The Eugene City guard. (Eugene City, Or.) 1870-1899, October 06, 1883, Image 6

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. lh fata that tow Mlect th plough
V i - That cula tha cleannat furruw;
Thai man li only ll a man
Wbnui work la clean aud tboroimh;
; And Ui fau inat reap for (he hi mat iwecp
' Afacnoottwo aeeccai aicaic,
' ' ' ' That man U only ball ft wan
I f, wboaaoouneui weak and fluklo. .
' . i .. Tbr arr who deem llfe'i burj atraam
Uul nieaul for craft of power,
r,tra- fj uouet work'l ao cheap and mean
. Bat halt) Itaaolemn bom;
' I roMhalowljpoorlawalaiobacure
f - Have null their human duty,
Aa writ aa Ihoae whow atateller wajl
' Move on in light and beauty.
ft a
4 '
. ' .'I
lio wril your work, aa portei. clerk,
'JiilifXioreman groom or wmi
Tov erowna of loll ar worn M oft
I ii tw at of brow aa bailor:
f liml iluiy taan all sort of iracki,
Ufoail. uarniw, dry Of mudily.
A- much of conwiencomay Ui thrown
,lu worablpaaloalutly.
W it wllboul flawa the cmturn flrawi
Kn m limi'li that alurand bluodar;
. 1 atri if ft at cauie lor maklt.g lawa
'liiHikl ('- prfU no and blunder
hpr'iiiout of alotb and folly, boln
Wiii iiaiic'it but acoru lioluit them,
At' ho.xt wait' aooru linleaa
Y iu gite gmd labor fur ibem,
"Ilir-Ml you uJ In poKulrgiboti,
4ir wmliliuir nick auil atiorel.
' mut-b that ( f pt'U aud bralu.
i kiay orlfy a b-ivel;
, And mi an and baae to all fcla riot,
'i iiialli u and lo ueulibur,
la hn who III bl hrtJiiles
1 be dig uliy of labor.
7 h-u. thonjh you toll tue anil,
' Or uiidertiiiaili it ourrow
In mtniaaud luiinola, alwayi let
Your work teoli'Mt and lhorou(jb.
Jl'iuitnlti'a a hmlly trre,
Id quirliiR bouuat duty
01 little twin, M wvil ubnimhl
. I bat wave In alrangth aud beauty.
' ' Tlmv walked alonar in silenoo toflrolber,
Thoy could hear tho gny voices of the
people of their party Id tho distance; a
snatch of song reached them now and
then, aud seemed to thoir troubled minds
'llko discord. Darkness was gathoring
quickly around thorn; shadows were
creeping up among the trees, the long
(branches looked iiko bluett arms
stretched iuto tho softer blackness of the
loaves, aud, bore aud there, there was a
break aud a g'impso of the gay evening
':.'llow dnrk It is," murmured Mary
-Temple. ;.
"Docs the darkness make you nor
Totih?" ankod her companion.
'. "No," she answored shortly: "but it
reminds mo that it is getting lute, and
we' mnst not keep so far behind our
friends. I wonder tboy have not waited
lor us.: . . . .
. , "Thev have not missed us," rejoined
hor oompauiou, "and thoy would not be
anxious nuotii you 11 luey uiu, oiuuo yuu
. are with mo, aud thoy know what oil
friuoil wo are. But we will haston on
aud overtake thorn, if you liko."
Sho did not answer, but accolorutod
her puco, and walked so fast at last that
. her companion run I some uiiiiouity in
keeping up with her; but presently she
stopped short. .
."Vim must bo tired; won't you rout a
little?" lie uleaded.
- "No Tiiohard." sho said, "I mnst
not i-ott here in the forest alone with
you. ' It would not bo right for mo.
oucbt not to bavo' lingorod behind our
friends, but I had no idea how late it
was, and the darkness came on so quicn
. ly. And now yon see they are not with
in hearing, evidently, (or we cannot (lis
tinuuisu their voices any longer," ,
It was truo, the sounds of luugUtor
and of Hinging hod died away, aud liHten
'as iutontly as thoy might, thoy could not
hear anything beyond tho r.ameloss
ounds of the forost itself tho indis
cribnhh) whir aud rustle and flutter of
the woods at night.
"It was very iuoonsidorate of them to
hasten on without waiting for us," mur
mured Mary Temple, stttuding perfectly
still, nuJ speaking in a low vcioe. "But
tho best thing to be done now is to
hasten on after thorn."
"I am afraid you will be exhausted if
J ho walk along at such a rate," said
tioliard, as they rosumod thoir hurried
On they went, the shadows croeping
closer, ths strange, weird sounds in
creating aronud them, the trees growing
.blacker, jthe sky growiug darker, and
over everything the soft white mist ris
ing aud spreading itself out liko a huge
"Why, Diok, I do believe I see a
glowworm!" cxolaimod Mary Temple
suddenly, in a voice as different from
that iu whioh sho had spokou before as
sorrow is different from joy, as tears are
different from smilos.
Tho mau's heart boat almost to Buffo
oatiou as ho beard the old familiar
same, but ho controlled himself sntll
oioiuly to answer briskly and naturally.
' "Uaveu't you seen them boforoV" he
aid. "There are numbers iu the forest,
I believe."
"Don't you remember how v e used to
bunt for them in tho wood and in tho
bedf0 at home?" said Mary, speakiug
still iu tho altered voioo such a bright,
weet, gay voice it was. "And you used
topltty tricks upon me, and muko mo
run all down tho garden at night to see
them; aud, of course, when I got there
none' were to 'be seen. And we nover
(ojiuj. uy out in tho . woods in thoso
dujs;dil we?- I wonder why that was,
Di'oW" f : 1
"I dare iy because thoso little Kent
ish woods are, as a rule, so overrun with
people that the glowworms are all taken.
You know there is nothing delights a
Cockney ao much," answered Richard
"What a tease you wore then!'' con
tinned Mary Temple; "what a worry
you were to me! Do you remember per
suading uie to climb up the ladder into
the old oak tree down the garden, whon
I was a child; and, directly I had got up,
you scampered down the ladder as fust
as you oould, and ran away with it, leav
ing me literally 'up a tree;' and you
would not bring the ladder back until
the dinner-bell rang, aud I was scolded
for being late? Then that lime when I
went ol a visit to yoar home; and tho
night you were to oome bank from the
boarding school, your father and broth
ers insisted on hiding me in the onp
board In tbo tohool room? Then when
you came into the room I heard them
tell yon that a present bad come for you
during the week; and you said it was
it was not true, and that they were try
ing to 'take you in' and yon were audi a
long time before you would oome and
open the cupboard; and you were so
angry when you did open it and found
it was 'only Moll" inside. Poor Dick!
yon were thorougly disappointed then,
were yon not?"
And sho luugheti heartily at the reool
lection, and Lovel tried to lauch too.
"However, I suppose in the wild life
you have led abroad," she continued
presently, "you have forgotten all theLe
little Incidents or childhood, out i nave
nassed such a auiot timo that I have
been apt to go over all those pleasant
merry days again and again.
"Tho wild life you spoak of has not
made mo forget a, singlo small event,"
said Iiovel, in a low voioe. "Through
all my adventures and peril in South
America I never forgot you. Tho
thought fof "littlo Moll' was my guiding
star; it kopt me from harm many a time;
itflredmy spirit; and whon sometimes
we were in danger, I usod to say to my
self that I must make a proud ilguro, for
if I did, I should like 'little Moll' to bear
a good account of my end. Whon I
awoke one night and found myself in a
room bodged in with fire on leverv side
you heard of it, you told me this morn
irg I swear to you that my first thought
was, oh, if I could only let 'littlo Moll'
know that I had loved hor since I was a
"Hush, hush!" whisporod Mary, her
voice trembling as she whispered. " lou
mnst not sav this to mo now; it is ter
ribly wrong for yon to say anything of
the kind to me, and lor me to listen.
"Am I to go away from you then, still
bearing all tho load of my disappoint
ment and sorrow?" said Lovel, bitterly.
"May I not huve tho miserable
satisfaction of knowing that some
one knows of my troublo? Will you deny
mo that?"
"But nothing you can say can mend
matters." Mary expostulated; "in fact,
everything is tonding fo make matters
wor8ot See bow lato it is; and, although
we are hurrying on so fact, we do not
soera to be getting any nearer. If I do
not reach hone soon after our party go
through the village they will grow anx
ious about mo; and I myself am getting
more nervous every momont."
"Moll," he said passionately, "I am
going to leave this place to morrow, and
I do not believe you will ever see me
again! I came Lome only a month ago,
aud went down to Fairfield to find you,
and there they told., me tbo bitter
truth. I bore it, however, and I deter
mined to oome and tuke a look at you in
your Hampshire homo bofore going away
again. I reached your village last night.
I broke in upon you this morning. I
have spent the day with you; and when
all your morry friends oallod upon you
and asked you to join iu their evening
stroll iu the forest, I must confess I was
anxious "to acoompany you. 1 did not
think of saying a word of this to you
thon, but I only foltthat it would be
comparative happiness to walk beside
you, to know that you were near without
boiug forced by tho origonoios of society
and conventionality to laugh and joke
and talk plutitudos. I have boen through
hardships of a kind that would make
your woman's heart blood. I have lain
out iu tho open air, night after night,
iu the vast solitude of those American
prairios. I have been, I can say li tor
ally, through fire and water; and I went
.i i ii -.1. i i :t.
tnrougu an wiiu a ngui iitri wnu a
happy heart ever. I thought of you
tiny after day, morning after morning,
night after night, an indefinable ius'inet
seemed to tell me that my 'littlo Moll,'
as I have so often called you, was roally
mine, that she lovod mo in hoart, that
she would not have forgotten mo. If I
bad known the truth I should never
bavo como back to England; you would
never have hoard of me again, Moll; and
porhaps it would have been bettor so."
"Oh. hush Dickl" sho said again,
faintly, and clasping hor hands tightly
as if iu BKonv. "All these things you
aro Baying sink into my heart and make
me cold ut the thought of what I have
He wan silent for a few moments; and
presently thoy emerged from undor tho
trees iuto tho open plain, dotted here
and there with until niassos of bush and
forn and bounded on all sides by vast
plantations of pino and beeou and aal
treoB. As thev stepped outtrom the un
derwood they camo into comparative
light, and they could see tho dim out
line of each othor's faoo, and see the
gentle undulation of tho land in front of
Mary lookod about hor in dismay.
"I don't remombor crossing this place
as W9 camo from homo," ehc said.
But Lovel did not answer her remark.
He stormed short in front of her. and.
seizing Lor hand to prevent her walking
on, he Baid, his voice faltering with
"Moll, you must and shall hear mo
aud auswer me. Considering all that
you have done for me, considering how
you bavo spoilt tho rest of my life, it is
only fair that you should at least lot roe
speak to yon. 'You say it is wrong in
you to listen to me. It may be so; but
the prinoipal wrong, tho foundation of
all wroug, is in the foeling itself, which
lies at my heart, whioh, right or wrong,
will lio there as long as I live, I fancy.
You know what I felt. If you did not
know it before you have, must have
known it to day: you must have soeu it
in my face. Is it not as bad, as wrong,
to know that I love you as to hear my
poor weak words?"
. He pausod for a reply, but she only
shivered and breathed a deep sigh.
"You know why I left home," he con
tinued, passioaately, "because my father
married again and put a frivolous, flip
pant woman in my dear dead mother's
place. I bad always been a wild fellow,
they said; and I went out to America to
work off mv wihlness. determined to fall
on my feet somehow and thon come back
to you, Moll, to tell you bow I bod loved
you evor since those boyish days wheu I
used to save np my pockot money to bay
you presents. Simple, trifling presents
they were out luey came irotu my juuug
heart. I did not seek to bind you to any
promise: itsoemod tome unfair to at
tempt to tie you to a worthless follow
such as I was, withont home or pros
pects, and for whom yon might have to
wait for years; but at the bottom of my
heart there was a firm belief in you, a
hope that you had understood me and
that you would feel the instinot that I
felt, the natural, ineradicable love that
springs from perfect eommnnion of
souls. I should have langbed at the
idea of making you promise me any
thing; it seemed to me that you mnst
have felt all I felt, and that I should
find you waiting for me on my return,
aud should only hate to say, 'Moll, dar
ling, I have come back to you!' and take
you to my arms forever. Did you un
derstand nothing of all this, than? Was
I entirely mistaken? Did those pretty
smiles and glances of yours mean noin
ing? Have I deceived myself through
By this time Mary had disengaged her
bands and had covoreu nor iuoe witu
"Answer me. Moll!" Lovel cried
"Did you not guess that I lovod you
did not you know it?"
"I used to fanoy you did," she an
swered, with somothing like a sou stop
Dinar her eviTV now and thon, "but you
wore so long away, and I board nothing
of you, I came to think at last it was
only boyish liking, that it was merely
beoause we had grown np together as
playmateB. Then my father and
mother loll into suon sutiuen uii
Acuities, at you have been told; and in
all their trials and troubles Mr. Teraplo
was so good and kind; ho helped them
in so many ways; and at last, when my
father on his doath-bed told me that our
faithful friend wanted mo to be his wife,
when my father told me bow contented
and happy he should die if I only con
sented how could I rofuso? You had
been away so long, and you had never
sid a word to me of lovo, and I did not
know that you had not forgotten mo.
And so my dear father died in peace, and
I was married to Mr. Temple. 1 have not
boen unhappy with him; be has been so
good to me always; he has trusted me so
fully,and bos tried to please me in every
way. I have attempted, in return, to be
a good wife to him. I have resolutely
put aside ull my old hopes and dreams,
and have"
"Your hopes, Moll! Did you say your
hopes? said Lovel, passionately.
"Yes; thoy were hopes once!" she
"So you loved me, Moll, after all!" he
oried. "Tell me that you did love me?
Answer me, if only for the sake of the
happy years we passed togother as chil
dren; give me that shred of consolation;
toll mo that you did love mt?"
"I never knew mysolf how much until
this mcrning,"she replied, simply.
He caught her bands n his and pressed
his lips upon them as if ho were beside
himself, and she heard him muttering
some impassioned words as if he wore
hardly oonsoious of what he was Baying.
Sho submitted; she let him kiss her
hands and press them in his. It Boomed
to her like a dream, from which she
would awake suddenly and find herself
in the sunny home in the picturesque
New Forost village.
"You are shivering. Are you cold,my
darling?" were the words that roused her
at last.
She put hei hands to hor ears wildly,
as if to shut out tho sound of the words.
"You must not say that to me, Dick,"
she said. "You must not say any more
to me, but tako mo home as quickly as
possible. I am cold and ill and mis
erable. Lot us walk on."
And she startod forward with a rapid
and dotormined step, as if resolved that
there should be no more conversation.
Hor mind was in a whirl, and above all
her so) f -reproaches the tendor tone of
that word of endearment wus ever re
ourriug. She was no longer over
whelmed by anxiety as to the concern of
hor husband and her friends. Those
feelings had beon entirely dispolled by
tho emotions of tho last few
Lovel's passionate words, by her own
sensations of nttor, hopeless misery; and
if sho longed to bo at home it was that
sho might shut horself up and think over
the incidonts of tho day undisturbed.
And thon she rememborod that he had
said ho should begone tomorrow; he
had said that she would not see him
again, and sho felt instinctivoly that it
was true. What should she do to-morrow
and tho dy after to-morrow and all
the davs through wnioh she would have
to live? How oould bIio over be happy
again? How oonld she ever even appear
to bo happy f u her quiet home? Hither
to sho had had no excessive feeling one
way or the other. She had not beon very
happy, and she cortuinly had not been
very unhappy; but this one day had al
tered everything. From the momont in
that morning whon her old friond and
playmate hail come to her in the garden,
sent by her husband to givo hor a wol
oome surprise, she had felt as if she
were a different porson. She had dropped
all the flowers that sho had picked and
bad stood before him unable to speak;
and at the first sound of his voioo she
had burst into tears. That sho had after
wards attempted to acoount for by say
ing that ho reminded her of her home,
her dead parents, her ohiklhood.
"What should she do? she asked her
self over and over again. How should
she live on? She knew now that her
heart had been with Dick all along, and
she folt that those girlinh hopes and
dreams of hers.those undefined thoughts
and scruples which bad made borate lay
her marriage to the utmost limit were
all for him.
They had nearly crossed the plain
whon Mary turned round to Lovel, who
had been walking silently beside her,
and stopping suddenly, said:
"I do not remember crossing this
broad expanse of land, do you?"
"ToBpeak frankly, I do not," answered
Lovel. "But there are conditions of
mind in which field and forest are much
alike, and I must own that I was not ob
serving the beauties of nature as I came
along. I certainly do not remember this
plaiu, however."
Mary looked about her in dismay.
Everything appeared unfamiliar. She
was oonviuood that they had never passed
that sombre line of pine trees that stood
out against the sky on the summit of
the easy hill they were climbing.
"We must turn baok," she said
decisively. "We have missed our way;
and all we can do is to retrace our steps
until wo get iuto the right road."
"But are you sure of that?" said Lovel.
"It soems to me that it will be very diffi
cult to retrace our footsteps under the
trees, to say nothing of finding the path
we have missed. Do you not know what
part of the forest this is? Do yon not
know in what direction we are going? I
feel very unwilling to go back beneath
the trees; it is so damp there, and you
might be cold, in spite of the fact tha it
is See how mifty it all is."
"I must go back through the cold, and
the mist and the damp, however," said
Mary, and back she went, resolutely,
walking side by side, in utter silence.
"Dick, this is dreadful!" Mary ex
claimed, at last. "I do not know where
we are. or where we are going, and the
forest is bewildering. I heard Mr. Tem
pts say that he lost himself in it once for
hours at night;. but I could not believe
ho was not trying to frighten me. Now
I can understand it. Still I think we
are going in the right direction; yet,
after nil. the trees do not seem so thick
or the grass and forns so high."
"What will your friends do?" asked
Lovel. "Will thev start off to find you,
do you think? What will Mr. Temple
"I dare say he will guess what has
happened, and will wait at home for me,
for some timo at least," uuswered Mary.
"I have often heard him speak of the
folly of searching partios starting too
Boon. Then they will all lull him thut
yon aro with me; and ho trusts me bo
fully that he will fear nothing."
"Thore is one thing that I will make
you do," said Lovel, "and that is, rest
yoursoir a little while. You will be ill
after all this fatigue."
Mary thought, too, that sho should bo
ill; but sho said nothing.
"If yon will oonsent to rest a few mo
monts," Lovel continued, "I will make
up a fire bore. This furze will burn
splendidly; and I have some maichos in
my pocket."
"That will be capital," said Mary
brightly; "and it any of them oome back
to look for us, the light of the tire will
attract them."
Quick as thought he made apilo of
furze and dried leaves, and sot fire to it.
Tho flames did not grow rapidly, because
of tho damp; but Mary drew near grate
fully, and held herslendor hands towards
the burning pile.
"How cheerful it looks!" she said , as
Lovel banked it up on all sides. "I sup
pose you have often made a fire like this
before. Just think how delighed we
should have been at this adventure if we
had been children."
He laughed, and sighod too, and stood
still beside her, looking with melancholy
eye at the crackling leaves and branches.
Mary glanced round with something
like awe; the trees seemed bigger anu
blacker than ever; innumerable shadows
appeared to be grouped-in the back
ground; it looked as if every inoh of the
ground was moving in a ghastly, ghostly
fashion; and, as she raised her eyes to
the canopy of leaves and boughs over
hor head, she funoied she saw endless
varieties of faoes and forms peering
down at her, the faces laughing
malioionsly, the long arms pointing to
her. With a beating, throbbing heart
she turned quickly to her companion,
and putting her hand on his arm, said
"I am almost frightened, Dick; tho
trees are so full of shadows!"
"You nood not be frightened; I will
take care of you," he answered; ho drew
her cold, trembling band within his arm,
aud held it firmly.
She let him do it. She dared not
trust horsolf to remonstrate; and they
stood together, ner arms in his, hor band
in his, in the light of the fire, afraid to
spoak to each other, afraid to look at
each other. Suddenly, in tho dead
silence a silence bo intenso that they al
most seemed to hear each other's heart
boating there arose a far, far distart
sound. It was bo faint that though they
both heard it, they both thought it was
fancy. Thoy listened, aud heard it again,
and presently again a little more dis
tinct this time. "
"Did you hear that sound, Dick?"
asked Mary, raising her eyes to his face.
"What does it sound like to you? Is it
not Binging? Hurk! There! It is more
distinot now! Yes, it is singing! They
are coming to look for us. They are
singing 'O hills and vales of pleasure.' "
With a bitter cry, he drew his arms
round her and clasped her to him.
"My littlo Moll, they are coming to
tako you from me!" he murmured, as he
bout his hoad over the pole face on his
Tho sound of the gay singing came
nearer and nearer, and presently there
was a loud "Halloo!" that echoed round
and round them.
"God only knows why this agony
should bavo been reserved for me," said
Lovel, speaking in a low, quick voico.
"It will sorve some purpose of His, I
must suppose. I cannot see why I should
not have been allowed to have you for
my very own; but I can only try to be
lieve there is some reason. No ono, how
ever, can control one's thoughts aud
hopes; aud in that world to which we
are going, in thut life that follows after
death, surely we shall meet there at last,
and I shall hold out my arms to you, and
bo f reo to clasp you iu them forever!"
"Diok, this is worse than death!" she
said, faintly.
"They are calling again. I must
answer. Kiss mo ouoe, my little Moll, if
only for the sak of my long love, my
wasted hopes! Kiss me once!" he said,
passionately. And sho raised her white
face and kissed him.
"Halloo!" cried Lovel, walking hur
riedly iu the direction where the sounds
of musio had come; and "Halloo!" rang
through the woods around, and in a few
moments he was surrouuded by the bois
terously merry party of young people.
"Where is Mrs. Temple?" was the cry.
"She is still crouching by the fire I
made for her, "answered Lovel, speaking
as unconcernedly as he could. "You
see, we lost our way. Of course I knew
nothing about it, and Mrs. Templo has
been nervous and cold. Sho ought to get
home as soon as possible. To tell you
the truth," he added confidentially to
one of the party, "I am exceedingly glad
that you huve come up; for you will be
able to see her home, and I wanted to go
to the next village, from which it will be
easier to reaoh the station to-morrow
morning. It is a matter of life and death
to me to catch that first train."
Hereupon one of the men volunteered
to show him "a bit of the way," and
Lovel started off, determined to find his
road across the forest in some way and
to leave England and to end his life on
the other side of the Atlantic
In the general confusion and laughter
and acclamations of Mary's friends, no
one noticed Lovel's curiously abrupt de
parture. The young man who volun
teered walked about half a mile with
him, and did not find him particularly
As for Mary, her friends took her
Lome; and as they were afraid, from her
excessive cold, that the damp had given
her a touoh of that ague and fever often
consequent upon exposure in the even
ing mists of the forest, tney did not
tease ber with questions or jocularities,
but left her to her own miserable and re
morseful thoughts.
In a letter Lovel reoeived some months
later, in America, from his brother in
England.tho following passage occurred:
"You will be sorry to heir that poor
Mary Templo-Mary Vane that was, you
know-is dead, it appears that she
caught a cold, some time in the Bummer,
by walking in the forest at night, and
sUe never recovered from tho effects of
it. She had a bud attack of fever, and
regularly wasted and piuod away. vVbat
a blow this would have been to you when
you were o boy!"-New York Mercury.
Dress vs. Drains.
Among tho many arguments put for
ward by tho ingenious advocates of dress
reform it has never occurred to them to
lay Btress upon the artistio advantages of
simplicity of attire on the stage. At
present, according to the singularly in
teresting and cliaractoristio letter which
M. Aloxuntlre Dumas bos addressed to
M. Francisque S.ircey, irrational dress is
eating the heart out of the Parisian
tl eater-"If the theater is to attain its
ancient standard of lofty morality the
costumes must at least bo brought into
harmony with the spirit which of
necessity must prevail in a sohool of
morals. Noblo simplicity was a striking
feature of the ancient drama, and cos
tumes and masks were indispensable
neoesHitits. But whero is that simplicity
now? "Not to be found, though sought."
The toilets worn on tho stage are
not only the opposite of simple
and suitablo, but, what is fur
worse, thoy preoccupy the mind
of the actress to such a degree that the
act of aoling is neglected, and all her
attention is directed fo ward the best dis
play, not of her talent, but of ber gor
geous robes. 'It no longor matters,'
says M. Dumas, 'whether the actress
plays her part well or ill; it only matters
to her whether she is wearing a rich
robe, such as has never been seen be
fore.' She only watches for the effect
created by her dress; the genius of the
author is forgotten iu the art of tie mil
liner. The dress, which often arrives
only at the last minute, is a constant
sou roe of uneasiness. The actors have
to remain at a respectful distance in or
der to avoid the long train which is ad
justed during the representation by littlo
'coups de pled en arriors,' nngracefnl
kicks, without which, however, she would
breai her hose by treading on her train.
"Formerly the question about dress
did not exist, it was not secondary. And
now suddenly it has become of greatest
importance with the ladies; it has been
the' cause of much secret annoyance,
sometimes of great soandal. This un
lucky, ridionlous and immoral revolu
tion in dross is by no means due to tal
ented actresses; they would never think
of oovering themselves such ruin
ous tinsel of a fashion 'just out,' or even
not yet 'out.' In the middlo of a soeno
deserving the close attention of an audi
ence, a female appears on the stage. She
has only to say a few words and these
she generally says badly, but hor noisy
'herness' coming in contact with every
piece of furniture on the stage diverts
the thought? of all from tho drama. 'It
is one of the features of our time,' saj
its apologies; 'it is a correct representa
tion of our customs.' But does the pub
lic, asks M- Dumas, the real public, de
mand such unwholesome luxury? It is
but disgusted by it, and learns to regard
all actresses with contempt. There is,
however, ono section of the publio, which,
indeed, takes deep interest in these
de'ails. The moment one of thoso glit
tering, strutting personages appears on
the scene, the opera gla9s of the "femme
du monde" is fixed on her rich apparel
as the sportsman's guu is fixed on tho
rising pheasant. The piece is usually
interrupted by such murmurs through
out the house as 'it is hand embroidered,'
'it is English,' 'it has at leastjooet 300,'
'I came on purpose for this.' Women of
real artistio worth, who have no other
resources and who wish for nothing but
to display their talent, are hopelessly
bundicapped. Nor is it only from an ar
tistio point of view that the dominance
of dress is to be lamented. Morally it is
even more deplorable. It is impossible
that on an income whioh is large only in
exceptional oases such luxury can be
afforded. How the money is obtained is
notorious. Nor is the practice loss de
plorable because it is almost universal."
The MoultD.
There is a little lady whom you have
regaled at your expense, and very un
willingly withal. She generally heialds
her coming with a song that is anything
but soothing, aud sho is so persevering
that even the strong "bars" with which
you protect yourself are not proof
against hor persecutions. You have all,
no doubt, exeicised a little strategy with
the .mosquito, and when ' the little tor
ment was fairly settled, made a dexter
ous movement of the band and, with a
Blap, cxolaimod : "I've got him this
time!" No such thing; you rever got
him iu your life, but probably have
often succeeded in crushing her," for the
male mosquito is a considerate gentlo
man. In lieu of the piercer of the fe
male, ho is decorated with a beautiful
plume, and has such a love of home
that he seldom sallies forth from the
homo where he was born, but contents
himself with vegetable rather than aui
mal juices. The mosquito was not born
a wingod fly, and if you will ex
amine a tub of rain water that
has stood uncovered and unmolested for
a week or more during any of the sum
mer months, you may see it in all
its various stages. You may see the
female supporting herself in the water
with her four front legs crossing the
hinier pair like the letter X. In this
support made by the legs she is deposit
ing her eggs, which are just perceptible
to the naked eye. By the aid of a lense
they are seen to be glued so as to form a
little boat, which knocks about on the
water until the. young hatch. What
hatches with them? Why, those very
wrigglers whioh jerk away every time
you touoh the water. They are destined
to live a certain period in this watery ele
ment, and cannot take wing and join
their parent in her war song and house
Invasions, till, after throwing off the skin
afew times, they have become full grown,
and then with another moult are changed
to what are technically known as papa.
In this state they are no longer able to
do anything but patiently float with their
humped backs at the surface of the water,
or to swim by jerks of the tail beneath,
after the fashion of a shrimp or lobster.
At the end of about three dayt they
stretch out on the surface like a boat,
the mosquito bursts the skin anJ
gradually works out of the shell
which supports hVduHT-
eai operation. She rest.8 84
long legs on the anrface 1. '" k
monts till the wing, haU0xr'eS.
become dry, and then flies .P.?d,(1 N
fill her mission, . totally"' to &
to what Bhe was a few hon ?wtaniN
no more able to live in fore. suh
did then than $1
wnmlorfnl !.,.. ... Ti. ' 1 us' It it
Even the bird has to loarn r ' 5
wings by praotico and slow deoS. "
the mosquito uses ber new k
organs of flight to perfection T
start! In this transVSj f 5
aqnatio to an turial life th Iroi it
first breathed from a long fi
tail, next through two tuta
noarthe head, and finally ti hor
series of spiracles along th i iffi
From a , calculation, VatWH
Latonr, the mosquito in flichi . t
its wings 3000 times a minuteC
of motion lio.,!!- 7 "VT '"Pldil.
who have traveled a summ J0"
lowor Mississippi or in the n Ju
these trKZ
drive everyone from the boat .y? tteJ
con sometimes only be run with
on the Northern Pacific i by kf'01
smudge in the baggage car and tfll1
of all tho coaches open to the furX?
bravest man on th flw.. l. W
not cross somn nf ti.A " ltt
dank prairies of northern Minnetou
Jefferson's Saw Mill,
The following story is told of Pri '
in it; ' ""Kooupoij,
Jefferson was a good man, but waif.,
from practical in some things. When
was in Franoe he was vervmnch Ant
with the utility of windmills, n,
thought they were wonderful initita.
tions and cost so little to run. Heotnri
a large quantity of timber on m0M
tain much highor than Mouticello. ,C
a mile off. He purchased in Frana,
windmill at the cost of $13,000, and hid
it taken to the top of tho mountain Ht
had for a neighbor a bluff old fellow
named Cole. One day Cole came to tea
him, and Jefferson took him up to when
he was having his mill built. It wM
much as they oould do to climb the
steep ascent. When Cole recovered tin
breath ha had lost in getting np the
mountain, he said: "Mr. Jefferson jon
have a splendid saw mill, and it is in t
splendid place to catch tho vin k.i
. " - , U
how are you going to get the logs npto
it to saw from?" The author of the
"Declaration of Tnlonpn,lnn" .l.i
... 1' Bhuinu
like a man suddenly awakened from i
delightful dream, and quickly uii
"Here, Cole, how! Whatr And then',
relapsing into abstraction, led the vaj
down the mountain toward Monticello.
Tho wind mill was nevar nnmnlntail .n,l
years after the machinery was sold for
uiu iron.
Oval Versus Round Waists.
The more closely a woman oan i
her bust to approximate to the shape ol
a peg-top, the prouder and happier she
is. Why the peg-top has attained , to the
high distinction of serving as' amolel
for woman, is one of the many puzzles
conncoted with dress. The Greeks who
certainly know something about the hu
man form assigned to their ideal
waist dimensions auite intolerable to an
English woman of to-day. Moreover,
they made it oval, whereas the modern
waist is round. It is a physiological
fact that there is about an oval waists
delightful suppleness and elasticity,
while the round waist so common at the
present day is hard, rigid aud unsympa
thetic. The fact is that some women are
blessed with waists naturally small, ind
oval as every waist naturally is, while
other women less favored by nature, are
determined to outdo the smallness at no
mattor what cost. But no discriminat
ing critio can ever fail to perceive the
difference between natural and artifioi&l
smallness. Perhaps if this wers better
undorsood; women would cease to rain
their health and weaken the muscles of
their back, by going out in a tight fitting
cuirass, even at the risk of oppearing to
depart conspiouoesly from woman's or
dinary dross. They would then find
that some other problems, such S9 dis
tribution of weight, would settle them
selves without much difficulty. London
Hid in an Old Dog House.
Among the arrivals by the steamship
Virginia of Boston, was ayoungmn
who earne aoross as a stowaway. He
give hij name as James Walsh, and h
rsidenco as Liquid street, Liverpool.
While the vessel was loading at Liver
pool Walsh managod to aeorete himse
in an old dog house in the forward psrt
of the ship, where ho remained until tM
it,, f lliia nnrt. Tot
mill hi ui mu icoaci n. u.u i- - ,
voyage lasted two days, during wnioa
time the boy's clothing, shoes and feet
were badly bitten by rats. His supply
of food gave out on the fourth day, but
being afraid of being thrown overboara,
ho remained until the vessel touched tM
wharf. When leaving his kennel be wM
seen by a sailor, who, learning of tue
boy's adventure and seeing his destitute
condition, generously furnished him
with Borne food and a suit of clotuee.
The boy left the vessel and after wander
ing about Charleston a few days was
taken by a Mrs. Kerr, who resides on
Chamber street in Charleston, where - m
is at present being kindly cared or.
Walsh is a bright, intelligent, good loox
ing lad, but has never attended a school,
and while at home his occupation w
that of a dancer and serio oomio sing
in a publio house. He Bays that n
mother is dead, and on aooount 01 u
hashness of his father, and learning
the many advantages of earning a im
in this country be was induced to corns
He is a very clever danoer and intends,
if possible, to go upon the stage n
means of obtaining a livelihood-
The rage for-painting phqn(,,(., 'j
flower pieces among the ladles ib sun
its height. If yon cannot learn to F
decently go to a more accommod'1"
teacher who will do your painting i
you. Then all you will have to do is v
sign yocr name.
This is the season for abopping. Th'Hy
cents for luncheon is enough capih"
work on. aa a ladv can have just v
dreadfully awfully good a time pu1B
over the entire stock of dozen or
stores without money as with it.