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. i :? ?? ?????????????i i.in mm i - i ?i?i VOL. XLII. WINNSBORO, S. C., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1886. NO. 28. A Desperate Thought. "What if there is no God!" The dreadful thought Took hideous shape within my mortal brain. Then instantly my share of mortal pain Pressed heavier on "my heart. Like some irreat bio:. Hurled out on space, some blijrhtin^ useless spot Reeksns witn roars ana wooasneu, greeu ana sain. This sorrow-laden world seemed made in vain. And but a ghastly jest, man's anguished lot. The universe contracted on my sijrht, Down to the limits of a prison pen Its one dark door, an opening m the sod. I flung my arms up heavenward in affright. ' or sudden madness menaced me?and then I cried aloud, "There is, there Is a God!" ?Ella Wheeler Wilcox. I VIViTATCrV. I Thoughtless Words and the Kesults They Wrought in Two Young Lives. A cool breeze blew up from the river. It plavfi among the reeds and tall grasses ok? the bank and ran lightly up the slope toward the white mansion on the hillside, fluttering the vines tiiat fringed the wide piazza where a group of young girls sat chatting, resting, or busying themselves with dainty needle "Wh<& a delicious breeze!"' exclaimed Florence Freeman, rising as she spoke. The slender, thoughtful-looking young man reclining unseen in the depths of a large easy chair just within one of the long windows glanccd up frori\ the pages of a book in which he had been absorbed, and his dark eyes followed her graceful figure admiringly. "It set's me wild to be ^loing something," she continued, pacing up and down the long porch. "Do you know, ijirls." pausing abruptly, "we're a set slaves?" "0. Florry?" exclaimed a laughing M'. ee, "now don*t give us a lecture on n Oman's rights!" "Never fear: that isn't ?vhat I was minking of. We are hindered by circumstances from being and doing what kc feel is within us U be and do." "Listen, girls," interrupted another oicv, "Florry is on her high horse. 3*ow we shall see some prancing." * ^ --- -.1 T *1 "JUJlUgn a way, reiurneu noieuw. "I'm in earnest. Why mast we, bemuse we happen to have drifted into a sertain channel, or because a particular course is marked out for us by friends, drift on down the stream or keep on in the same course to the bitter end. even though we must smother the best there is in our natures in doing so?v Intense feeling emphasized her words, and her unseen*" listener found himself wondering what personal experience had prompted Ihem. Amy Gray lifted her eyes. "Dntv is often unoleasant.'1 she said. "but it is best, after all, to have a settled plan and purpose and cling to them through even-thing. Think what a chaos would result if we all followed our own inclinations, an^ worse than that, whatever might ior v e moment be our ruling passion." Florence did uos answer for a moment; her eves were roving across the wide sweep of the rive?, where a while sail glimmered in the afternoon sunshine. "0, yes; there nwit be plans, of course, and they must oe carricd out, or nothing would be accomplished. _ But take special case*. There Is cousin Dora/1 WKv mticf rriro lm 1 JL\JL 7 * i.xj? xuktci* Oiiu ? w V*^ ber painting to marry Fred Long, merely because she promised to when a mere child, and didn't know what she wanted? Of course I don't say anything against Fred. He is good as gold, but he can't appreciate her talents. Why, he has began to interfere with her plans already. Says she works too steadily, and wants her to give up some work she had undertaken in order to be married sooner. She onlv laughed over 'it. (JI course brio woiuuii i suv nu v uimg, but wo can all see she doesn't love him. How can she. when he has no sympathy with her on that subject? Now, why can't she say so. and be free?"' "She feels her responsibility," said Amy's soft voice. "She knows how devoted Mr. Long is to her." "Sh-h! here she comes." whispered Edith Stanley as a bright-faced girl fluttered up from the garden, like a dainty white butterfly, and perched herself on the steps. A dead silence fell on the group for a moment, and then Dora V>q,. 1 onrrViino* tmv.irf] hf'V I WUXJLACV4, UV1 ?v .. cousin: "Go on. Florry. You were giving a lecture, weren't you? I could bear you 'orating/ but couldn't catch a word of the discourse." 'tit's ended now," said Florence coolly, mentally resolving never to be so careless again in' mentioning "special cases,'- "and unless some one has taken notes you can never hope to know anything* about it, for it was quite impromptu." And, taking her cousin's arm, she marched her up and down the jpiazza humming a gny air. Meanwhile, within the windows the young man sat motionless, his linger still between the pages that only a few moments ago held him spellbound, although his world had fallen in ruin around him since Florence began her "lecture." Outside the breeze rang among the tree-tops and ruffled the shining bosom of the river. The August sunshine lay mellow on the grass, but he heard nothing, saw nothing. The tea bell rang suddenly and started him out of his meditations. The girls disappeared with much chatter and gay laughter, and he rose mechanically and walked like one in a dream down through the garden ana on into a mue grove beyond, his one thought to be alone 'where no human eye could add to his torment with its questioning glance. There, under the trees, where he and Dora played in childhood, he walked to ana fro, one' sentence ringing in his ears like a sentence of doom: "We can all see she doesn't love him." It was hard vto come down from the pinnacle where he had imagined himself crowned king of one heart When Dora, only 15 then, had given ? him her hand so confidingly as they BP trvnrr*tV?r?r ir> t]il< OTftVft L only it was morning then, and springB time, and the air was filled with the 9 scent of wild crab-apple blooms, and she wore them at her throat; how plainly he could see her now. all in white, and the ipink of her cheek so like the dainty blossoms?he had taken the gift unRfcuestioningiy, and no doubts had ever HBgssailed him. He knew her devotion Bib art and was proad of her success, but had never dreamed that it would be H; rival in her affections. ft'Havc I been so blind?-' he questioned. IP, my little Dora!" |*ometh;ng must be done, and that at Re. Should he go to Dora and ask if ^e things were true? That would be |8g saying "Have you been deceiving H&ill the>e year??" He could not do kHc must wait, with what patience Bpuld. until he could decide for hiinHMM He was very thankful that Dora not quite decided to be married in Ball, as that would be one test he Hp put her to. It is something to H an idea that can be acted upon at Hi, and he retraced his steps toward Egf house with this one purpose in view. How shall be tmci a minute in which to speak alone with Dora? He feels that he cannot bear the suspense until another day shall come, and then mutters to himself, "Fool! what if it must last a lifetime? What if I am never to know?" As ho rcached the piazza, a girlish voice cried out eagerly: "0, Mr. Lonjj! where have yoa been hiding yourself? ' and in an instant he was surrounded by a laughing group, who scolded and questioned with such vi\ acity that their victim found it unnecessary to say a word: it was, in fact, quite impossible. Then Dora rose from the piano. "Hrrc. Dora!" called Edith Stanly, ' 1 TT'U 1 "lirre is me ueserter. w n;n muvu w done Ut him?" And they led him before Ills bright-eyed judge. Dora had never before seemed to him just as she did at that moment?so far a way, as if a great gulf were fixed between them. He could scarcely believe in her bright looks, everything seemed so unreal, his life was so shaken to its foundations. It was only by a great etiort that he aroused himself to make seme commonplace excuse. Dora's first careless glance at his iSd face changed to one of alarm. The light from an open window fell upon it and she saw its deadly pallor. "Why, Fred!" she cried, "you careless boy! Y/>>i wil) h<> ilfL- Mcriin. ('ome and have some tea." And she led the way io the dining-room. How he longed to say, ' Come Dora. I have something to tell yon." and then, having her all to himself, pour out these miserable doubts and fears in her ear and so be free from them. But no; here was this crowd of chattering girls?besides, she must not know he had such doubts. Even if she said, "I love you," could he be sure she was not saying it becausc she believed it to be her duty. An<i so ne nmsiuju the evening as best he could, and all night long his heart tormented him with ceaseless questionings. :*.-veraI days passed before he found an opportunity to speak alone with Dora. Tlu; house was tilled with a number of young guests, and Dora must be everywhere.; Fred Long was just now taking a well-earned vacation. After years of hard work and months of illness he had come back to the home of his childhood to regain lost health and strength. He billed this he havioiest summer he had known, but now :ui untimely frost had spoiled its beauty. Anions; the friends whom Dora was entertaining her cousin Florence Freeman was the only one he had previously known. Natural!;: they drifted together during these miserable days. With Dora he was suddenly ill at ease and restless; her quick eyes noted the change, and she looked about for a cause. Those same quick eyes soon noticed the walks and talks with cousin Florence. "Xo wonder she admires him/' she said, with a sharp little pang at her heart, mentally contrasting tall, handsome Florence with her own little self. Presently th( Jiock of merry school girls took iiigh*. "Only Florence, and you. and J," sail Dora; "just as it useu to be." But for both the old charm was destroyed. One day they walked together along the' river bank, and Dora said, "Our playtime is done." ?Yc?v-3 4?r? rrrvetv^rp-fl. "I lUUSt g(X hack to my law books and you must have time for your painting." A light came into her eyes. "Then I am to "go on painting?" "Yes," he said slowly. "I am making tli is sacrifice for you. I do not wish you to marry me until you have finished this work you have set your heart upon. It will occupy your whole winter?'1 "Yes; perhaps more, uive me a year," she said eagerly, quite unconscious of the pain her words inflicted, and only anxious for time wherein to prove Whether, after all these years of devotion, Fred coald be won from her. Very well," came the answer, calm and steady. .No trembling in the quiet tones to betray the heart's unutterable anguish as it whispered to itself, "How glad she is to be free even for a year." As for Dora, her heart was saying, "He does not care." And then they talked of indifferent matters, these two foolish ones, and the precious hours in which they might have understood each other slipped away ami were gone forever. Once more apart, their letters were exchanged at regular intervals?Fred's kind and loving. "Of course," said Dora, '*it is his duty," while Dora's were a curious study had her lover but known. Each or.e a little cooler, a little briefer than the last, until by the time spring had dressed the fields and woods in green again poor Fred had ?* ' 1 - i-T_ ?1 a.,4 weu-nign m:iue up JLUS iiuau. ui;a xiuienee was right. Dora's heart was all in her painting; she had grown quite weary of him. This suspense is killing me," he would say: "but I'll wait?it is better? it will soon be over.*' And Dora, working herself to a shadow over her painting, would think: "The end cannot be far off. He will soon be free." Early in the summer Fred found himself aifain in the old familiar haunts, ' - -1 -11 : i:~u* out. ;u:i>. i:iv om juj.una ugm hib >??uicing everywhere. A shade, ;i mist, seemed hanging ovei' everything, and Dora was fan her away than ever. There were no merry guests to divide her attention: but, so absorbed, so silent. did she seem, he could hardly believe it was the same Dora he had known in other days. A week passed by?a week of mingled paradise and torment Sometimes he would be on the point of saying to her: I.rv T ?r> VA11I- H-U7 tin "Wru* x yy m oiauu iu jvua ??~ ~ longer:" but a faint hope still lingered, and he could not crush it so ruthlessly. At other times he could almost believe himself mistaken?all these months a fearful dream?when her eyes met his so earnestly and seemed filled for a moment with "the old, warm light. They sat together one day upon a little rustic seat, chatting and resting after a walk. ' Fred had taken some letters from his pocket which he wished to show to Dora. A picture fell from among them. Dora stooped to recover it "Cousin _ Flornv' she murmured. and Fred began making some commonplace remark upon its correctness. Then, glancing at his companion's face, he was startled at its deadly pallor. Dora!'' he cried, "you are ill. We walked too far. You must rest.'' "No. I'm not ill,"' she said almostsharply. "How lovely Florence is." ''J"Yes. indeed. She is well-nigh per-" feet. But there is only one Dora in all the world." taking her little, cold hand in his. "Without Dora the world is meaningless to me." Dora's eyes were scanning the distant hills. She made no reply. She w.vs steeling her heart against him "He wants to be true," she thought* "but I will have no such low. ' Dora, you ;ire not happy." She started. "Not perfectly so. What mortal is?'' "It seems to me I would be if only things could be as they onee were be; tween us." This was th?> first allusion ho had made to th^ fact tint he had noticed any change in their relations. i)ora realized tin. a crisis was com ing. She simpiy awaiteu u in suencc.. She would neither strive to avert nor to hasten it. "I have sometimes feared that you and I have been mistaken. That is tlio word. I think. If so. I love vc.u too well t'"' ask you to keep a promise which has become hateful to yon." Dora rose from her seat; a sudden fire flam vd in her pale cheek. She held her hand out toward him?the dear little hand that won* his rin?. Something in her air bewildered him. lie .. nvi>inn!iu^ llion i/M'/wl i MUUU *1 UU/IIIVUV - uv.?w^. the hand in both his own. She shook him off impatiently una drew the ring from her linger. Now he understood. "Without u word. Dora?" he said, struggling for self-command as a man might battle for life against the waves of a sea. "What is there to say?*' asked Dora, her voice clear as a silver bell, while her eyes shone like two stars. And again he told himself that lie: "She is glad!" And so they parted. The tie formed almost in childhood was broken, and they went their separate ways. Day after day Dora's pale, resolute face bent ovs-r her canvas, and she steadied her trembling hand for greater achievements. She w<?rked too hard, they said. She was too ambitious; she put too much of her life-blood into the strokes of her brush, and a few months ended the struggle. Ke came again to the dear old house beside the* river; a crowd of friends had gathered there, but Dora gave them no welcome. Pale and silent she lay and stirred not a linger nor an eyelash for any of their tears. He stood there with Florence, and that still form between them: its smiling i:ps were no more silent now than they had been in life. A dumb patience was marked on this sweet face, but they never gue.-sed its meaning. "if she mi;7ht only have lived!" sobbed Florence. Fred spoke not. but the bltrer cry of his heart was, 1 could only kttcw that she loved me!" And they never dreamed. tl:eso two? her nearest and dearest?tiiat I In tj had slain her. II Sho Fixed It. - The three of lis had been tramping over the batihiieJd of Malvern Hill all day long, and as ni<rht cam-.: on there was every evidesiw of a s:<-a<;v. soaking rain-storm. \v'e had to get shelter riirht away, and wo found it in a farm-house owned by a widow. Sh.: was willing enough to furnish us supp.-r, but when it came to lodgings she seemed greatly embarrassed. "You see." she said, "my house is very small. Indeed, I have only this room, with a bedroom off." "But can't we sleep in the barn?'1 said *-V?rv 0#\1 Ar> /l! "I have no barn." "But. you can go to bed and lat us sleep on the tloor in this room, can't you?'' "Y-e-s, but?but? "Oh, you needn't have any fear of us, ! madam," protested the Colonel. "It isn't tlmU sir. but - -*' She blushed like a rose, but none of ; us could understand until she said: "Well, to tell the truth, my beau will be here to-night." "In this storm?"' "0, yes. William would come if it . rained nitehforks." "Well, we won't hurt William." "No, sir, but wo?that is, ho will expect to spark me. and?and?" "Exactly," said the Colonel. "I see the situation. You don't want to disappoint William?"' "No, sir: and I donl want to turn you gentlemen out either. You see. sir, it's ( probably ray only chance to get married ' and it won't do to offend William. This ] is his sparking night and he's got to come five miles." "Well, we won't stand in his way; we ( wdl hunt some other place." j "No, sir, you shall stay: but you see how it is. i think I can lix it. I'll take this room and you three can have the oodroom." "What! Deprive you of sleep?" ' Oh, no, sir. William anil I always spark till daylight. If you would only lix it that way. sir." We did. After supper we locked ourselves into the bedroom, and taking the pillows from the bed laid down on the floor and slept like bricks until called to breakfast. When we went out the Colonel asked: "Well, did William show up?" "Y-yes, sir." she stammered, "and he asked me to xn-marry him! If we hadn't fixed things maybe he'd have waited a whole year longer. B-breakfast is ready and I'll never forget your kindness to a poor widow!''?Detroit Free Press. vr*M3 Wi>l?n .TacL'qnn f44H. H."l From the preface to a reminiscent critique, which is accompanied by a frontispiece portrait in the December Century, we quote the following. "It is curious to see how promptly time begins to apply to the memory of remarkable persons, as to their touchstones, an effacing process that soon makes all inscriptions look alike. Already we sec the beginnings of this tendency in regard to the late Mrs. Helen Jackson. The most brilliant, impetuous, and thoroughly individual woman of her time ? one whose very temperament seemed mingled of sunshine and lire? she is already being portrayed simply as a conventional Sunday-school saint. It is undoubtedlv tx*ue that she wrote her first poetry as a bereaved mother and her last prose as a zealous philanthropist; her life comprised both these phases, and she thoroughly accepted tjiem; but it included so much more, it belonged to a personality so unique and in many respects so fascinating, that those who knew her best can by no means spare her for a commonplace canonization that takes the zest out of her memory. To describe her would be impossible except to the trained skill of some French novelist; and she would have been a sealed book to him, because no Frenchman could 'eoTnp^jiie:nl the curious thread of firm New England texture that ran throngh her whole"being, tempering waywardness, keeping impulse from her whole life to a higfo and concentrated purpose at last. And when we remember that she hated gossip about her own affairs, and was rarely willing to mention to reporters any fact about herself except her birthday?which she usually, with characteristic willfulness, put a year earlier than it was?it is peculiarly hard to do for her now that wor? which she held in such aversion. No fame-or publicity could ever make her seem,rto those who knew her, any'thin? but the most private and intimate of friends; and to write about her at all seems the betrayal of a confidence. Mile, de Lcsseps is her father's confidential secretary. A PECULIAR CUSTOM# A Ludicrous Practice in Which Manj Occan Travelers are Compelled to Take Part. A Cambridge undergraduate, now on his way to the cape in a trading vessel, .<ends the following interesting commu nidation to the l'a/I Mall Gazette ' One of the oldest customs of the sea lately came under my notice. and in such a way as I ant not likely to forget. As sual after our G o'clock tea. we were, .eated in the saloon enjoying our game of cribbage. when a blast from the foghorn. iit to awaken the dead, put an end Jo our cards. Hurriedly we made for tlu^deck, where a sight never to be for gotten met our eyes. The evening was dark and cloudy, the moon entirely hidden, but the deck was brilliantly illuminated with blue lights. From the forecastle was issuing a procession that ba ;lles description. First walked Father Neptune himself, leading on his arm his young and beautiful wife, Amphitrite. Xeptune was dressed in long, white tiowing robes?that is, a nightshirt: around his head waved his gray locks, blowing before the wind in every direction: his heard reached below his waist; on his head he wore a miter of such tremendous size as to drive any bishop wild with envy; in his hand he bore his trident. His wife's dress was evidently on the plan of "beauty unadorned." for some rod paint, a small red flag, and a pair of red bathing-drawers constituted her costume. Her flaxen hair in curly masses reached ker knees. Following this august couple walked the hero of the evening?the barber. Dressed all in white, v. -iring a hat the shape of a dice-!'ox*, half white, halt DiacK, witn curly white hair and whiskers, he was sublime; but the sublime changed into the awful when one perceived that he carried in his hands instruments of torture rivaling in their latent cruelty even those of the Inquisition. Imagine standing and gazing upon a bucket of flour and water mixed to about the thickness of liquid glue, of which you know you will receive a large share?on your head. Recover, if you can, from that sight, and look again, In his other hand he holds a razor of such magnitude that it would not bo ill amiss for felling trees, and think that soon that edge of rough, rusty iron will be plowing its meanueriug course over your innocent jaws. Following this torturer came two policemen armed with cudgels and dark lanterns. Behind them crowded the crow. In spite of the awful solemnity of the scone, one could not but admire the dark, cloudy sky, the sea a blaze of phosphorescence, the flickering summer lightning, the grouping of the actors. Halting before the after deck, Neptune, in a loud voice, with such calm disregard as to whdre he put his H's as would make any classical author turn in his grave, gave utterance, "Earing that some of the crew of this ship is such as they 'ave not vet crossed the loine, and bin baptoized, my sons. I ham 'ere to see them done. so." Evidently Neptune's intercourse with British'sailors has been to the disadvantage of his eloquence. TJw? ciilnrQ at. the finish of Nentune's speech, cheered loudly, while from their midst stepped the two brawny policeman, one of whom was a nigger from LVmerara, and seized upon T. Meanwhile the torturer was not idle. He had seated himself upon a low stool, with his bucket before him, in his left hand a brush like a housemaid's broom, while with his right he was sharpening his razor on the companion-ladder railings. Alas for poor T. He stood smiling be(Vitvi wfcn. nvidentlv* thinking the occasion far too solemn to smile at, put an end to his innocent merriment by inserting as much as he possibly could of his mixture into his mouth. While ho was engaged in choking and spitting out what he could of the concoction, his head w;vs being covered to such an extent as to render his features quite indistinguishable. Then that awful razor came into use, its broad, rusty edge scraping away the dough like a plow in a clay soil. But bow difficult it is to take the dough out of one's eyes and mouth with a razorblade three feet long, one can not imagine till one has tried! His satanic majesty, I mean the barbei\ having scraped off as much as pleased his fancy, the two policemen came to the fore again, armed with buckets of cold wat<5r, which, utterly regardless of what part of the victim's body received the water, they threw in quick succession over him. I was the- next victim, ana went through the same terrible routine; but at last it was all over, and I issued from the cold-water cure quite ready to see the fun in treating the others to their dose. It was a novel experience, and one not likely to be forgotten. Then followed the others who had not crossed the line, some lnilf-duzcn of them, but two were missing. The police were soon after them, but it was an hour before the first was found, lying underneath the boilers in about the temperature of the place I had wished the barber in when I was being shaved. All this he endured rather than face his shaving, or, I should say, shaving ms face. He was quickly dragged upon the scene, and paid the penalty of his fear by receiving a double dose. Soon after this the other, a boy, was found conccaled in a sail in the rigging; he, too, got what he deserved for trying to escape justice. After all were baptised, we had some songs and dances, the barber being especially good at "the latter, and giving us some excellent clog-dances and breakdowns. Poor Neptune had terrible trouble with his wife, who, suddenly discovering herself among a lot of sailors, became "skittish"?naturally, what woman would not? The son^s and dancing finished, grog banded an round, and with three cneers for ua from the crew, we retired to our cabins to put on dry clothes, and to tear out handfuls of hair in endeavoring to rid our heads of dough. And so we crossed the line. If there is anything Old Nace is proud of it is his ability to lift heavy burdens. He can carry with ease a trunk which few other men can lift. He is employed in the family of Judge Snivcrlv of Brenham. whose son Fred is a student at the University of Texas. When Fred left home for the university ins carenu rnoiucr had packed an immense trunk for him to take with him. Old Naee insisted on carrying the heavy trunk to the depot, which feat he accomplished without difficulty. When vacation began Fred Sniverly, who had been leading a rather fast life at the university,returned to his native town. Old Xace was on hand to cany his trunk. He spit on his hands, and, remarking "Jess watch me yank dat ar trunk on my shoulder,'1 he leaned over, seized the handles, and made a mighty effort. Next moment he was standing on his head with his feet n the air, and the trunk was Iving some distance oft' wide open. Inhere was nothing in it but a tooth-brush and a paper collar.? Texas -Siftings. Actresses and Their Appetites. "Tlieru are few actresses,'1 says Samuel Stockvis in the Cook, "who do not appreciate a good dinner or know how to select one. Adelaide Xeilson was a devotee of gourmandism: ate often and late, was feted, dined. and wined on every hand, loved nothing better than to be invited out socially, and actually died from feeding too much. Champagne was her favorite wine. Patti is a light eater?all singers are?but goes in for porter and Burgundy with a will. The fact that Mranic. Sealehi refused to sing last season and compelled a "ehahire of bill" on the "round that she had faton too late will not soon bo forgotten by the chroniclcr of the capricious records of prima donnr.s. Lillian Russjll is very fond of salads -mil will not eat a dinner in which thin- do not occupy a prominent position. Clara Loui.4e Kellogg"s fondness for pork and beans is thought by some to b her only fault Mrs. Langtry is very fond oi Blue Points on the half-shell, and is very particular about the cooking of her viaaflajpsftThc special weakness of the EagSljt^vatify is a fondness for brandy and i?da; with a distinct under! vin<* tcnd^tfey toward beer. Sclina Dolaro, like -most English women of the stage, has fallen into the habit of taking her i tea at o o'clock, whether she lias an en- . gagejnent or not. Marie l'rescott keeps ! hous& in a flat, has a German cook, 1 knows how to prepare a dainty meal j herself, and has an able assistant in her i husband. Rose C'oglan doesn't like < a heavy wine like sherry if she is going : to play, and usually indulges in chain- ! pagne instead, She is a G o'clock diner, j woll tinrl />M/.'L-i?n is nn thu i board calls for the white meat. Ellen Terry, while on the road, always has < her meals sensed in her room, as do Mrs. ; Langtry and Margaret Mather. The i latter young lady does not dine out ' much. Miss Mather always takes an < iced lemonade before going on in the < balcony scene of ';Romco and Juliet/' < Nothing that Mile. Sarah Bernhardt has 1 ever eaten nas nan a tendency to mane < her grow stouter, The groat French ; tragedienne always takes a glass of old cognac before going on the stage, dines ] in the afternoon, and takes a supper af- j ter the performance. Mine. Deselce, the renowned French actress, lived for the last year of her existence, when cancer ] was drawing her inevitably to her grave, 1 entirely upon grapes and milk. Mine. 1 Judic is said to be a very good feeder, < and her embonpoint gives no denial of j the statemerrt. JMile. Amice is highly < appreciative of the pleasures of the table, but of late years, conscious of her in- < creasing stoutness, seeks to temper ap- ; petite with judgment. When in the 1 city she always dines at a favorite table ^ d'hote in Twenty-seventh street. Mmc. Rhea lately has been fetedalmost enough j to undermine her constitution, but keeps up bravely. Mme. Janish loves a good ] meal and never fails to get one when ( the selection of the dishes is left to her- j self, when she takes good care to re- < rv fAlt/11^* fVi?r?rrc Af forlnr. 4 LiiV/ ouiivm mm-o vi AUMVI- J land." " i George Sheridan's Joke. ^ Gen. George H. Sheridan, 4*of Louisi- i ana," lives now at the Union Square i hotel and is coming to be known as a ] Un.'OD> Square notability. He has had a : checkered political career, but he has ] had a good living through it all. evis dently, for he has grown stouter and < stouter with each succeeding year, until his short figure now carries upward of j 2oU pounus 01 nesn. as a siump speaker ; lie has been and still is in great demand. 1 His talks arc a mixture of witty stories 1 and eloquence which is taking with the ] people. A politician of Ohio related to ; me yesterday an incident of one of < Sheridan's engagements which had a > ludicrous ending. Sheridan was posted i tor a speech in a manufacturing town j in northern Ohio. It was an off year, and the Democrats were expecting to < carry the county through Republican in- ] difference and the labor vote. They j didn't want Sheridan to make a speech , for fear he would rouso up an tne itepuDlicans, but how to keep him away was a problem. They hit upon a plan at last, and when Sheridan arrived he was surprised to meet a cordial reception i from several Democratic acquaintances 1 who pressed him with invitations to go 1 out and "smile." He finally went out ! with them and was conducted to a 1 saloon where he found a number of 1 other choice spirits, but all Democrats. \ They began to ply him with invitations to drink, and it soon popped into his 1 head that they had a scheme to make him drunk and Jet the meeting DC a j failure because of his non-attendance. < When he became satisfied that this was their game he went in for as much fun as anyone. It was 2 o'clock when they went into the saloon. At half-past 7 he walked out with a slightly unsteady stop, but with a perfect control of his i motions, while every other man of the crowd was under the table. He went to : the hall where he was to speak and de- < livered one of the finest efforts of his i life, not forgetting 1o toll the story of < how the enemy h?d .ried to trip him up. 1 The county r-nr with his speech for a i week, and \v:i? carried for the Republicans.?N. Y. Tribune. - ? i Cleverness in Girls. I should say, observes a writer in All \ the Tear Bound, that to young girls generally?to clever young girls certainly? . cleverness seems "to be an unmixed ad- < vantage, now ueugnaiu to u. cjcvc-i giri of 15 or 16, wlio then perhaps enters upon regular school work for the first time?how delightful it is for her to find herself at the gates of a new world of thought, to feel the thrill of proud exultation which runs through her as she gazes at it. and exclaims with pardonable enthusiasm, "1 can, at least, oe monarch of all I survey!" How pleasant to see the gratification with 1- ' wmcri iid musiind ^(tiuuuin vnow?v*. that one eager mind "is drinking in all they say, and what trouble they will take to answer and even to anticipate her difficulties! How pleasant, again? albeit somewhat dangerous?to receive the respect and admiration which her schoolfellows will lavish upon her, so long, at least, as she is sweet-tempered as well as clever?to respond to the many demands made upon lior for "Just one thought, dear, to put into my essay on'Procrastination": I've put in all the dictionary says, but that only fills up half my paper!"'?to hear the in? i.l.i ?-;n fv?ll vnn ?sllf? Yiuiuwir, v/, ivitt hjij ?v.? jx/u . knows even-thing!'" And then at the prize giving, how stimulating is the sense, not only that she is the observed of all observers, but that she is receiving the reward of work well and earnestly done as she bears away prize after prize only tempered by the regretful wish that poor Melissa, who is so sweet, but any? thing rather than clever?and other kindred spirits?could have had something more to rejoice in than the suo cess oi tneir menu: .. n Tea was introduced into Scotland by the Duke of York in 1628. Identified, by His Drinks. "Brandy smash, sir? Yes, sir," and an up-town bartender immediately be- ' gan to shovel ice into a glass, and soon crushed the mint prior to completing ] the beverage. * *1 T 1 11 ? irromiaesouin.su-, x rtrcs.uu, sum < the bartender, as the writer set down the empty glass. j "Why do you ask?" said the reporter, ' Yankee fashion. ' "Well, you see, we can generally fix the nationality of the visitor by his I drinks. Most Americans that drink go ^ in for gin or whisky cocktails in the ^ A fol-oe / ?! o rot ] IJUl/JL mug. xivxivuuiuu nn\wj vxwfcw and ice, or if he is hard on it some cog- ; nac or absinthe. A Dutchman or Prus- j sian wants beer. Chinamen don't do 1 much bar drinking, but lately the stew- 3 ard of this hotel tells me some of them < have been strengthening their tea with brandy. They must drink a good deal ] of tea to judge by the brandy I have been 1 sending them. Englishmen run heavier < on ale and brandy, but seldom come < fr> ihr> hnrt osnoeiallv in the morning. 1 We haven't hai any ^Taps yet, but the ^ bartender of a hotel where a party of them are stopping tells me that they are < getting very fond of lager. In this country every state has its own particular 1 style of drink. Whisky is at the top. ] A New Yorker wants rye all the time, a i Pennsylvanian calls for Monongahela, ( the Kentuckians stick up for Bourbon, and it is nearly certain death to. offer a ] drinker from Florida or Georgia any but corn whisky. Jerseymen take applejack in preference to anything else, while > Delawareans must have peach brandy and honev. Missourians, as a rule, are 1 great whisky drinkers; they want their Whisky straight and strong and plenty Df it. North-Carolina, Alabama, Louisiana, Tennessee, and other southern states send us great fancy drinkers. Ihe best barkeepers in the world come from the south. Since the California wines have come out, the Pa:ific people have called heavily for catawba, but half of them can't tell the difference between a still catawba and an ordinary Sauterne." "Suppose you don't have the particular brand of whisky a gentleman calls for?'1 "W<ell, that's easily settled. There are very few bars that don't keep rye and 1 Bourbon, and, between you and me, 1 there are not many drinkers who can 1 tell the difference. Most bars keep two ] Dr more bottles of whisky?all drawn 1 from the same barrel; and, if a barkeep- 1 >r understands his business, lie can make a man think he is drinking rye 1 when he is actually drinking Bourbon. * Pad rye whisky with a dash of common 1 bitters in it can be made to pass as corn whisky." * "Are fancy drinks in much demand < now?*' T-< ft _ O i! - 1 L J 1 "jcairiy so. cx>meumes a ourwjiiuei has to be sharp to keep up with the or- ( iers. Tlie other day a southerner came in and ordered junk of me. What the i deuce junk was I did not know, so Iliad < to trust to my wits. I found out after s a little that junk was a compound of ? applejack and cider, or another name 1 for stone fence. Another time a gentle- 1 plan wanted an Albano punch. I asked ? whether he preferred brandy or Santa Cruz rum, and when he answered I wUof AlV?nr?ir nnrinli rroc ( BtliUW V> HtlL JIIK/lAXIJ |7UiAVli. ? avj. early all punches are built on the saw? prescription. \ "What are the principal fancy drinks 1 :alled for?'' * "Well, New Yorkers take naturally to \ milk punches and whisky and gin sours, i Southerners are heavy on sherry cobblers, mint juleps, brandy smashes, c brandy juleps, and Bourbon sours. 1 Philadelphians, when they don't take ale or beer, or take their whisky straight, call for cocktails, whisky ( smashes, Roman punch, and Fish house s launch. Fish house punoh is one of the * nicest drinks known. It is made of I whisky, Jamaica rum, and several cor- * iials, together with lemon and oranges. ~ i-t i- ^ j:rv x i but tne same urinKs go oy uiuereui, flames in different parts of the country," ? ?New York Mail and Express*. 1 ? m ^ ? 1 What Your Name Means. The only Frank I know is short and stout, and a slow thinker, who begins :o dribble out his words before his :hought is ready, and then has to make * i clumsy pause while the poor slow t thing is overtaking him. How different < from the bright and winning Frank of 3 fiction, : How many Georges does one know 3 tvho slay their dragons. J Tom is somewhat near Jack, but < ^ ?? 4.1 ~ less attractive, iui viuum?, sua2cptible sinnners are generally very likable. Andrew is not. He is slow and sure, i and quite reliable, so far as his own in- ; terests jump with yours. I think I 1 should hate to be married to an Andrew; that is, the typical Andrew. i As to John and James, or else Jack and Jim, and worlds divide these from ' each other. James and John are fixed i stars?Jim and Jack are planets, if not comets, with the exception that not all ' the science in the world could with certainty predict their movements. J TK/in tVior<-> is A1 frwl nftprt a rmito. un- ; bearable prig, while Fred is the very contrary. Frederick is a very different man from Fred, and it seems as impossible for Harry to grow old as it is for Hemy to be very young. Charlie is surrounded by historic grace, which disappears when we examine into facts but the name is improved by the cloudy halo that surrounds it. But. Charles! Oh, "Charles" is dreadful.?London Truth. Dodging Senators. There is a good story going the rounds about one of the Cabinet officers. He is sorely pressed and oppressed by office- , seekers and their backers, one Senator < in particular being so persistent as to ; make himself a terror to the Secretary. /lot' on /\1/1 ir? i-Ue UlfJUI V14VJ rti* WIVi iilVUVi A*-.- J to the department to pay his respects ' and to chat about the days when gray , hairs were a myth and trouble an unknown quantity to the two boys: he j wound up some specially stirring remin- ; iscences with: "And what do you do ' with yourself nowadays, old follow?" * < Now, the present timo?" said the i Secretary. ' Ye*/' ; "Well, I work like a slave-driver all ] day, and dodge Senator : then I ; dine, and dodge Senator : then I , come back and work here to escape Senator : then I go to mv room, 1 read a little to compose my mind, say j my prayers, look under the bed for Sena- , tor , and if ho isn't there go to sleep ] and dream he has buttonholed me to talk about that little appoiutment he , wants."?Cor. Cliicaqo Tribune. A Boston chemist has discovered a way of extracting an essential oil from onions, with which tears can be produced at pleasure. One drop of this oil on a handkerchief will produce a copious flood. The oil bids fair to have a largo sale. j Jnlian Hawthorne's Ideas. Mr. Julian Hawthorne, the novelist, was recently interviewed by a Chicago Daily Neics reporter. The conversation turned upon the estimation placed by Europeans on American works of fiction, and the question was asked: "Do you think the American novel is growing in popularity abroad, and what are its distinctive features thought to be uy lureiguursr "The American novel is certainly growing in popularity abroad, especially in England, as will be seen by the frequent English reprints of our better novels. The reason for this is that there ire at present so tew tolerable novelists in England. The English novel has yeuii written iu uuuui, iinu, jva cn-u novel-readers must have occasional novilty, they turn to our books with relief. Ihe distinctive features of our work probably appear to them to be new situations, social conditions, and types of character and a certain minute accuracy Df treatment from the literary point of new. Average English novel-writing is verv slip-shod and careless." "What is your opinion 01 tfc$ school Df 'mental vivisection"?" 4iT ?im ririt mr-tplf in sxTrmathv with :hat school. 'Mental vivisection'* is easy writing, but hard writing. I think it is due to a lack of mental energy and 3f imagination in those who practice it. it amounts to importing your noteDooks into your story, instead of showing only the results and embodiment of i previous analysis, and is done by Shakspeare and the best writers." "Do you consider this departure of literature a part of the progress of the ;ime or a morbid outcome of days too ircicrkorAiKs for "I think it has nothing to do with the progress of the time. It only indicates :hat our novelists make less use of their majrination than any other class of our jommunity. Perhaps the recognition :hey receive is too faint to stimulate ;hem. The difficulty is certainly not on :he side of any deficiency of stirring ;imes. Timidity and lack of self-confilence have more to do with it. Our vriters consider their audience too much; ao audicncc that they can reach is ;vorth con?iderings as a literary tribunal. 'Inspiration is deprecated, as if t must be cither untrustworthy or illbred. A masculine poet or novelist is uuch needed, and it might bo well, at his stage of our literary history, to make t a penal offense for any woman to Trite a story."1 "Do modern nov'.'sts make their men md women do nothing but sit still and alk because there is nothing else for u ? 11C1I1 IU UVi "I shall rather say because it is easier :o write clever dialogue than to portray iharacteristic action." ' What are your methods of working? Do you depend principally upon your >bservations or on your imagination?1' "Observation is always of assistance n imaginative work if it can be suffiriently emancipated from individual initanccs. On the other hand, nothing poils a fictitious character so surely as o make it conform too closely to "any eal model. The requirements of the ?tory must be allowed to mold and idapt it or the story will be ruined." "Do you have regular hours for work )r do you wait for an inspiration?" "I never ^vait for an inspiration, and im not aware of having every been visted by any. I generally take a walk in he morning and write in the afternoon md even in sr. But I keep no strict rule | n such matters." 4-Do yon know what the 'terrible secret' of 'The Marble Faun* was, or what he 'mystery that surrounded Miriam?" "If I knew I would tell with pleasure, tfy father never explained it. because it lid not come within the design of the storythat the 'secret' should be anything >ut a typical sccret?a human being jolluted by involuntary association with he sin of others. The Cenci tragedy is m instance ef such an occurrence, and s therefore made prominent in the ;tory, but whether or not Miriam was he victim of a similar castrophe was ler private business, and of no import o the moral of the tale." ? we A Flexible Heart. A story comcs from Louisville which, 'ays the Cincinnati Sun, on account of he presence in Cincinnati of the parties concerned, makes it of local interest [n Miss Effic Ellsler's company, playing it the Grand, are Mason Mitchell and Miss Marjorie Bonner. Mr. Mitchell is a nice-looking, sentimental, star-gazing ;hap, who is very susceptible to the ;harms of a pretty face, which is possessed by Miss Bonner. Indeed, the little lady is so charming that several individuals of the masculine gcndei I'earn to bask in her smiles, The feslive Mitchell- fell niadlv in love with her. but was distressed by that hot fever of hope and fear :ind jealousy. The fair Marjorie, he thought, took too much interest in another member of the company. Mr. Mitchell demanded?so a bellboy stated who claimed to have heard? the conversation?that Miss Bonner banish forever from her sight the other follow, who w:is causing heart-aches :ind ceaseless pain to the anient lover. I ' I have taken poison, anil will kill myself unless you will promise to be mine alone," was substantially the despairing wail of the sensitive Mitchell. He rushed into his room, which was inclose proximity to tho apartment of his sweetheart in the CJalt house, and was about to swallow four ounces of laudanum, bottle and all. when friends interfered. Mr. Mitchell still lives. He is a young man who. if reports be true, has been singularly unfortunate in his love affairs. It is said that last winter he was smitten with Sophie Eyre to such an extent that upon learning the news of that lady's marriage to Mr. Winslow. of this city, he suddenly disappeared, and was subsequently heard of in the Kiel rebellion, where it was rumored that he had been killed, * He reeovered from his unrequited passion and returned to New York, which necessitated a few lines contradicting his obituary notices. Members of Miss Ellslcr's company seemed to think that Miss Bonner is not mmoerent xo jmucucu s aucuuous. When notified of the expose of the little scheme in the Louisville hotel the young man seemed inclined to annihilate the reporter. It was a miserable lie. all except the taking of chloroform. He had been a long, sufferer from neuralgia, and when the pain came on lie was accustomed to inhale chloroform, which was the only relief lie could find. At the time at which the attempted suicide is said to have occurred lie was in the throes of neuralgia and was following bis usual prescription. The bell-boy n'oc on infnrn-i1 151rHav. n rlirr>r>f do scendant of Ananias. "That Sophie Eyre story is also a base falsehood," declared Mr. Mitehell, with much vehemence. "I was in the Kiel campaign. When I saw the announcement of my ieath in the Winnepeg papers I rS once telegraphed a denial." The young actor expressed much concern lest the story in circulation should compromise Miss Bonner. j TV IT AND HTTXOR. Queer, isn't it? A man who will swallow any kind of a dish with an imposing French name will be scared to death u he catches a cold with a Greek or Latin Htle.?Loicell Citizen. The President of a life-insurance company recently received a letter in which the writer said: "In case of deth please explain to me what the aires would get when I dye."?Allentoucn (Pa.) Register. We were asked to express an opinion on a certain subject and we did so. Then the man who called us out lost his temper because we gave a different answer from what he declared.?Richmond ( Va.J Religious Herald. There is a touch of the irony of fate in the story of the old man who lived to be 86 in" "straitened circumstances" linding himself heir to a million dollars. He can only have the pleasure c? iraking a will and providing for a swell funeral.?Boston Herald. i ruiessui ui v^LLuuiiatr)? ouypvacjuu were called to a patient who had swallowed a heavy dose of oxalic acid, what would you administer?"1 Jones (who is preparing for the pulpit, and who'only takes chemistry because it is obligatory) ?"I would administer the sacrament" At a social gathering on Austin avenue Hostetter McGinnis, who is a great wag, said to Miss Esmerelda Longcoffin: "You would not believe,Miss Esmerelda, what conquests I've made among the fair sex. You would not believe it" "I don't replied Miss Esmerelda.?Texas Siflings. l ne History or a v ermont mountain town is thus epitomized by a good observer: t%The early settlers cleared up good farms and the children got rich from them. The grandchildren ran them down and loaded the town with debts. The next generation skipped away to the west This is said to have happened in Georgia: A youth from Elbert County purchased a suit of wedding-c'otJU",s at Athens. They were shipped per oxpress, but the next week were returned with a letter from the young man saying that his girl had gone back on him and as he would not need the garments he had returned them. The merchant let him off from the trade. Secretary to manager?"Here is a letter from the person who writes over the signature of 'Pearl,' asking when m nrfi or>ir><r to rav for her eontribn tion." "When we publish it, of course." "But we have published it." "Ah! Well, take the usual course. Wait three months before answering the inquiry and three months before sending a check." A lady from Michigan relates a very pretty story of her little boy, whom she took last summer for the first time to the seaside. The little fellow was greatly pleased with the sight One day, when he saw the first ocean-steamer approach the coast, he was exuberant: "0, mamma, just come out and see!, There's a big locomotive taking a bath!" ?Boston Beacon. Frudent Farasian housekeeper?"Mi, there, stop! What do you ask for your coal?" Peripatetic dealer?"Three francs a hundred kilos, sir." Housekeeper? "Weigh me a thousand kilos and shoot it here." Dealer (hesitatingly)?"Certainly, monsieur; but?well, ahem! - the fact is that when we weigh it in tKe " presence of a customer the price is three francs and a half.?Paris Figaro. "Good morning. Cicely, dear; I was just going by, ana I couldn't help dropping in to ask you about the new feather trimming." "Isn't it lovely?" "Well, yes, I rather like it; but Fm afraid it caari Ka oc o c coolclrirft sacques." "That would be a pity. Only think, I haven't worn my sealskin since you had yours." There were a few dagger-like glances, and that morning call was ended.?Hartford Post. Perhaps the revision of the Bible was unnecessary, after all. The historian is impelled to*this reflection by a sage remark which was uitered in his hearing in a street-car the other day. On the opposite side of the car were two women, who were talking rather loudly. Said one: "Did you know Sarah had had another lot of money left her by her cousin's will?" "Law me!" exclaimed the other, "the Bible never said a truer thing than 'them that has gits" "?Boston Record. A librarian says that ministers like to write their opinions on the margins of books: "I found a book so marked one lay, and, recognizing the handwriting as that or a prominent divine, sent a note to him asking to see him at my office. He came, acknowledged he had written in the book, but said that his writing made it more valuable. "Others do not think so,' I said: "so if you, will get us a new book you may keep the more valuable one.1" Marc Antony Grig, the distinguished tragedian from the Way back circuit? "My friend, how is this? The house was cold last night?cold?cold?ca-hold! And yet I had distributed me good gold among the ushers to insure a nearcy welcome and tumultuous applause." Mr. Ochestein, the prosaic and Hebraic ; lanager?"Golt? Two dollars un' a halluf! You don'd get no dumultuous abblaase for no two dollars un' a helluL Dot don'd get you no more as a gordial rezeption!"?Flicgcnde Blaetter. The Pall Mall Gazette, tells of a marvelous bicycle performer. He is so clever that he seems to take the unfortunate machine to pieces and practice somo feat of equitation upon each of them, riding the backbone as a witch does a broomstick, whirling on one wheel only, and playing some trick with the spokes and handle. He rides up to bed and il/wxm +/ > c/wndtimoc f\n nn? wheel, sometimes on another, and has seventy modes of mounting. Needless to say, concludes the Pall Mall Gazette, the gentleman is an American. The llcconTs staff small boy has been going to an Orthodox Sunday-school for just three of his six years, and, as may be inferred, derives his ideas of the Divine relation to mankind by a sort of direct Apostolic succession from Calvin and Jonathan Edwards. His mother was consequently interested to know what idea was in his head the other night, after he had received a pretty severe chiding for some offense, he exclaimed: "O.I wish I was God!" "Why, what do you wish that for?'' she asked. "Because you'd have to love me then!"' ?tsosion Lir.coru. Among the young men of title and for/me who may be said to be coming on ior the next London season is Sir Henry Alfred Doughty Tichborne, who will in May next be of age. The youthful Baronet is now in nis 20th year, having been born in May, 1866. The necessity of defending his property against the celebrated Tichborne Claimant has entailed upon his trustees the enormous expenditure of ?120,000. His estates are in Hampshire, Lincolnshire, rmil 1 and represent between 11,000 and 12,000 acres. There are in addition, London properties, bringing up the gross rent roll_U> ?28,000 a vear.