The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 13, 1898, Page 25

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, INDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1898. 25 CSEE spring girl and her bow will be || inseparable this ve: Bows are | at no young without one. And, ! There are not only n great number, but bows in many varled types. The spring girl need never grow tired o ing bow, for nay change i iffon, satin and sther the gayest things a delicate, fluffy bow, s, and the plain tied with tailor- erity. There big bows tle bows, butterfly bows and many variations of the four-in- with lace er how many bows the spring &'rl may claim as her own, she must have one or two at least {n the gay Roman t In town {s made of Roman striped silk and boasts of beautiful silk i It is tied about a high linen 1 front in a bow t a trifle below be come not only d with scarlet, vivid vellow, but they can 1t evening shades, d with d faint pink, line of black. and t broidered with spangles to represent some crawling animal. For instance, a soft cream-colored satin, selling at an ex- orbitantly high price, showed green liz- ards, which looked as'if they were crawl- ing over the satin from the neck to the Waist band. They were exquisitely em- broidered in the finest of shaded green spangles, and these effective spangles formed entirely the high stock ecollar. Tucked fancy fronts are all the vogue, and some show narrow lace insertions alternating with the groups of tu he boas are full and fluffier than ever. Those in chiffon and gauze tie in_front With long ribbon ends, and the ends are finished with row after row of tiny chif- fon fri The feather boas will be more popular than for many seasons past. Not only will they be worn in_black and in solid colors to match exactly the costume, but many shaded bos 1 be seen. To make a firs stock or bow you must begin at the ong end of the busin Buy one! It is absolutely ne- cessary to observe the way a ‘‘boughten tie is put together before attempting one 3 , unless perhaps you have an ex- “plate of one and are “handy.” Be careful in making one that r work does not have the “all but” pearance c: N to SO me mis >u must pur fon or you will poor s 3 »on around the t it_has the Take one many years ago. be in purple blossoms out as regularly as In neck trimmings this green will be much worn. It can be found in chiffons and in silks, and it comes in some kinds of lace. The softest green thread comes for making into lace for the neck which can be knitted so delicately that the lace passes for something very fine. White chiffon is much combined with green silk, and there'is a wavy green ma- terial thinner than crepe that is also used for neckwear. After the green this year will come all the shades of red, with a predominance appearance is fastened blouse, belted with dark red vel- vet ribbon, and having rows of narrow red velvet ribbon on the short basque be- low the belt. A small angular plastron of guipure lace over velvet is at the neck, and above a velvet stock collar with a white chiffon ruche. The sleeve has'a slight draped puff topped by a velvet bordered cap. The skirt is untrimmed. S°eq ) CCO O @ o QNQ‘\ In the Roman T 1 not only up and it as flat d - twice varieties of four-in- g the end th: one and cut it ev : At bomt would never lo. In the Y s, there is the ¢ al four- ce trouble with these s with silk frin four-in-hand g that it is impo: ath the ribbon a one that hugs irst turn of the hidden. The ce ni v and will now keep its p cely tected from the neck as well. A in this way lasts twice as s purchase very nar- or this purpose alone, ing the question of a . Last spring it ng before Was ma- spring blue, the one and so back to that ends cov also com- One of the es shows f bunted on an in- e below it a lace e with ade girl will wear th or net scarf. It m n fashion and must ht under her chin. . scarfs of mull and with tucked ends; hose of black chiffon igns appliqued to the A others in w year a w be very w tle in a d tt ely extrem A poplin in shot pink and gray makes a charming little reception gown, trimmed with pink gauze ruches. Three of these ruches are set in parallel scallops around the bottom of the skirt. The waist is quite elaborate, made in a low-cut blouse shape, slashed to the belt in front and I\ filled in with a guimpe composed of al- ] ternate [gauze ruches and insertions. The blouse front is embroidered with a de- slgn of fuchsias, beaded and spangled. The sleeves are of shirred gauze. On the left side of the front is a cerise velvet ribbon knot with a steel buckle, connect- ing by a band of the ribbon to a belt to match. A checked wool in green and a light castor-color combined is a handsome ef- fect and serviceable. The skirt is in one of the flounced styles, having a very nar- Tow front breadth, with the upper part of the sides and back fitted, and the lower part joined on in a curved flounce grad- uating higher toward the back. A band of dark green silk heads the flounce, and another is put above. The side fastened waist s pleated in toward the belt, but not bloused. ~In the top is a guimpe of castor-colored cloth with green silk folds, and below the guimpe a triple scalloped (‘filklar of cloth. The belt is of green silk. A child’s frock of dark red cashmere is trimmed with narrow bias puffs of black velvet. A puff is set around near the top of the skirt to give the effect of a flounce with a yoke top. The body of the waist is of accordion-pleated taf- feta, over which are mounted bretelle- shaped pleces of cashmere, edged with a velvet puff; the sleeves also being of cashmere. An odd three se chine * young person who is accustomed sforming her w be ill car ively t grows tired o s lace stituting a knot of Violets or a forget-me-nots in place of the g a flower fring te: f so high ears from view WS are worn in front. An un- sh bow | mounted on its loops tiny plaited v fro; quite silk and jus atin vests em- glven by a combination of gray cashmers with white in a young giri's gown. The waist is bloused, and is belted with wnite satin ribbon, with long sash ends at the back. A shirred plastron of white Lib- erty satin is in the front, framed in a pink velvet revers collar; and below the wcollar are double cashmere frills edged ‘with a tiny ruche of white mousseline de sole. In the ribbon band collar are four , flaring tabs of mousseline edged with ruches. Another girlish gown 1s of dark red and beige striped wool. The waist is a side- C LATEST NECKWEAR FOR THE SPR 4 £ erry. The most vivid scarlets will wonderful navy blue season we had not of ch 1: e o searicts, it This “year the color bids fair to be wear red will be happy, for her complex- purple.” But this is nothing strange, as jon will be suited every time. Red goes well with all complexions, so Jaster comes around. It may be sald neckwear-makers have discovered, & that next to purple will come a light the white chiffon stock with its shade of green almost Soft in its delicacy. border of scarlet IS no novelty. A fresh and youthful e? 2 N HE Lo airs of Some Famous Men” is as good title, and both are by the author of “How to Be Happy Though Married.” It's very trying to be married to a genius or a fool, says the author of this chatty book. Montes- quieu wa at work when some one rushed in shouting * ' “Ge to my wife,” he replied went on writing; “these matters belong to he the other hand, Longfellow and Lowell were cellent husbanc Confucius was so worried by his wife that he had to divorce her before he could work in peace. Byron's most unhappily wedded mate once asked him at his study door: “Do I disturb y u, By- ron?" To which he answered: “I He would not so have spoken to the Countess Gulccioli, who was his companion in Italy in later years. Scientists are curious husbands. Once Mr#. Agas- Biz screamed on finding a snake in her shoe in the morning. Her husband asked what was the matter. “Why, a little snake has just crawled out of my boot.” “Only one? There should have been three.” He had put them there to keep warm, Tyndall married a daughter of Lord Claude Hamil- ton, who thought a mere professor not good enough for a lord's child. Their life was very happy—in fact, sci- entists seem to make the best husbands—but it was her terrible fate to end her husband’s life by giving him an overdose of chloral by mistake. dison once stood behind a telegraph operator's chair. “Mr. Edison,” said Miss Stillwell, when you are behind me or near m This was the opening for which the wizard %waited, and he replied: “I’ n thinking about you of late, and if you are willing to marry me I'd like to marry you.” And they did. Daudet’s wife w not only an excellent housekeeper, but a fine literary critic, who helped Alphonse at his work. Cooper and Hawthorne were both encouraged by their wives to begin writing their masterpieces. Thomas Hardy dropped architecture to become a nov- elist at his wife's urging. Max O’Rell’s translator and literary helper is his English wife. 7 But these men wWere not poets. Women who marry poets play “a game of double or quits.” There was Dante. He had a wife and seven children after set- tling down, but he never forgot his Beatrice, and poor Mrs. Dante wasn’t permitted to forget her, either. “Whensoever she appeared before him, he had no ene- my left on earth.” Chaucer, who himself married one of the ladies of a queen’s bedchamber, wrote: can always tell Marriage is such a rabble rout That those who are out would fain get in And those who are in would fain get out. Shakespeare wedded a woman much older than him- self, and their child was born very soan after. In his will he left the lady his “second best bed,” which may have had a subtle sentimental meaning, like Pickwick's and tomato sauce. Ch\%’:@n Milton was 35 he married Mary Powell, the daughter of a gay, bustling house. She didn’t enjoy 4 o'clock rising and long prayers, and in a month ran away home. Subsequently she came back and fell on her knees to him—and he used the scepe as the mate- rial for Eve's begging Adam’s pardon in his account QUEER LOVE STORIES OF FAMOUS MEN. of the creation! She died young. Milton’s second wife died a year after marriage. In his third retribution smote him, for she was the terror he had deserved. Before their marriage he had never seen her. She sur- vived him 53 years, and, according to Johnson, cheated his' children. De Quincey rushed into print to abuse ‘Wordsworth, Who never read the articles. “He says your wife’s too good for you,” a friend once quoted. “There he's right,” cried the poet. Long after one who went to Kyeal Mount “saw the old man walking in the garden with his wife. They were both quite old and he was i'xl st blind, but they seemed like sweethearts court- ng. Shelley, already with one broken heart experience, wedded at 19 a girl of 16, and the two children played at light housekeeping on buns and things. Later he deserted his wife and she drowned herself in the Ser- pentine. Landor's wife mortally offended him in their honey- moon by jumping up to look at a Punch and Judy show while he was reading his own poetry. He was a burly, roaring fellow, with a colossal conceit. She was gentle and not over-bright. So he deserted her and their children shamelessly. Byron's life was embittered by his early love affair with Mary Anne Chaworth. The “Maid of Athens”’ was a daughter of Mme. Macri, wife of a British vice-con- sul in Athens. Byron didn’t love his wife and she couldn’t stand nine executions in the house for debt in one year, not to speak of marital misconduct. So they arted. = Geoethe was a terror. After “Gretchen” Anna Kath- arina, Charity Meixner, “Emilia” and “Lucinda” he devoted himself to Charlotte Buff (Lotte) and Ann Muench. After a little affair with “Lili"” Schoenemann, he feil in love with the Baroness Stein, the mother of seven children, but still able to keep the poet awake three nights meditating on her charms before he'd even seen her. He wrote her a thousand letters. Then came Christiane Vulpius, a fat, gross, drunken creat- ure, whom Goethe married when he was 58. Before and after their marriage they lived together 28 years until her death. At 74 the widower fell in love with Miss Von Lewezon and later yet with Mme. Szyman- owska. Goethe, like Bobby Burns, had a beautiful vis- age and an eye which, it was said, no woman could resist. Heine told his patient, much-enduring wife to marry after his death, so that at least one man might mourn him. ‘‘Have your jest, dear,” she replied, placidly; “you can’'t do without me.” Every Mcnday Heine used to beat her, in a sort of joke, which hurt her feelings terribly, although she was three times as strong as he. Hood was another poet who delighted in playing jokes on his wife, though they were of a different kind. Most beautiful was Browning’s love story. Eliza- beth Barrett was a poet herself, and in such poor health that her parents opposed her marriage to Browning. Both believed in, but neither practiced, free love, and their marriage happiness was perfect. Browning used sometimes to kiss the paving stones in front of the door of the church where he was mar- ried. D. G. Rossettl buried the MSS. of his first book of verse in his wife's coffin. Seven years later they ‘were dug up and printed. Steele captured a very beautiful lady by his art in writing love letters, and when they were married he used to get drunk, while she fought the wolf with cold British valor and kept upon her husband as tight rein as she could. . Scott loved a girl to whom at 19 he chanced to offer his umbrella in a storm, but shewedded another. Prob- ably Scott never quite recovered his heart. He mar- ried Charlotte Charpentier, a jewel, a woman of sense and spirit, with whom he lived most happily. But O, Jeremy Bentham! When a young man he proposed to a girl and was refused. At 60 he tried again and was again refused by the same woman. ‘When he was 80 he wrote that she had always been in his thoughts since in youth she gave him a flower in a green lane. And yet Bentham was a philosopher! Grote, the historian, fared better. He married a banker's daughter, after putting her through a strict course of study, so that she could help him. And Bul- wer, whose beautiful and talented wife became so per- fectly furious against him that she interrupted a po- litical meeting where he was making a speech, fared ‘worse. S Dickens and his wife separated after twenty years of not always unhappy married life, apparently by the man’s fault mainly. His wife was not fine enough for his new fortunes. Thackeray was a good husband and father, but his wife Wwent crazy and had to go to an “Institution.” There was something sordid about Charles Reade’s life “romance.” He couldn’t marry without losing his college fellowship, but formed an “alliance,” possibly Platonic, with Laura Seymour, an actress, whose dissolute husband Reade kept in spend- ing money. e Jean Paul Richter said that woman'’s soul as well as her body is bound in an eternal corset, but he seems to have been “happy, though married.” Balzac once met in a Swiss inn a Princess who was reading one of his stories. They corresponded and after her Prince died ,Balzac was promoted to the vacant place in her heart and great domain., Dr. Johnson was gross, fat, short-sighted, scarred by scrofula and a pig at table. At 26 he married a woman of 46, whom he disciplined a little, obeyed fairly well, loved devotedly and missed, after her death, very much. Johnson had a low opinion of women, who, he said, could neither make a good book of cookery nor even dress in good taste, but O how he could flatter the pretty girls in his elephantine way! Thomas Carlyle’s marriage has been more written about than that of any other man, however great. Both he and Mrs. Carlyle were cheated of their first loves, and there was besides, according: to Dr. Peck, . another cause for unhappiness between them. Mrs. Carlyle was very near a genius. herself and almost as ‘nervous as her fidgeting spouse. Once, while suffering from headache, she threw her teacup at him, of course with a very bad aim. And after her death, how the sad and lonely man missed her, and called on all the world to miss her also, which was unreasonable. * Rubens’ second wife, Helen Fourment, one of the richest and most beautiful girls in all Flanders, sat as his model for many of his best-known pictures. Romney married at 22, left his wife to herself at 40 years while he painted the beautiful Lady Hamilton, and when he was old and ill went back to his lawful wife to be nursed and coddled for the rest of his ig- noble life. Curiously musicians and composers seem usually to make good husbands, in spite of their nerves. Wagner was perhaps an exception, but even he behaved well to the other man’s wife—Bulow’s—after they had rear- ranged their matrimonial bonds. The most bitterly debated marriage ever made must have been that of Martin Luther, whose wife used to scold him heartily, though she had been a gentle nun. Swift loved his Stella, was secretly married to her, some say, and after he died a lock of her hair was found in his desk, labeled “only a woman’s hair.” Sterne was a mean and unfaithful husband, but in general clergymen have been guilty of nothing worse than nagging. Many have forgotten that Cardinal Manning was once married before he left the English Church. His wife died after four years of a very hap- py union. Whitfleld’s wife also dled in four years, somewhat to his relief, as he confessed, though she was tco good for him, and heartened the poor spiritless fellow by sea and on land as best she could. Once when a mob began throwing stones at him she stood at his side shouting: ‘“Now, George, play the man for od!"” GAnd again when they were bound for Georgia and an enemy was about to attack the ship, the stout- hearted woman made cartridges while her husband trembled and confessed his fears. Mrs. John Wesley was a woman of quite another sort; indeed, she was a terror, and went on occasions even as far as hair-pulling, for which the saintly life of her spouse certainly gave little praovocation. Lawyers have had their share of marriage tribula- tions. Bacon and Coke were rivals for the hand of a lady who chose the latter and made him desperately unhappy. Published by the Frederick A. Stokes Co. .y THE MOODUS NOISES. It is stated that the disturbances of the lower Con- necticut Valley, which produce what from early colo- nial times have been called the ‘“Moodus Noises,” have begun again, after a period of rest of twelve years. - A For twenty years, up to 1729, the willagers of the town of East Haddam heard these nofses almost con- tinuously. The Rev. Mr. Hosmer, in a letter written August 13, 1729, says, in speaking of the phenomenons “Whether it be fire or air distressed in the subterrane- ous caverns of the earth cannot be known; for there is no eruption, no explosion perceptible, but by sounds and tremors, which are sometimes very fearful and dreadful. I have myself heard eight or ten sounds successively, and imitating small arms, in the space of five minutes. I have, I suppose, heard several hun- dreds of them within twenty years; some more, some less terrible. Sometimes we have heard them almost every day, and great numbers of them in the space of a year. Oftentimes I have observed them coming down from the north, imitating slow thunder, until the sound came near or right under, and then there seemed to be a breaking like the noise of a cannon shot or severe thunder, which shakes the houses and all that is in them.” The center from which the noises proceed seems to be Mount Tom, situated at the junction of Moodus and Salmon rivers. The severest shocks have been felt as far northeast as Boston and as far southwest as New York, and have there been noticed as earth- quakes. In 1816 and 1817 these noises were more than usually loud. On the recent recurrence there was a sound resembling a clap of thunder, followed for a couple of hours by a roar like the echoes of a distant cataract. A day later there was heard a crashing sound like that of heavy muffled thunder, and a roar not unlike the wind in a tempest. The ground was so shaken as to cause a rattle as though an earthquake were in progress. The Indians, familiar with these noises long be- fore the advent of the whites among them, called the region now embraced in the town of East Haddam, and particularly that situated in the vicinity of Mount Tom, Matchemadoset, or “at the place of bad noises.” This name, corrupted and contracted Machamoodus, and finally to Moodus, gives name to a branch of Salmon River and to a menufacturing village. The region where these subterranean disturbances have occurred from time immemorial is one of deformed crystalline rock. THE CATACOMBS LIGHTED BY ELECTRICITY. The visitor to Italy complains of modern steam tugs on the Grand Canal in Venice and the new- fangled ideas of cleanliness in the streets of Naples and the new quarters in Rome, but the height of the prosaic seems to have been reached with the fllumina- tion of the catacombs by electric light. No more dim distances, in which one must take care not to be lost, no more monk guides, holding lighted tapers, no more darkness, mystery and imagination. This being the feast of St. Cecilia, says the Rome correspondent of the Pall Mall Gazette, the catacombs of St. Calixtus, where the Roman virgin was buried in 177 A. D., were for the first time all glowing and glaring with thou- sands of electric globes illuminating even the most remote corners, and giving to the whole a mundane rather than a mystic air.