The Fairfield news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1881-1900, February 10, 1886, Image 1
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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.