Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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A STORY OF FREDERICKSBURG. It was after the battle of Fredericksburg; The ground was strewn with the fallen foe, Tfcey lay in ranks on the side of the hill With their front to us; and a boy could throw A stone to the nearest rank, so close Had they pushad their way co the frowning edge Of our rifle pits in the last mrul charge, When they struck our lines like an angry sledge, And fought up under the very guns Till the blue line wavered, and turned, and broke, And^the stragglers sullenly disappeared Behind the mantle of pitying smoke. There was one tall man in the nearest rank, So tall ho had towered above the rest As wo watched him bearing the tattered flag. He lay with a rifle ball through his breast, We thought him dead, but he turned at last. And raised himself on his elbow there, And looked down over the bloody field, Then back at us in a fierce despair. We saw himfumblo beneath his coat, And feebly draw with a shaking hand A little package of letters staine:l itVi UfA ?M/1 Twr I + V? n fnrJrt'l Knn/1 v t 11u uoo uuu livu ?*1llic4 &ciuuu uuuu> He spread them out, and picked up one, The smallest letter of all the store, We knew that his eyes were fiilod with tears That blotted the tiny packet o'.r. He tried to read, but his head dropped low On his breast, and his hand fell nervelessly; But the stiffening fingers st:ll kept their grasp On the words that his eyes could no longer see. A murmur ran through the rifle pits; We had watched him there from our sheltered stand; We fell to wondering whose hand had traced The letter h j hold in his big brown hand. "His wife!" said one; "JSo, his sweetheart, boys!'' Saidanothar, "His mother," said one whose face Was fresh and fair as a girl's; he dropped His trun add clambered from out the Dlaee. He ran to the dead man s side and raised The hand, and there in a childish scrawl Was written, "I love you, papa dear." The hand had closed o'er tho rest, and all That had cheered his soul in that lonely place Was tho simple note of a little child. And yet, it sweetened the taste of death, For it seemed to me that tho dead man smiled. ?Herlcrt }V. Colling wood, in N. Y. Sun. THE VICAR'S BATH. The Rev. Mr. Texter, vicar < f Dottington, nnd his pretty daughter Daisy were having a tele a-tete one brilliant August morning in the pleasant little room which the vicar called his study. That the tete-a-tete was not an altogether of an agreeable nature was very evident from the agitation of the girl and the vehemence of her father?a portly ecclesiastic with several chins and a pompous, self-satisfied manner. 4,I don't consider that he's a fit man to be your husband," the vicar resumed, after a pause in the talk. "I think one lias only to look nt the style and cut of his clothes to form a very fair estimate of the sort of life he leads in town. I know him to be in debt, to disfigure his mother tongue with the most hideous of metropolitan slang, to drink between meals?and yet you, Daisy Texter, daughter of the vicar of Dottington, sigh and sob that you never can and never will love any other man. It's quite ?but, gracious me! There's 9 o'clock striking and the confirmation's at 10, so that the bishop will be here a quarter of, and I haven't had time to take my morn ing swim?inauKS 10 your 10011311 lovesick chatter! Still, if I rush off now there's just time for a hurritd dip, and as I am nothing without it, audaa it will clear my head and freshen me up for the duties of the day, I will be off, and we will defer any further discussion until a more convenient opportunity," saying which the vicar loft the room by the door, and the girl slowly went out by the French window, crossed the lawn, and descended to a narrow shady lane, where was waiting a young gentleman with an honest brown face, who was at-" tired in a check suit of dittoes which, although of ordinary London cut, had produced no small impression from the variety of its hues on the obscure villagers, who rarely saw anything but the parson's broadcloth and the peasants' cord n ray sl . ."J1'8 Use, Gerald!" she exclaimed, when they met. ''The pater's in an aw ful temper this morning and has been calling me all sorts of horrid names for loving you and declaring that I would continue to do so." Mr. Gerald Maldon, who was the son of the squire of Dottington, took the girl to his arras and, kissing her quivering lips, said: What's his objection to me, Daisy?" "Why, he says you are what is called 'fast,' " replied the girl, "and he doesn't like your style of life, your style of conversation, nor your style of dress, dear." ^'Style of dress, by jove!" exclaimed the young man, surveying the 9uit he had on with no little complacency. "Surely he doesn't judge a fellow by his dress. Why, when the bishop was at V* ^Ani n m T W n'f V* rt If n uui iiuuac last auiiu^ ? nuuiuu u ua given the old follow eighteenpence for all he had!" "That reminds me, Gerald," said Daisy, "there's a confirmation to day. so the bishop is coining and the whole place will be upside down. This, perhaps, has worried papa a little; therefore matters may not reallv be so bad as they now appear. He, however, would not miss h:s bath, so he has just gone down to the river to take his usual swim. It will doubtless cool his temper as well as his body." "Gone down the river for a swim!" exclaimed the young man. "By jove! I'd give something to see him! I should have thought he'd have been above such rakish diversion. But a happy thought strikes me, Daisy dear. The bishop, as you know, is a rare good fallow, and, being an old college chum of tho governor's and my godfather, he would, I believe, do anything for me. Keep your spirits up, therefore, my darling, for the great man is certain to comc in and lunch at our house, and I will get the oniv' to ask him to sav a crood word for O - - ^ us to the vicar. So goodby, my wife that is to be, for I know it will be all right. I wouldn't miss seeing my future father-in-law taking his morning bath for a good deal." Gerald Maldon, having kissed the girl again, hurried down the lane in the direction of the river. Carefully keeping himself out of sight, he reconnoitered. The pompous ecclesiastic had just finished arranging his clothes in a neat heap on the bank, and was descending into the water with as much gravity and consequence as if he were going down his pulpit stairs. Mr. Gerald watched every movement, and saw the vicar slowly duck his head and ponderously strike out into the miad'e of the stream, until his bald head and full shoulders were twenty yards away. Then quick as thought the young man crept forward, gathered up the reverend gentleman's garments under his arm9, leaving only his towel and his boots, denrvaUrH thn rlnfhps under .1 lmdcrfi about a hundred yards off. and returncd to his po-t for observation. The church clock chimed half-past 0; the vicar in the water heard it and struck for the bank. Ilis amazement and horror may be imagined when he saw that his clothes had disappeared, and that nothing '"it the towel and the baots remained. For a moment he stood as if thunderstruck. Then he rushed about in ali directions in a ctatc of most unecclesiastical excitement and searched the bushes, peered under hedges, looked up into trees, all the time hurling a complete commination service on the heads of the unprincipled scoundrels who had made away with his wardrobe. A quarter to 10 struck. The church, the distracted vicar thought, would be now iillinrr thn rnrriarrpa of the country oentrv would be dashing through the village street; his right revcrence.the lord bishop of Virginia Water would have arrived, and here was he, the most important man in the place after the squire, shivering on the banks of a river in a towel and a pair of boots! The position was a terrible one. But. ( no shipwrecked mariner ever descried j sail, no desert traveler ever saw water, i with more genuine joy than did the j \ vicar hear the sounds of approaching ; < footsteps. Quickly he sprang back into < the 6tream, and waited to see who wa ] coming. Tc steps were those of somes | one evidently not pressed for time, and j who, from the nature of the song he was i caroling, had certainly no intention of ] attending the ceremony at the village church, but ihey were the footsteps of a \ man, and at that moment the vicar felt 1 that he could have hailed the presence of ( the most irreclaimable member of his par- j the with delight. The seconds which elapsed between his first hearing the footsteps and the appearance of the figure seemed to the vicar like hours, but at length Mr. j Gerald Maldon emerged from the shrub- , bery with a pipe in his fingers and a bal- ] lad on his tongue commemorating the r duplicity of a certain duke of Seven j g Dials. ' + "Hi' Mr Maldon! Mr. Maldon!" L shouted the vicar. The young man | j stopped short in the middle of the j j chorus, looked up in the trees, away 11 over the fields, behind him, and j straight ahead of him?in fact, every- c where but in the right direction. j The vicar renewed his cries. ; "Hi! Mr. Maldon! Here! It is I, the c vicar, I'm in the river! Some thief's a gone o.T with ail my clothes atid I've to f be at the church at 10 to assist at the a confirmation! What on' earth am I to : do?" t The young man gazed with admirably E feigned astonishment at the bald head ^ and the agonized red face of the half- c submerged vicar, and giving vent to a j, prolonged whistle said: "By Jove, sir, if you've to be at the v church at 10 you'll have to hurry up, for g it only wajts five minutes now. The ; r bishop has already arrived, for he was \ * yarning to the governor about a quarter i ^ of an hour back." j u Thii was not strictly true, but it had j the desired effect of intensifying the | vicar's agony. j "a "Hut I say, Mr. Maldon," said the ^ wrctchcd vicar, "what am I to do? I v haven't time to get any fresh things ^ from the vicarage. I can't go to the church as I am?no, no, I don't mean that. But really I don't believe thit any man was ever in such a predicament ^ before. What can I do!" j, "Well," said Gerald, "there's only one t way out of the difficulty that I can sug- ^ gest. My suit is not, perhaps, of a particularly clerical cut and color, but it wouldn't show much under a surplice, and you could run over to the church in it without anybody noticing you. Why ^ shouldn't you put it on?" 11 "But what are you to do?" gasped the ? vicar. j "Oh, it doesn't matter about me," re- c plied Gerald; "I've nothing to do, and f I've lots of tobacco and shall enjoy my- * all right here." c "But how can I assist at a confirmation f in a?in a kind of seaside shooting suit? 8 Still, I suppose there's nothing else to be 1 done," said the poor vicar, waddling out * of the water, and drying himself as fast r as he could. "I'm sure, Mr. Maldon, t I'm indebted to you?that I am. But n don't you trouble, thanks?that's it; a ^ little long in the legs, perhaps,?oh! r thauks!?no; never m'nd the necktie. * There, that will do, and now I'll make a * rush for it." s So saying the vicar doubled across the 1 field a? fast as his untrained condition 1 would allow him, leaving Gerald with c tlic towel and the boots, ana exploding 41 with laughter at the ridiculous figure th? parson cut, ambling and stumbling along in the much-maligned suit of dittoes. The vicar arrived at the church just as the clock was striking 10:30. To his horror the first person to meet h'ra was the bishop, who fairly staggered at the spectacle presented by the most precise and pompous minister in his diocese. "Extremely sorry, my lord," panted the exhausted vicar. "Had an accident ?explain all afterward." The bishop said nothing, but his looks spoke volumes, although, being a prelate of an eminently humorous disposition, he. of course saw that some contretemps had happened. AVhat the poor vicar underwent during that interminable service nobody but himself knows. The surplice he wore ^ moo c>inr?- (-inrnlrt Maldon's trousers ( were long. The sun streamed down < full upon bira ?s he stood within the 1 chancel rails, anil he felt that the eyes ' of the whole congregation were fixed 1 upon the astounding nether garments of 1 the man who had never been known to ' relax so far from orthodox broadcloth as ! even to put on cricketing flannels. It ' was in vain he tried to hide himself; it was in vain that he endeavored to pay 1 a proper attention to the ceremony at ; which he was assisting. He edged, he | maneuvered, he dodged, and he pulled the surp'.ice down at the sides until it split at the neck with a crack and exposed the collar of Gerald's "seaside shooting coat," as its prosent wearer styled it. The perspiration now stood out in great beads on the poor vicar's forehead; his hands were hot as 6re and he performed his part of the ceremony in such a nervous, agitated manner that the beadle thought lie was guing to be ill and brought him a gi-.iss 01 water. The unfortunate vicar, who saw the bishop looking at him, determined that the moment the ceremony was concluded, and he should have an opportunity in the vestry, he would tell the whole story to his grace. But when the morn -nt came he was so overwhelmed with confusion that he was dumb, and he mistook the humorous twinkle in the bishop's eye for a look of scorn and indignation. "Kea!ly, Mr. Tester," said the prelate at length, "you must excuse me if I remark upon the exceedingly unclerical style of drew in which yo 1 have appeared upon so solemn and public an occasion." "Mylord,"gasped the vicar, "appearances are against me, I acknowledge. But when I have related to you what has happened I think you will admit that, under the circumstances, I followed the only course open to me; and, although I am fully aware that clergymen, as a rule, do not officiate in garments of such a pattern as those I am wearing at. this moment, I think you will admit that I should hive fallen far more short of my duty if I had not put in an appeal ance at all." So Mr. Texter related to the bishop the morning's adventure. "Well, sir,"said the bishop, when the vicar had finished, "all that I can say is thnt. vmi am verv dcenlv indebted to the ~ ~ ~ m ' |" / person who made such a self-sacrifice in order to extricate you from your unfortunate dilemma." "I feel that, my lord, and I hope to show it in some substantial way.1' "May I ask the name of your friend in need?" continued the bishop. "Gerald Maldon," replied the vicar. "What! Gerald Maldon! the son of my old college chum?" asked the bishop, with astonishment. "The same, my lord." Thii news burst upon the worthy bishop like a revelation. He was aware of Gerald's love for Daisy Texter, aud ilso of the difficulties that had been thrown in his way by her father. He therefore soon formed an opinion of his 3wq as to how the little accident hail occurred to the vicar's clothing. Suppressing, however, the smile tbat was brought to his venerable face, and with i determination to try and say a useful ivord to his friend's son, the worthy prcatc took the vicar's hand and said: "I am delighted to hear it, and 1 trust ;hat, in the same way as you accepted :he vounff fellow's one suit for your own convenience, you will accept his other ror your daughter's happiness." And he did?London Truth. A Panther Boards a Steamboat. "While the ''Ilenry A. Tyler" was passng Savannah, Tennessee river, recently, i huge panther jumped into the river :rom the bank opposite the city and nade a bold swim toward the opposite ihore. While the eyes of every oue on he boat were directed to the graceful, awny creature making his way rapidly ind easily against the current he suddeny changed his direction, and made a >ee line for the boat. Anticipating trou)le the roustabouts gathered chunks of :oal and awaited the approach of the )east. Reaching the guard, which was ow in the water in consequence of a big :argo. he threw his huge paws upon it > ? it- - i j 3 _ A ma wun a uouuu ^iiiiicu <t luuiwiu. i usilade of big coal chuuks struck the ' tiiiinal in a do/en place3, knocking Lim nto the river amid hissavagc growls and iowIs of pain. Almost immediately the iow thoroughly infuriated beast again urncd, and with a growl leaped clear ?ut of the water and landed amid the :not of almost paralyzed negroes on the orecastle, where he crouched fiercely, vith blazing eyes looking about him, napping and snar'ing, while his long, graceful tail slowly swayed to and fro. it this moment Captain Hill, who had rrived upon the scene with a aoublemrrelled shotgun, ra:sed his weapon and ent a charge of buckshjt into the panhcr's fore shoulders, which caused him gain to leap into the river, and with a rail of crimaon blood staining the blue waters behind, the savage king of the rcnnessee jungles rapidlj swam to the r ; j 4.v. Ore, UiSHppeai iu^ ;u me ucuau tuiv;xv.ci/ ,nd undergrowth which fringes the bank it this point. The animal was of- a awny brown,about five feet lone, weigh ng not less than 200 pounds, and said o be the largest ever seen in that counry.?tit. Louis Globe-Democrat. The Ex-Kin? of the Dudes. Berrv Wall, ex-king of the dudes, still louts about New York, wearing the lewest of clothes, and driving the fastst of horses, and looking just as he did ust before his fortune, except that the iirclc of friends who surrounded him a cw months ago has disappeared, and hat only a gambler or two is seen in his sompany. It is understood that his ailure was complete, and people are at , loss to know how he manages to keep ip his style. Occasionally regrets are icard expressed for him. Th re is no cason why he should be pitieJ. lie is wenty-four years of age, and has managed to run through a fortune of $350,"vA T? f A PTP O f fl IVSU. ill UUlJLJj; oy 11V w vivMw | i good deal of gossip in New York, I >ong Branch, and Saratoga, and to adrertise extensively the fact that he had ixty or seventy su'ts of clothes. "Wall ias lo9t not only a fortune, but health. Ie stoops and trembles as if he were an >ld roue of seventy years. Ilis people ire rich, and he has several very aged datives concerning whose demise he ias bxpectanc}', and doubtless if he ives long enough will again have plenty )f money. There is some sympathy for his reckless young spendthrift expres ed >y certain people. These people would lot give pity to a widow who might be lefrauded out of her means of livelihood jv a plausible scoundrel, or to a hardvorking mua who is deluded into puting his life-time's savings into a wi!d:at scheme. Berry, they say, is a good 'ellow. Without disputing this judg-nent, we can dismiss him with the re- , nnrWt.lmfc ihprft are different ideas of i vhat constitutes a good fellow.?Troy Times. A Saraje Fancy For Old Hats. The group of islands known as the j Sicobars, situate about 150 mi'es south )f the Andamaas. has been but little ;xplored, though the manners and cus;oms of the inhabitants of these islands . Dffcr very interesting peculiarities to the aotice of the ethnologist. One of the most noticeable of these, and one which seriously affects the trade ot the islands, says a trade contemporary, is the passion for old hats, which, without exception, pervades the whole framework of society. No one is exempt from it. Young and old, chief and subject, alike endeavor to outvie each other in the singularity of shape no less than in the number of old hats they can acquire during their lifetime. On a fine morning at the Nico? - - ? tltinrr fr? qop + VlA I UflTS 111 19 IJU U Ll UOUUi l lliu^ wv www ...w . surface of the ocean in the vicinity of the ! islands dotted over with canoss, in each i of which the noble savage, with nothing | whatever on but the conventional slip of I cloth and a tall white hat with a black band, may be watched standing up and catching lishforhis daily meal. Secondhand hats arc most in request, new hats being looked upon with suspicion and disfavor. This curious passion is so well known that the traders from Calcutta make annual excursions to the Nicobars with cargoes of old hats, which they barter forcocoanuts, the only product of these islands, a good tall white hat with a black band fetching from fifty-five to sixty-five good cocoanuts. Intense excitement pervades the islands while the trade is going on, and fancy prices are often asked and obtained. The death rate in Dakota is only five in the 1,000. FOB FEMININE READERS. How London Helios Drews Thoir Hair. The hair is dressed very high in the evening and is either dotted over with combs, fancy-headed pins and jeweled butterflies, or ornamented with a tuft oi real or ornamental flowers placed on the top of the head. Combs are in favor, and jewelers have recently been engaged in rearranging diamonds to form the high-backed Spanish comb or one with a back of single stones. They are worn enner ac me top 01 tne DasKet piaus or put in slantwise on the side of the head, or firmly placed in the front to form a coronct with a pouf of small feathers at one end.?London Queen. New Feminine Style in Gait. "Have you noticed the latest idea with the ladies?" said an observant Pittsburg shoe denier the other day. ''No. What is it?" asked the reporter. "Anew style of walking; don't you see? The real fashionable young lady doesn't dawdle along now as if she was going to have a tooth pulled. Instead of that she takes a quick, springy gait, not exactly as if she was in a hurry, but as if she enjoyed walking and was Tuning over with animal spirits and good health. That is the idea they wish to carry out. Summer is over and every young lady is supposed to have boon either in the country or at the sea-shore, and come back full of vigor. It isn't the proper thing at all now for a young lady to be tired. She may be 'slightly fatigued,' but 'tired' is too great an acknowledgment of weakness. I think that the idea is a good one, anyway, and the very appearance of good health will bring good health. At least it will bring outdoor exercise, and that is the next thing to it." For the Silver Wedding:. One of the affectionate thoughts which a Hartford mother, parting with her daughter on her wedding day, delighted to put in form, was the preparation of a box in which, hermetically sealed, were placed various remembrances of the happy occasion. The case was of heavy tin, prettily lined, and contained, first, the bridnl loaf. With this was laid various faucifui bonbons and favors from the refreshment table, some roses worn by the bride, and a piece of her satin dress; also enclosed were photographs of the bride (in her veil and sweeping robes), her new-made husband and her father, mother and brother. There were also lists of the witnesses of the ceremony and friends attending the reception. These and many other pleasant souvenirs of the occasion with a loving letter from her mother, were preserved to be opened to the light on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the wedding. There is a world of possibilities between now and then for the girl who is leaving home for an untried existence, but what sweet memories will not arise when, in 1910, the beautiful matron (if she live so long) shall open the sealed case, and breathing the aroma of the spiced cake and ro3es, shall read the words penned twenty-five years before by her mother's hand, and show these relics of the wedding day to her children. A Crate for Short Hair In the Went "Queer craze this," mused a south side hairdresser ns lie bowed and scraped a stylishly-dressed woman out of the big front door of his establishment. ;'Time was when woman gloried in her tresses, but she doesn't glory any more. Strange, too, that this mania should become so virulent just as winter is about to set in, and at a time when most women used to want all the hair they could pile on without disgusting the men folks about the house. But it is the style, and I don't see why us dressers should grum'.le, for every customer means seventy nve cents in our pocket. Now let me think a moment. Yes. it was Ellen Terry who started the craze. Ro e Cleveland, the President's sister, was probably the first to catch the fever, and from this lady the contagion has spread until now nearly every city and town in the country has a large number of well-developed cases. Neither the young nor the old is spared. Why last week a woman about tortyeight years oid came here and threw herself into one of the chairs like a thrce-times-a-week shaver. Did she want her hair cut? Well, I should hurry to reply she did. I run the shears around and up and down the back of her cranium until I found some wrinkles back of her ears, and then I stopped. In a modest sort of way I told her of my diseoverv and recommended a mixture I have for removing the furrows of time. Why, sir, that woman was so humiliated that she left orders to have her tresses made into a wig and switch, and only yesterday I saw this lady promenading on State street with her 'hair fastened on with pins, nets and strings. "Oh, this epidemic is just great. Let me tell you of another funny case over on the West Side. The wife of a wealthy man came home one night with her raven locks wrapped up in a news paper which she carried unaer ncr arm. At the tabic the servant 'piped off1 her mistress, and was stricken with the malady. Next day the girl climbed into a barber's chair and paid forty cents for a Tammany hall hair cut. Then she was proud. She waltzed into her basement abode with a reckless hurrah, and got dinner with a masculine dash. When the mistress beheld her clipped servant sho flew into a jealous passion, and, just to wound the poor girl's heart, donned her bureau-drawer switches and pompadours, and in this head gear she may be seen almost any day looking daggers at the humble barber shop across the street. "It's sad, though, when a red headed girl catches the fev/.T. This young lady is all right with long sunset tresses; but with them oil the back of her head look9 like a brindle doorstep rug. Then, beside, if freckles have been hiding around ber neck and ears they are bound to come out and cause comment. I predict a great and immediate craze for hair jewelry, wigs and switches. When the mercury gets down ten or twenty degrees below zero you will see these young | women coming around here for hirsute ! blankets and the like. I overheard two j doctors talking with an undertaker the other day. One of the medicine men ! said that he was confident that the short : hair craze would result in a large in! crease in catarrhal affcctions, and the j undertaker bowed low and divided an apple with his companion."?Chicago Herald. Fashion lYores. Bonnet strings are fastened under the chin. Collars and culls are made of beaded galloon. | Lace of all ages is revived and will be fashionable. I Black has lost none of its favor with the best mod istes. Bridal toilets are made now very simply ag well as very elegantly. I Flush and satin embroidered ribboni are used for millinery purposes and fc trimming dresses. , Woolen laco is being shown in new , and very beautiful designs, and is mcet' ing with much favor. [ Round brooches are again -worn, and ' square brooches with bright enameled i flowers are novelties. Overdresses of different material worn with velvet or plush skirts have vests or 1 epaulets like the skirt. Plush skirts are worn with overdresses | trimmed with gold or silver braid or open-work embroidery. High collars with stiff lining are seeu | on all woolen costumes. Linen collars or folds are worn with them. Linen cuffs and collars, which have very improperly long been neglected, are again cominjj into use. Collars are high, very high, and render 'head up, eyes fifteen paces in front," a position of necessity to the wearer. The newest pocketbooks, purses, card cases, etc., are macie 01 gramme canvus finely embroidered with gold or colored silk. The bracelet with the spring Is no longer used. Those of flexible gold links fastened with old-fashioned clasps are the correct thing. Chamois-leather gloves are still fashionable. They are useful in warding off j tan, and a little ammonia will cleanse them; but it must be done on the hands or they will shrink. Veils are coming to the fore again. Not the style that wore off the oyelashes and jeopardized the sight, but the longer and more graceful ones which hang from the edge of the bonnet to the chin, and the better the lace tho more in style you will be. Cut-glass imitation garnets are a charming novelty for trimming party dresses. They have long been used for fancy jewelry, and are now made in the shape of round long beads. These ruby red drops have a charming effect on a light, bright silk ground. The old fashioned coat which our mothers wore at the basquine, introduced by Eugenie in the first days of her pride and power, is revived, and bids fair to be fashionable; it is close fitting, with long, straight skirt and full pleats at the back to accommodate the now universal Dustie. A simple but elegant dress has side and front of skirt in drab striped plush, with drapery in a corded fabric in a lighter shade, The basque has vandvke in back and front vest of plush; the noticeable features of the dress, however, | is the grace with which th?se draperies I are arranged, the odd loopings and ; closing of all parts being effected by immense hooks and eyes of old gold. Cameron Bargains With Ilia BarberIt doesnot look as though the venerable Simon Cameron ever expects to die. He is chipper and bright always, and as full of jokes hs when he cast his first vote and I knew nothing of the cares, anxieties and responsibilities of statesmanship and political leadership that were in store for ! him. An Irishman named Dick Con: nelly, a barber of Ilarrisburg, has been j shaving the general every day, when he ! is at his Front street mansion, for many ' years. The general is very fond of Dick , and not only delights to joke with him, i Unnftfif r\ f mnnu o j Ullli JJIVC3 UllU IUU V vi luuuj u | reminiscencc that nobody else has ever heard. The otlier day while Dick was flourishing a razor in his most artistic style about the old man's chin he said to the general: "Gineral, Oi hope Oi'll be here to shave ye when ye're 100 years old." "I hope you will," replied the general, cheerily. "And I'll tell you what I'll do, Dick: If you shave me when I'm 100 years old I'll make you a present of : the handsomest horse and carriage that i money can buy. But you must agree to i shave me everyday in the meantime." j "But what if Oi become a millionaire, an 1 git elected to Congress?" | "That doesn't make any difference. ; You will have to get your barber tools . together, sacrifice your constituents and 1 come to shave me." I "But, gineral, what if Oidic?" "You must shave me, dead or alive. If i you don't you won't get the carriage and ; horse. Is it a contract?" ! "Done, gineral; Oi'll go yez," decided , Dick, and the old statesman and his barber shook hands warmly. "Bedad, Oi'll git the carriage," exultantly remarked Dick afterward; "that is, if the good Lord spares me."? Philadelphia Press. McClellan's Lore Romance. A very interesting story his been told about McClellan's lirst meeting with his wife, says "Carp1'in the Cleveland Leader. He married her, you know, in 1860, and the relations of the two during the last quarter of a ccntury have been the happiest. Mrs. McClellan accompanied her husband everywhere, and was a helpmeet in the true sense of the word. She was very proud of her husband, and was very sensitive to any ridicule of him. He met her in church in Baltimore in 1800, one cold Sunday morning. He was then traveling throughthe country on a health tour, and had readied Baltimore Saturday night. The next morning he left the hotel and went to the nearest church. The usher took him up to the front and seated him in a pew which j wag already occupied by a very handsome young lady. The sermon was j prosy, and Mr. McC'lellan devoted himi self to casting slv glances to .his seatmate. lie concluded that she was fair. As he caught a fuller view of her he decided that she was beautiful, and when at last she saw her features and her eyes looked into his, he felt that he had met j his fate. As they passed out of the pew j the young lady blushed under McClellan's j admiring gaze. He followed her home I and found that she lived in one of the I handsomest houses of the city. On iu! quiry he found that the house was j owned by Gen. II. 1J. Marcy, the father | of one of his schoolmates at West Point. McClcllan at once called upon young Marcy, and through him obtained an introduction to Marcy's sister Ellen. He 1 began to pay her attentions ana tounu | upon acquaintance she improved. His ! love was reciprocated. They were en! gaged, and in May, 1800, they were married. Like Kris Kringle. "Why am I liko Kris Kringie, Kate?'' Smiled Harry, courting late in clover; "Because," she yawned, "tve know so great A pleasure when your visit's over." "Oh, no! that isn't right, Miss Green," Groaned Harry, at the clock a-glancing; "Kris Kringle's presents, Kate, I meun Must be?like mine?to you entrancing." J "Indeed! your presents? why," laughed she, I "I never knew you to make any." "I mean my presence here," blushed he, "Must? that is? might give pleasures many." "Perhaps, if you were like St. Nick," Smiled Kate, "Oh, tell mo how," cried Harry, "Well then," she said, and made him sick, "Come once a year and never tarry." -H. C. Dodge. TLMmtANUt; TUFJLUS. A Common Character He never did any good work in bis life, He's a man who from danger would shrink, He's always neglected bis children and wife And squandered his earnings in drink. Ignorant, selfish, uncultured is he, Yet people by whom ho is known, Kemark witli a si^b, "What a man ho would be If he'd only let liquor a'ono!" ?Boston Courier. TIic Mule Grave. It was the day of the wine market; and not yet had the sun reached its full splendor. Will you not try to picture to yourselves, my friends, a lateral valley of the Rhine, lying amid fresh green meadows, and surrounded on all sides by mountain heights, showing up as dim, aspiring forests, in the glad sunshine resting above it all? If so, then you have Ebcrbac'n?only Eberbach without its real glow, since that you never can picture without seeing. "Please buy my flowers! my sweet, fresh flowers!" The voice was very young, ringing and musical, and at the sound thereof many turned, to discover only a little maiden of some ten or twelve summers, pacing back and forth beneath the walls of the lunatic asylum, which since the fime I am telling of has been removed thence for lack of space to its new site on the Eichberg. A basket of myrtle hung on the one arm, while in the hand of the other she held a bunch of the fragrant sprays, as though to tempt, as it were, the passer-by into buying her pretty merchandise. A young man passed; he was the son of the pastor of the Cloister church, Johann von Ilohenburg by name; his face was good, clever and bright, and his blue eye sparkled with the fresh, sweet glory of the world?a glory which seemed to fall also upon little Gerba, the flower girl, as his gaze then rested upon her. "I'll buy thy flowers, little one,'' he said, gaily, taking the bunch from her hand and leaving in its stead a silvei coin. "This is too much money, Herr Johann, unless you will take all my flowers," faltered Gerba, holding out as she spoke the basket for his acceptance. "And they are too many, u. less you take all the money I have"?and Johann rtKnlr An a aaiirvln a i* n a a t n f r uiiiictcu tuguiuLi a vi ou i/i ouay ^ coins which still remained in his pocket with such a comical air that the child laughed also, in a way which was trulj refreshing after her pathetic sadness. i Only for a moment, however, did thii i merry mood last; for the next, pointing giavely toward the grey walls, ano quaint old window close by, she said with finger on lip, as though in mute reproach upon herself, "My mother is in there, Ilerr Johann, and folk say she will never come out again." ; 'Poor child!" The word of sympathy dropped deeply down. "It was about father's going away that she fretted so much, never sleeping day nor night, and so?and so?" "Yes, I know," and taking the child's hand Johann tried to lead her away. 1 "Come, I'll sell thy flowers," he went nn and Rn tnrrnthfir thnv nftssod into the 1 Dusy market-square, where men sold , wines and men bought, while those who < did neither yet paused to drink (as , though about to purchase) from the i sellers' ample goblet, which according to 1 custom is presented to all. And Johanu tasted with the rest, afterward chinking hi3 stray bits of rnouev, and then with a laugh and a jest going on to another, till in time a remote coruer of the square was reached, where stood many of Johann's friends, gay, rollieKiug fellows like him-, self, and who, like himself, judging from their flush faces and excited talk, had a'so indulged in the "pearl of drink'." "How now, Johann!" And then Jo hann, holding up his hand for silence, told thera of the child's bereavement, and of his having offered to prove salesman on her behalf. Oh, but they had kindly hearts, though in many cases their pockets were well nigh empty? one by one paid for a spray of flowers as he could, wherewith to adorn his button hole, one by one said some kindly words to the little girl in turn, although from j m:iny of them, as Johann felt, the child shrank back in fear and dislike. . ' No-v the little one had no hold upon Johann?none whatever; therefore it was ^ in very kindness, the kindness of a true, , loving, and manly heart, that leaving his friends to themselves, he led her , away?away to the banks of the Peters- i bornchen, which flowing from the mountains downward, sheds beauty in its : way. till at last it loses itself utterly and gloriously in the Rhine river, which with its tiny power it helps to swell. It was a day of fairy pleasure to little Gcrba, to sit there while her companion told tales of the past-, of the ivi!<l boar -who had fixed ttie site of the ancient cloister, and who in company with angels hacfhelped to build the same while men slept. "I want to say something, Herr Johann?something which I fcaryou scarce will like to hear/' The child's voice faltered, aud her bine eyes looked misty when she raised them to his. "iray on, child. I won't be angry." "Well, then, Ilerr Johann, I want to teil you what made my father unkind and bad, and what made him go away/' She was sobbing a little, and yet she Iimtn lint, coir "Vnnra ncrn TTnrr >Y UUIU 1KIVW liUA A v?..v ? w. Johann. I have heard that he was once good and kind,a9 you" (her hand touches his fondly), "but he did what you have done to-day?he tasted of the wire at the market; and, Herr Johann, I hate <"'ni fnr whnn mv fjitliAr otpw tn likinrr ?.AUV, ' -"J CJ -- -o it more and more, it made him wicked and my mother miserable. It was her tears, they say, which drove him to leave us; but oh, it was the wine which brought the tears to her, and made me without a mother. And now, llerr Johann, won't you give up even the tasting, lest you should go on to worse, like him? Oh, do! for you have been kind to me, and if I can make you promise to do what is right, may not God give me back my father some day, and through him my dear mother,too? I have thought of it so much, and it seems that the dear God who is so just will give me him for another, if I can but keep one from the tempting evil. Be that oae, Herr Joaannr for I love you!;v And in the evening glow the promise was given. Years and years after, in the graveyar3 * of the Cloister churcb, an old worn-out man knelt, weeping bitter tears over a little grave?tears of repentance and re- , gret. Strangely enough, an unseen hand had guided Johann, even at this late hour of life, to the haunts of Gerba's miserable and debauched parent; to him he told the tale I have told you, with him he pleaded earnestly in his child's name, who was dead and gone on before to a better land.?&. Search field. Corrupting the Voting by SchoolBook**. Bad enough is it to run risks on account of the vicious character of the light reading sought after so much by the young, without having wickcd mischicf in the course of study imposed by law. Every citizen is deeply interested in the coursc taken by commissioners and boards of education in providing schoolbooks bearing upon elementary physiology. We must see to it that the law is not evaded. To tcach a child at school that the moderate use of alcohol is good as an invigorating beverage when the law makes the .selling of liquor to that child a criminal offence; to prate about the moderate use of liquor when the country spends annually eight hundred and fifty millions of dollars for rum and about eighty-five millions for education; to teach that the use of alcohol can be of any real or comparative good to brain, muscle, or nerve, when the great daily press so reeks and teems with the record of crime and abomination wrought under the influence of alcohol as to make the ordinary newspaper no longer fit to come under the eye of a pure family and household-all this* is to stultify all concerned.?Christian Advocate. ?~? Temperance \otc? A Japanese proverb says: "A man. took a drink, the drink took a drink, ' and then the drink took the man." The Knights of Tcmpcrance is the name of a new organization juat started in "\Tr*T*T f r\ i?a IiaHIa *.#*?? ? a * 171 m m lu Jiiii vy jl ui a iv uu uatuu uiug Alcohol. The ritual and insignia are o r.^. modeled after those of the Knight* Templar. The badges and standards are inscribed with the motto; " Sobriotas, Reverentia, Puritnsque." The study of the driuk question in Switzerland has disclosed the fact that the use of alcoholic beverages is largestin those cantons in which wages ar* lowest, and the people are the poorest. Drunkencss tends to poverty and want? and then this state of things fosters th*drunkennesa. Blue Ribbon beer, manufactured in Toronto, and claimed to be a .temperance beverage, was tested a few dayg, ago on two men, each of whom drank seven glasses in an hour and a half and theu became drunk. The court there upon decided that the stuii was intoxicating. Beer is mere dangerous than whisky. That is the verdict of the Scienhfie American, which sets forth that tiie use of beer is found lo produce a spccics of degeneration of all the organs; profound and deceptive fatty deposits, diminished circulation,- conditions of congestion and perversion of functional activities, local inflammations of both the liver and kidneys, are constantly present. A slight injury, a severe cold, or a. shock to the body or mind, will commnnlv nrovoke acute disease, ending fatally in a beer-drinker. PUNGENT PARAGRAPH* "Belles" call many people to church. ?Chicago Ledger. Selfish men are decorous. They never forget themselves.? Picayune. It is the man who can't raise the wind who does the most blowing.?Merchant!Traveler. No man who eats onions can keep the habit a secret. It will leek out some way.?Lynn Union. Schoolma'am?What is the poetical name of ancient Greece? Pupil?Oleomargarine.?Boston Courier. "What is ease?" asks a philosopher. Ease is a thousand-dollar salary and & hundred-dollar job.?St. Louis Critic. A novel has just been announced with the title "In Haying Time." We supDose it must have a grass plot.?Puck. In England they are still in fear of the dviifliniters. and amandare not blow up his wife without exciting suspicion. ? Call. Chicago pie bakers live only fifteen years. Do their customers murder them, or do they eat their own pies.? Courier Journa'. There are ?,uuu,uuu pianu pittVtlO AU this country. We have much to be thnukful for; it might be 10,900,000, or even more.? Danville Breeze. Mr. Oldbeau (to young rival, before young lady to whom they are both attentive)?"Why, bless me, Charley, how you've grown!"?Harper's Bazar. A Sioux chief is learning how to ride the bicycle, and the linal extermination or' the aboriginal race is now only a question of time. ? Loxcell Citizen. A famous tencr has injured his voice by having a toothpiok iodge in his throat. lie probably swallowed the toothpick to give his voice more timbre. It mast bo expensive living For the angels up in the sky, For we all know, both s unt and sinner, That a rent in a cloud is high. ?Boston Budget. "I can always tell," says Jenkins, "when a little boy has marriageable sisters bv theattentiou which he receives from the young men."?Slock ton Mater ick. "Do you think Johnny is contracting bad habits at school?" asked Mrs. Caution of her husband. "No,dear, I don't. I think he is expanding them." was the the reply.? l'ititO-urg 1 e'.egraph.