Feinberg/Whitman Box 26 Folder 46 Literary File Poetry File "The Common Place" March 1890 Printed copy. "Why Did She Sin?" A Complete Novel By GEORGES OHNET MARCH. 1891. MUNYON'S A MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CONTENTS: Why Did She Sin?—Illustrated, . Georges Ohnet. "Light"—Poem— Algernon Swinburne. Who is to Blame?—Poem—Illustrated, J. M. Munyon. Her Confession—Illustrated, Colonel Thorndike. The Commonplace—Poem—Illustrated Fac-simile, Walt Whitman. A Fair Recluse—Illustrated, Alice S. Dudeney. After the Snow and the Shroud—Poem, Joaquin Miller. Memories of Lincoln—Illustrated, Colonel J. Matlack Scovel. Convicted by a Monkey, Shooting Wolves and Wildcats, " We Meet, We Look, We Part,”—Poem, Father Abram J. Ryan. Driven To Shame, . The Old Familiar Faces—Poem, Charles Lamb. Mother and Child, . Dora Harvey Vrooman* Our Young Folks, . Dora Harvey Vrooman* Bruce and the Spider—Poem, Fashions, . . . Women's Council, . . Cookery, . . . . Mary Dudley. Music—"Homeless I Wander," A Love Tragedy by Telephone—Illustrated, A Rare Coincidence—Poem, Charles M. Snyder. The Little Town O'Tailholt—Poem, James Whitcomb Riley. Love's Faithfulness—Poem, Advertisements, . . . Single Copy, 15 Cts. Yearly Subscription, $1.50. VOLUME VII. NUMBER 2 Munyon Magazine Company, Philadelphia. Copyright, 1891, by J. M. Munyon. Entered at Philadelphia Post-Office as second-class matter Some Children Growing Too Fast become listless, fretful, without energy, thin and weak. But you can fortify them and build them up, by the use of SCOTT'S EMULSION OF PURE COD LIVER OIL AND HYPOPHOSPHITES Of Lime and Soda. They will take it readily, for it is almost as palatable as milk. And it should be remembered that AS A PREVENTIVE OR CURE OF COUGHS OR COLDS, IN BOTH THE OLD AND YOUNG, IT IS UNEQUALLED. Avoid substitutions offered. 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Hoyt & Co Lowell Mass. 25 [cent sign] SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS CROWN PERFUMERY CO'S. ALL DRUGGISTS. CRAB APPLE BLOSSOM [*2-92-218.14*] "WHY DID SHE SIN?" BY GEORGES OHNET. MUNYON MAGAZINE COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. Printed by Munyon Magazine Company, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, United States of America. Page two Why Did She Sin? Georges Ohnet. After an excellent dinner, we were sitting, five of us, smoking, in the private room of Maitre Bernard Pellier, longing blissfully in wide easy chairs, our heads thrown back, and ejecting rings of blue smoke, which floated up to the ceiling at regular intervals. Besides our host, the lawyer, and myself, there were Duverney, the famous painter of modern nude; Burat, Solicitor General to the theatrical world and the most dreaded tongue at the bar; and little Baron Tresorier, of the Stock Exchange, one of the most elegant fencers of Paris. In the drawing-room the ladies, to cheat the time, were discussing the fashions and flaying their most intimate acquaintances alive. So we had the evening before us, and a conversation begun at table, just as dessert was ending, and interrupted by our leaving the dining-room, now suddenly revived, thanks to Duverney"s eager and vehement denunciations of the absorption of all the products of art and luxury by the Semitic race. He rode his hobby at a hand gallop. "There is nothing for anyone but the Jews!" he exclaimed. "Everything fine or good under heaven or on the face of the earth, everything which art, commerce, or industry can produce that is beautiful or exquisite, inevitably falls into their hands by the law of the highest bidder. Is there a fine picture or perfect statue for sale? All Jewry is down on it. It is swallowed up, engulfed n the Ghetto, and seen no more. The owner of the opera-box dies; at once the place hitherto filled by an aristocratic family, whose title dates back to creation of the subscription list, is occupied by one of the Tribe, recently enriched by some "boom" or "ring" with a name ending in heim, or (89) 90 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. er, or mann, handling their opera-glasses even in a way which proves that not so very long ago they sold them over the counter. Is there an estate for sale, shootings to let? Who gets it? One of the Nation. And they are all Barons or Counts, unless they are Princes; created by the Pope, too! Oh, yes, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob go to Rome for their patent of nobility, and the Vicar of Christ on earth grants it–for a consideration." "Good interest on the thirty pieces of silver," suggested Burat with a smile. Baron Trésorier, who had for a minute or two been figetting with impatience, could contain himself no longer, and, turning to Duverney, he said : "All that is pure twaddle, empty declamation imitated from the latest anti-semetic magazine articles. You are not talking like the rational and slightly sceptical Parisian that you are, but like a Wallachian squireling, illiterate, credulous, and furious over a crying debt owing to the usurers of a country town. Come, now, what the devil have they done to you, these monopolizers with heim or mann to their names ? They buy your best pictures very dear, they ask you to dine and dance in houses splendid with lovely things; they invite you to the shootings you grudge them, and put up more pheasants within shot of your barrel than you ever saw even in your dreams. They have charming wives and complaisant mistresses, and are not even jealous. All the money which constitutes their crime, they spend for your benefit, your comfort, your amusement, and your relief; for it is no more than justice–what do you think?–to say that their charity is inexhaustible and unprejudiced. It makes no distinction of Jew and Christian in distributing its benefactions; all who suffer, baptized or no, as may be, are equals in the measure of their generosity." "That is indisputable," said Bernard Pellier, "and nothing repels it, not even ingratitude. I know of a whole district in the neighborhood of Paris which simply lives on the liberality of a lady, by birth a Jewess, whose bright talents and divine kindness might serve as an example to the best Christian of us all. There is not a poor family to be found within ten miles of her house. This admirable women goes so far as to have the firewood in her forest cut, bound and carried home to the villagers that they may not have the trouble of fetching it! And do you suppose that they are grateful?" "Devil a bit! There is no form of petty vexation, or trumpery annoyance to which she is not subjected. With a single word she could starve the whole posse of them. But she endures all their mean conduct and persists in doing good for the pleasure of it, as a dilettante, and she does not advertise it in the society papers. You only find it out by chance." "Come, Duverney, on your conscience–" "Say on your palette." Burat put in. "Painters have no conscience. They have only color–And even that–" "But really and truly," Tresorier resumed, "do you suppose that the philanthropy if our fellow-Christians is exercised with any such simplicity or avoidance of advertisement. Look here, I can tell you a story of quite recent facts which will show you another side of the question so roughly handled by your modern Fragonard–" "Trésorier, no nonsense!" cried Duverney protesting. "Say Boucher, and say no more about it," said Burat. "What do you mean to hint by saying Boucher?" asked the painter laughing. "Boucher's for intelligence." "Thank you. Very neat! Go on, Trésorier." "Well," said the stockholder, "some little time since there were on my list of clients an Italian and his wife, who had come to Paris to live in style and in society; the husband, a very noble personage, formerly a captain of Cavalry, who had retired to marry; the wife, very pretty and very rich, her father being a great contractor enriched by the demolitions and rebuilding which have altered the face of Rome and Naples within these few years. They kept house in very good style, nothing showy as might have been feared from Italian taste,–solid and sober luxury. The husband, to improve his income, gambled on the Bourse, but MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 91 very judiciously dealt in sound investments at moderate interest; just enough to bring him in about twelve per cent. one year with another–unambitious sort of people. The Count–I shall call him nothing else, the subject being too delicate for me to mention his family name –had made my acquaintance by giving me his orders. During the summer we came across each other at Trouville, and he there introduced me to his wife. The following winter they asked me to dinner to meet a very good set, and the Count had a pretty shooting box out by Grœtz, we became excellent friends. "About two months ago I went back to my office after the Bourse was closed, at about half-past three, and just as I was opening the door of my private room, I was stopped by the head clerk in charge who told me, with a very strange manner, that there was a lady in there waiting for me. 'A lady? What lady?' He did not know her. She was very well dressed, quite young, and seemed a prey to some violent agitation. She had been sitting there for above an hour, close to the window, and gazing into the street as if in terror. 'You might fancy,' he said, 'that she was afraid of the police.' I immediately thought of a possible fling of vitriol. Of course, if a man has any connection with the wicked world his conscience is not absolutely clear, and nowadays women take everything so tragically! However, I was not going to show any uneasiness before my head clerk; I went very deliberately to the door which stood ajar. I took a precautionary peep into the room, and at once hurried forward; I had recognized my charming Italian Countess. She rose abruptly and came to me with outstretched hands, her eyes dim and her face full of distress. " 'At last!' said she. 'I have been here such an age–I was afraid you might not come in at all–' " 'But what, Madame, can be the matter? To what can I owe the pleasure–' "I was preparing a due dose of humbug; but she checked me with feverish impatience and said in a husky voice: " 'Do not talk, listen. What I have to tell you is so dreadful that a minute more and I should not perhaps have the courage––Oh! it is horrible, but I must –You alone can save me!' " 'Save you?' " 'Yes–Say nothing, let me speak, and don't look at me. I should not find strength to tell you–what you must hear.' "We exchanged a glance of terror, she quaking at what she had to tell, I very uneasy as to what I might have to learn. For that such a woman, proud, intelligent, and accustomed to every social propriety and safeguard, should come before me in a state of such utter moral disarray, proved her to be in some disastrous predicament and threatened by fearful peril. She groaned, and the tears glistened in her eyes I heard her murmur: 'Good God! to have to make such a confession! Would it not be better to die? But my husband–my boy–' "She wrung her hands and her whole expression was one of deep despair. " 'But come, Madame,' said I with some emotion, 'explain the case, since you regard me as your possible deliverer. Do not leave me in suspense; do not remain in suspense yourself. It is too terrible! What has happened? What has anyone done to you?' "She turned very pale, her eyes seemed to sink into their sockets and her lips quivered with horror as she made her confession: " 'I was taken into custody, two hours ago, at the Paradis des Dames– the great shop–for theft–' " 'For theft?' I echoed, so preposterous, so absurd did it seem. " 'Yes, for stealing a piece of lace–' " 'And the piece of lace?–' " 'Was found in my possession.' " 'Some clever shoplifter, seeing she was watched, had passed it on to you without your knowledge–' " 'No.' "This 'No' fell like a paving-stone on my brain. I stared in blank dismay at this woman, well-born, carefully brought up, of refined mind and elegant manners, as she stood there before me, woe-begone and crushed, confessing that this stolen lace had been found in her possession, and not by any accident independent of her own will. 92 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. "But then–' I stammered out. " 'Then it was I who took it–hid it–stole it–' she vehemently cried. " ' You Madam? You?' " ' Yes, I. How did it happen? I cannot tell you, but so it is, nevertheless.' " ' I went to the shop to buy various things. I had been to several counters and paid for what I had bought. I was going away when, happening to pass through the linen department, my attention was attracted by a great display of lace. There were some exquisite pieces, particularly one of point d'Alençon about as wide as my hand, of superb design. I paused to admire it. The shopman eagerly pressed me to examine it more closely; 'he laid it out before me, and moved by some unaccountable power, I mechanically sat down. He spread it, and he puckered it, and laid it on velvet to show off the beautiful pattern; and I, with my eyes fixed on the delicate lines of the flowing design, was like one bewitched. I no longer heard the shopman's honeyed, vulgar tone; I simply gazed as if my eyes could swallow that adorable lace. My reasoning powers were suspended, nothing remained of my instincts, tastes, and habits; in the vacuity of my mind there was nothing but an immense desire to possess that precious fabric. I must have it, I would do anything to carry it away with me; it must be mine by any means and at once. The shopman talked on. I heard him say: 'It is an extraordinary bargain, the pattern is unique and will never be repeated. We are really giving it away at twelve hundred francs the metre. Only last season it was priced at two thousand. But there is no demand for anything but imitation. Only queens wear such lace as this nowadays.' There was a touch of scorn in his tone, as much as to say, such a marvel is not for the likes of you! He added: 'We have some very cheap Valenciennes, too,' and with a whisk of his hand he folded up the length of Alençon, leaving it on the counter in front of me, and turned to rummage in the large oak pigeon-holes which lined the wall. He brought out a whole heap of pretty frippery, which he unfolded and unrolled and showed off with no less zeal than he had bestowed on the masterpiece which he seemed to have forgotten, but which I was still devouring with my eyes, steadily, without swerving, like a patient beast watching its prey. For a moment he was disturbed in his occupation by another shopman who wanted some information. ' Don't you see that I am engaged?' he said impatiently. But as the other one persisted, he went away for a moment after apologizing to me. That moment was enough. " ' When he came back the piece of lace was under my cloak. It struck me that he fixed his eyes upon me with sarcastic intentness, and that the sound of his was changed. There was a difference which I distinctly felt between the tone he now took in speaking to me and that he had previously used in addressing his customer. Did he guess that I had just robbed him? He could not possibly have seen me. His back was turned when I took the lace, and he could not have missed it. I had extracted it from under the heap of Valenciennes. He did not even touch this mass of lace, nor say anything more to me, it was as if he thought, 'It is a waste of breath; this woman will not buy anything; she steals!' " ' A fearful burning mounted to my brain; I was in such anguish that I had to set my teeth to avoid screaming. I was on the point of tossing the point lace on to the counter, saying: ' I just wanted to see whether you would miss it! ' But a voice within cried out: ' Then you will not have the lace for which you have committed a crime! You cannot possibly give it up. You want it, you adore it. It is part of your being. It will tear your very flesh to surrender it. No, no! Go! Fly! Take it away!' And I could not resist. I was not myself; I was dragged away by some monstrous impulse. I cannot now understand what was going on in my frenzied brain; and yet I remember with horrible exactitude every phase of my inconceivable moral fall. I got up saying: 'No, really, nothing tempts me.' I bowed to the shopman and slowly made my way out through the crowd; slowly, though I was so frightened that I longed to run. My heart beat as if it would burst, my legs shook under me, MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 93 cold sweat stood on my forehead, and I tried to smile; I fancied that the eyes of all these people were upon me as they shoved and elbowed past me. " 'On a sudden, when I was within ten steps of the door, a flash of reason gleamed in my mind. It was as though a blind between me and the light of day had been suddenly withdrawn. I saw my conduct clearly, I condemned the deed I was doing, I was horrified at my fit of folly; I turned about, intending to replace the lace on the counter whence I had taken it. Then a panic fell upon me, even greater than my former dread. Supposing that at the very moment when my conscience had come to the rescue, had led me back to sober sense and honesty–supposing I were discovered and should have ruined myself in the endeavor to atone for my crime! No, I would not go back; I must get out, escape as fast as possible, but without the stolen treasure. I dropped the lace, letting it slip from under my cloak on to the floor. " 'Instantly I heard a voice, saying: 'Madame, you have dropped something!' I looked up and stood transfixed; the shopman who had shown me the lace was at my side, and still smiling. I stammered out: 'No! that parcel is not mine.' " ' Yes, I beg your pardon, it is yours. It has dropped from under your cloak.' " ' A crowd was collecting around, eager for a scandal. " ' Not here, I beg,' I exclaimed. " ' He understood me, bowed, and making way for me to go first he let me into a passage. He pushed open a door, and I was in the office of an inspector. How can I describe my horror, my despair. How I besought that man who had my honor, my life, in his hands–all the future of my family! He listened to me unmoved, and to all my prayers and tears he would only reply: " 'Oh, we know all that. We hear that old story every day. You cannot expect us to be taken in by it. We are robbed to the tune of thousand of francs a month. We are oliged to be severe or we should be ruined! Who are you, Madame? Give me your name and address. " 'Never!' cried I. " 'Then, I must hand you over to the police.' " 'But there is a manager, Take me to the head manager of the business.' " 'Impossible. It is strictly forbidden. M. Bontemps cannot waste his time listening to every woman who is caught thieving. Why, we have them ten times a day! Come, Madame, make up your mind. Your name and address, or the police.' " ' I saw that I could do nothing with that man, he was only a servant and the slave of his instructions, hardened by the daily recurrence of the same sort of thing. Still I could not make up my mind to pronounce my hitherto respected name, so, as the inspector pushed a sheet of paper across to me, I hastily seized a pen, and at a dash wrote what he had asked for. He looked at the signature, and I could read in his eyes the suspicion that I had deceived him; he thought I had given a false name. I had never even thought of such a thing. In a rage I took out a card and almost flung it in his face. He smiled at my having understood him, and bending over the table, in the bold round hand of a retired noncommissioned officer, he wrote above my name these words: Arrested for stealing lace,' " ' I felt a flame of fury, the blood rushed to my face, and hurrying to the door I fled from the room and from the spot." The little Baron looked round at his audience, who, absorbed in his narrative, had forgotten their cigars. "You are taken by storm," said he. "Well, I was more so! To hear the adventure told by its shuddering heroine was enough to startle anyone, I can tell you. I looked at the woman, pale, upset, beside herself, and I asked myself if this were not a night-mare. In the course of my financial career I have witnessed many an emotional scene. A score of gamblers in terror of being 'posted' on the Bourse have gone on their knees on the floor of my office, declaring that if I would not save them they would go forthwith and blow their brains out. I had 94 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE "Madam you have dropped something." MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 95 pity on one or two; to most I was inexorable Those I spared victimized me a second time; those I showed the door to did not kill themselves. So I was hardened, and little inclined to the melting mood. But the Italian lady was so lovely in her despair, she threw herself upon me in such entire good faith, that I warmed to her cause and shared in her despair. I said: "'Well, Madam, and once outside--?' "'Once outside, face to face with myself, at leisure to reflect and understand the situation, I thought I should go mad. When first entrapped I had seen nothing but the horror of appearing before the police, and perhaps being taken to prison; above all I desired to avoid this public disgrace; I should have preferred private dishonor; I had written down what had been required of me. But when I got of out doors in the open air, I was thunderstruck by the notion that there was in the hands of any living creature a material, disgraceful, damning proof, which might be brought against me at any moment and reveal what I had done. I overwhelmed myself with reproaches, I accused myself of cowardice and stupidity. The man had meant to frighten me, but he would not have carried out his threat, or if he had, the police agent would have listened to me, have understood, and would have helped me out of such a dreadful dilemma. And, after all, if he had proved inexorable, I could have appealed to the Prefet; such persons have great powers, have they not? They can take upon themselves to screen the honor of a family? Of course! That is what authority is for. If not, of what use is it at all? And once in the presence of the man who would have sealed my fate, I should have thrown myself at his feet--I should have found words to touch his heart. And he would have saved me! As it is--! "'I was at the moment crossing the Pont Royal. I saw the Seine rolling before me as turbid as my soul, as foul as my thoughts; and a wish to jump in and vanish in the mud which is so like myself flashed through my mind. I cast it out with horror; not out of fear of death, but out of disgust at the thought of the scandal that so base an end must give rise to. I fled across the Tuileries, talking aloud to myself, crying, looking so wild that people turned round to stare at me. "'When I reached the Rue de Rivoli I took a cab to go home, but on the way I felt the utter impossibility of meeting my husband till this dreadful business was settled. Settled! But how? I was helpless; this I had proved only too surely. To whom could I turn? My father is in Italy, I have no relations here, no friends in whom I can confide. I happened to drive past your door. I remembered your name; it was like a revelation from Heaven. I thought of your kindness, the delicacy of your feelings, your exceptionally respectable position-- everything combined to make you the very man to protect and help me. What more can I say? I came up to wait for you--I have told you all, and after this painful confession you will understand that I have no hope but in you, and that everything I care for in the world--the honor and happiness of those I love, their life and mine-- all that is dearest and most precious in my eyes is in your hands to save or to wreck!' "'But how is it to be done?' "'I do not know. You must discover some way. I am at my wits' end, worn out and crestfallen. Think for me, act for me, do what you will, only save me!' "'I am quite ready to do so, believe me. But we must consider a little.' "I was, as you may suppose, greatly disturbed, and in my confusion of mind I tried in vain to think of any course to take which was in the least likely to get this bewitching little rogue out of the mess; and she stood there waiting, her eyes fixed on mine with an expression of unspeakable anguish. For beyond a doubt she was a rogue. My reason told me so, protesting against my compassion, and trying to bring me back to my usual sceptical common sense. But nothing could withstand the strange agitation which was produced in me by the scared eyes of this hussy and her nervously tightset lips. It was she, finally, who suggested a plan of action, for in her extreme distress of mind she was still more lucid that I from mere emotional sympathy. 96 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE "'The paper signed by me must not remain one hour in the hands of those people," she said. 'If you sincerely mean to do your utmost to restore me to peace of mind, go at once to see the manager, this M. Bontemps. He will see you; you will tell him whatever you think necessary, and bring me back that cursed paper.' "I timidly suggested: 'But it is nearly five, and to-day is settling day.' "She looked at me from head to foot, and I read in her face that my settling day was a very small matter as compared with her. And, strictly speaking, this was true. So I took my hat without further words and said: 'I will go, wait for me here." "She gave me her hand and grasped mine with extraordinary vehemence; then, with a sigh, she dropped into an arm-chair. I flew down the stairs, four at a time, gave the address of the famous shop, and jumped into my brougham." "Aha! I am beginning to see the philosophy of our good friend's narrative," said Burat. "Master Bontemps now appears on the scene, my lord of calicoes, prince of cheap gloves, sovereign of cotton-backed satins, a match for Barnum as an advertiser, and ruling divinity of he last page of the newspaper! Rolling in riches too--" "But not very free with his money," said Duverney. "He drove as hard a bargain with me for his portrait, as if I were a sign painter!" "And you let him beat you down?" "Yes, but I put in all the accessories in gold; the arm-chair is god; the table is gold--I even gave him a gold nose; but he did not think it natural-looking, so I touched it with red. He looks like a tavern-keeper!" "It is very like him," said Tresorier laughing. "That is as I saw him in his spacious private office, with a self-satisfied chuckling air, a man secure of wealth and power. When I mentioned my name he gave me a sort of familiarly condescending nod. I disliked him from the first and plunged into business abruptly enough. "'A few hours since, Monsieur, a lady, a friend of mine, under circumstances which I cannot at all account for, was arrested in your establishment by an inspector--' A smile dawned on M. Bontemps' lips. He interrupted me by a question which clinched the matter. 'A thief?' said he. "'A crazy creature out of her mind, quite irresponsible at the time, that is certain, for her social position, her education, her family--' "'A thief, ' repeated the draper with icy calm. "'Very good; a thief. I have come to request you on her part--One of your inspectors made her sign a declaration.' "'It is the usual practice.' "'In the case of professional criminals. But I imagine you draw a distinction between a lady suffering under hallucination-- and who at the very moment of her apprehension was actually ridding herself of the stolen goods--and a creature whose sole occupation is robbing. If you kuew who this lady is--' "'I have not yet had the charge placed in my hands.' "He rang; a clerk came in, bowing as to a crowned head. Bontemps said: "'Send me the chief inspector.' "The man departed. "'I need not say, Monsieur le Baron,' the draper began again, 'that anything I can do to oblige you--' "'Well, what I have come to ask is perfectly simple and it depends solely on you to grant it. You have, under the circumstances, the attributes of sovereign power--' "I flattered him, for I had scented the cad's inordinate vanity. He drew himself up and put on an intolerable air of self-importance, which, however, I was obliged to encourage by a bow. "'You exaggerate my omnipotence,' said he with a pompous modesty, for which I could have kicked him. 'I am not sole master here, I must refer to the board of management.' "'Not in a case of generosity and clemency.' "'In everything which concerns the direction and prosperous working of our common interests.' "The scoundrel was hedging himself already, I could see, behind an irresponsible association, to enable himself presently to refuse without difficulty anything MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 97 anything he might now offer to grant me. The entrance of the inspector interrupted the dialogue. He was just such an old sergeant as the countess had, in three words, led me to expect. "He had a military medal, and was tightly buttoned into his black frock-coat, with a white tie. A bristling grey moustache, a very red face, thick ears as purple as plums. He gave a military salute and stood at 'Attention.' "'A well-dressed lady was brought into you just now, it appears, charged with appropriating certain goods belonging to us?' "'Yes, Monsieur le Directeur, the Countess--' "'Never mind her name. I do not want to know it. What were the goods in question?' "'A length of lace--Point d'Alencon,' replied the inspector. "'Very good. What impression was made on your mind by this--person?' "'Dear me, sir, no very particular impression; it is always the same thing, and the same words. Women, you know--they care very sly. As soon as they are caught they have but one idea, and that is to come round us. They cry, and they beg, and they pray, and they wring their hands; they talk of their husband, or their children, or their mother. But if we let ourselves be taken in they would only laugh at us. A pack of hussies! And if we did not keep an eye on them, they would carry off thousands of francs worth of goods every day.' "'Well, but what about this lady' "'Better manners, better dressed and a better hand at it than the most of them-- but they are all alike.' "'Bontemps turned to me. "'You hear, sir?' "'Yes, I hear.' "The inspector glanced at me. "'This gentleman has come about the lady then? From the Prefecture of Police, no doubt? Then you must know very well, sir--' "I sat dumb; I could not find a word to say. What far-seeing sagacity; this man took me for a detective! "The draper cut his henchman's folly short by saying with an imperious gesture: 'Go!' "The man had hardly turned his back when I gave bent to my annoyance. "'What confidence can you put,' I exclaimed, 'in the judgment and tact of a man who, this moment, and in your presence, took me to be a police agent? I allow that my title and social position are not written on my forehead, but hang it all! I don't look like a bailiff. Your inspector is a dolt, incapable of apprehending the subtleties of a situation, utterly unable to appreciate the difference between an innocent and a guilty woman. And you must grant that none of his replies to your questions--which were explicit enough'--for still I flattered him--'had the circumstantial directness which leads to conviction. He is in the habit of dealing with rogues, consequently he regards every woman who is brought before him as a rogue. He does not know what he is saying; he did not see what was before his eyes. He took a base advantage of the terrors of this unhappy lady. The whole thing is a pure misunderstanding.' "Bontemps had not flinched throughout my defence. He sat looking down with a covert smile. He simply replied: "'But the paper is there, on my desk, signed by your client. That is plain enough ; there is no misunderstanding in that.' He took it up and read aloud: 'I confess to having been caught in the act of stealing--' "I interrupted him; I could not endure it. "'Yes,' said I, 'we know what is written. It is that very paper that I desire you to destroy.' "The man positively jumped. 'But it is our only safeguard. That piece of paper is our security that the accused will not do the same thing again; or, if she does, after a former offence it will go very hard with her. That is what we rely on, when on the first occasion we are content and with a declaration of this kind and carry the case no further If I give it back to you--' "'Then you admit in theory the possibility of returning it?' "'To oblige you.' "I breathed more freely. I had won the battle. But now the point was to ascertain the conditions of surrender, for 98 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. the tradesman swaggering before me was not the man to capitulate for nothing. "'It shall not be said that an honorable man like yourself, Monsieur le Baron, took the trouble of coming to me without getting what he asked for. But on the other hand it is impossible that a house like ours should be allowed to suffer from fraudulent practices'––he had relapsed into his official lingo––'without due precautions being taken by a manager whose business it is to watch over the interests of those engaged in the business. I must do all that lies in my power to protect those interests. You admit that the crime was committed?' "'A crime not carried out––' "'But proven, and for which compensation is due!' "'Compensation––he had said the word. I had been expecting it for a quarter of an hour. The practical solution was now in my own hands. The affair could now be set down at so much for damages. How much was now the question. "'If I understand you rightly,' said I, 'you suggest that I can buy back that piece of paper––' "'As an exceptional favor on our part,' he hastened to put in, 'at the request of a worthy gentleman whom I am anxious to oblige.' "'Most kind! But now that we are agreed in principle and in fact, let us conclude the bargain. How much?' "'The family, you say, are in the best society?' "'Foreign––' I eagerly added. "'Well,' he replied bluntly, 'they are, no doubt, a cheaper lot. Still, these people are rich?' "'Well off, nothing more.' "'They keep a carriage, at any rate?' "'Yes, and two horses. I have no wish to cheat you.' "'You understand; it is but justice. The fine must be in proportion to the situation of the accused." "'Well, well? This fine in the present case, you put at––' "'Fifty thousand francs!' "'It was my turn to jump. "'You are not giving it for nothing.' "'Simply because I will not refuse you. You need not close with the offer; the paper will lie in my drawer. It will be null and void.' "'No, we want it back.' "'Then you must pay for it. And you may rest assured that the money will not go into our till. I shall take care to hand it over––to save you the trouble–– to the public poor-box; it will be divided among the twenty districts of Paris. For the poor, Monsieur le Baron, for the poor!' "I could scarcely believe my ears. I raised my eyes to Bontemps, and he seemed transfigured in my eyes. His vulgar countenance was ennobled, and, so to speak, purified. This grasping, grudging tradesman assumed the evangelic aspect of a Saint Vincent de Paul; I looked to see a little blue cape on his shoulders. He smiled as he looked at me. "'Well, Monsieur le Baron, it is a bargain?' "'It is a bargain!' "I took out my note-book and filled in a cheque on the Bank of France. "'Here is your money.' "'Here is your paper.' "We effected the exchange. He bowed and held out his hand which I shook effusively, and I left him. I had quite got over my first adverse impression. I thought of the dealer as a capital fellow, and as soon as the money was for the poor I did not think the sum too high. The upshot of the business was, nevertheless, that I had just handed over fifty thousand francs to a stranger, and for a woman with whom I had no more than a visiting acquaintance. As I rumbled along, leaning back in my brougham, I began to reflect, and my enthusiasm having flagged a little, left me to discover the first consequences of my act of generosity. What was there to prove that I should ever see the money again which I had just advanced? I had no receipt to prove the payment, and the lady might, after all, not be sensitive on the point of honor. She had most certainly stolen the lace; then would she hesitate to wrong me of my fifty thousand francs?––But how absurd to worry myself about it! Had I not in my pocket the famous document with her signature? I tried to think of any proof, receipt or MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 99 acknowledgment which would be worth so much as that accusing note. I had a spasm of disgust. What! Could I make use of evidence which Bontemps himself had declared would be a dead letter unless her offence was repeated? Was I less chivalrous than this tradesman, less delicate than this shopkeeper? No, I had gallantly advanced the money for a woman; I must make the best of my loss. She might repay me or not as her fancy might direct. Besides, was this the first time I had obliged a fair being? I had often paid away larger sums, and under less romantic circumstances, under less excusable fascination. And all the while I could see my client standing in my room, wringing her hands. She was very pretty in her distress--very pretty! And after all, how did I know that she might not prove grateful? "Again I was not satisfied with myself. I was actually thinking of selling her safety to this unhappy creature! I was not disgusted at thus stating the bargain: 'I have paid to save you; ruin yourself to pay me.' Come, I was evidently in an evil mood; it was not for nothing that I had dabbled in the mud of this dirty business; some splashes had fouled my thoughts. Just as I had come to this unsatisfactory conclusion, the carriage stopped at my door. The easy lolling motion had no doubt favored my guilty reveries, for as I sprang out on the pavement, I recovered myself, and felt as I had felt on quitting M. Bontemps' gorgeous office. I had but one wish; to restore the poor woman who was expecting me, in mortal agony of mind, to peace and security. "I rejoiced in looking forward to her relief, and hurried upstairs. I pushed open the swing-doors of the office and went through into my private room. The fair Italian was where I had left her; she did not seem to have stirred, petrified in her dreadful anxiety. She saw me, she rose. Never, no, my friends, never shall I forget the enquiring look she cast at me. It was a flame which scorched my innermost brain; a consuming magnetic current transmitted along my nerves, thrilling them and leaving me inert and incapable of uttering a word. I held out to her the declaration she had signed. She snatched it, brutally snatched it, like an animal; as if the mere instinct of self-preservation was the only sentiment alive in her, had bereft her of all acquired charm and polish, and brought her back to a state of nature. Twice she read it, felt the paper to make sure that it really was the same that she had written on, and that there was no trick or substitution. Then, with a cry of joy, she flung it into the fire. She watched it burn with an indescribable look of happiness; then turning to me with hands extended, with all her old grace: "'Oh, thank you, with all my heart,' she said in a voice husky with emotion. 'Then he consented to give it to you?' "'To sell it me.' I replied. "She drew back a step. "'To sell it! How--sell it? He dared--?' "'Yes and I did not hesitate. I had the chance and I jumped at it.' "'For how much?' "'Fifty thousand francs!' "'And you paid it on the spot?' "'It was to save you.' "She turned very pale. It was growing dusk, and in the increasing darkness her eyes glittered like two stars. For a few seconds there was a silence which weighed upon me with strange oppression. My heart was thumping violently. I mechanically held out my hand to her; my fair client gave me hers; the velvet skin was burning. I looked at her. She heaved a deep sigh and fell into my arms, as if quite overwhelmed." The little Baron's voice trembled as he spoke these words, as though he were still under the agitating impression of that embrace. "Ha, ha! You stop at a critical situation, my dear fellow," cried Burat. "Are you a novel-writer that you should so successfully have studied 'to be continued in our next?' See what excitement we are in! Duverney is panting; Bernard Pellier is in a cold perspiration; and as for you, the mere recollection puts on a tremolo stop--Come, let us have it at once, all you have to tell us. And in the naturalistic style, if you please. Dot your i's and cross your t's. Do not cheat us of a single detail." 100 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. "Well, gentlemen, at the risk of seeming exceedingly flat, I can only that I have nothing to tell. There was no scene. I had exhausted my evil prompting in the carriage, I suppose. In my own room, close to my clerks, I was the most virtuous of men. The fair Italian, to be sure, had thrown herself into my arms, either from nervous reaction or from excessive gratitude; for a few minutes she was entirely at my mercy. Her lips were very near my own." "Tresorier, you make me blush," Durverney interrupted with a shocked expression. "Oh, this is intolerable!" exclaimed the lawyer; "Burat and Dunerney have spoilt the story with their nonsense. All the interest is lost! Well, how did it end?" " That is Bernard Pellier all over, said Burat. "He must have a denoument. But, lawyer that you are, there never is a denoument in real life. Do you know any stories that finish up so? Only dramatic writers invent such endings, because they must leave off before midnight." " Well, there is a denoument to my story all the same," said Tresorier. "But for that I should have been inexcusable for telling it." "Begin again at that racy scene," Duverney put in. "You were standing--you and the lady--clasped in each other's arms. There was a kiss hovering--did it fall--did it not?--" "Nothing fell. I had all the virtue of my generosity--" "What! not the least little commission on the transaction? Not the smallest percentage?" "Nothing; literally nothing. The lady departed as she had come, and I stayed behind, the poorer by fifty thousand francs at my bankers, but the certainty of her gratitude in my heart. "However, all this is only preliminary; this is where the point of the story lies. I resumed the daily routine of life, when, two days after, on opening my Figaro, my eyes fell on a short paragraph, in these words: 'An act of benevolence which does honor to the commercial world.--Yesterday, M. Bontemps, the well-known manager of the great shop known as the Paradis des Dames, placed the sum of fifty thousand francs in the hands of the authorities, for distribution among the poor of the twenty districts of Paris. This wonderful organizer proves, by the generous use he makes of his immense fortune, that he has not forgotten his own laborious beginning'" "Ah! I see what you are driving at," said Burat. "I begin to discern the moral of the apologue." "I," Tresorier went on, "was utterly amazed. Then an idea dawned in my brain. Why, it is my money the scoundrel is so generous with! Up to the present time it is I who am the munificent benefactor! For I have not been repaid, and perhaps never shall be! Why, this surrender of the paper for the consideration of fifty thousand francs is a shameless speculation! Why, it is pure extortion! Why, the rascal has made a fool of me with the vengeance! Thus piling up Why on Why, I worked myself into such a state of bilious and icy choler that I could no longer contain myself. I rushed to my desk and wrote as follows by pneumatic express: 'Sir, if you had given away the fifty thousand franks I paid you, anonymously, I should have nothing to say but to express my admiration. But, by assuming the merit of an act of charity which costs you nothing, you have done a base thing. If you do not, this very day, send me a receipt for the fifty thousand francs you have just bestowed on the poor of Paris, you will find a full account of the transaction in to-morrow's papers.'" "Ha, ha! And what did Master Bontemps say to that?" "He replied at once by pneumatic express few words: 'If you tell the story--I name the lady.'" "The low cad! He knew how to hedge." "So then I replied with this, to clinch the matter: "if you name the lady, I go to your office to-morrow afternoon and take you by the ears and thrash you before all your clerks.' This settled him. I had the receipt that same evening." "That is what comes of being a match for Merignac. There is no joking with you!" "And to conclude, my dear Duverney, I come back to our starting point--your views about the Hebrew race. You see that every son of Israel is not a 'Jew'; not a few of them are good Christians. And the moral of it is that there are good and bad people of every nation, and that in a liberal and enlightened country like France, religious quarrels are contemptible and puerile." "Amen!--but your fair thief, after all, what became of her?" "The week after her adventure they left for Italy. At the end of a month I received a checque from her father for 102 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. the fifty thousand francs, with a vague note of thanks which led me to suppose that he knew nothing of the circumstances under which I had obliged her. And I thought no more of the young Italian couple, till I one day received a letter with a black edge in which her husband told me, in great affliction, that he had just lost his wife in a very tragical manner. Since they had left Paris she had never got over a deep melancholy which was all the more unaccountable because it was she who had wished to return to Italy. She was deaf to his most affectionate questioning. Now and then she seemed to make an effort to throw off her gloomy apathy; for a day, perhaps, she was full of charm and graciousness as of old; then she sank into despair again. At last, in an excursion to the island of Capri, after a picnic, at which she had been free from depression, the whole party had wandered to the edge of a cliff. She set off walking so fast among the rocks that they could not keep up with her. They called to her, but in vain. Her figure was visible like a sylph's against the blue sky; she looked as if she might fly away. Suddenly her light- colored dress vanished. Every one rushed after her, but when they reached the spot where she had last been seen, the shore spread before them deserted, and the sea on the reef murmured to the silence. In the evening the tide left her on the sand; she seemed to be sleeping calmly as she had done in happier days. "The letter dropped from my hands; the image of the young creature rose before my mind, with her beautiful, searching eyes and quivering lips; I was cut to the heart and a tear of pity and regret trickled down my cheek." Silence fell; it was broken by Burat's sarcastic tones. "Bah!" said he, "you were very wise to have nothing to with that little lady; you would have had nothing but worry. She was mad!" "Light." TO THE MEMORY OF PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. BY ALGERNON SWINBURNE. Love will not weep because the seal is broken That sealed upon a life beloved and brief Darkness, and let but song break through for token How deep, too far for even thy song's relief, Slept in thy soul the secret springs of grief. Thy song may soothe full many a soul hereafter, As tears, if tears will come, dissolve despair; As here but late, with smile more bright than laughter, Thy sweet strange yearning eyes would seem to bear Witness that joy might cleave the clouds of care. Two days agone, and love was one with pity When love gave thought wings toward the glimmering goal Where, as a shrine lit in some darkling city, Shone soft the shrouded image of thy soul: And now thou art healed of life; thou art healed and whole. Yea, two days since all we that loved thee pitied: And now, with wondering love, with shame of face, We think how foolish now, how far unfitted, Should be from us, toward thee who hast run thy race, Pity-toward thee, who hast won the painless place; The painless world of death, yet unbeholden Of eyes that dream what light now lightens thine And will not weep. Thought, yearning toward those olden Dear hours that sorrow sees and sees not shine, Bows tearless down before a flameless shrine; A flameless altar here of life and sorrow Quenched and consumed together. These were one, One thing for thee, as night was one with morrow And utter darkness with the sovereign sun; And now thou seest life, sorrow, and darkness done. And yet love yearns again to win thee hither; Blind love, and loveless, and unworthy thee; Here where I watched the hours of darkness wither, Here where mine eyes were glad and sad to see Thine that could not see mine, though turned on me. But now, if aught beyond sweet sleep lie hidden, And sleep be sealed not fast on dead men's sight For ever, thine hath grace for ours forbidden, And sees us compassed round with change and night; Yet light like thine is ours, if love be light. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 103 WHO IS TO BLAME? BY J. M. MUNYON Shall I raise the broken vessel, Emblem of my light, my love, Now despoiled by man's mad passion Like a soiled and wounded dove? Shall I touch the hand polluted By the libertine's foul shame? Shall I hurl my curses on her Crush her with the guilt and blame? Shall I join the mob's wild fury And her faults the louder swell, Shall I blast the flickering hope Trembling on the verge of hell? Oh, what conflicts rage within me! Fires that tears cannot abate, Wounds that cry revenge, revenge, Wrongs that know no law but hate. Phantoms damned and jealous furies Rack my brain while justice sleeps, Reason now is slave to passion: Manhood groans and pity weeps. I know not how she was tempted, How she struggled to maintain All her sacred vows and honor From the tempter's gilded stain. I was blind to her entreaties, I was dumb to sighs and tears, I was cold and proud and haughty, Filled her heart with doubts and fears. I can see how she has hungered For the love of former days, How she tried to draw me to her By a thousand winsome ways. Have I been as kind and gentle As a husband ought to be? Have I been as true and faithful As my wife has been to me? Have I shielded her from danger, Guarded her from honeyed sin? Did I not unbar the gateway Where the wolf found entrance in? Is my record free from sinning? Is the guilt on her alone? Shall I play the righteous judge And cast forth the killing stone? See her crouching, kneeling, weeping From the curse that I should spare! Hear her pleading and beseeching For the love that she would share! Dry thine eyes the scales have fallen And revealed our sinful life! Pardon grant! The fault was mine! Rise and be my trusted wife. HER CONFESSION. BY COL. THORNDIKE. CHAPTER I. IT was at Rio where I met my Fate, as the novelists say. That is, where I met Camilla Salvati, and became a Fate to her in my turn, It was to be, as the pessimist might say too. Looking back - ah! how regretfully - it is not difficult for me to believe - though I am not superstitious or credulous - that it was mapped out from the beginning, and that she and I were merely puppets in the hands of a motive [*(104)*] force. Call it Fate it you like, or God's will, or a secret power in this world which God allows, and for his own purpose; but it was foreordained, it seems to me at this day, though the mystery is solved, the story is finished and the great dark curtain hangs over it like a pall-over my wasted life and hers, over her deep love and my romance, over the reminiscences of a happiness which was not denied us for a while, and the recollection of which may keep me sane and patient now. I have been a traveler in my time - a great traveler. I had wandered over half MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 105 the world in search of fame and fortune, neither of which had I been lucky enough to secure. In my young days I had been ambitious, vain of the little knowledge and skill which by earnest application to the profession of engineering I had acquired; I had believed in myself until it became forced upon me by experience that I was no wiser than hundreds of my fellow-men. I was sensible enough to realize this, and to accept my position; to fall into my place in the ranks and let cleverer men pass me by; to be content with a subordinate position, where I had once looked for supreme command and the eyes of the world intent upon me. I had been something of a dreamer, but the waking to my worth - my money value - did not daunt me much. After all, I was a fairly rational man. I was able to earn my own living - to put money by - to follow out carefully and closely the schemes of other men. I was a good lieutenant where I should have made a bad commander. I came to be a man on whom great minds could rely, and in my time, and before I was thirty-five years of age, the most difficult and delicate undertakings were entrusted to me care for general supervision. I was steady, if slow -wholly lacking in genius; bu proficient, always, in the grand art of taking pains. With poor ideas of my own, I was yet capable of carrying out successfully the ideas of others. That was my specialty-if I had one of which to boast. I was a good manager, trustworthy and safe. I had not an atom's worth of romance in my disposition, I considered; the wear and tear of a practical life, of facts and figures, of working by scale and to a decimal's point, had not left me any thought for the romance of which the world is as full as it is of sober fact. At five-and-thirty years of age I was somewhat of an anomaly. I had never been in love; nay, more, I had been unable to understand what the passion, as depicted by the poet or the novelist, was like, unable to believe in its existence, ready to set it all down as a fanciful dream of imaginative men, who wrote to order, raved about it, and yet laughed at it themselves. And then I woke suddenly to a real romance in my own life, to a passion which I did not think was in me, and which I could not believe it in my power to raise in any other human soul, much less in one so young and beautiful and accomplished as was Camilla Salvati. Strange was our meeting from the first, that wild beginning of our lives together. I was crossing from the Rio office of our works - where a great railway scheme was in active agitation and I had been summoned from the interior to consider it and state my views - when I felt my arm clasped suddenly by two warm hands which trembled very much. Looking down, to my astonishment I found a slight, graceful, dark-eyed girl at my side, her face flushed by varying emotions, of which fear and anger were predominant. "Your are an Englishman!" she exclaimed; "pray protect me from this man. I ask it of your courage, of your courtesy." "What is the matter?" was my natural inquiry. "He molests me because he is a coward," she ran on, "and I am a defenseless woman. Oh, take my part, please! I am sure you will." It was a scene dramatic in the extreme, and the girls' excitement and distress were palpable and in nowise feigned. She was an object of pursuit, of persecution, and it had suggested itself to her that it would be in my power to act as her defender. "What has the man done?" "He molests me. Wherever I go, he is my baleful shadow." I turned to the man - a short, thin sinewy Spaniard, a gentleman by appearance, with a face possibly as agitated as the lady's. "Have you no other task before you, sir," I thundered, "than oppressing a defenceless girl! Begone, whilst you are safe!" "You do not comprehend. The lady is a friend of mine," he answered quickly, "It is false! You are no friend, you never can be," she cried in the same impetuous tones. "I hate you; I despise you; I pray to God I may never see you again!" 106 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. "I have asked you a simple question, and only one," he said to her; "and you gave me no reply." " I will hold no conversation with you." "His brother, Camilla! I am his brother. You will not recollect." "That is no excuse for your insults, your dogging me like this. Oh, sir, you will stand my friend and protect me from him?" she said, turning to me again. "I am terribly afraid of him. He is mad, I think––I'm sure!" "You hear this lady," I said. "She wishes to be relieved of your presence. Will you go, or not?" The man hesitated; his hand stole to a side pocket and the lady uttered a scream. "Be careful! He will shoot you!" she cried. These were lawless times, and in Rio de Janeiro even a man's life was not always worth a moment's purchase. I shook off the lady's hold upon me, advanced, seized him by the wrist, and swung him suddenly round into the roadway, where he staggered and fell. He sprang to his feet with an oath, and the instant afterwards the report of a pistol rang through the street. There was a shout from one or two of the passers-by, a running of men, women and boys towards us, a disappearance of the man whom I had assailed, and who seemed to vanish in the crowd which had suddenly sprung up about us––and then Camilla was leaning on my arm for support, a frightened girl, very white and scared. She walked with difficulty. I had been struck, though slightly. The bullet had grazed my left wrist; but she was unaware of it, and I did not add to her excitement by allusion to it. My anxiety was for her. "You are not hurt?" I asked. "No; I am faint, that is all," she replied. "Please take me to my home. It is only a few steps further, but I dare not trust myself to go alone, and if you do not mind," she said, almost with a childish pleading, "if you will add so far to my indebtedness." "I am your willing servant." We went on together. At the door of a large house, standing a few yards back from the others, and evidently full of deep shadows within from the many garish sun-blinds before its open windows, she let go my arm and murmured softly–– "Thank you. You have been very kind, very––English. Good-bye!" She would have tripped quickly up the broad flight of steps, had she not become suddenly aware of the slight wound which I had received. "He has hurt you!––you are hit!" she exclaimed. "It is nothing. The merest trifle," I assured her. "You will come in––you will let someone bind up your wrist! You will–––" "It is really nothing; the shot has only grazed the skin," I said, raising my big broad-rimmed straw hat to her. "I am pleased to have been of help to you." "Thank you," she murmured; "it is very kind to say so." Then she inclined her head to my salutation, and watched me for a while proceed along the street, as if anxious to make sure that I was safe, and had not deceived her by my explanation. I looked back and saw her standing there. It was a pleasant picture to me at that hour, and my heart was thrilled by her solicitude. I see her fair face still turned in my direction, her hesitating foot upon the broad stone steps, the sunlight on her face and girlish figure, the smile and simple inclination of the head as I raised my hat to her again. It is one of the many dreams I have had, and this the brightest of them, for here was born the love I had for her, and the love she had for me. It was love at first sight, though we did not guess it, either of us. CHAPTER II. It was at a reception at the residence of one of the principal officials of the Government that Camilla Salvati and I met again. A few days had intervened–– days wherein she had been always in my thoughts, a dream-figure still, a something ethereal and fanciful and apart––for ever apart––from the matter-of-fact world in which I had my being, and been, till then, content with. I knew her at once, though it struck me regretfully that she had failed to MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 107 recognize me. She was the centre of a group, talking with considerable animation. By her side was a tall grey-haired lady, who was probably acting as her chaperon, and whom, by the strange likeness between them, I thought might be her mother. They were both elegantly costumed, with a blaze of diamonds on their dresses, on their necks and wrists, and in their hair––a display of jewelry which even in that semi-Court attracted considerable attention. "Is she not divine to-night, the Donna Camilla?" I heard a male visitor remark. "She is always divine," replied his friend. "So his Excellency thinks," was the dry rejoinder. "Look at his bows and grimaces!" "She flies at high game if she thinks of capturing him," said the other. "It would not be difficult to succeed. His Excellency is desperately smitten, everybody knows!" "His Excellency is too old. And Camilla will marry for love this time!" There was a laugh and then the rejoinder which followed set me thinking. "Camilla Salvati will never marry again. See what homage her liberty brings her––what idolatry!" "Ah! well, the idol is worth worshiping. I would kneel down at the shrine myself, if I had half a chance or half a smile." I looked angrily after these gossipers who spoke thus familiarly, flippantly, of Camilla Salvati; the very mention of her name in this way sounded to me even then a something like profanity. And yet the two men had spoken admiringly, enthusiastically of her, and there was no reason why I should feel deeply aggrieved. Later in the evening, I was formally presented to her. I had sought eagerly for the opportunity amongst my friends and acquaintances, one or two of whom I had hoped might have the honor to know her, and I had been at last successful. Thus we met again––thus our fates, of which I have already prated like a schoolboy, were sealed, for once and aye. She was not surprised at meeting me; I knew a few moments afterwards that she had already recognized me, although neither by look nor sign had she let me think she had. The color flickered upon her face in varying waves whilst I addressed her, and her dark eyes looked away from mine now and then as though my admiration was too palpable and bold. With a sudden grace she turned and introduced me to the lady at her side. "Mother, this is the gentleman who protected me that day from the insolence of Manuel Casti," she said. "I did not know his name until now. Alfred Borthwick, if I remember correctly; is it not?" "Yes, that is my name." "Ah! well," she said with a rippling laugh that was singularly musical, "it is not easy to remember your English names at all, but I have been very successful this time." "You speak English?" I asked. "No. A little French––and that very badly ––is the extent of my poor accomplishments. But you," she added, "you speak Spanish excellently well." "You flatter me." "No, I never flatter," she said with that quickness, that crispness, exaggerated a little more would have been a pretty kind of brusquerie in her, "and I detest anyone who tries to flatter me. I don't know how it is," she added with a slight shrug of the shoulders that was more French than Spanish, "but I do. That is why I dislike so many people, I imagine." "My daughter is hard to please, senor, you perceive," remarked the mother; "but she says what she thinks, and without much disguise. Camilla is what you English call a plain speaker. Is that not the word?" "Hardly," I said. "A plain speaker I seem to identify with a cross old gentleman who says rude things, and is very proud of saying them––especially if they hurt the listener's feelings." "Oh, that is not my Camilla, then," said the mother, with an admiring glance at her daughter. "I can be very cross, and say rude things, too," Camilla remarked quickly. "I told Manuel that I hated and despised him only a few days ago, when this gentleman, kindly stood between me and his insolence." 108 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. "Manuel will never forgive you," said the mother, laughing. "I am glad," she answered, clapping her hands together impulsively. "I rejoice at my plain speaking if that is to be the end of it all, and he passes away from my life. And––" she paused and became aware for the first time that I was carrying my arm in a sling. "Ha!" she cried, "you were seriously hurt, and you would not tell me." "It was deeper wound than I gave it credit for being," I replied; "but the bullet has been extracted, and I am doing very well, they tell me. I am promised the use of hand and arm again in a week's time." "I am very sorry you were hurt," she murmured. "Hardly hurt," I said. "You English are very strange," Camilla said, regarding me gravely as she spoke. "One of my own countrymen, or a Frenchmen would have talked a great deal about this." "Perhaps I have done so at my club." "We ladies could have made a hero of you very easily," Camilla said with a smile. "You were wounded in the defence of one of us, you preceive." "And I am proud of my wound," I said, bowing. "Ah, that is the flattery of which I warned you," she said, coloring again. "No, it is the truth. I am proud– very proud." They were almost all the words which we exchanged at that time. She did not answer my last remark. She looked steadily at me, but with a heightened color. She did not call me flatterer again; she believed what I had said, and the truth disturbed her. And I was proud of my wound. It had introduced me to Camilla; I had been hurt in her service; it was a link of sympathy between us. Before a week had passed we were something more than mere acquaintances; and after that we were friends; presently more than friends. We had met twice: the third time it was at her own house, which I had entered as her invited guest. I was madly in love with her then; no youth could have been more entranced, more swayed by hope or submerged by despair; raised to the seventh heaven by a smile, a look, a gentle word, or cast down to the earth by the faintest suspicion of indifference. There were times when I thought that she would learn to love me –in the good times presently to follow these–that the earnestness, the depth, the intensity of my devotion would carry all before it, and bring her to my arms; and there were strange, dark times, when I thought she was afraid of me, and of that affection which it had grown beyond my power to conceal. "You are a lucky fellow," said one friend of mine, who was quick enough to guess my secret–the first secret I had kept from him. "You will win the richest and prettiest woman in Rio." "If she were not so rich I should be better pleased," I answered. "They will say I sought her for her money." "She will not think so." Heaven knows that for a while I thought she did, and that I read at last in her eyes distrust, doubts of me, regrets. And when the hour came when I told her of my love, when I poured into her ear the whole story of my passion, I thought it that was distrust of my motives which turned her from me and hurled my love back upon itself. She thrust me from her with a strange force, with a feeling that I thought must be scorn, a horror of me, in its fierce repulsion. "No, no; do not speak to me in this way. In mercy let me be!" she cried. "Camilla!" "It will be so much better, so much kinder, to spare me any further protestations. Pray have mercy." "It is you, Camilla, who are merciless." "No–no." "You hate me!" "No–no," she said again, "you misunderstand–you are cruel. I am grieved –oh! so deeply–that you should think anything of me. Have they not told you–have you not heard anywhere–that my married life was very, very unhappy– a mockery of marriage, a whirl of jealousy, and hate, and cruel, false suspicions?" "I have not heard." "They will tell you the whole story in Rio. Everybody knows it. My husband MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 109 was twenty years older than I. I was a mere child when I married him–aye, and married him for love–and, after all, it was a most unhappy match. And when God set me free, I took a solemn oath that I would never join hands in wedlock again, with any living man. And you– you!" she cried, "would try to make me break my word, and wreck my soul for you!" "But–" "You must go away–you must quit Rio. For God's sake do not stay here any longer,'' she implored. "It is your wish that I should go?" "Yes." "At once?" "Yes, if you w..., I shall be so much happier when you are long, long distance from me." "Why?" "I have rendered you unhappy," she replied, "and I did not wish it–did not see, guess, or try to guess, what the end might be–did not understand till a few days ago, and then I prayed against it all so earnestly. Sometimes I think I am still a foolish girl instead of a sober, disappointed, most unhappy woman–I act so foolishly, so oddly. Pray go away, and I–I will be very grateful to you." "I will go to-morrow, if you insist." "Yes–I insist, then." I left for England the next day. I took her at her word, for I believed in her–she was truth itself, and above evasion, and she wished me to go. CHAPTER III. So the romance seemed to die out–or rather to be wrecked by a whirlwind. It was all over–it had been short, sharp, and decisive. I had bought my experience, I thought, a little bitterly. I had been too ambitious and self-confident. Such a love as mine I had thought, had hoped, would bring forth a deep love in return, Camilla being affectionate, truthful, earnest, knowing true from false. That there were many of my friends in Rio whom I left exultant did not matter to me–what they thought, I cared not. If there were amongst them not a few who credited me with seeking Camilla Salvati for her money, their estimate of me did not trouble me at all. I did not believe now that Camilla thought so– and other people's ungenerous estimate could not influence my life, or afford me one regret. I went to England to live down my disappointment, to work it out, to set it away from me if possible, by hard work and deep study. But my first love had come late in life, and it was not easy to put it on one side–to label it as of a past epoch with which I had done, which lay deep down out of my track–a love in its grave. Presently, by slow degrees, I began to think that I had been hasty, proud–a willful fool–in leaving Rio at her bidding, in not waiting awhile and renewing my suit even. I wrote her one urgent, passionate letter, begging her to call me back to her, reasoning with her as to the fallacy of her rash oath, of which God, knowning all, would absolve her; praying, protecting, raving; and the letter was returned in a sealed envelope, addressed to me in a strange handwriting– a woman's–and without a word of explanation. I did not understand this; I thought it must have reached her, and she had given it into other hands to send back, having outlived any tender thought of me, or desiring that I should think so, at the least. Another year dragged away–God knows how slowly and painfully–and my love was no less, my life no lighter, my despair no weaker for the time that had set her further back from me. After that we met again–strangely, miraculously–part of the fate of which I have raved, let me say again. It is the last time I will speak of fate in this poor chronicle of human error. It was in Paris where I met her again, and under most strange circumstances. Since my return I had rented a suite of rooms in Great George Street, Westminster –the head centre of engineers–and here I worked and lived, and wondered in the midst where Camilla Salvati was, and if I were ever in her thoughts, a reminiscence not wholly hateful to her. She had promised me a fair remembrance–she would always regard me as a friend, she had said–and I prayed that I might not pass too quickly from her memory. Of late days 110 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. I had thought more intently of her; I had been more deeply troubled than was safe for me. For there had been agitation in the turbulent little world in which she moved, and wherein I had met her first–money panics, rumors of rebellion, conflicts with the people and the Government, all the stormy elements common to these little South American republics–and I have been tortured by fears of what might happen in one of these revolutionary crises which seem to have come round again. And then a letter reached me from Paris, a strange inexplicable missive. It was in the handwriting of the person who had sent me back my last letter to Camilla, a characteristic handwriting which I could have sworn to anywhere. I had kept my letter and the envelope in which it had been re-enclosed–I know not for what reason, save that it was a fragment of my heart, a glimpse of my own inner self–and I compared the two handwritings carefully and critically. There was not a letter different, the same curves and angular formations; it was the same tremulous hand which had held the pen when my last appeal was returned to me in cruel and contemptuous silence. It was from Camilla's mother. It dated, to my surprise, from a back street in Paris–a poor quarter–and urged me to come to her at once, to her rescue she implied, and if I would be so charitable. There was so much to say to me and to explain. Camilla was with her; they were both in extreme peril, she added, and she, the mother, was ill of an incurable malady–sick unto death, to the death for which she played, oh! so earnestly, she added. "I write of my own accord, in secrecy, señor." she concluded. "Camilla would never forgive me should she know that I had sent for you. I implore you to respect my confidence and come to us." I did not hesitate. Camilla in France –in trouble! What was there in the world to keep me back from her? The next day I was in Paris, at the mother's bedside. My first sight of her assured me she was dying. I was impressed, but my thoughts were for the woman whom I loved so vainly. I looked eagerly round the little room. "Where is Camilla?" I cried: "You said that she was here." "She will be here this evening. She is coming on to me." "Why–are you not together?" "For a little while we have been away from one another," the mother explained; "separated. My own fault, not hers– all my own fault–and so may the good God forgive me. She should be here by this evening, the latest. Oh! I hope she will come, that she will not be hard. that she will be always the dear, kind, gentle daughter I have know until–" "Until what?" "Until she turned away from me, in just anger–there, I own it! But I was her mother, she was my own child, and all should have been forgiven. Should it not, senor? You are a just man; tell me if a daughter should not have forgiven her own mother?" "Surely she has done so, whatever may have been the injury." "Yes, yes. I pray so; she is merciful. But you do not know what a high spirit she has, how firm she can be when she is in the right–how inexorable! And I was in the wrong!" cried the woman, beating her hands upon her dingy coverlet of the bed; "I have said so, have I not? I am not likely to tell a lie–judge me, Oh God!–with only a few days left to me of life." "Your letter implied that Camilla was here." "I knew she would be. I was sure that she would be at my side before you came to me. But you were too quick. You were very kind to come on so speedily. I thank the Lord for that." I did not understand this suffering woman, and plied her with many questions. "What did you two quarrel about– mother and child?" I asked. "About you," she confessed. "Indeed, and why–" "I will tell you, senor. I am anxious to tell you before she returns. It is right that you should know. She loves you." "Loves me!" "She has loved you ever since she has known you, and I have done my best– or worst–to keep you two apart. I have MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 111 striven very hard. I did not think it was a fitting match. Your religion was not hers, you were poor and she was rich, and she had sworn never to take a second husband. To her dying husband she swore that, upon the holy cross, and he died happy afterwards. It was a comfort to him, poor Salvati, that nobody else should take his place, and he died most peacefully after he had got that promise out of her. But he was an ingrate–a selfish monster, senor. You have heard?" "Well–well–why did you try to separate us? Because of this oath?" "I–I used to remind her of it very frequently. I told her no good could follow the evasion of her vow. I don't know now that it can or will–for I am a religious woman–but her heart is breaking." "Camilla–my Camilla!" "Yes, she is yours–all yours. And she is alone and very poor, and a poor and beautiful woman has a dangerous world to live in. I have acted badly by her, and would see her happy at the last. All her fortune has been swept away in the great crash–every dollar–every one. Her husband's money is gone. Poor Camilla!" "I am glad that she is poor, if she will come to me, if she will believe in me at last." "She has always believed in you," was the reply. "That was my trial, my great trouble, when we were at Rio. It was her one consolation, I saw that, to think you had loved her. I could not disabuse her mind; it was strange that she should believe in you so much, she who had distrusted all men before you came to her. It was on her mind that you would return to her; she was quite mad about you at the last, I think– quite mad." "Go on." "She procured absolution from Rome, paid a huge sum for permission to set her oath aside, she was so certain of your speedy return to her. She wrote to you." "Ha!" And you––" "I intercepted that letter–alas! I did, senor. Forgive me–I am owning everything," she went on. But you were a heretic, and she was very rich and could have done–oh, so much better; and when your letter came from England I did not let her see it, I sent it back. She does not know that to this day." "It was you, then?" "She will forgive me the deceit if you only intercede for me–I am sure she will. Your being here sets us all in accord–the worst is over. I pray the Holy Virgin this may be so. I am always praying." "She will forgive you," I said. "If you will. For what you do will be always right in her eyes. She is so weak!" "I will forgive you." "It was a quarrel about the other letter which she wrote to you, and which she discovered I had suppressed–it was that letter which parted mother and child. "Why did she not write to me again?" "That is what I told her. Great Heaven! How sensible you are–how quick to see the right and proper thing to do!" cried the old woman. "But she was very angry with me, and we were very poor then. She could not write now, she said. It was all over. You had married, she was sure–it was at an end. And then she cursed me–yes, I think she cursed me–and went away to live with friends apart from me, who were offering her what neither she nor I had–a home. For a home was needed sorely." "It is a miserable story. I hope she will come back. I will pray she may, along with you." And the prayer was answered. In the early night, when this intriguing woman was weaker still, the door opened, and Camilla came in from her long journey. She stood upon the threshold looking from the mother to me, from me to the dying mother, with her dark eyes full of fear and wonderment. She was as beautiful as ever, and our hearts went out with a mighty rush to each other, and the flood gates were broken down between us for good. "Camilla! My own Camilla!" I cried, clasping her in my arms. "My lost love, it is you l Oh it is you!" "This is my atonement for a wrong. Camilla," murmured the mother. "Say 112 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. I am forgiven? Tell me, Camilla, that everything is forgiven?" "Yes, forgiven, everything," Camilla answered slowly. And so this old, unfaithful friend passed away in peace from all of us. Chapter IV. We have been married a year, Camilla and I - such a year of bliss that to look back upon it now is like a sinner looking back at the Paradise from which he has been irrevocably set aside; a year without a care; not a sign of the oncoming storm; life steeped in rose-color, and the world a harmony for two hearts who had - or I thought they had - no secrets from each other. She could not have thought so - I believe now she thought not at all, and it was that which constituted happiness to her. By setting back the past completely from her - the mysterious past of which I knew so little, and of which she had hope I never should learn anything - she realized what true felicity might be. With me at her side, assured of my affection, strong in her own devotion to me, she could believe in the love that was to last us all our lives. We settled down in England, in a little villa some seven miles from London, where it was no great difficulty to get to my town office, or return in the evening to home. Here a child was born to us, and snatched from us; here came our first experience of sorrow - a great grief that was, and, as it were, the precursor of other griefs to follow in its train. Camilla did not get strong after her child's birth, and she lost strength very rapidly after its early death. She had built so much upon the child and its companionship when I was away, and she sorrowed acutely for its loss. The came another trial to her - the prospect of my being compelled to leave England for six or nine months, an important engineering engagement necessitating my presence abroad. It was in the Argentine Republic to which I had been summoned, the old field of operations where my wife had been born, where she had met her first husband, known her first great trouble. "You will accompany me, Camilla." I said. "You and I cannot afford to be parted again." "You are going back to - Rio?" "We will see Rio in due course, love. Your birthplace - you will be glad to see that again?" "I-I am not certain. I have learned to love England." "We proceed in the first place to Buenos Ayes - " "Oh, I cannot go there!" she cried quickly; "It is impossible!" "My dear Camilla, why?" "I do not know; but I fear going very much.; I do not think," she said, with a sad wistful look at me, "that I am quite strong enough to travel." "Let me give up the project." I hastened to say. "Are you not - almost - compelled?" "There is no compulsion in England." "But is it not - your duty - to go?" Have you not promised? Would it not give serious offence if you decline?"" "It may. I cannot say. There are plenty of others who will be glad of my chance." "Oh, yes, those others who are so ready to oust a man from his living. And you are not rich, Alfred?" "Only in my little wife," I said. "You are very good to say that, flatterer," she replied, and I will be very good too. We will go together." "Of course we will. Together, or not at all." "When is it?" "We have three months more of our English home before we start." She drew a deep breath of relief. "That is a good long grace." "Yes. Several plans have to be worked out before I start." "I am glad we do not rush away from England," she said. It is a respite, is it not?" She grew sadder after that resolution to accompany me, however - I am sure of that. She grew even weaker by degrees. It was a trouble to her, this expedition, though she would not own to it, though she spoke of it hopefully, but always with the same sad looks which nothing seemed to change. And yet there was a great change in her. She almost lost the faculty MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 113 of sleep; there were long spells of restlessness, of insomnia, followed by strange dreams in which she talked a great deal, and in a low whispering tone. A strange whispering this became at last, and in a strange language altogether. This impressed me, because I was to a certain extent a linguist, plumed myself on being a linguist, and this was a language or a dialect - a language founded on a language - which I could not comprehend in any way. I had to set it down for a while to the incoherence of a heated brain, until the whispered words took shape upon my memory, appeared to be always the same, and in her fitful sleep of the deepest significance to her. In her sleep she was always troubled - the thought of quitting England was upon her mind, I feared - and yet this whispering was not of that, but of a something foreign to her present life, and might appertain, for what I knew to the contrary, to dreamland altogether, having no touch with reality in any one degree. I tried to disregard it, not to alarm her in any way by allusion to her restlessness; but the whispering was regular, and marked a new phase of her career, a something beyond my power to analyze. It gradually impressed itself up my mind that she was not whispering to herself and not to me, but rather to a second person in her dreams, to whom something confidential and secret had to be told at once and in haste. And the name Manuel very frequently escaped her - the name of the man who had stopped her in the streets of Rio, and of whom she had been afraid - the man who had tried to take my life for my defence of her, or my interference - the man who was her late husband's brother. The name was always on her lips, and I grew jealous of it, of its occupying her dream-thoughts so intently at this time. There was surely a mystery concerning this Manuel, and Camilla had never spoken of it to me. I had had every confidence in her, I had almost forgotten the man; it was only the constant repetition of his name, with bated breath, that aroused my curiosity - eventually, I blushed to add, my vain suspicions. The foreign language was a greater mystery, for she professed to know only Spanish and a little French, and this was neither, and was assuredly of a different origin from either. I could not understand it; her mind was ill at ease, she seemed to my watchful fancies to have changed, and yet there was no change in her affection for me, I was sure of that. Only in her sleep did she appear to be beset by strange great fears. Waking, she was a woman on guard - a woman who would not give me her confidence and tell me what was troubling her. My mission was of a complicated nature as regarded the business with which I was to be entrusted. I need not enter minutely into its character. It is not part of the story, save as it affected presently Camilla. The three months crept on apace, and Camilla did not grow strong. I had at last grave doubts whether it were safe or wise that she should accompany me at all. I told her of them at last, and she listened patiently. Suddenly it was announced that my route had to be changed, and for important reasons. I was to proceed to an out-of-the-way part of the inland country, which I will name here Laraccas. The news came to us one evening; I was to attend at the office in the morning and confer with some projectors whom it was important I should meet. "The route is changed, Camilla," I announced. "I am glad," she answered quickly. "Why?" "I-I do not know," she replied, "but it is a relief. I seem afraid of the old associations abroad - I love England so much now. I feel safer here." "Safer?" "Happier than abroad. I have never known happiness," she added with a sigh; "that is, only for a little while, and when we first met." "The happiness will come back, with God's help." "I trust so," she said. "Where are we going now." "Up the country. A long distance from Buenos Ayres." "Why there?" "I shall know to-morrow." "What place is it?" she asked. "Laraccas." 114 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE She was very silent after this, looking at me with that strange sadness of expression which I knew so well, which had been always with her since her baby's death, but which was more intense on this occasion. I did not ask her any questions - she did not volunteer to me any explanation, if explanation were necessary, as I thought it might be. For she could not disguise from me her grave astonishment - almost her despair. And at night came that dreadful whispering again - that communion with the unknown, that excited dialogue with someone whom I did not know, and concerning secrets which I did not share. It was always in the same unknown tongue, with one exception, when she spoke in Spanish clearly, and to my intense surprise. In her sleep she was addressing me now. She sat up in bed, a pale spectral figure enough, poor girl, and looked towards me with the old anxious gaze. But she did not see me - did not see my affrighted face. "I cannot go to Laraccas," she whispered. "For God's sake don't take me there! Alfred, I must not go!" Then she fell back like a dead women, and presently she slept soundly, if restlessly. The next day she was more her usual self. She did not in any way allude to the change of destination, and I did not moot the subject to her. In herself, I thought that she was better, unless it was a strong effort which she made to let me think so. I went away to my office. There were three weeks yet before our intended journey. What would she do, if her waking thoughts were like those which distressed her in her sleep, and in what way could I help to lighten the load she bore without me - always without me? At the office I met my friends, and other folk whom I had not met before. It was a great meeting, a grand confabulation. It was a big project, in which much money was to be invested - not so much by Englishmen as by various foreign capitalists who had come to London for the purpose. Here I met Spaniards, Frenchmen, Americans, Italians, and there was a very Babel of languages, and much excitement. There was no great degree of unanimity amongst these speculators. There was an opposite clique that went in for heated discussion and stormy argument. Men got together in corners and debated amongst themselves their own pet variations of the one colossal scheme. I did not share in the discussions. I was a subordinate, waiting 'sailing orders," called upon now and then for an expression of an opinion to which no one paid any particular attention, save the one whose ideas I helped in my own way to support. I was there handy for reference - that was all. Suddenly a dialogue between two swarthy men at my side struck me with surprise - with dismay. They had been standing by the window apart from the main body of gentlemen, a grim and dissatisfied couple evidently. They were at my elbow almost, and I could hear every word, if I could not understand it. I felt my blood freezing in my veins, Heaven knows for that reason. A foreboding altogether, perhaps; the shadow before - the coming of the cruel end of it. They were speaking in the very language which Camilla used in her feverish dreams. My quick ear for sound was not likely to betray me in that respect. They were expressing their verdict on the business proceedings of that day in a dialect with which they thought it was not likely any of the company would be acquainted. One man was shrugging his shoulders as he spoke, and looked malevolently across at the chairman. He noted my glance of interest, my surprise, and addressed me at once in English. "Pardon, Mr. Borthwick," he said. "You are acquainted with the ancient language of the Laraccas?" "No. But I have heard it before." "Indeed - where? I should not have thought there were half a dozen people in England who could speak our tongue now." "It has interested me before this." "It is a patois not often used, even in the town from which it takes its rise." "Indeed." "There is a little man, the proprietor of the Cafe Rouge in Coventry street, who knows it well. He is the only man, besides my friend here, who speaks it fluently." MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 115 "I am interested in dialects." "This comes from the native Indians, I believe. The early aborigines," he said, with a laugh. "That is so," remarked the other, as though he knew for certain. When the meeting had broken up with a greater degree of unanimity and at an earlier hour than I had expected, I went at once to Coventry Street in search of the cafe proprietor to whom a chance allusion had been made. It had forced itself upon me that I should be glad to learn the language, or a part of it, for Camilla's sake. I would not own, even to myself, at that time, that I had my doubts of what was troubling her mind - I can scarcely say I had doubts. It was all a whirlwind of thought which was bearing me away. I was stifling in an unreal, oppressive atmosphere, and anxious to be free from it. I had a hope - a great one even - that I might be of service to Camilla, once knowing the truth which she was keeping back from me. At all events, I reasoned thus with myself, perhaps by way of an excuse. If so, God forgive me, for I meant no one any harm. I knew that I was on the threshold of a revelation, and that Camilla was unhappy. I thought it might be possible for me to bring her peace in time - even my full forgiveness, and if forgiveness were needed from me, as I feared it might be. I found the proprietor at the Cafe Rouge without much trouble. He was a short. spare, lemon-skinned man, full of exuberant vitality. I had chosen an hour when they were not busy at the cafe, and he was garrulous. When he discovered, as I had intended that he should, that I had traveled through the greater part of South America, he was interested in me, and overwhelmed me with many questions. Gradually I brought the subject round to Laraccas, told him I was a linguist, and that I had been surprised that day - as I had been surely - by hearing two gentlemen converse in a patois that I did not know, and which was stated to be an ancient language of the place rapidly dying out, as our Cornish tongue is in England. "Ah, I know the gentleman you mean very well," he cried. "They lunch here now and then. I surprised them once by letting them know that the language was more familiar to me than to them. Ha, ha! they were surprised indeed." "Naturally." "Laraccas is my native place. My father was a school-master there. Ah, a great scholar was he. Heaven preserve his memory to me!" "Could you give me any idea of the language? You will find me a quick scholar." "If monsieur will not object to come to me early in the morning, when I am not busy, I shall be truly happy." "And the remuneration?" "Oh, no, no. If monsieur will honor me by lunching or dining here sometime, that will repay me perfectly. This is a new business of mine and I am anxious to extend the number of my patrons." He made me a low bow, and I assented to his easy terms. For the next six days I lunched at the Café Rouge. In the mornings, preceding lunch, I took my lessons of the South American. The task was more difficult that I had imagined - quick as I naturally was in acquiring a foreign tongue, this was not so easily mastered as, in my self-sufficiency, I thought it might be. But in a week I had learned enough to see my way. The clue was to my hand at last. Strangely enough, at that time a silence fell upon my wife. The whispering ceased, for she hardly slept at all. She lay all night looking at the ceiling of her room, as though she were looking up to Heaven, and I felt like a traitor lying by her side, and with a secret purpose which was hidden from her. "We must have advice, Camilla," I said; "you do not sleep at all now." "I sleep so much in the day-time. Perhaps that is it. Besides--" "Besides what?" I repeated. "I try so hard to keep awake." "Camilla, this is very rash. Why do you do that?" "I have fancied for some time, dear, that I disturb you in my sleep," she said, looking inquiringly at me. "In what way?" 116 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. "By talking, by wild dreams, wherein I scream and start, do I not?" "Not very frequently. You talk sometimes in a low tone. "I was afraid so," she said thoughtfully. "But it is in a language that I do not comprehend." "Incoherence altogether, doubtless." "No, I have heard the language spoken lately. Is is from Laraccas, I think." "Who told you that?" "I recognized it at a meeting of the company, were many foreigners." "It is all fancy, Alfred, the merest fancy." "It may be so. I do not profess to understand the language. Perhaps I shall acquire it when I am abroad." " You will have enough to trouble you, my poor dear, without that," she said, reaching her hand out, and smoothing my hair gently, caressingly. I did not pursue my questioning, I did not criticize her faint denial. I thought only that she was very strange, and that I might disturb her by further allusion to the subject which was already pressing on her mind. Late in the night she fell asleep, and then the whispering commenced anew, this time more rapidly, more excitedly than ever, and this time clear to me from the beginning to the end, the meaning plain, the words being so few, my receptive faculty so great, my memory for the little I had learned so intense and clear. "I bent my head close to hers to listen. " He must never know, mother -- Alfred must never know -- that we killed him," came forth distinctly from between the whispering lips,. "Killed him!" I repeated, and in the same obscure tongue in which she had spoken. She seemed to wince at my words, the echo of her own, and I thought that she would wake. But she went on again. "Yes, yes -- never let him know, he is so good and kind --he loves me so much, and I love him, oh! so well. And Salvati was so cruel, so very, very cruel, that he was not fit to live. You told me so, mamma -- that it was my one escape from a life of tranny and wrong -- and we must keep our secret to the grave, carry it with us to God, where He will know, and understand, and condemn. Not my love to know this ever -- my true husband. He must never suspect as Manual does sometimes -- that terrible Manuel! Alfred must go to heaven, mother, without me -- only learning the truth there, when they tell him that I have not come! Not before. He must not know -- He must never know -- I should go mad if he knew, my own husband who loves me so much. Don't tell him: oh! for the love of Christ never tell him -- never tell him this!" And so till daylight, when she slept more peacefully, did Camilla whisper on -- vain repetition upon repetition, mingled with other words and sentences I could not master. But this was the terrible clue -- and surely it was enough to shadow all my life hereafter! And whether truth, or the wanderings of delirium, I shall never know now. I can but guess -- and fear. I have not sought to know. When I was at my work abroad, I shut my ears to a story which I might have learned, and from which I might have pierced out the whole dreadful history. I knew that Salvati had died suddenly at Laraccas, and was buried with much pomp -- that was not to be concealed from me, when it was known that I was Camilla's second husband, and how she had passed out of life and left me alone. I had all their sympathy, and listened to their verdict on her. "A short, sad life, poor girl. Her first married life was terrible enough; let us hope, senor, the second made amends for it." Perhaps it did, so far as God would allow. I did not seek to shadow the last days of a repentant women. I never asked her one question through it all -- not even at the end of all. I thought it might be for the best that I should hold my peace. Then speak no ill, but lenient be To others failings as thine own; If Thou'rt the first a fault to see Be not the first to make it known. Remember thou has often sinned And sinful still we be: Deal gently with the erring As God has dealt with thee. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 117 The Commonplace. The commonplace I sing; How cheap is health; how cheap nobility! Abstinence, not falsehood, gluttony, lust; The open air, freedom, [with] toil, toleration, (Learn here The Mainest Lesson, America - Less from books - less from, the schools,) The day and night - the immortal earth and water, Your farm - your work, trade, occupation The democratic wisdom underneath, like solid ground for all. Walt Whitman 118 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. A FAIR RECLUSE BY ALICE L. DUDENEY. "DEAR FRANK.-I have found the very house for you-Jacobean period, and almost original. It was a trifle spoilt by some Philistine individual about thirty years since; but, with your taste and the aid of the local architect, everything can be put right. This pearl of houses goes by the name of Thorpe Manor, and is, of course haunted; so you may relieve the monotony of a country life by a genuine ghost hunt. Ever yours, JOHN RIDGEWAY. "P. S. - The house is in Surrey, about four miles from Winton Station. You had better come down at once, as I hear some one else is after it." I left Boston that afternoon, and was whirled rapidly through the smoke and turmoil of the city into charming Surrey. At that time I was a fairly good-looking well-to-do bachelor of thirty-five. My ample leisure I devoted to antiquarian researches, literary work, and the collection of "curios." I had no relatives and few friends, and I lived an almost solitary and perfectly happy life in my chambers. Amongst what some people called my "crazes" was an enthusiasm for ancient houses; and I had deputed John Ridgeway, an artist-friend of mine who lived in Surrey, to find me a genuine old country house - a dreamy, rambling place where, I could spend the summer months. Hence his letter. As the train steamed into the little station at Winton John rushed up to my carriage and clasped my hand. Dear old chap, he quite beamed with joy at the prospect of showing me his wonderful house! "Charming old place! I've had my eye on it for months!" he said, as we walked over the common. Then he produced the inevitable notebook and pencil, and was soon drawing plans and explaining details. As we passed through the village, we called upon the house agent and took him with us. He was a prosaic man, and evidently thought we were a couple of mild lunatics, so excited did we become when, suddenly turning a corner at the foot of a steep incline, we stood in front of Thorpe Manor. It was a quaint old house, standing back a little from the road, and its walls were as perfect as when first built, but mellowed and beautified by time. We walked up the prim gravel path to the wide doorway with its fantastic carving. Here our agent produced a huge rusty key and unlocked the door, which swung back easily on its large hinges. We entered and went through the rooms, which had low ceilings and broad window-seats. Most of them had paneled walls, though some of these had been covered with paper, which of course we said must come off. One of the bedrooms - which I thought, from the elaborate carving on the high mantelshelf and the beautiful oak paneling, had originally been the state one - was perfect. I felt strangely attracted to this room, I know not why, and, as we turned to leave, I lingered behind the others for a parting glance. Then I went slowly down the winding stairway. "Seen the ghost?" asked John, jestingly. The agent looked uneasy. Ghosts are tiresome things, apt to militate very much against the chances of securing a good MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 119 tenant. He hastened to disclaim the uncanny visitant; but I reassured him by remarking that I rather liked ghosts, and that, so far as I could see, the house was exactly what I wanted. Of course, there were many details to be settled about the lease, repairs, and other matters; and I stipulated that I should be allowed to make some alterations, such as removing the staring plate-glass with which the late owner had "modernized" the windows of the lower rooms. Six weeks later I was installed in my new residence. The alterations were not nearly completed; but declining the Ridgways' pressing invitation to take up my quarters with them, I occupied two rooms in the old house, and engaged a woman from the village to come in daily and attend to my simple wants. On the third evening after my arrival I was smoking my favorite pipe by a wood-fire n the oak-room, which I had made my bed-room. It was nearly twelve o'clock, but, being accustomed to late hours, I did not feel inclined for bed -- far from it. I decided to have one more pipe, and, lazily taking up my pouch, I began to refill my pipe. Suddenly I stopped short, and, with my little finger still rammed into the bowl of the pipe, left my chair and walked to the opposite side of the room; for I could have sworn I saw the paneling move ever so slightly upwards. Nor was I mistaken; for very slowly the whole panel disappeared, and in the opening stood the figure of a woman. The room was dark, for the wood-fire had begun to smoulder, so I could not see what she was like - young or old, ugly or beautiful. I was not nervous - I had a profound disbelief in the supernatural - so I simply waited to see what the intruder proposed to do. She advanced into the room and came close to my elbow, then raised her hand and beckoned me to follow her. Of course I went; and she led me through the aperture and down a steep wooden staircase. It was pitch dark, but I struck matches at intervals. My companion went on quickly, never looking behind her, but I smiled as she raised her skirts gingerly from the dusty stairs, and once I saw the woman shudder as a rat scuttled by. "No ghost this!" thought I. On we went down the wooden stairs, till at last we came to some stone ones, all green and humid owing to neglect. We continued our course, going down flight after flight of damp, slippery stairs, till at length, to my relief, my companion paused before a heavy oaken door, then opened it and entered. Following her, I found myself in a low, vault-like chamber, more like a cell than anything else. The floor was stone, the walls were bare; but it was apparently inhabited, for there were a few articles of furniture - a rickety spindle-legged table, a couple of high-backed worm-eaten chairs, and a battered horse-hair sofa. In the grate, too, burned a small fire, and a couple of tall white candles in tarnished sconces were on the narrow mantelshelf. In the dim light afforded by these candles and the fire, I closely scrutinized the woman who had brought me there. She was tall and slender, and wore a long russet gown of an old-fashioned cut; her face was pale and sad, with sharp, clear- cut features, and a mass of rough, reddish hair was carelessly twisted into a big knot at the nape of her neck. She had motioned me to one of the chairs, taking the other herself, and she now sat bending over the fire, apparently too deep in her own bitter reflections to be conscious of my presence. The expression on her thin, worn face was very sorrowful, and her hands were tightly clenched in her lap. But, though thin and worn, her face was still lovely; and, as I gazed, I thought how lovely it would be were the hollows filled out and the deep lines smoothed away. Suddenly, with a little resolute gesture, she turned towards me and began to speak in low rapid tones. "I brought you here because I wanted to tell you my story; and I want your help if you will give it!" Then, with voice rising and falling with varying emotions, and with deep gray eyes fixed on my face, she told her sad tale. The beginning was commonplace enough - a beautiful, wilful girl, a stern unyielding father, two lovers, one brave and handsome, the other morose 120 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. and unattractive; a proposed flight, a sudden death, a broken heart––the last three were the tragic elements. "And I saw them carry him by the house–dead," she said, speaking in a strange, dull way–"and for a long time I think I must have lost my senses. When my father still insisted on my marriage with the wretch he had chosen for my husband, I raised no protest. I viewed the preparations for the wedding with indifference. I seemed turned to stone. But a week before the marriage my reason returned, and I realized the horror of the coil which was slowly tightening round me. Then it was that I determined on what was virtually a living burial. I was born in this dear old house, and I knew every nook and cranny of it. My foster-mother had shown me the sliding panel in the room above that which I then occupied, and she and I were the only living persons who knew the secret. She was devoted to me, and I at length won her over to my plan. On the night before my bridal day I fled down here; and here I have remained ever since. For eight years I have been dead to the world. I had valuable jewelry which had been my dead mother's; that has been gradually sold, and on the proceeds I have subsisted. My foster- mother comes daily and brings me food –not through the house, of course. There are a secret path and door of communication in the garden." "And the ghost?" I queried. "Oh," she said, with a queer little smile, "I am the ghost! You see, I wanted to keep the house empty so that I might wander about the rooms and grounds; but now I am tired of this unnatural existence. Life will always be sad for me! I have had a dreadful grief, and all my dear ones are dead; but, in spite of all, my youth reasserts itself, and solitude has at last lost its charm. So I wish to return to the world; and you can help me to do so–will you?" Of course I helped her, and within a week from that time the Thorpe Manor "ghost"–now laid for ever–was safe under the kind wing of John Ridgway's homely little wife; and by the time the roses were blooming in my sweet-scented old-fashioned garden the "ghost" too had bloomed into beauty, and I, sober old bachelor, had fallen in love. Quite hopelessly, I told myself, for her heart was with her dead; and yet it happened that one June afternoon, as we stood alone by the sun-dial on the sloping shady lawn, something gave me courage. Perhaps it was that she looked so sweet in her fresh muslin gown with the flowers in her belt, or perhaps because I caught a strange fleeting look in her shy gray eyes; any way, I know she murmured that she loved the dear old home with its many gables and pretty garden. Then I whispered– "Need you ever leave it?" And looking under the broad-brimmed garden-hat into her flushed happy face, I added, "Come, sweet ghost, and haunt the old place for ever!" And she consented. After the Snow and the Shroud. JOAQUIN MILLER. What if we all lay dead below; Lay as the grass lies cold and dead In God's own holy shroud of snow, With snow-white stones set foot and head, With all earth dead and shrouded white As clouds that cross the moon at night? What if that infidel some night Could then rise up and see how dead, How wholly dead and out of sight All things with snows sown foot and head And lost winds wafting up and down The emptied fields and emptied town? I think that grand old infidel Would rub his hands with fiendish glee, And say: "I knew it, knew it well! I knew that death was destiny; I ate, I drank, I mocked at God; Then as the grass was, and the sod." Ah me! the grasses and the sod They are my preachers. Hear them preach, When they forget the shroud, and God Lifts up these blades of grass to teach The resurrection! Who shall say What infidel can speak as they? MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 121 MEMORIES OF LINCOLN BY COL. MATLACK SCOVEL Abraham Lincoln was the bright consummate flower of the civilization of the nineteenth century. His apotheosis shed a pathetic grace over his memory. I was elected in November, 1862, as a State Senator in west New Jersey. Having been elected as President of the Senate, and naturally taking a deep interest in the suppression of a rebellion of weakness against the righteous strength of liberty and the Union, I was frequently called to Washington, and by virtue of my position in the politics of my own State, became a very frequent, and, I believe, always a welcome visitor to the White House, and in his quaint, old-fashioned way Lincoln used to say: "Well, Senator, I can say of you and General Banks, of Massachusetts, you never give me any trouble." Governor Newell, once Governor of New Jersey, and now a resident of Washington, attended little Tod Lincoln during his fatal illness, and he tells many interesting stories illustrating the affectionate side of Abraham Lincoln's nature. He mourned deeply and sorrowed long over the loss of this bright little boy. Governor Newell says that the President was fond of poetry and fond of reading to him passages of verse, nearly always of a melancholy nature, and he had a marvelously retentive memory, often quoting with verbal accuracy the poem: "O! Why should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud?" One of Lincoln's favorite selections were two exquisite verses from Walter Savage Landor, which he quoted accurately from memory. The little poem is marked by exquisite delicacy of feeling, and is entitled: THE WALL-FLOWER SEED. The place where soon I think to lie, In its old creviced nook hard by, Rears many a weed; If parties bring you there, will you Drop slyly in a grain or two Of wall-flower seed? I shall not see and (too sure) I shall not even hear that your spirit or Light step was there; But the rich odor some fine day Will–what I cannot do–repay That little care. The first time I ever saw Mr. Lincoln was during the month of May after his inauguration. The dogs of war had been let loose, Sumter had been fired on and the great North like one man stood like a great army, with banners behind Mr. Lincoln. I wore a captain's uniform and was introduced by Secretary Chase to a tall, gaunt man, whose face was deeply furrowed with lines made by sorrow and care. This was Abraham Lincoln. The occasion was the trial of some new cannon by the War Department at the Washington Navy Yard, and the President was attended by his entire Cabinet. He was in magnificent spirits, the country was in arms against the rebellion and as far as human eye could see into the future, which Horace says a prudent deity hides from human gaze, this great-souled, many-sided king and prophet among men had many years in which to make power gentle and obedience liberal, crowned by the applause of a grateful nation. The lilacs were in bloom and there was a sort of human tenderness in the atmosphere that made almost the sense of existence a thing of beauty and an im- 122 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. pulse of joy. To a coterie of young army officers-most of the West Pointers, -stately and dignified martinets all- Mr Lincoln bubbled over with fun. He told some funny anecdotes about Senator Baker's experience at the bar in Illinois, the heroic colonel who was later on killed at the disastrous affair at Ball's Bluff, in which General Baker (then a United States Senator) when asked to lie down in the face of the red rain of the enemy's artillery, replied: "Boys, you lie down, but a Senator in Congress cannot lie down in face of the enemy!" Lincoln's stories were, some of them, a little broad, but all of them apropos to some subject under discussion. But it was amusing to see the pained expression on the average West Pointer's face at the quibs and jibes and jests made by the President, who entertained the crowd around him for fully half an hour. Solmon P. Chase, who afterwards tried to beat Lincoln for renomination in 1864, then very close to the President, walked away from the small cotrie around with a disgusted look on his face, and he afterwards criticized the Presidential levity, but Lincoln took the reproaches of his Secretary of the Treasury in a good humored way, and when the President three years later found that his Secretary of the Treasury had become the target for the New York Herald in a financial scandal of national magnitude, as the Herald alleged, and when Chase was using the vast patronage of his great fiscal department to defeat Lincoln for a second term, and to nominate himself (Chase) for president, it did not take this man of an iron hand in a velvet glove to say to Chase, as he did to Blair of Maryland: "Your time has come." And yet how magnificent was the generous statesmanship of the noble and patriotic soul when Chase's friends came knocking at the door of the White House to give Chief Justice Taney's vacant seat on the Supreme Bench to Salmon P. Chase, Lincoln said: "Yes, whatever I may think of Chase as an ambitious man, suffering from the 'violent swiftness that o'erleaps itself and falls on the other' I know his fidelity to liberty and I mean to make him Chief Justice of the Supreme Court," Lincoln signed Salmon P. Chase's commission the next day. There has never been, I think, any other President of the United States other than Mr Lincoln who ever possessed the moral courage and unselfish patriotism strong enough to put his personal enemy into the second highest place in the gift of the nation. When I first saw Lincoln amidst the firing of cannon and the wild hurrahs of our young and ardent citizens soldiering, what most surprised me was his boundless fund of anecdote, his apparent freedom from care, his mellow laugh, and his infinite good nature. He seemed more like a big boy let loose at recess then the ruler of thirty millions of people, engaged in a fratricidal strife, involving a nation's life. I saw him very often during the next year, and change came over the spirit of this great man's dream. Lincoln had gone into the White House and assumed the duties of that high place with the consecration with which a soldier enters battle. Not in name only, but in deed was he the father of his people. He was an apostle of the unwritten laws of humanity, and for the lowliest soldier that ever wore the blue his heart was warm and tender and true. I have seen him shed tears as he signed for a frenzied mother a pardon for her first-born son to be shot the next day for sleeping at his post. And Thaddeus Stevens used to tell of this mother who was a constituent of his in Lancester County, that when she came to tell him the joyous news how Lincoln had saved the life of her darling boy, how the mother, with tears streaming down her face, said: "Oh, Mr. Stevens, why did you tell me Mr. Lincoln was an ugly man? No ! No! he looked beautiful to me when he signed the paper that saved my boy's life." Lincoln felt the soldiers' woes as his, own. Enthusiasm for justice was the inspiration of his public life. But the added vexations of public life, the troublesome office-seekers, reverses in the Army of the Potomac, the strain, told terribly on Abraham Lincoln's constitution, the lines grew deeper in his face. His spirits were not so elastic, his laugh MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 123 was not so loud, nor his sense of humor so infectious. He looked, as the poet phrases it like one whose life "Had been made sad and sue, By many sorrows and one love." His was the true spirit of chivalry, ever ready to lift a hand and enter the lists in defense of the weak or the oppressed. He had never died by the hand of a dastard shot at the base of the brain save that the stood true to the slain rights of man, and was ready to shed his heart's blood rather than to surrender the immortal truth, sanctioned by religion, ordained by philosophy and part of the common experience of the world - that God created all men equal. And Abraham Lincoln, when Commander-in-Chief of our Armies and Navies, died as the lowly soldier; died with his face to the foe, for the blessed idea that "all men everywhere might be free." Of him - this sad, glad, noble, gentle, sweet "spirit touched to fine issues," this noblest of all the soldiers who ever lived and died for the liberation of humanity - will future ages say, when the triumphant road of Justice will be followed by advancing civilization without the nation's first watering this Appian Way of liberty with their tears - of the blessed memory of Abraham Lincoln, will the world chant of his fame as it goes luminous and beautiful down the dim aisles of history - "Take thou the leading of the van, And charge the world amain, There'll never be a lance like thine Again, in all the hosts of Spain." When the lilacs bloom again in April, it will be twenty-six years since the summer rain that makes the fields it hastes to bright and green, has fallen on the Mausoleum that hides all that was mortal of Abraham Lincoln. But this great name will to on like a star unhasting and unresting. Twenty-eight years ago,1863, in May, I was in the Findley Hospital. President Lincoln walked into the hospital with a member of his Cabinet, as had been his habit, and tenderly asked the nurse, looking toward an empty cot, said: "Where is No 6?" "Number six is gone," said the nurse sadly. "He went at three this morning, but it is better for him." I watched Lincoln with eager interest. He went over and sat down beside a Vermont boy, who looked to be not sixteen years old. His cot was No. 26. He had been mortally wounded and was near his end. Taking the poor boy's then white had he said in a tone as tender as that of a mother: "My poor boy, what can I do for you?" The fair-haired, boy with a beseeching look, turned his eyes up to the homely kindly face and asked, "Won't you write to my mother for me?" "That I will " said the President and calling for pen, ink and paper, he seated himself by the side of the sick boy's cot. It was a long letter he wrote - at least four pages of commercial note - and when it was finished the President arose saying: "I will mail this as soon as I get home. Now is there anything else I can do?" The boy had found out it was the President he was talking to. Looking appealingly towards Mr Lincoln, with tearful eyes, he said: "Won't you stay with me till it is over? It won't be long, and I want to hold your hand." This was too much for the President. Tears welled up in is eyes, and he sat by the dying boy, holding his hand. The boy neither moved nor spoke. This was four o'clock, and at six the tide went out, and life and thought went out side by side - the little fellow still clinging to the grand old man's hand. But the President sat there as if he had been the boy's father. When the end came he bent over and folded the thin hands over the dead boy's breast; and then looked in silent sorrow at the pale, thin face. the tears streamed down Lincoln's cheeks unheeded, and we all cried. But the subject grows, and I may again give you some more personal recollections of the sweet martyr of Springfield. JAMES MATLACK SCOVEL. 124 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE I Dreamed of You. Last night, dear one, I dreamed that you were dead; I saw your white hands folded on your breast, Your dear eyes closed, their light forever fled, Your heart at rest. I Gazed upon your face, so white and cold, Peacefully beyond my power to understand; I kissed your lips as in the days of old, I clasped your hand. And oh! the world with all it held for me Grew dark as night and every hope seemed fled; No joy in all the earth my soul could see, For you were dead. I thought the morning sunlight filled the sky; With early dew the opening flowers were wet; But all seemed darkness to my weary eyes; My sun had set. I tried to wake you from that awful sleep; I could not realized that you were flown; I tried in vain: your slumbers were too deep; I was alone I woke - the morning sky was bright with day, The birds were singing sweetly overhead; The sweet Junes roses blossomed fresh and gay; You were not dead. And when we met you did not understand That you were dearer to me, ten times o'er; That truer, warmer, seemed your little hand Than e'er before. Nor can you ever know how much I prize The precious jewel trusted to my care, Nor that my heaven is in your tender eyes And sunny hair. That dream was but an angel in disguise That filled my soul with bitterest distress; For 'tis by loss we really learn to prize What we possess. 'This ever thus: life's lessons are not learned; We do not known the blessings which we own, Until bereft, the bleeding hearts has yearned O'er angels flown. Let any young man or woman once thoroughly appreciate the fact that the "dainties" - to use Shakspere's expression - that are to be found in books may help them in the formation of a worthy character and leave a taste upon the palate which never palls, and the charm of the infinite preciousness of good literature will open upon their eyes, and they will come in time to understand all the force of Milton's noble saying, " A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit embalmed and treasured upon purpose to a life beyond life." Golden Grains. He has half the deed done who has made a beginning. KNOWLEDGE must be gained by ourselves. Mankind may supply us with facts; but the results, even if they agree with previous ones, must be the work of our own minds. If there is any place where thoughtlessness is utterly inexcusable, it is where, through it, we strike unnecessary pain into the lives of others. No thought is too deep, no care too great, no self-restraint too strong to enable us to avoid adding to the burdens and sorrows and sufferings that already afflict mankind. In all delay there is loss, and, while we cannot compute or measure it, we may rest assured that is is one that can never be made up. Therefore, if we mean to pay our debts, to discharge our obligations, to accord, love, honor, gratitude to whom they are due, to render help or sympathy to those who need it, let us do it promptly and without delay, for only thus can we be truly faithful and just, loving and true. Morning, Oh, glad and red, the light of morn Across the field of battle broke, And showed the waste of trampled corn And smoldering farmsteads wrapped in smoke; And cold and stark the soldier lay, shot down beside his shattering gun: And grimly splashed with blood and clay, His face looked ghastly in the sun. Oh, glad and red, the morning shone In happy England far away, Where knelt a bright-haired little one Beside her mother's knee to pray. And prompting each fond faltering word, The soldier's wife was glad and smiled - She knew not 'twas a widow heard The prattle of an orphan child. Oh, glad and red, oh, glad and red The morning light glowed everywhere; And one beam touched the father dead, And one the child who knelt in prayer; And from the trampled corn and clay A skylark sprang with joyous breast - For shot and shell had spared that day Its four brown eggs and little nest. --William Canton. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 125 PULPIT UTTERANCES By Eminent Divines. The Common Sense View of the Theatre. BY REV. MADISON C. PETERS. Extracts from a Sermon preached Sunday Morning, February 1, 1891 "That they use this world as not abusing it."-- I Cor, vii: 31. The theatre owes its origin to religion. In Greece, India and China the drama was originally a religious ceremony, and it was intended to promote religion. In the course of time the drama ceased to be a religious ceremony and because a work of art. Every student of church history knows that the modern drama sprang originally from the church. In the dark ages the priests put the whole of theology on the stage, and in his way the rude and unlettered mob that gathered on Saints' days were taught in an effective way the truths of religion, so that in the Christian era the first theatres were the churches and the first actors the priests. But secular competition grew apace, and in 1378 the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's Cathedral petitioned Richard II. to stop certain dramatic performances which were being gotten up in London outside the church. Why? Because the Cathedral clergy of St. Paul's had spent so much money on church scenery and costumes inside the cathedral, they were eager to crush all secular competition. In Elizabeth's reign the secular drama had grown so popular that a preacher exclaims: "Woe is me! At the play-house it is not possible to get a seat, while at the church vacant seats are plenty!" The clergy did not object to the principle of acting, or because the play was immoral, except when it satirized the drunken and smoking rector. Nor did the clergy object to the play because it hurt the people, but because it pleased them. They groaned when the people shouted. God has implanted a dramatic element in most of our natures; recognized and cultivated it in the Bible. It is not something built up outside of ourselves by Thespis and AEschylus and Sophocles and Euripides and Terence and Plautus and Seneca and Congreve and Farquhar and Corneille and Alfieri and Goldsmith and Sheridan and Shakespeare. Man is not responsible for the dramatic element in his soul, but for the perversion of it. If vacant seats are so plenty in the church, whose fault is it? The human mind is the same in the pew as in the theatre. The world suffers more from too little dramatic power in the church than from too much outside of it. A preacher asked Garrick, the tragedian, "Why is it you are able to produce so much more effect with the recital of your fictions than we do by the delivery of the most important truths?' "My Lord," said Garrick, "you speak truth as if they were fictions; we speak fictions as if they were truths." And wherever to-day, all Christendom through, there is a man in the pulpit with graceful gestures, modulated voice, elegant expression, appropriate emotion, and graceful action; wherever you find man as natural and impressive, as audible and interesting as the actor, you will find a full church. Let the preachers work at the people with the same power, intelligence, and will as the actor is obliged to work at the public, depend upon it their achievements will be in proportion. The actor does not grumble because the people wont come to the theatre. He says: "I am to blame." People don't come to church because they are not interested. Let us learn from the actor how to read and how to infuse life into our service Other things beside religion are good. Dickens' works are eternal arguments against injustice, and in writing novels he was as well employed as in preaching the gospel. Mendelssohn, by his sublime compositions, did better serve the world than going out as a missionary to China; and Shakespeare served the world and his Maker better as a dramatist than as a 126 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. bishop, preaching sermons that nobody wanted to hear. The arts and sciences must go hand in hand with religion and mortality. The charge that religion is scoffed at on the stage is false. Hypocrites and charlatans occasionally furnish subjects for its characterization. The cause of religion does not suffer when its spurious representatives are held up to ridicule and contempt. The theatre is here to stay. Reform is the note of the future. Eliminate the bad. Encourage the good. The shameful posters, the female attire, or rather the lack of it, the compromising attitudes, the silly things accepted, the commonplace persons admired and commended - thunder as much at these as you will. Let ridicule, sarcasm and denunciation exhaust their armories upon these abuses, these positive evils. "Can I go to the theatre?" asks the Christian. I answer: If you can. "Let every man be persuaded in his own mind." Refuse to do or go where your conscience forbids, but refrain from also condemning your neighbor, whose conscience may not require him to talk in the same path you have marked out for yourself. All actors are not moral. All preachers are not moral. There are bad men in all professions. There are men and women on the stage whose characters are as spotless and their lives as beneficent as any in our churches. Crimes are committed on the stage; so they are in the Bible. Goodness and badness are put in opposition in both books and plays. Charles Lamb once wrote a play for the stage, and he went to see it enacted, The play was condemned, and loudest hissing came from the gallery where Charles Lamb sat, and the audience looked and saw that it was the author of the play who was hissing his own production. If at last we are compelled to look back upon a wasted life, we ourselves will be the severest critics. And remember this, when you go out of this world and your life has been wasted, no encore can even bring you back to re-enact it. "As the tree falleth so it lieth." Your character in the last moment will be your character through all eternity. Mr. Palmer, the London actor, dropped dead on the stage while quoting the worlds of the play, "O God, is there another and better world?" I do not know what will be your exit, but in that hour there will come before you all that you have been and all that you might have been. O men and women of the theatrical profession, to whom these words may come, prepare for the closing scenes of this life, when the footlights will be the burning world, the orchestra the resurrection trumpets, the tragedy the upheaval of a world of graves, and the closing scene the dispersing of the audience to their everlasting homes of gladness or sorrow. JASMINE. They bloom again, the fair white flowers, They wreathe the old familiar bowers Just as they did a year ago; I touch, but do not pluck a spray, How fresh it is how bright and gay Its tints of green and snow! I touch, but do not pluck, ah no! I gathered, just a year ago, The last white cluster I shall pull In all my life from these green boughs That clothe the dear old rugged house, And make it beautiful. I plucked it, I who used to stand And watch a well-beloved hand Pick the first jasmine flower for me So many Summers - but last year The jasmine bloomed and faded, dear, Unseen, untouched by thee. But I, sore weeping in the day of desolation, found a spray That lingered late, and bloomed alone, I laid it, for the past's dear sake, The last sad offering love could make, In thy cold hand, my own. Oh! is there knowledge where thou art! Or doth the dim, dread river part Thee verily from me and mine? The glad sun shines, the jasmine blooms, But sorrow all my soul consumes, Love hungers for a sign. For one fond look from thee to me, One pitying word from me to thee, One, only one, it would suffice To feel I kept my olden part In those new musings of thine heart At rest in Paradise. Oh! silence empty of a sign. Oh! gulf between my life and thine, Firm fixed till I myself shall cross The tideless waves, and find the shore By angels guarded evermore - Till death retrieve life's loss. Oh! shall I know thee, dear, above, In God's undreamed-of land of love? Faith's whisper through the silence breathes "One waits thee in those blessed bowers, And from the wealth of Eden flowers Thy fadeless garland wreathes!" MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 127 Convicted by a Monkey. The unusual sight of a monkey appearing as a witness in a court occurred in San Francisco recently. "John Doe" was charged with being an accessory to the crime of pocket-picking. The monkey was really the one that was guilty of the more serious charge, but doubtless the little fellow was innocent of any evil intention. A lady was horrified while passing along Post Street to find a monkey perched on her shoulder, and before she could recover from her paralyzed condition her gold watch and chain were in the monkey's grasp and the little thief disappeared. A number of people saw the theft committed, but all seemed to pay more attention to the shrieking lady than to the thief. When she had been brought out of her hysterical state a thorough search was made the robber, but not the least trace could be found. About two weeks after the occurrence another lady, while passing along Sutter Street, was treated in a similar manner. Only this time the monkey secured a valuable diamond, which was torn from one of her ears. Two or three bystanders saw the act and entered in a hot pursuit of the four- footed rascal, who ran up to the adjoining corner and turned down Stockton Street like a flash. By this time a policeman had joined in the chase and when the corner was reached the monkey had as completely disappeared as though the earth had swallowed him. Nothing was seen in the immediate vicinity but a tall, well-dressed man leisurely proceding down the street. Doubtless he would have continued his stroll had not the officer noticed a suspicious bulging under the right side of his loosely fitting Prince Albert coat, and he was overhauled. Clinging as closely to him as possible under the coat was found the monkey. Of course the stranger was indignant at being so grossly insulted, but, nevertheless, was compelled to accompany the officer to the Central Station, where, upon being searched, several gold watches and articles of valuable jewelry were found upon his person, not considering the handsome diamonds worn by him and also the identical diamond taken from the owner's ear. Next morning when the case of John Doe was called in court none of the frequenters showed any particular interest even when a tall, swarthy man arose in the dock, passing through the little gate in the railing, approached the witness-stand and agreed to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. They had often attended murder trials and gloated over the blood-thirsty details recounted by witnesses, and the mere fact of a man being charged with picking a pocket was nothing startling, even though he was tall and handsome. When the witness finished giving his testimony in a foreign accent the majority present felt satisfied that no case could be made out against him, and wondered how an officer could make such a blunder. "Your Honor," said the prosecuting attorney, "I have but one witness to introduce, when I am willing to close the case. Call Miss Mono." Miss Mono was at once brought into court in the arms of a stalwart police officer. Miss Mono was not a young lady, but a South American monkey of diminutive size. Her language could not be interpreted either for against the witness, as the monkey alphabet has not yet been perfectly translated into English, but her actions could. With a wriggle and a jump the little animal landed plump into the arms of the pris- oner, chattering and bobbing about with every demonstration of joy. John Doe didn't seem to relish such evidence of recognition, and impatiently pushed the gleeful little beast away. "If the Court please," continued the attorney, "I wish to prove by this monkey that the defendant is guilty as charged." He then waved his hand at the crouch- ing animal. which regarded him attentively. Another motion made in the direction of the judge cause the chat- tering little thief to comprehend, and before the Court knew was up, his watch and chain were in the hands of the monkey, scampering over to the accused. The latter's face assumed a deep pallor, for he then knew that his former means of living were lost to him, and that San Quentin stared him in the face. 128 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE Shooting Wolves and Wildcats. "On a bitter cold night in January, 1840," said an aged Lehigh woodman recently, "I heard on of my hounds bellowing around the outside of the house as though something was chasing it. I then lived in the old road that ran through the woods from Tobyhanna Mills to Moscow, right where the Drinker Turnpike now is, and there were a good many wolves in the region then. It was a moonlight night, and I jumped from the bed and looked out the window to see what the hound was yelping for. Two wolves were chasing it round and round the house as tight as they could leg it, but the hound was swifter on foot than they were, and it managed to keep a few feet ahead of them at each turn. The wolves didn't bark once, but their tongues hung out, and they acted as if they had run a long distance. I had two loaded muskets in the house and I placed one of them in the corner by the door, cocked the other, and opened the door a few inches to get a shot at the wolves as they came round in front of the house. The frightened hound saw the crack in the door, dashed into it, threw the door wide open and knocked me off my feet. Both wolves rushed in, and the hound leaped upon the bed, that stood in a recess. The wolves hesitated when they got to the side of the bed, and I shut the door in a hurry, banged away at one of the wolves and shot it in the head, killing it instantly, Then I grabbed the other musket, and the second wolf made a spring for the window. It knocked out three or four panes of glass, but didn't break the sash, and it fell backward, gathered itself up and sprang again. By that time I was ready to shoot, and I bored a hole through the wolf's heart just as the beast struck the window. The hound hadn't been hurt at all, but the wolves had scared it so that it wasn't worth a copper for hunting purposes after that night. "One October I set a bear trap in the woods, about a half mile north of the Lehigh Falls. The next morning the trap was gone, and the iron hooks on the end of the drag made a trail toward the Lehigh River. I followed the trail over the dry, bare ground until it struck a moist bit of earth, where I saw the prints of a deer's hoofs in the soil. There were no bear tracks anywhere around there, and I made up my mind that a deer had got caught in the trap in some unaccountable way. So I followed the trail, and I hadn't gone many rods before I heard a deer bleating like everything in the thick bushes, some distance ahead. I hurried forward toward the stream, and in a few minutes I came in the sight of a large buck that had got tangled up in a thick clump of saplings. He was bleating loud and flouncing hard to get free, and I saw at once the cause of his suffering. A big catamount was tearing at the buck's right saddle, and it had already gnawed a hole in the ham as large as my two hands. The buck couldn't defend himself with his horns, and the catamount seemed to know it, for it kept tearing away at the bleeding flesh. I have killed more than a hundred catamounts and wildcats in this section, but I can't recall the time when I pulled the trigger with so much satisfaction as I did when I fired at that blood-thirsty creature. I stretched it out with a bullet, and then I loaded up and put an end to the buck's misery. He had stepped into the trap with his left forefoot, and the jaws had crushed the bone of his leg. In trying to leap through the thicket the buck's antlers caught in some limbs, and the trap and drag had pulled the poor beast down, so that he was unable to back up or go ahead. It was then that the cowardly catamount, which knew better than to tackle a sound buck, pounce upon him and began to tear his flesh. It was the only deer that I ever knew of getting caught in bear trap." - Written in an Album. {The following lines were written in a lady's album by Father Abram J. Ryan:] We meet, we look, we part; We each go our way- A heart has touched a heart, A ray has met a ray. And somehow-who can tell The reason of such things? There will forever dwell Echoes of one whom sings- A song whose accords meet A strange, responsive strain As sacred as 'tis sweet- A beautiful refrain. For some souls are akin If not in blood, in heart; They each from other win What never will depart. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 129 Driven to Shame. General Booth's advance sheets of "In Darkest England" relates hundreds of cases where respectable girls are driven to a life of shame. The following extracts will give our readers an idea of the terrible wretchedness of England's poor: A CRY OF DESPAIR. A short time ago a respectable chemist in Holloway, fifty years of age, driven hard to the wall, tried to end his life by cutting his throat. His wife also cut her throat, and the same time they gave strychnine to their only child. The effort failed, and they were placed on trial for attempted murder. In the Court a letter was read which the poor wretch had written before attempting his life: My Dearest George" Twelve months have I now passed of a most miserable and struggling existence, and I really cannot stand it any more. I am completely worn out, and relations who could assist me won't do any more, for such was uncle's last intimation. Never mind; he can't take his money and comfort with him, and in all probility will find himself in the same boat as myself. He never inquires whether I am starving or not. £3-a mere fleabite to him-would have put us straight, and with his security and good interest might have obtained me a good situation long ago. I can face poverty and degradation no longer, and would sooner die than go to the workhouse, whatever may be the awful consequences of the steps we have taken. We have, God forgive us, taken our darling Arty with us out of pure love and affection, so that the darling should never be cuffed about, or reminded or taunted with his heart-broken parents' crime. My poor wife has done her beast at needle-work, washing, house-mending, etc., in fact, anything and everything that would bring in a shilling; but it would only keep us in semi-starvation. I have now done six weeks' traveling from morning till night, and not received one farthing for it. If that is not enough to drive you mad-wickedly mad- I don't know what is. No bright prospects anywhere; no ray of hope. May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin, and have mercy on our sinful souls, is the payer of your miserable, broken-hearted, but loving brother, Arthur. We have now done everything that we can possibly think of to avert this wicked proceeding, but can discover no ray of hope. Fervent prayer has availed us; nothing our lot is cast, and we must abide by it. It must be God's will or He would have ordained it differently. Dearest Georgy, I am exceedingly sorry to leave you all, but I am mad-thoroughly mad. You dear, must try and forget us, and, if possible, forgive us; for I do not consider it our own fault we have not succeeded. If you could get £3 for our bed it will pay our rent, and our scanty furniture may fetch enough to bury us in a cheap way, Don't grieve over us or follow us, for we shall not be worthy of such respect. Our clergyman has never called on us or given us the least consolation, though I called on him a month ago. He is paid to preach and there he considers his responsibility ends, the rich excepted. We have only yourself and a very few others who care one pin what becomes of us, but you must try and forgive us, is the last fervent prayer of you devotedly fond and affectionate but broken-hearted and persecuted brother. (Signed) R. A. O.-. "That," says General Booth, "is an authentic human document-a transcript from the life of one among thousands who go down inarticulate into the depths. They die and make no sign, or, worse still, they continue to exist, carrying about with them, year after year, the bitter ashes of a life from which the furnace of misfortune has burnt away all joy, and hope, and strength. VICIOUS WOMEN. The records of the Rescue Homes' abound with life-stories, some of which the officers of the Salvation Army have been able to verify to the letter, which prove only too conclusively the existence of numbers of innocent victims whose entry upon this dismal life can in no way be attributed to any act of their own will. Many are orphans or children of depraved mothers, whose one idea of 130 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE a daughter is to make money out of her evil life. Here are A few cases on the register: "E C., aged 18, a soldier's child, born on the sea. Her father died, and her mother, a thoroughly depraved woman, assisted to secure her daughter's downfall. "P . S., aged twenty, went to consult a doctor one time about some ailment. The doctor took advantage of his patient, and when she complained, gave her £4 ($20) as compensation. When that was spent, having lost her character, she began an evil life. We looked the doctor up, and he fled. "E. A., aged seventeen, was left an orphan very early in life, and adopted by her godfather, who himself was the means of her fall at the age of ten. "A girl in her teens lived with her mother in the 'Dusthole,' the lowest part of Woolrich. The woman forced her out upon the street, and profited by her sin. "E., neither father nor mother, was taken care of by a grandmother till, at an early age, accounted old enough. Married a soldier, but shortly before the birth of her first child, found that her deceiver had a wife and family in a distant part of the country, and she was soon left friendless and alone. She sought an asylum for a few weeks, after which she vainly tried to get honest employment. Failing that, and being on the very verge of starvation, she entered a lodging house in Westminster and 'did as other girls.' Here our lieutenant found and persuaded her to leave and enter one of our Homes, where she soon gave abundant proof of her conversion by a thoroughly changed life. She is now a faithful and trusted servant in a clergyman's family. "A girl was some time ago discharged from a city hospital after an illness. She was homeless and friendless, an orphan and obliged to work for a living. Walking down the street and wondering what she would do next, she met a girl, who came up to her in a most friendly fashion and speedily won her confidence. 'Discharged ill, and nowhere to go, are you?' said her new friend. 'Well, come home to my mother's; she will lodge you and we'll go to work together when you are quite strong.' "The girl consented quite gladly; but found herself conducted to the very lowest part of Woolrich. There was no mother in the case; she was hoaxed, and powerless to resist. Her protestations were too late to save her, and having had her character forced from her she became hopeless, and stayed on to live the life of her false friend." "There is no need," the author concludes, "for me to go into the details of the way in which men and women, whose whose livelihood depends upon their success in disarming the suspicions of their victims, and luring them to their doom, contrive to overcome the reluctance of the young girl, without parents, friends or helpers, to enter their toils. What fraud fails to accomplish, a little force succeeds in effecting; and a girl who has been guilty of nothing but imprudence finds herself an outcast for life." - The Old Familiar Faces. CHARLES LAMB. I have had playmates, I have had companions In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; All, are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a love once, fairest among women; Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her-- All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder fiend has no man; Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like I paced round that haunts of my childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces. How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. - HONOR is like the eye, which cannot suffer the least impurity without harm; it is a precious stone the price of which is lessened by the least flaw. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE 131 MOTHER AND CHILD DORA HARVEY VROOMAN. "They are such tiny feet! They have gone so short a way to meet The years which are required to break Their steps to evenness, and make Them go More sure and slow." Do not force baby to walk. Do not be impatient if he learns but slowly. Be kind and patient with his tottering little feet. Lead by gentleness. Encourage him with words of praise, and, if he fails, instead of saying, "There you clumsy little thing, you always fall!" Smile into his anxious eyes and say, "Never mind, dear, try again!" It is a mistake to think that they don't understand, for they do. I have seen babies little more than a week old pucker up their tiny lips ready to cry at a harsh-sounding word and relapse again into peacefulness and quiet, when the tone was changed with caresses to one of love. * * * * * * The care of children's teeth is a very important thing. This should begin just as soon as there are any teeth to care for. Buy a soft brush-mind I say soft, for hard brushes not only wear the enamel, but they injure the gums and cause them to recede-and let your children learn to use it while little more than infants. In cleaning the teeth it is not necessary to use powder more than two or three times a week, but a brush should be used every morning. Floss should be used after each meal in order to extract any particles of food which may become lodged between the teeth. The method of using it is simple. Run the thread around and between the teeth, by pulling it through the spaces that separate them. In brushing the teeth do not brush from left to right, but up and down; this lets the bristles in between the teeth, thereby cleaning them thoroughly all around. * * * * * * The care of the hair is also important to the health. The pores of the skin of the head require attention as well as those of the body. To keep the pores well open there must be some friction. A comb which scratches the scalp must not be used, as it is apt to the skin sore from irritation. Use a stiff brush and give the head a vigorous brushing once a day. The hair should be kept clean. If we were to let our faces and bodies go without washing for weeks, I'm afraid we would be a pretty grimy-looking set of mortals. It stands to reason, therefore, that our hair and skin of the head need attention. Many a woman who calls herself cleanly, goes about with her "crown of glory" in the condition of a dust mop. A little borax or a teaspoonful of ammonia in the basin full of water, in which the hair is to be washed, will cleanse it beautifully and not injure it at all. * * * * * * The children should be taught to keep their brushes clean and fresh. Both hair- and tooth-brushes should be washed frequently. Take a little warm suds, with a spoonful of ammonia in it and wash them thoroughly, placing them in the sun to dry. One must of course regulate the amount of ammonia and water according to the number of brushes to be washed, but it is safe to say a spoonful of the spirits to a quart of water. * * * * * * Mothers, or those having little ones in their case, should be very careful in regard to bathing them during the cold weather. Have the room warm and the clothes that are to be worn after the bath well-aired and warmed. It is a good plan to have them hanging over a chair back close to the fire while the child is being washed. Unless the child is very robust, it is best not to put its entire body into the water at once. Uncover the upper part of the body to the waist, pinning a woolen shawl or blanket about the loins and legs. Then, with a soft wash-cloth or sponge, 132 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. wash quickly, rinsing with clear, warm water. Rub with a rough towel till the skin is aglow. Then put on the warm little undershirt, and throw some light extra wrap across the back in order to protect the spine. Next loosen the blanket or shawl from the waist and wash the lower half of the body in the same manner. In this way the child will not be likely to become chilled or take cold, and neither will he be apt to dread his bath as so many little ones do. Talk to the children during the bath. When you have washed one hand or foot place it beside the other and call attention to the fact that one looks nice and clean, while the other does not. Or, say in a cheerful tone, looking at the clock: "It is just quarter of ten" (or whatever time it maybe) - "let us see how many minutes it will take to make my boy new and clean." In this way the child will help the bath by being a willing subject. * * * * * * Many people, especially women and children, suffer the entire winter through with cold feet. This is due in the main to the fact that they wear their shoes too tight. Unless the toes have perfect freedom the blood cannot circulate properly, hence follow stiffened and benumbed toes, cold feet, and very often a numbness up the limbs. Those who wear rubbers the entire time during the winter generally suffer with their feet. Rubbers make them very tender by overheating and causing them to perspire. They should only be worn during stormy or slushy weather, and even then should be removed as soon as one enters the house. They draw the feet, keep them hot and wet with perspiration - then as soon as one goes again into the air the feet are chilled. In the country I have often noticed that the farmers put some dry straw or pieces of newspaper in the bottom of their shoes or boots; the paper or straw absorbs the perspiration and keeps the feet dry. A sprinkle of cayenne pepper in the soles of the shoes will also keep the feet warm. It quickens the circulation and brings the blood to the feet and toes. What the Baby Can Do. It can wear out a one dollar pair of kid shoes in twenty-four hours. It can keep its father busy advertising in the newspapers for a nurse. It can occupy both sides of the largest- sized bed manufactured simultaneously. It can cause its father to be insulted by every second-class boarding-house keeper in the city who "never takes children," which, in nine cases out of ten, is very fortunate for the children. It can make itself look like a fiend just when mamma wants to show "what a pretty baby she has." It can make an old bachelor in the room adjoining use language that, if uttered on the street, would get him into the penitentiary for two years. It can go from the furthest end of the room to the foot of the stairs in the hall adjoining quicker than its mother can just step into the closet and out again. It can go to sleep "like a little angel" and just as mamma and papa are starting for the theatre it can wake up and stay awake till the last act. These are some of the things a baby can do. But there are other things as well. A baby can make the commonest house the brightest spot on earth. It can lighten the burdens of a loving mother's life by adding to them. It can flatten its dirty little face against the window-pane in such a way that the tired father can see it as a picture before he rounds the corner. Yes, babies are great institutions, particularly one's own baby. MATURITY.-Among the fond fancies of children is the belief that when "grown up" there will be no more lessons to learn, no more commands to obey, no more scolding to endure. They will be men and women, no longer children in the nursery, pupils in the schoolroom; therefore they will be free, independent, above rebuke and beyond coercion. It is a helpful belief, lending them the aid of hope wherewith to assist patience during the dark days of the actual, in expectation of the cloudless skies of the ideal. And it is about as baseless as the mist- wreaths of the morning. As if we were ever free from rebuke, lessons, command, coercion! MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 133 OUR YOUNG FOLKS The Take of a Rooster A FABLE. BY DORA HARVEY VROOMAN. INTRODUCTION. How we laugh when we see a little Bantam with his breast inflated, and his head thrown back, strutting up and down the yard with majestic tread! His eye is bright with self-appreciation and esteem, and he imagines all the other fowls hold the same opinion of him as he holds of himself. How his pride would be wounded could he but know what the old Dominique hen said to the little Spanish pullet as he strode by! With what rage his little heart would swell could be but know the thoughts that were passing in the mind if yonder Shanghai, as he rests on one foot in the corner by the fence! But he does not know, so he moves on with imposing dignity, keeping time to the tune of "Me-me-I-I-oh! There's only one 'me' in the world!" And how many little "bantams" we meet every day of our lives! We cannot all be nightingales, and if we were not created one, what is the use in trying to ape one! We may make a good attempt at imitating, but who would not rather be a real, bona fide wren, doing fully the duty God allotted him or her as a wren, than to strive to be a nightingale, and, not succeeding, accomplish nothing - neither the mission of the songster, nor of the home-bird! Once upon a time there was a barnyard fowl. He was a nice, glossy, smooth-feathered chap, and his associates admired him. He held his head well; his eye was bright, his step firm, and, on the whole, he was "good to look upon." He received so much attention from his brother birds that ere long he began to have a very good opinion of himself. As he grew his opinion grew also, till one day he exclaimed to himself: "I'm an Eagle! Yes, I'm sure I'm an Eagle! I'm not like these common birds of the soil! All I desire is the chance to prove my superiority!" Time sped by, and Mr. Rooster would walk off daily to some secluded spot where he would try his wings. Yes, he could fly! Verily, he began to believe that he really was an Eagle. "Some day," he said to himself, "when the barn-yard is full - just at the time when all are being fed, I'll mount the hitching-post, and, in a commanding voice, will tell them that my sphere is above, that I must away; that a spirit within me calls, and much as I regret to go, I must obey the call, for it is the call of duty! Yes, I'm sure I'm an Eagle!" Thus mused the cock, and each time he said it, he believed it more, till at length the idea became part of himself. One day, at feeding time he created quite a sensation by perching on the hitching- post in front of the carriage-house, and saying in a strong clear voice: "Fellow comrades, I've something to say to you." Every eye was upon him; a murmur of praise ran from chick to chick, as they noted his glossy coat, and his flashing eye. He really was a handsome chap! What a figure! Yes, they were proud of him. Even the old whitey- browney duck, paddling in the mire, stopped long enough to "quack" a word of praise. "I have" continued Mr. Rooster, "dwelt with you for a long time, and I have not been unhappy either - why should I be when there are so many bright fellows among you? But I am about to go away on a long journey and may never see you again, so now I will say goodbye." Here a deep murmur of regret ran through the whole assembled throng of fowls. "I go," continued he, "because duty calls me. I am not a rooster as has been supposed all these months" (for he was yet young), "but I'm an Eagle. Me- thinks I hear the voice of my kind calling, so I go. Farewell! Farewell! Perchance I may, in the course of time, fly hither, 134 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. again, and if it is so decreed, will only be too pleased to visit you." The younger cocks crowed, but the old fellows laid their heads on one side and winked their eyes at each other, for had they not seen "Eagles" before? "Farewell!" came the voice from the top of the hitching-post. Flap went the wings. Yes, he was flying! He rose -- higher, higher, higher. There! He was really at the top of corn-crib, Here he stopped, not to rest, of course, for Eagles do not tire so easily, but once more to say "farewell," and to whisper to himself "Now for that cherry tree." He turned and gazed at the gaping brood beneath. "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" came from below. All timidity was gone; all fear was cast to the winds. Oh! the proud glory of this moment! To soar, soar, soar, to regions beyond the hills! To be free, free, free! To be safe beyond that horrid picket fence! To behold strange wonders that the heart of cocks and hens had never dreamed of! How glad he was to be an Eagle! "Farewell," came in a sad though dignified voice from the top of the corn- crib. Once more the wings were spread; once more the majestic from rose. But lo! It did not either! It fell down, down, down! Alas! Why could not it fall in a respectable place while it was about it? "But the way of the transgressor is hard," so down he came into a horrid pool that lay at the farthest end of the yard. It had rained much of late and the pool deep. Splash! Deep under the waters he went! When he rose to the surface the fire in his eye was quenched and his plumage was no longer gay. He was weak, and again sank beneath the ripples in the pool. His companions stood by and gazed at him. The chickens could not swim, and the ducks would not. Of course they would not, for had he not once sneered at them because they waddle? He had said "Farewell," then let him go. Just then Jack, the scraggy, ugly, little dog came bounding by. He dashed into the pool amidst screeching and flapping of wings, and dragged for poor forlorn little rooster to the shore. The Eagle --oh! where was he? Echo answers, where? When our hero reached terra firma again he dragged his stiff limbs to a sunny corner by the old watering trough and settled himself to dry. His head hung low, his wings drooped, he was enveloped in a steaming vapor, and covered with - not dust - but plenty of humiliation. But chickens and ducks are just like mortals. They never forgave this attempt of their brother to soar above them. He would never have another opportunity now. His humiliation had come to stay. He had been that morning the handsomest fowl in the yard - the pet and pride of the Rooster world; a great beautiful fellow, and his comrades were ever ready to listen to him; but now where was all his glory? Had he been content to be a Rooster, doing as a noble honorable, upright Rooster should do, he would still be King of the Barn-yard. Where was all his glory now? Gone to the winds. Who would not rather have been a rooster! "Bruce and the Spider." Six times his gossamary thread The wary spider threw; In vain the filmy line was sped, For powerless or untrue Each aim appeared, and back recoiled The patient insect, six times foiled, And yet unconquered still; And soon the Bruce with eager eye, Saw him prepare once more to try His courage, strength and skill. One effort more, his seventh and last - The hero hailed the sign! - And on the wished-for beam hung fast That slender, silken line! Slight as it was, his spirit caught The more than omen, for his thought The lesson well could trace, Which even "he who runs may read," That Perseverance gains it meed And Patience wins the race - From Bernard Barton's "Bruce and the Spider." A proud, irritable, discontented, and quarrelsome person can never be happy. He has thrown a tempestuous atmosphere around himself, and must for ever move in the regions of storms. He has employed sure means to embitter life, whatever may be his external circumstances. He has been the architect of his temper, and misery must be the result of his labor. MUNYON"S MAGAZINE. 135 FASHIONS Seasonable Styles. ECCENTRIC DRESS FEATURES - TOILETTES FOR LATE WINTER WEAR - FASHIONABLE FABRICS - GRACEFUL MANTLES - BECOMING BONNETS. The eccentric in dress is admissible only when becoming and appropriate, for, when the unique costume, on even a very pretty women, has not the charm of correct adaptation, and fails to be a pleasing combination of dress with the wearer it becomes grotesque, and laughable, and therefore should be avoided. The true artist in dress knows when her model can be safely swathed in classic draperies, when Grecian folds will enhance beauties in form, or conceal objectionable defects, or when the rigid severity of the Princess gown will reveal to advantage, the seductive outline of the perfect figure. She neither squares the sloping shoulders with the high puffed sleeves nor does destroy symmetry by waist compression, for too well she knows that in dress ease and grace are synonyms, and she attains form effects by stratagems, for if those effects are ralities, the result would be destruction to health and personal comfort. To speak more plainly, the wise modiste never binds, but she pads without hesitation, anywhere, and everywhere the form hesitation, anywhere, and everywhere the form is defective; if the waist is large she increases the appearance of size in bust and chest, and at once the correct proportions are attained. If pads prove objectionable her method takes another form and by seams and darts she gives the desired form-curves, and again she makes her figure by a turn and twist of material, a fold here, and a ruffle there; a fulness or a plastron, will in skilled hands, make or mar the most elaborate costume, and still the average man imagines that any women ought to be able to make a stylish and perfect fitting dress. For evening dresses, no materials are so pretty as the crepons, china crape, and Greek tulle in colors, and Crystallette in black, white cloth is the fabric for walking suits, and even for dinner toilettes. The dresses for special occasions are made of cloth, very fine in texture, and in light shades, combined with oriental waistcoats, or other silk or velvet ornaments, and then richly embroidered with silver, gold, and precious stones, some fur or curled feathers will also be employed in very narrow stripes. Some of these suits are very elegant, for cloth proves an admirable foundation for the embroideries and passementeries now so fashionable. The Album des Modes says the latest collar novelty is one on which are fixed standing up tips of ostrich feathers, forming the Medici collar, which is very dressy. Dark shaded velvet trimmings are used on ball or evening gowns, but they are no longer disposed in large lapels or panels, but in very small motives, such as edgings round the opening, the waist and the cuffs, in fact it is employed rather in the shape of small fancy ornaments, than as an important combining part of a dress. An extremely elegant reception dress lately sent from Paris, is a combination of gray cloth, and amethyst velvet. The skirt of gray cloth, has a handsome border of silver braiding around the foot, and opens at the back, over a skirt panel of amethyst velvet, edged down both sides with a band of gray astakhan. The bodice is trimmed, in front, with two resers, embroidered in silver, over a velvet plastron. At the back there are two bands, forming bretelles, edged with amethyst velvet over the gray cloth bodice. The sleeves are also embroidered with silver, and are finished with puffings of velvet. A ruche of amethyst velvet goes round the neck. Abont the prettiest ball dress lately made for a young lady, is of dainty white crape, brocaded with blue flowerettes. The skirt is gathered on over an under- slip of thin white silk, and is trimmed 136 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. round the foot with a deep flounce of point lace, put on almost plain. The low round bodice is gathered at the waist, and round the top with a beading. It is gathered over a plain white silk lining, and is laced at the back. A scarf of blue velvet, fastened with a bow over the right shoulder, is crossed over the chest, and fastened at the waist, on the left side, with another bow and long lapels. The short puffed sleeves are finished with a band of velvet. A pretty and convenient opera cloak easy to put on and take off, is of pale gray cassimere, braided all over with silver. The shape is that of a large circular put on to a small shoulder piece, and it has a high Medici collar. This graceful wrap is lined throughout with rose-colored plush, and has no sleeves, but falls loose over the arms. It will be very pretty, if duplicated in garnet, braided with black or with gold. One of the new visiting wraps of black velvet is handsomely trimmed with black astrakhan fur, and rich black silk passementerie. The back is tight fitting, and the front is very lightly shirred and gathered at the waist. It opens in front, and is continued in two square panels, shirred at the waist where it is covered by a corselet of passementerie. A very stylish wrap can be made after this model, by using dark red, green, blue or brown velvet, and trimming the garment with chinchilla fur and a passementerie of silk to match the velvet, mixed with gold threads. Bonnets are still very small, but the newest are just a little deeper in the crown, than they were last month. Most of them are very plain, to match the cloth costumes, being trimmed en suite, with fur, feathers or embroideries. For young ladies, the capotes of cloth are sometimes prettily trimmed with a full pinked out silk ruching. An evening capote, a wonder of airy grace, is made of pale-pink tulle, which really forms the brim, and is encircled by two wreaths of flowers formed of tinsel and small pink beads. In front are placed a pink velvet bow, and a pink aigrette, and at the back of the crown a bow of velvet and a spray of the flowers secure the pink tie-strings. Binder, the leading authority in styles of hair-dressing, says that a centre parting of the bang will characterize all dressing of the hair this season. This is known as the "Kendal" bang, and will be the special style for evening wear. It is dressed in soft puffy rings, turning towards centre to preserve the parting through to the face, More hair is required to demonstrate this method of hair dressing, and this bang looks well, with either high or low arrangement of the hair. The langorous sweetness of Helio- Violet, the new sachet powder, takes one back to the youthful days in the flower- gardens of the sunny south. Swiss Lilac, Lundberg's latest perfume, is exactly like the breath of the lilac bloom. Goya Lily, a decidedly oriental odor, is a favorite handkerchief perfume of fashionable fair ones. Korah Moire, has the richness and watered effect of superior silk; it is in reality a high novelty in Egyptian Cotton, combed yarns, new in make, with Moire effect. Very stylish dresses will be made of this material for spring and summer wear. Who is the discreet woman? The discreet woman is the one: Whose tongue can think as well as Speak Who doesn't rely on her "woman's instinct" to teach her how to do every thing in the world from making a mayonnaise dressing to running a steamboat. Who makes a point of seeming to know only half as much as she really does. Who doesn't tell a lie if she can help it, but who holds fast to a lie once told, though the heavens fell. Who never tells her underlying philosophy of human life even to her dearest friend. Who never makes an obvious display of her power of any ma[n]. Who can be stone-blind and post-deaf and oyster dumb upon occasion. Who never demands anything of any- body, as a right. But who knows how to assume her rights so completely as to never miss getting them. MUNYON's MAGAZINE 137 WOMENS COUNCIL The question of gloves is always one of interest to women. The first putting on of a glove goes a great way towards determining its wear. If you want a glove to fit buy it leisurely and with judgement, and put it on slowly, taking care to fit every part. It is better not to use a stretcher. Put the gloves on carefully, letting the hands do the expanding; this will secure a perfect fit at every point. Choose gloves the fingers of which which corresponds with the length of your own. Work the fingers on first, then the thumb. Smooth them down until they fit in every part. A glove that fits well will be likely to wear well. When the fingers are so small as to require a stretcher the body part of the glove will be likely to become strained out in drawing it over the hand. "A case of veil headache," said a physician the other day as a woman passed out of his office. " Five case of headache come to me now where there used to be one. And the spotted veil is the cause of it. The headache comes from the eyes, which are sure to be more or less affected by the continual wearing of the dotted face veil pulled closely over the eyes, as women wear it to-day. My patients come to me with one of those ridiculous little veils on and tell me that they have a constant headache with disturbed vision, and that they fear they shall have to wear glasses. But when I tell them they will only have to stop wearing the face veil, they look hurt and tell me they are perfectly sure that the veil does't hurt them in the least, and that I don't understand the case. But then no physician, so far as a patient is concerned, ever did quite understand the case." A HOME-MADE DIVAN.- To make a divan you will require a box six feet long, twenty-five inches wide and ten inches high. Have it made of lumber heavy enough to hold the nails, that it may not come apart at the corners. The cover must be strong and firmly fastened on. The box may be lined with any kind of strong cloth. It will be found very useful as a receptacle for dresses. On the top of the box fasten springs, by means of staples, such as are used in window blinds. You can easily get staples at any hardware store. Common bed-springs will do, but they must be cut down, or they will be too high. Fasten the springs together with wires, as they are in a bed, then put a stout piece of cloth through them and fasten it to the side of the cover. Draw stout canvas tightly over the springs, and tack it firmly to the cover, then put on your mattress, and cover the whole with pretty cretonne or chintz. The sides must be padded before the cretonne is put on. Carpet lining, or some old soft comforts or blankets will do. Make a puff around the edge of the cover and tack it on, hiding the tacks with cords or gimp. Put castors under the corners, and make and cover to match, two large pillows. You will find such a divan a great comfort in your chamber or sitting-room. GREAT MEN AND LITTLE FOLKS. - Charles Dickens expressed a true affection for children when he said, "I love these little people, and it is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us" Thackeray used to feel his eyes grow dim when they gazed on little children; and Sir Walter Scott loved to have them about him. Victor Hugo had a passion for infancy that led him continually to celebrate it in verse and prose. Two of the most beautiful of Charles Lamb's essay, "Dream Children" and the "Child Angel," bear reference to childhood. As for the poet Shelley, he believed that children bring with them revelations from the unseen world. An earlier poet, William Blake, has inaugurated the poetry of childhood as a distinct literary branch. 138 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. COOKERY MARY DUDLEY. A FAST-DAY BILL OF FARE.-Besides being very simple and easily cooked, these dishes are nearly all made up of canned goods-a valuable suggestion in itself: Puree of Beans. Scalloped Clams. Beans with Sweet Herbs. Stewed Okra and Tomatoes. Deviled Corned Beef. Beet Salad. Apricots with Whipped Cream. POACHED EGGS.-In the water intended for poaching eggs put half a cupful of vinegar and a tablespoonful of salt to each quart ; this addition will keep the whites of the eggs firm and clear ; the eggs may be dropped within muffin-rings laid in the frying-pan, or cooked with the aid of mechanical egg-poachers ; or they may be broken separately in cups or saucers and slipped off into the boiling water, and when they are cooked to the desired degree taken out of the water with a skimmer, trimmed neatly, and laid on hash or simply on toast. PINIONS AND DRUMSTICKS.-If poultry is carefully carved these parts may be laid aside for a second dish ; the pinions are the lower joints of the wings ; after they are cut off roll them in flour, seasoned with salt and pepper, and quickly brown them with just enough butter to prevent burning; then season them highly, cover them with boiling water, and stew them until they are tender. Serve them on toast, with their gravy poured over them ; the size of the dish may be increased by adding small potatoes, peeled, corn cut from the cob, peas, or beans, to the stew while it is being cooked ; dumplings may be used to increase the dish. In the country, where pasture or ploughed lands produce mushrooms, they may be stewed with the chicken. SOFT GINGERBREAD.-A correspondent asks for this recipe. Note in using these recipes that a heaping tablespoonful of flour or dry sugar weighs about one ounce, and a moderate-sized tablespoonful of butter the same. It is the safest method to insure exactness in cookery to use weights and measures, for tablespoons and cups vary much in their capacity. A pint tin measure can be bought for a few cents, and a scale with weights sufficient for ordinary kitchen use for one dollar. Line a medium-sized pan with buttered paper. Melt an ounce of butter, add it to half a pint of molasses, with one level teaspoonful each of ground cloves, cinnamon and ginger ; dissolve a level teaspoonful of baking soda in half a pint of boiling water and mix it with the molasses ; then lightly and quickly stir in half a pound of sifted flour ; pour the batter thus made into the pan, and bake the gingerbread in a moderate oven for half an hour, or until a broom-splint run into it can be withdrawn clean and dry. This is an excellent cake for supper, as well as a simple dessert for dinner. IN China a woman cannot return to her parents' house after an unhappy marriage, as is so often done in Western lands, because there is no provision for her support. The land is set apart for the maintenance of the parents, and, after that has been provided for, the remainder is divided among the brothers. No lot or portion falls to a sister. MOST housewives know how invaluable newspapers are for packing away winter clothing, the printing ink acting as a deterrent to the stoutest moth, some housewives think, as successfully as camphor or tar-paper. For this reason newspapers are invaluable under the carpet, laid over the ordinary carpet paper. ACCORDING to the observations of Dr. Wilder, the prairie-dog has a poor sense of altitude. At the Cornell University, where some of these animals are kept, they were found to walk off chairs, tables, and window-sills. It is supposed that, having always lived on a plain, they are unused to sudden heights and angles. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 139 HOMELESS I WANDER. Words and Music by J. M. MUNYON. Andante con expression. [sheet of music] 1. Where shall I go, who cares for me? Spurn'd and rejected by each one I see, Homeless I wander seeking a bed, Hopeless and helpless begging for bread. Attacca Chorus. 2. Once I was lov'd tender and true, Once I was careless and happy like you, Once I was courted, praised for my charms, Now I am friendless asking for alms. 3. What is my guilt, what is my shame? Why do I blush at the sound of my name? Only for trusting a false lover's vow, His was the sinning I suffer for now. CHORUS ad lib. Oh, mother come back from thy bright starry home, Kiss me again while in darkness I roam. Clasp me once more, Close to thy breast; Call me thy daughter and I shall be blessed. Copyrighted, by J. M. MUNYON. 140 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE MUNYON'S PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY Munyon's Magazine Company, AT Filbert and Juniper Streets, Philadelphia, Pa. Subscription Price, post-paid, one year, $1.50 " " " six months, 75 cts. " " " three months, 50 cts. Single Copy, . . . . . 15 cts. " " with Premium . . 25 cts. ADVERTISING RATES. 50 Cents per line. Reading Notices, $1.00 per line. Agate measure. NOTICE. Philadelphia subscribers will please call at this office and receive a number of new bonds, including a bond on a new dry goods house, for which we make no extra charge. All subscribers who have failed to receive their magazine regularly will please send in their names with former and present address that all errors may be corrected. Removal. Munyon's Magazine is now published at S. E. Cor. Filbert and Juniper Streets, directly opposite the Public Buildings. The office and editorial rooms are on the ground floor. Domestic Service. A young housekeeper is always in danger of shipwreck upon one of two dangerous rocks. She is apt either to treat her servants as equals or as machines, and so forfeit either their respect or their love. The suggestion of loving service in our modern life is so foreign to our notions as to seem almost ludicrous. And yet just here it is that the secret of perfect service lies. And just here it is, too, that women make the fatal mistake. The relation is founded upon a cold, hard, purely mercenary basis. We give our money and our work to foreign, possibly to domestic missions, and we forget that into our hands have been given, in a certain though limited sense, souls perhaps starving for sympathy, or hanging on the very verge of destruction. It is not quite enough that you, as mistress of a household, should be firm and kind, high-principled, and self-controlled, though that is far more than most women can pretend to be; but you should feel a sense of personal obligation in the relation between yourself and your servants. A young, ignorant, perhaps pretty, girl is brought into your house, and this is her first situation. She is cut off from such restraints as have been around her in the home she has left. Her new sense of liberty is sweet to her, and is apt to be too much for her. It is not enough that you train her in her special work, though that is much. You must remember that she is human, that she is young, and a woman; that she has her joys and sorrows, her heart-sickness and disappointments, her small vanities, and fluttering hopes, and peculiar temptations. The very fact that, with all the work she has to do, her material surroundings are brighter and easier than those to which she has been accustomed, that she is warmed, clothed, and fed, leaves her free to feel the flatness and monotony of her life. A woman should be able to go into the kitchen and show her cook how to make bread, roast meat, prepare vegetables; she should understand the correct ways of sweeping, dusting, bed-making; she should be able to set a table, wash dishes, polish silver. She should know when the laundry work is badly done, why the clothes are muddy in color, streaked with blue, flimsy, or ill-smelling, and how to rectify the evil. Careful housekeepers can readily see that it will be greatly to their advantage to become subscribers to MUNYON'S MAGAZINE, as a yearly subscription is only one dollar and fifty cents, and every subscriber receives from ten to twenty bonds, worth $3.00 each, or, in other words each subscriber receives coupons to the amount of $30 to $60, this means simply $30 to $60 saved, for the coupons are issued on just such lines of merchandise as every one uses, dry goods, groceries, furniture, carpets, millinery goods, hats, shoes, etc. We want agents in every town and city to take subscriptions for this magazine. Men in shops, clerks in stores, ladies who have a few leisure hours, boys and girls, in fact, all who desire to make money should send at once for our confidential terms. VOSE & SONS. PIANOS. Established in 1851. Over 26,000 sold and in use. They combine ELEGANCE, DURABILITY, and MODERATE PRICES. Among the many other IMPROVEMENTS which they contain, are the PATENT REPEATING ACTION, producing a touch as delicate as that of a Concert Grand Piano; the CAPO D'ASTRO BAR, which sustains that beautiful singing quality of tone, so wanting in most Upright Pianos; the MOUSE PROOF PEDAL, which is an absolute protection against mice getting into pionos and making havoc with the felts. Sold on the most accomodat'g terms. Delivered in your house FREE OF EXPENSE and satisfaction guaranteed. Old instruments taken in exchange. Catalogues mailed free. VOSE & SONS PIANO CO., 170 Tremont Street, Boston, Mass. GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878. W. BAKER & CO.'S Breakfast Cocoa from which the excess of oil has been removed, Is absolutely pure and it is soluble. No Chemicals are used in its preparation. It has more than three times the strength of Cocoa mixed with Starch, Arrowroot or Sugar, and is therefore far more economical, costing less than one cent a cup. It is delicious, nourishing, strengthening, EASILY DIGESTED, and admirably adapted for invalids as well as for persons in health. Sold by Grocers everywhere. W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass. TROY STEAM LAUNDRY, 1323 ARCH STREET, OLIVER K. REED, Prop. Lace Curtains and Caps done up equal to new. Wagons promptly call for and deliver work free of charge, to all parts of the city, R. R. depots and boat landings. CONSUMPTION. I have a positive remedy for the above disease; by its use thousands of cases of the worst kind and of long standing have been cured. Indeed so strong is my faith in its efficacy, that I will send TWO BOTTLES FREE, with a VALUABLE TREATISE on this disease to any sufferer who will send me their Express and P. O. address. T. A. Slocum, M.C., 181 Pearls St., N. Y I WILL TELL any one who sends a self-addressed stamped envelope, of something I made which entirely cured by face of Blackheads, Pimples & Freckles, (any one can prepare it). Address P. O. Box 83, Buffalo, N. Y. Guaranteed Watch $2.98. 14K GOLD! AND SOLID GERMAN SILVER. The cases are made of a plate of fine 14k gold over the finest quality of German silver, making a case composed of nothing but fine gold covering finest quality of German silver. With German silver on the inside and 14k gold on the outside, we warrant the cases to be equal in appearance to a $50 solid 14k gold watch. They are open face, smooth basine, finished to a dazzling brightness, dust and damp proof and warranted to wear a life time. Different from the cheap brass watches offered, the case contains nothing but gold and the finest quality of German silver, and in fact it is in everyway except intrinsic value, equal to a $50 solid gold watch. The movement is a fine 3-4 plate style, finely jeweled polished pinion, oil tempered main spring which does not break, and all the latest improvements. A guarantee is sent with each watch that it will keep accurate time for 2 years ordinary use. OUR 90 DAY OFFER. That all may have this beautiful watch in their own hands, and fully examine and see for themselves the value and running qualities of same, we will send it C. O. D. to your express office, with the privilege to examine it. All we ask is any business man in your city as reference that you are ordering the watch in good faith, and if found satisfactory you can pay the express agent $2.98, or when full amount is sent with order we give a fine gold plated chain and charm free. If not satisfactory you can refuse same and you are nothing out but your time in going to the express office. Knowing the fine qualities of this watch we make the above offer, as anyone wanting a good time piece will accept same at once on examination. Order at once as our price will be advanced. Address WILLIAMS & CO., 125 S. Halstead St., Chicago, Illinois SECRET OF DRESSING WELL At low cost. Have your clothes made to order, where it is well and stylishly done. PANTS $3 TO $10 SUITS $12 TO $35 ALL WOOL, WELL TRIMMED, PERFECT FIT. Samples, self-measuring rules and tape measure sent FREE, upon application. DELAWARE WOOLEN MILLS, N. W. Cor. 4th & Market Sts., Phila., Pa. COINS If you receive any money coined before 1878, save it and send two stamps to NUMISMATIC BANK, Boston, Mass., for circulars on rare coins and government premium bonds. A fortune for somebody. LADIES "How to permanently remove Superfluous Hair." "How to reduce Superfluous Flesh 15 pounds a month." "How to develop the Bust scientifically." "How Lean Ladies may speedily become Stout." Describe your case fully, and send 4 cents for sealed instructions. WILCOX SPECIFIC CO., Philadelphia, Pa. IF U ARE UNMARRIED, send your glove measure and 2 cent stamp and receive by return mail, "a pleasant surprise." MANAGER OF CLIMAX, CHICAGO, ILL. 999 SONGS GIVEN AWAY. Handsomely bound in four volumes Send stamp to ALBERT W. PHILLIPS, Publisher, CHICAGO, ILL. 142 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. A LOVE TRAGEDY BY TELEPHONE IN EIGHT ACTS Act I. "Are you there? Are you, M. Lecornu?" Act II "No, Leon, it's I. Father's out." A Rare Coincidence. CHARLES M. SNYDER. The waiter, bless him! led us to A table snugly hid from sight; Myself and–well, no matter who– To tell the name would not be right. But she had mallow-melting lips; Her eyes were luring languors blent, and such inviting dreams they wrought That I–away, entrancing thought! Of course our reveries were not In anywise coincident. A fancy, rather dreamed than shaped The fragile bonnet on her head, From which a furtive curl escaped And here and there a golden thread. Her gown was marvelous; and that Must be description's sole extent, Except 'twas such a clinging fit She must have melted into it; And that 'twas lovely, every bit, Our views were quite coincident. The menu scanned; "What shall we take?" Asked I, "to test its tempting claims, Howells himself could scarcely make A cunninger melange of names." Then up and down the specious page A dainty, tracing finger went; "O!" she exclaimed, with smile demure, "There's nothing here I can't endure; Take what you like, for I am sure Our views will be coincident." I sent for many things I know I could not possible pronounce; Dainties to match her gleam and glow, Relishes à-la-pleat and flounce, And after they had disappeared, Rightly to crown the gay event, "What rare dessert," I asked, "were best?" Said she: "I've nothing to suggest, You are the host, I am the guest. Our tastes will be coincident." The Doctor Recommended Ayer's Sarsaparilla as being the best blood-purified within his knowledge, for my sister, who was afflicted with a severe case of Scrofula. We gave her this medicine and a complete cure was the result. No trace what-ever of the disease remains, her health having since been perfect."–– William O. Jenkins, Deweese, Nebr. Ayer's Sarsaparilla Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by all Druggists. Has Cured Others, Will Cure You. BICYCLE SUPPLIES Largest exclusive Bicycle House in the United States HOWARD A SMITH & CO. 518 BROAD STREET NEWARK, N.J. SOLE NEW JERSEY AGENTS FOR THE PNEUMATIC BICYCLES All Best Grade Bicycles Kept in Stock Send Postal for "Encyclopedia of Cyclers' Wants" DONALD KENNEDY Of Roxbury, Mass., says My Medical Discovery seldom takes hold of two people alike! Why? Because no two people have the same weak spot. Beginning at the stomach it goes searching through the body for any hidden humor. Nine times out of ten inward humor makes the weak spot. Perhaps it's only a little sediment left on a nerve or in a gland; the Medical Discovery slides it right along, and you find quick happiness from the first bottle. Perhaps it's a big sediment or open sore, well settled somewhere, ready to fight. The Medical Discovery begins to fight, and you think it pretty hard, but soon you thank me for making something that has reached your weak spot. Write me if you want to know more about it. No.2 Light Hearts and Plenty Money Mr. Editor: I have just completed my first week's work with my Plating Machine and have $42 profit as a reward. I am charmed with the business; the work is easy and the profits large. I bought my Plater from W. H. Griffith & Co., Zanesville, Ohio, for $3, and I feel confident if people only knew how cheaply they would get a plater and how much money they could make with it, we would see many happy homes, "where penury now exists." It is surprising the amount of tableware and jewelry people want plated, and if persons now idle would sent to the above address and get a circular, and go to work, they would soon have light hearts and plenty money. MRS. J. C. NOBLE CATARRH CURE FREE To any sufferer we will send a free sample of our cure. Never Fails. Postage 4 cents. Test & SEE. ZOA-PHORA MEDICINE CO., Kalamazoo, Mich. We refer to any bank here. Mention this paper. NO MAN CAN DO FAIRER. Employment Office Filbert and Juniper Sts., Philadelphia. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 144 ACT III. ACT IV. "O, darling, I do love you so!" "Hush! hush!" "Our tastes will be coincident !" Her one unvaried answer, this Was strange; I wondered what she meant By its suggestive emphasis. Ah! thought inspired! "There's one dessert," Said I, "of sun and nectar blent— Something all sweetness, warmth and thrill— Something to have and long for still—" "Take it," she said, "I'm sure we will In taste be quite coincident." Why tell the rest? Her lips were near, Her head was poised, as if she knew, And then—ah, then! the one thing clear Was Heaven and Nellie's eyes were blue. "Pardon!" I stammered. "Nellie, I—" "Ah," she exclaimed, "so you repent?" "Repent? O, no," I quickly cried, "One is not sad when satisfied—" "Then I forgive you," she replied, "Our views are quite coincident." EASILY RECTIFIED.—Reporter: "You made a mistake in giving me this assignment." City Editor: "Impossible. I never made a mistake in my Life." Reporter: "That may be, but the man is alive. You sent me for his obituary." City Editor: "Well, what of that. We look to you to correct such trifles. Just go back and kill him." The Little Town o' Tailholt. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. You kin boast about your cities, and their tidy growth and size, And brag about your county-seats, and business enterprises, And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery— But the little town o' Tailholt is big enough for me! You can harp about yer churches, with their steeples in the clouds, And gas about yer graded streets, and blow about yer crowds; You kin talk about yer theatres, and all you've got to see; But the little town o' Tailholt is wide enough for me! They haint no style in our town; hit's little like and small; They haint no churches, 'nuther; jes' the meetin' house is all; They's no sidewalks, to speak of, but the highway's allus free, And the little town o' Tailholt is wide enough for me! LADY Agents $10 a day sure; new rubber undergarment. Mrs. N. B. Little, Chicago, Ill. Patents THOMAS P SIMPSON, Washington, D. C. No at'ny's fee until patent obtained. Write for Inventor's Guide. FITS Epilepsy. The only sure treatment. I insure an entire cure, to stay cured for life! I ask no fee. Dr. Kruse, M. C., 2848 Arsenal St., St. Louis, Mo. PLAYS Dialogues, Tableaux, Speakers, for School, Club & Parlor. Best out. Catalogue free. T. S. DENISON, Chicago, Ill. Are you married? If not, send your address to The American Corresponding Club, P. O. Box 643, Clarksburg, W. Va. WANTED a general agent, male or female, in each county. We send first order on credit, thereby furnishing all needed capital. For full particulars, address, enclosing two-cent stamp, or ten cents for twenty-five-cent sample. Box 188, Alfred, Maine. WANTED ACTIVE PARTY-SALARY $100–to represent ASSOCIATION incorporated to supply, at co-operative prices, general merchandise and articles for home and family use, in each small city, town and place. Paid up Certificates $100,000 CASH. 80,000 members. CREDIT WELL RATED. References Exchanged. Empire Co-operative Association (P O. Box 1610) N.Y. BUY THE WRINGER THAT SAVES THE MOST LABOR OUR PURCHASE GEAR Saves half the labor of other wringers and costs but little more. Crank is not attached to either roll. EMPIRE Does not GREASE the CLOTHES. Solid White Rubber Rolls. Warranted. Also "DAISY" and "VOLUNTEER" WRINGERS, Clothes Drying Bars, etc. Agents wanted everywhere. EMPIRE WRINGER CO., Auburn, N. Y. $5 Day $2 Sample Free To Agents selling for us Address General Agency, 159 Hudson Street, N. Y. The Elgin $1 Typewriter! As perfect as an Elgin Watch–Chicago Herald. Agents sample ex. paid 60c. The Easton Mf'g. Co., Westfield, Mass Stammering Cure Guaranteed; French-German Method. Eck's School, 837 Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. FREE - Marriage Paper and particulars of Marriage Society that pays $500 to $5,000. GUNNELS' MONTHLY, Toledo, Ohio. WANTED A Good Penman to write at home Either sex Steady work. Address in your own handwriting, and enclose 4c stamp for our reply and full illustrated particulars. A. W. KINNEY, P. M. M., Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. PLEASE MENTION THIS MAGAZINE EVERY TIME YOU WRITE OUR ADVERTISERS. PHOTO of your future Husband or Wife Free! Send Stamp for Postage. CLIMAX CO. CHICAGO, ILL. Copyrighted 1890 by Lum Smith's Agents' Herald, Phila., Pa. SPECIAL BILL POSTERS WANTED Advertisers, Patentees, Manufacturers, etc., are continually requesting us to supply the addresses of reliable circular distributers, bill posters, etc. Brunn's success is marvelous, and will open up in 200,000 HERALDS next month, to be mailed to business firms, a new, profitable and permanent business to one man, woman or youth in every town in the U.S. and Canada. "The early bird catches the worm." We want a few such "ads." as Brunn's to start with in next month's MAMMOTH editions of the AGENTS' HERALD. Brunn paid $2.40 to insert 4 lines, June '90 He began during the summer. That ad. paid then; is paying now. He has been kept constantly busy, employs three men to assist him, clearing on their labor from $10 to $15 a day distributing circulars at $1 per 1000 for many firms who saw his ad. in the HERALD. It costs every firm at least $10 in postage alone to mail 1000 circulars. You advertise to hand them out for $1 per 1000. A saving to each firm who employs you of $9 per 1000. Parents make your boys a present. Start them in this growing business. Begin this neat business before some one in your county gets the start of you. "Come in on the ground floor." 4 lines as below (Brunn's) in 200,000 HERALDS costs $2.40; 3 lines as below (Foster's) $1.80; 2 lines as below (Best's) $1.20; cash or postage stamps. Instructions free to such advertisers only. [*A Special Messenger leaves the Phila. P.O. every 15*] [*minutes with ALL of LUM SMITH'S*] [*Mail in a locked pouch. Distance to*] [*Smith's Office,*] [*two blocks.*] BRUNN nails up signs, distributes circulars, papers, samples, etc., throughout Blackhawk and surrounding counties. Charges moderate. Address W. H. BRUNN, Waterloo, Ia. NAMES Permanent addresses of all residents or taxpayers in this (Adams) County. $2 per 1000. A. H. FOSTER, Natchez, Miss. CIRCULARS Or Papers distributed $1.00 per 1000. N. BEST, New Cumberland, Pa. All firms wanting the addresses of distributers should apply for a copy of HERALD. 5c. a copy or 50c. a year. Send 25 cents for your address in The Agent's Directory. Directory of all advertisers wanting agents. Sample copy of this or next month's HERALD, [*5 Cents*] We go to press about the 1st of each month. The best advertising medium on earth for any business. Try one month. e To insure immediate attention, address exactly as follows: Agents' Herald, C 15810, Philadelphia, Pa. FREE ASTHMA CURE African Explorers on the Congo river have discovered a True Specific and Positive Cure for Asthma in the Wonderful KOLA Plant. Immediate Relief and a Sure Cure Guaranteed. — NO PAY UNTIL CURED. — It Never Fails. Office for Export and Wholesale trade, 1164 Broadway, New York. For Book and FREE Trial Case of The KOLA Compound (HIMALYA), address Central Office, KOLA Importing Co., 134 Vine St., Cincinnati, O. I CURE FITS! When I say cure I do not mean merely to stop them for a time and then have them return again. I mean a radical cure. I have made the disease of FITS, EPILEPSY, or FALLING SICKNESS a life-long study. I warrant my remedy to cure the worst cases. Because others have failed is no reason for not now receiving a cure. Send at once for a treatise and a Free Bottle of my infallible remedy. Give Express and Post Office. H. G. ROOT, M. C., 183 Pearl St., N.Y. FAT • FOLKS • using "Anti-Corpulene Pills" lose 15 lbs. a month. They cause no sickness, contain no poison and never fail. Sold by Druggists everywhere or sent by mail. Particulars (sealed) 4c. WILCOX SPECIFIC CO., Phila., Pa. 146 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE Act V. Act VI. " Got a cold, darling? I hope you'll be able to "! ! ! ! !" meet me this evening." Some finds it discommodin' like, I'm willin' to admit, To hev but one Post Office, and a womern keepin' hit, And the drug store, and shoe shop, and grocery, all three ; But the little town o' Tailholt is handy 'nough for me ! You kin smile, and turn your nose up, and joke and hev yer fun, And laugh and holler, " Tail-holts is better holts 'n nun !" Ef the city suits you better, w'y hit's where you'd orto' be, But the little town o' Tailholt is good enough for me ! When you squeeze a young lady—if you ever do—and she exclaims, "Oh!" do not think she is displeased. It is merely an involuntary action of the vocal organs—simply oh-ing to the pressure. Mater: "Girls, we mustn't worry your father about going away this summer. His finances are extremely low, I know. I looked in his cheque-book yesterday, and he had only one cheque left." A MAN in the Midlands married a wife who in course of time presented him with eighteen children. One evening he found in a street near to that in which he lived a little boy of five or six weeping bitterly. "What is the matter with the little man—eh?" inquired he, caressing him. "I have lost my way!" sobbed the youngster. "Then come home with me, and I'll give you something to eat and take care of you." Accordingly the kind-hearted man took the little fellow home, and said to his wife, "See, wife—I have brought you this child that I found all alone in the street. One more or less won't make much differenee; and, if nobody claims him, we will treat him as if he were our own." "Why, you stupid," exclaimed the wife, "don't you know him? It's our Willy!" The following story is told of Colonel John B. Wyman of the 13th Illinois Infantry, one of the best soldiers of the Army of the Southwest during the American civil war. While on the march through Arkansaw Wyman's regiment was approaching a town, when the Colonel, who was riding at the head of the regiment, turned to his band and said, "Boys, give us some music." The band began to play, and Wyman noticed that one of the drummers did not drum. MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. 147 Love's Fitfulness. You say that I am fitful. Sweet, 'tis true; But 'tis that I your fitfulness obey. If you are April, how can I be May, Or flaunt bright roses when you wear sad rue? Shine like the sun and my sky will be blue; Sing, and the lark shall envy me my lay. I do but follow where you point the way, And what I feel you doing, straight must do. The wind might just as well reproach the vane As you upbraid me for my shiftings, dear. Blow from the south, and south I shall remain; If you keep fixed, be sure I shall not veer. Nay, on your change my changes so depend, If ends your love, why, then my love will end. SITTING BULL'S NAME.—Sitting Bull's name in his own language—that of the Uncapapas—is given as "Tatanka-e-o-Tocha," which means literally "The Bull Sitting Down," says the Press, of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. "It has been the general impression that he received this name at his birth, but such appears to have not been the case. It is said that early in life, while but a lad in years in fact, he killed a half-grown buffalo. He dragged the carcass many weary miles, to within a short distance of his father's tepee, when he sank to his knees exhausted, the head and fore-legs of his prey dangling over his shoulders. Hence the name Sitting Bull, given, as all Indian names are, on the spur of the moment and with some noteworthy occurrence as a basis." "He who would eat the kernel must crack the nut—he who would have the gain must take the pain." Right judgment is the kernel of the whole great nut of life, but it is to be gained only by pain and diligence, and the determination to know so much of the truth of things as we can get at. Consumption Cured. An old physician retired from practice, had placed in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, Asthma and all Throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and radical cure for Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints. Having tested its wonderful curative powers in thousands of cases, and desiring to relieve human suffering. I will send free of charge to all who wish it, this recipe in German, French or English, with full instructions for preparing and using. Sent by mail, by addressing, with stamp, naming this paper. W. A. NOYES, 820 Powers' Block, Rochester, N. Y. Nuggets. The use of traveling is to regulated imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are. The adulteration and cheapening of articles of food in this country are becoming alarming, and we therefore point with pride to the record of Walter Baker & Co.'s preparations, which have for over one hundred years maintained their integrity of manufacture and absolute purity of product. It is a distinctive characteristic of W. Baker & Co.'s Breakfast Cocoa that no chemicals are used in its preparation, it being produced from the finest cocoa seeds by scientific mechanical processes only, and for this reason it is unequaled in purity as well as unexcelled in solubility by any other cocoa in the market. It is healthful, nourishing, agreeable, and economical, and the best drink in the world for young and old, rich and poor, the invalid and the robust. TRANQUILLITY is the wish of all. The good, while pursuing the track of virtue, the great, while following the star of glory, and the little, while creeping in the ruts of dissapation, sigh for tranquillity, and make it the great object which they ultimately hope to attain. Piles Cured. If you suffer with blind, or the terrible bleeding and itching piles, use Turkish Electric Ointment, for its action being cool and soothing, it gives immediate relief, and only one box will cure the worst cases. Over ten thousand made happy by its use; cures when all else fails. We will send it to your address for $1.00. Don't hesitate. Positively no Free Samples. Remit now and address plainly, THE TURKISH PHARMACY CO., ALBION, MICH. Boxes 1, 7, 19, 33. HONOR is like the eye, which cannot suffer the least impurity without harm. How To Make Money I read that Mr. Jones said about making $67 per month. I can beat that. I sent $5 t H. F. Delno & Co., of Columbus, O., and received a fine plating machine. I tested it and plated a ring in 5 minutes. It plates on all kinds of metal with gold, silver or nickel. I made $3.90 the first day plating table ware, and jewelry, $29.70 the first week, and the first month $187 clear profit. My schoolmate makes $10 to $15 per day selling platers. Anyone can get circulars by writing the above firm. This is my first successful venture and I hope my experience will benefit others. Yours truly, H. D. EARL. 148 MUNYON'S MAGAZINE. ACT VII. "Halloo!" Reining in his horse, he cried out, "Why don't you drum?" The drummer, very much alarmed–for Wyman was a severe disciplinarian–left his place in the ranks and, approaching the commander, said, "Colonel, I've got a big fat turkey in the drum, If you don't say anything about it, I will give you half of it." The colonel replied, in a loud voice, "If you've got a headache, why don't you say so? Of course you need not drum!" The colonel dined on turkey next day. ___________________________ Cabby Surrendered. Even if Representative Jason B. Brown does come from a rural district in Indiana, he has no hayseed in his hair. A few days ago he hired a cab in front of the Riggs House and drove around to the Sun Building where he expected to meet a friend to accompany him on a visit. But his friend was not there, and so he drove back to the hotel, around the corner. The trip just occupied just six minutes. "How much?" he asked the cabman. "Seventy-five cents." ACT VIII. (photo) "Wretch!" "Oh, no," said Mr. Brown, "you can only charge 75 cents an hour." "It's just the same for a portion of an hour," said cabby. "If that is the case," said Mr. Brown, "you can wait here for the balance of the hour. I will be in the hotel when your hour is up." Then he disappeard through the doorway. In less than fifteen minutes the cabby capitulated. "Give me 25 cents and I will go away," he said. He got his money and departed. AN INNOVATION.––"That was a great jewel Mrs. Heslingbury had on last night." "What was it?: "It was a live Brazilian beetle with a big diamond strapped on its back. It was trained to fly around her neck, thus giving the effect of a diamond necklace." THE construction of bridges on the cantilever principle has been known to the Chinese for ages, and specimens of it may be seen likewise in Japan, Thibet, and the North-west Provinces of India. DEMMLER BROS. HEADQUARTERS FOR House Furnishing Goods and the Latest Novelties for the Kitchen. Agents for the wonderful Pasteur Filter The best filter ever offered. The celebrated Alaska Refrigerators. The Perfection Meat Cutter, the latest and best kitchen utensil. The Puritan and Perfection Cooking Vessels. Brass Goods. Tin Wedding Novelties, etc. ____ 526 and 528 Smithfield Street, PITTSBURGH, PA. Urling Brothers, Dentists, 42 1/2 Sixth Street, Corner Penn Ave. Second Floor. _______ Set of Teeth, $8.00, $10.00, $13.00. Gold Filling, $1.00 and upwards. Silver Filling, $1.00. Best work. Lowest cash prices. Teeth extracted without pain. J. W. H. Cochrane. J. H. Permar. J. W. H. Cochrane & Co. CARPETS CURTAINS, FLOOR CLOTHS, WINDOW SHADES, POLES, RUGS, MATTINGS, ART SQUARES, ETC. Everything new and desirable at lowest prices. J. W. H. Cochrane & Co. 66 Federal Street, Allegheny, Pa. _______________ Wm. Haslage & Son, SELECT FAMILY GROCERS, 18 Diamond (Market Square), PITTSBURGH, PA. HOUSEKEEPERS' GUIDE mailed free to any address. Mention this magazine. FOOLING WITH DYNAMITE, OR THE PROSPECT OF AN IRISH WAKE. CIGARS During this month we sell 100 Clear Havana Key West Cigars, at $6.50 per hundred, equal to any cigar sold at $8.00 elsewhere. Henri Phriend & Co. Front and Arch Street SHOWELL & FRYER, (Limited.) IMPORTING GROCERS, Juniper and Market Streets, PHILADELPHIA. DEALERS IN Fine Family Groceries, Wines, Liquors, Cigars, Condiments and Delicacies, Selected expressly for Family Trade. Orders collected and Goods delivered in all sections of the city and West Philadelphia daily. Country and Seashore orders receive particular attention. Goods carefully packed and shipped. Freight prepaid to all points North, South, East and West. FAMILY ACCOUNTS SOLICITED. The Morse Baking and Confectionery Co. Cordially invite all readers of this magazine to call at once and see our new store filled with sweets of every kind. Fine French Confections in handsome boxes, fresh from CROFT & ALLEN'S FACTORY every day. Also Chocolates, Caramels, Bonbons, all flavors. WALNUT, SHELLBARK AND ALMOND CANDY Chips, Curls, Chains, Crimps, etc. A large variety of fancy boxes; handsome baskets, trimmed and untrimmed. Favors, Cossaques and Bonbonnieres, beautiful in endless variety. FINE AND FANCY CAKES Pound, Fruit and Ladies' Cake for daily use and made to order for parties and weddings. Ice Cream, Ices, Frozen Fruits, and a full line of fine Pastries and Desserts daily. All made on the premises The Morse Baking and Confectionery Company 1226 Market Street, Philadelphia GREAT JANUARY SALE OF FINE FURNITURE Mr. Henry C. Lea has kindly consented to allow us to retain possession of our Warerooms, 925 Market Street, until he secures a tenant for the whole building. This will enable us to reduce stock to conform wth size and dimensions of our Wareroom at 927 Market Street. This gives us a gighting chance to avoid the Storage House or Auction Rooms. If you want nice Furniture, either for Parlor, Chambers, Dining rooms or Hall, this is your great chance for 1891. Prices are fixed so low that you can't help buying if you will come or send your wife. Chas. Weinmann & Co. 927 Market Street _____________________________________________________ A.K.P Trask, Photographic Studio 1210 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. Try our latest style mezzotint cabinet photos, they are admired by judges of fine photographs. Our latest photographs of children, in our white and gold, and white and silver frames, will make beautiful presents for the holidays. POTRAITS IN CRAYON. POTRAITS IN WATER-COLORS PORTRAITS IN PASTEL A large Pastel Portrait for $10.00. Old Daguerroetypes restored to look as good as new, and reproduced into large portraits. _______________________________________________ Your attention is called to the fact that our stock of STOVES embraces the greatest variety of every description at the lowest prices. COAL and WOOD COOKING STOVES, COAL AND WOOD HEATING STOVES, RANGES AND FURNACES, GASOLINE, GAS and OIL STOVES. REFRIDGERATORS S.W. Cor. Fifth and Elm Streets, Cincinnati The D.B. Bayless Stove Co. ____________________________________________________ Sonoma County California, Wine Co. "The Old Nio Longworth Cellars." THE PUREST WINES IN THE WORLD sold with a guarante to be STRICTLY PURE and sold to the consumers at wholesale prices. Large variety always on hand. Give us a trial. SONOMA COUNTY CALIFORNIA WINE CO. 175. 177. 179 Sycamore Street, Cincinnati, Ohio M. Rheinstrom, Manager Telephone No. 1530 S. WECHSLER & BRO., LOWER FULTON ST., BROOKLYN WILL BE IN THEIR GRAND NEW BUILDING, NOW IN COURSE OF CONSTRUCTION ON FULTON AND DUFFIELD STREETS ABOUT MARCH 1st, 1891 ----------------- LOOK OUT For Their GREAT CLEARING SALE -------------PRIOR TO REMOVAL.------------------ HARDING & CO.. FINE SHOES. Immense assortments at each store. They very best goods and all at our well known popular prices. 531 FULTON STREET, OPPOSITE ELM PLACE. EASTERN DISTRICT STORE, 191 GRAND STREET, Near Driggs. The "Harding" celebrated $3.00 and $4.00 Shoes for Men have no equal at those prices. Lace, Congress and Button. NO BRANCH STORES. Dalsimer Last 29 and 31 and 33 N. 9th St. DON'T TORTURE YOUR FEET They render you too much service to be abused. "'Tis a Feat to Fit Feet." ___________________________________________________ SYLVAN DALSIMER, MANAGER. _________________________ COMMON-SENSE SHOEMAKER. PHILADELPHIA. _________________________ FIRST-CLASS COAL ONLY. Coal is not different from other commodities in the fact that it takes judgment to properly select it. Those who are not posted must depend on the dealers from whom they buy. We profess to understand the subject thoroughly; to treat our Customers fairly and give them the benefit of our knowledge and experience; to sell clean, pure Coal; to give full weight of 2240 lbs. to the Ton; to be punctual in delivery. We have been years in the business, and to all who buy Coal for Offices, for Family Use, for Manufacturing Purposes, for Bakeries, we say, and say urgently, give us a trial, and we will guarantee Satisfaction in every respect. SNOWDEN & RAU, No. 450 NORTH THIRD STREET, And N. E. Cor. Dilwyn and Willow Streets. TELEPHONE No. 3529 1/2. PHILADELPHIA. Binden No. 35 South Thirteenth Street, Above Chestnut Street, opposite Wanamaker's, IMPORTER OF AND DEALER IN Ladies' Hair Goods of all descriptions, of the finest quality and the latest styles. Also Ladies' and Gentlemen's Wigs For Street and Theatre. Bleaching, Dyeing, Hairdressing, Shampooing, Singeing Hair and Bang Cutting. Toilet Articles and Shell Goods. Mail orders solicited. __________________________________________ HERDER CUTLERY CO. (Limited) 126 South Eleventh Street. Branch Store, No. 1325 Columbia Ave. SCISSORS. Fine Lace.....................................25c, 35c, 50c, 60c, 75c. Buttonhole...................................35c, 50c, 60c, 75c. Sewing Scissors, No. 1 Grade......60c to $1.40 " " " 2 " ......35c to 50c. " " " 3 " ......25 to 50c. Pocket Scissors ....25c to 75c; Folding, 50c to 75c. Twine Bag Scissors.............15c, 20c and 35c. Dressmakers', Cloth and Tailor Shears. Scissors sharpened....................10c. TABLE KNIVES. Dessert. Dinner. Celluloid, best make....... $4.25 $4.50 Rubber...............................3.25 3.50 Ivory...................................6.50 8.00 Rogers' Triple-Plated Steel Knives, $3.00 doz. CARVERS. Stag Handle, 9-inch..................$1.00 to $2.50 White " 9-inch...................1.50 to 2.75 Ivory " 9-inch................... .75 to 5.50 Rogers Bros'. A I Silver-plated Teaspoons, per doz............................................$2.25 Rogers Bros'. A I Dessertspoons........4.00 Rogers Bros'. A I Tablespoons...........4.50 Coffee-spoons, Oyster Forks, Ladles, Fish Knives and odd pieces. DOG COLLARS, name or address engraved FREE OF CHARGE. Largest assortment in the city. Muzzles, leads, whips, etc. Stores: {No. 126 South 11th St. No. 1325 Columbia Ave. W. S. Emerson, Treasurer. Newman's Art Store ______________ AN EXTENSIVE LINE OF Fine Etchings Engravings Pastels Water Colors Paintings, etc. Onyx Top tables, Mirrors, Easels, etc. ___________________________________ Beautiful Frames in great variety Appropriate Holiday and Bridal Gifts Largest stock in the city _________________________ Geo. C. Newman Adolph Newman 806 Market Street Philadelphia Plain & Decorated China & Glassware Koch & Braunstein RICH CUT 112 W 5th GLASS St ART Cincinnati POTTERY T. H BELCHER CRYSTAL PALACE DRY GOODS STORE Importer, Wholesale and Retail Dealer Eighth and Filbert Streets, Philadelphia, Pa. All Goods Under Regular Prices ___________________________________ (Photo) The Fireplace Stove _________________ Lights and heats a room, excels all others for beauty, safety and economy and costs $5 and $6. Buy no other. Piano and Banquet Lamps $5 and upwards. Table Lamps, 65-candle power, $1.50 and up. P.C. Atwood 35 N. Ninth Street, Philadelphia _____________________________________________ JOHN B. MORLEY & CO. FASHIONABLE MERCHANT TAILORS THE LARGEST STOCK POPULAR PRICES Cor. Eighth and Chestnut Streets, Philadelphia ______________________________ N. B.––Our $35 SATIN-LINED FULL-DRESS SUIT is a specialty with us. Cannot be duplicated elsewhere for less than $60. ________________________________________ OWN YOUR HOME SAVE AND INVEST Estate and Trust Funds safely and profitably invested, paying from 8 to 10 per cent. Granite State Provident Association Room 400 Penn Mutual Building HOME OFFICE: 921-23-25 CHESTNUT STREET MANCHESTER, N. H. PHILADELPHIA CORRECT FIT. In the matter of shoes nothing is so important as a CORRECT FIT. Many dealers have a one-sided idea that a certain shape of shoe will fit everybody, because they think so; but no one style or shape of shoes will fit all the different shapes of feet. One person requires a broad flat shoe, another needs one with an ARCHED instep; another needs one with both these principles combined in one shoe. It is just here that the experienced SHOE DEALER, who understands the wants of the different shapes of feet, is the one you want to patronize and insure yourself ease, comfort and PERFECT FOOTWEAR. It is just these kinds of shoes we sell and employ only experienced salesmen to fit the foot. Ladies Kid Waukenphast Shoes, made on the imported English last in all widths, A to E, constantly on hand. Men's Fine Calf Hand and Machine sewed shoes of our celebrated makers; prices to suit everybody. Special attention is directed to the lines of Men's Calf Hand-Sewed Welt Shoes at $5.00. Mail orders receive prompt attention. 401 Wood St. Corner Fourth Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa. P. Wagner, Jr. _______________________________________________________________ TOOLS __________________ Carpenters', Machinists', Carvers' and Moulders' Fine Tools. J. B. KAERCHER, HARDWARE AND FINE CUTLERY. Depot: 442 Wood Street, Pittsburgh, Pa. ___________________________________ New Mail, Star, Rambler and Safety Bicycles. _______________________________________________________________ PIONEERS OF LOW PRICES. Hopper Bros. & Co. 307 Wood Street, Pittsburgh, Pa. Dealers in all kinds of Bedroom and Parlor Furniture, Kitchen and Dining Furniture, Carpets, Lace Curtains, Chenille Portieres, etc., and everything that tends to the proper fitting of a house. Cash or credit. Be sure and bring your coupons. ___________________________________________________________________ EISNER & PHILLIPS, RELIABLE DEALERS IN Men's, Youths', Boys' and Children's Clothing. Suits to Order. Gents' Furnishing Goods a specialty. Corner of Fifth Avenue and Wood Street, PITTSBURGH, PENNA. KNABLE & SHUSTER, Retailers of Dry Goods, etc. Extensive lines of Dress Goods, all qualities. Large stock of Laces, White Goods, Embroideries, Linens, Towels, Napkins and Muslins. Silks of all kinds. Black goods of all kinds. Velvets of all kinds. Great variety of Coats, Wraps, Jackets, Shawls, Jerseys and Curtains. New stock of Hosiery, Underwear and Gloves. Also Buttons, Trimmings and Linings. Ginghams, Challies, Sateens and Outing Cloth at all prices. Corsets, Bustles, etc. MAIL ORDERS PROMPTLY ATTENDED TO. ALL GOODS MARKED IN PLAIN FIGURES. Knable & Shuster, 35 Fifth Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pa. _____________________________________________ BEE HIVE STORE. PRICES THE VERY LOWEST. Smyrna Mats, 50c and upwards; Smyrna Rugs, $1.75 and upwards; Footstools by the thousand, 40c. each; Window Shades, with spring fixtures complete, 35c. each. CARPETS, OIL CLOTHS, WINDOW SHADES, RUGS AND MATS Of all kinds, In proportion. BEE HIVE CARPET STORE, 1220 Market Street. Philadelphia. _____________________________________ Peebles' BARAKAN Private Plantation Java. 30 Cents per Pound. We have just put on sale our new brand of coffee–BARAKAN PRIVATE PLANTATION JAVA– arrangements for a supply of which we have been working on for some months past. The supply is now provided for and the public can take this coffee, although low-priced, with the assurance that it will make them a first-class cup and will always be up to the standard. We invite comparison between this and coffee sold at the same price by other stores that call themselves low-priced. THE JOSEPH R. PEEBLES' SONS CO. The Pike Building, Cincinnati, Ohio. _____________________________________ CRUELTY TO CHILDREN. It is cruel to compel children to wear shoes that do not fit properly. There are hundreds of people in every community who are limping through life with enlarged joints, caused by wearing, at some period in childhood, a pair of shoes that were too short and too wide. Some dealers fit everybody with the same width of shoes. We have all our goods made on at least FOUR different widths, and can always insure you or your children a perfect fit, both in length and width. Our prices are lower than anybody's, if you take quality into consideration. We have learned by a quarter of a century's experience in the shoe business, that trashy shoes are not cheap at any price, so we don't keep them. We invite every reader of this magazine to try a pair of our shoes, confident that one trial will make them our permanent customers. J.M. POTTER, 152 WEST FIFTH STREET, Cincinnati, Ohio. J. M. POTTER Amour's Chicago Extract of Beef for Soups, sauces, bouillon or beef tea the richest, strongest, most nutritious, and therefore the most economical awarded the gold medal, Paris, 1889, Adopted by the U.S. Army Medical Department FOR SALE EVERYWHERE Shandon Bells Perfume Delicate, fragrant, Lasting Its fragrance is that of the opening buds of Spring. Once used you will have no other. If your dealer doesn't keep it send 50c in stamps for a bottle to Jas. S. Kirk & Co., Chicago Juvenile; the Only Toilet Soap Instantaneous Chocolate No Trouble No Boiling The Greatest Invention of The Age Every Family Should Have It powdered and put up in one pound tin cans; 75 c per can STEPHEN F. WHITMAN & SON, Inventors and sole man'fs Philadelphia Cowdry's Soups Delicious, Appetizing, Nourishing. Tomato, Terrapin, Mock Turtle, Macaroni, Ox Tail, Beef, Consomme, Pea, Julienne, Okra Chicken, Vermicelli, Vegetable, Soup & Bouilli, Mutton, Clam Broth, Printainer, Mulligatawny, Green Turtle, Puree of Game. Sample mailed on receipt of 12c. to pay postage. E.T. Cowdrey Co. Boston U.S.A. Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.