebe, For Philadel ‘Boston and the da 200 Di “ugers 1 mn. Buffet Parlor Cars Sa'ait day trains, ‘or Atlantic City, week days, 4:55, 7:00, 10:00 and 11:30 ‘Bandays, 4:53 a. $3412 20m. 12:80 pm. z Whey For Cape May, 4:55 a.m. (8:00 a.m. Saturday }, 12: 4:55 a.m. 1. Sunday. "ss ‘Sunday only. xExpress: 4 Bagwage called for and checked from hotels and residences by Union Transfer Co. on orders left at Licket offices, 619 Pennsylvania avenue northwi New avent ee ue and Fifteenth street, and IAS. O. SOULL, Gen. Pass. RB. CAMPER: Gent Manager. iyi PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. Station corner of 6th and B streets, In effect June 28, 1895. 10:30 A.M. PENNSYLVANIA “LIMITED. Sleeping, Din g,, Smoking and ae jarrisburg to ipcinnat jana) Bt. Louls® Cleveland ond ‘Toledo. ” Bullet Parlot to Harrisburg. . LINE.—Pullman Buffet Parlor ‘and Dining Cars, Har *Except Car 10:20 AM. F, Car to Harrisburg. Parlor tisburg to Pittsburg. 8:40 P.M. CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS Pullman Buffet Parlor Car to ing and Dini Cincinnati, Lout 730 P.M. "W T Meeping and I es ¥ leeping and Dini rs to Bt, ‘and 1h Se iEaraabang te Pro uae ec Gar to Pittsb 7:50 A.M. for Kane, Canandaigua, Rochester, and Niagara Falls duily, except Sunday. 19:30 A.M. for Elmira Renovo, daily, except For Williamsport daily, 3:40 10 PS 3 for Williamsgort, Rochester sat a M. sl rt, , Bul ‘Niagara Falls 185 daily, except Saturday, wi - ing Car Wasuingion to" Buspeusion’ Bridge Butfalo. 10:40 P.M. for Erie, Canandaigua, Rochester, But- falo, and Niagara Falls daily, Sleeping Car Wash- ington to Elmira. New York and the GRESSIONAL LIMITED,” all Par- 200 Limited), a 7:10, | 10:00, 10:40, 11:15, and 11:85 P-Af. On Sunday, 7:05, 7:20, 9:00, §:05, 10:30, 11:00 4.3L, 12:15, 1:15, 2:01, 8:15, 8:40 4:00 Limited), 240, , 6:40, 7:10, 10:00, 10:40, and’ 11: For Pope's Creek Line, 7:20 A.M. and 4:36 P.M. daily, except Sunda: For Abnapolls, 7:20, (9:00 A.M. 12:15 ap@ 4: P.M. calls. except Sunday." Sindays, 9:00 A.J and 4: Atlantic Coast Line. Ex for Ricl ck scuvilie and Tampa, 40 Ae 3:80 Bt? Gatiy. Richmond and-Aflanta, 8:40 BM. datiy. ‘Rich mond only, 10:57 A.M. week-days. Accommodation for Quantico, 7:45 A.M. daily, and 34:25 PAM, week dass, na apa 287, For Alerandria, Gn at 45, 6:15, 8:02, and 10:10 3:00, SEASHORE CONNECTIONS. For Atlantic City, 9:00 (Saturdays only), 10:00, 11:00 A.M. week-days, 12:15 and 11:35 P.M. iy. For Cape May, 10:00 A.M. (Saturdays only), 12:15 P.M. week-days, and 11:35 P.M. dail Ticket offices, northeast corner of 13th street and Pennsylvania avenue, and at the station, 6th and B streets, where orders can be left for the check- ing of baggage to destination from hotels and res idences. 8. M. PREVOST, J. R. Woop, an ‘Manager. General Passenger Agent. SOUTHERN RAILWAY. (Piedmont Air Line.) Schedule in effect July 28, 1895. All trains arnve and ieave at Pennsylvania Possenger Station. 8.00 A.M.—Daily—Local for Danville. Connects Manassas for Strasburg, daily, except Sunday, a at Lynchburg with the Nor and Western datly, a ©. & O, daily ‘for Natural Bridge and 5 A.M.—Dally—The UNITED STATES FAST carries Pullman Buffet Sleepers New York and Washington to Jacksonville, uniting at Cbar- | otte with Pullman Sleeper for Augusta; also Pull- | man Sleeper New York to Montgomery, with cone nection for New Orleans; connects at Atlanta wii Pullman Sleeper for Biruingham, Memphis and St, Louls. | “4:01 P.M.—Local for Strasburg, datly, except Sun; day. | ‘4:45 P.M.—Datly—Local for Charlottesville. 10:43 P.M.—Dally—WASHINGTON AND | WESTERN ‘VESTIRULED LI} com) | Pullman Vestibuied Sleepers and Dintng Cars, Pull- | man Sleepers Washincton to it tat . vin Salie- New York to Mem- | bury, Asheville and Knoxville. tinnta and Montgomery, and New York to ‘heals and Jacksonville. Vestibuted | ria Charlotte. Day Coach Washington to Atlanta, Parlor Car Cu. to Aucusta, Dining Car from "ELWEEN WASHING’ TO: Washington 9:01 AM. daily, 13 - daily. except and 6: PAL Stndaes-onty. for Round Buil, and 4:82" PM. dally, except Sunday, for Leesburg; 6:25 P.M. dal for Her Returning, arrive at’ Washington 8: dally, and |. daily ex- ¥ from Round HIM, 8-84 AM. dally ex- day from Leesburz and 7: M. A Herndon only. onzh trains from the south arrive at Washing- P.M. and 8:30 P.M. daily. iston, 9:45 A.M. daily, except Sunday, . datiy from Charlottesville. ts. ing Car reservation ang information furnished at offices, 511 and 1800 Pennsylvania ave- nue, undeat Pennsylvania Railroad Passenger Sta- ton. W, H. GREEN, General Superintendent. CULP, Traffic Manager. ‘W. A. TURK, General Passenger Agent. moy20 L. 8. Rrown, Gen. Act. Pass, Dept. CHESAPEAKE AND OHIO RAILWAY. Schedule in effect July J, 1896. Trains leave daily from Union Station (B. and P Tarough the grandest in America, with rough the grandest m the hamisomest “and most complete solid train serv: fee west from Washington. M. DAILY.—‘“Cincinnati and 8t. Solid Vesttbuled, ted, Steam-heated Ti sleeping cars Wastington to Loulsville, Cincinna’ Indinnapolls and St. Louls without change. Dini Car shington. Arrive Cincinnati 8 rs janapolts, » and Chicago, 82 Louis, 6:45 p.m; Lexington, $:35 "a.m. 11:50 250 a.m DAILY.—The famous “F.F.V. ited." A ‘solid vestibuled train, with ‘dining and Pcllman Slcepers for Cincinnatl, Lexington per Wash- from Indi St. isville without change. Pullman Sleeper Tegton to Virginia Hot Springs, without fon car from Hinton. ington to | eee as bservat: Touts, 7 ints. CEPT. SUNDAY.—For Old Point CExprest. for Gordonevit ‘aynesboro', ‘Staunton and. prine! fai Viteinla points, daily; for Richmond, daily, ex- t sept, Su iv. | Pt ise locations and tickets at company’s of j fices, 518 and 1421 Pennsylvanla avenue, HW, FULLER, mb4 General Passenger Agent. STORAGE. Storage, 75¢c. Per Load, For furniture and, bouscholt goods; best location tm ‘tity. Call or address CHAS. BAUM, 314 saat n.W. 10:57 A M., EX Comfort and ‘Norfolk. 25 P.M. DAILY.— * Charlottesville, W SENATE STORAGE WAREHOUSE—4-STORY TRON- front bull ‘Separate rooms; rates, $1 Toad per wonth; advances on storage. D. M. LEA & CO., Auctioneers. 225 Pa. ave. B.w. Tel. 1083, MANICURE. MADAME PAYN, HIGH-CLASS MANICURE 'AND CHIROPODIST, OFFICE AND RESIDENCE, 703 15th st. n.w. | Mme. Payn in-attendance ‘all eummer. Je5-44 | STEAM CARPET CLEANING. | AMMONIATED STEAM OARPET CLEANING Works—Carpets clenned in the best manner, Oars, 37m Pa ave, Mattresses made to order. Works, 1708 and 1710 E n.w. mb2-tf M. NEWMYER, Manager.