Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 1, Number 36, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 4 March 1871 — Page 6

/CXI) URA XCh\

H.OKKNCK I»BRCY. «S

How much tho heart may tenr, nnd yet not bn'.'ik How much tin* It--"'h miiy suCVraud not die muMlon much If any pain or ache. Of noul or Hoily hi h»«* O'.JT end more nl«h Death chooses hl« mva ltuu\ till tlmt Is hworn. All evil-. may b-.« tnrn-.

We shrink nod shudder nt tho sufrttKmV kiiifi-, K«v-h nerve ni-olhns fnim ih-cruel Mori, Wliwr tilmt tiffins senrchlni: for tho quivering life. Yet to (mrs(iis( tho lilt tor pans* revi-al, That still, although the tii-mhlliii Ihfh bo torn, This ditto can IK? 'xjrno.

Wo Mwn sorrow 1M11 In our way, And try t« floe from tho approac'l'dii 111 Wo seek some tun nil oseapo w? op nml l»niy. Hut vrlicn tho blow falls, our hearts aro still Not at the pain Is of It** *harpiiis thorn, Hut that It ean t»o borne.

Wo wind our life about another llfo We hold It closer, dearer than our own Anon faint* and falls In .loathly strife, IiPnving u* ^tunnod, unl stricken, ami alone Hut ah Two do not dlo wltli those wo mourn, This also enn be borne! Behold, wo live through all things, tamh.o, thirst, Bereavement, pain all grief nnd misery, All woe nnd sorrow life inflicts its worst on soul nnd bodv,—but we cannot »Ii Though we be idik, and tired, and faint, and woni, bo, ull thing1*can be borne.

Llko riftK of Hunslilni', her tresses, Waved over her shoulders bare, And Khe flitted a-s light o'er the meadow*

As an angel In the air.

maid of tho country, rest thee This village pump beside, And here thou siiait till thy plteher.

Like Ut becca, the well beside!"

lint a vole.-by yondor window Through my shuddering sonnes ran, And these were Its words: "Marla-r

Maria-r! don't mind that man

[From Serlbiior's Monthly for Maroli.]

Will She Ride or Walk?

Tho confer of tho city is like the palm „f a hand. From it the long lingers stretch out: one over the mill-dam another over the flits the longest of all,bridg tho river, and then going on and on, the straight wide street steadily rising until it overlooks the bay suddenly bonds liko tho crook of a linger, untli its tip touches the water.

It is a ladder—a hill of difficulty—to tho dwellers at '.his end of the town, most of whom began life at its foot, in tho dingy shops and tenement-houses there, and have slowly .struggled up: somo to the long blocks of comfortable dwellings others going on still farther have reached tho most pretentious point ,,f all—that lying close down to the water upon the other side.

There is sin air of newness, a flavor of Jonah's gourd about tho Italio-Chinose pagodas with French roofs here. They sacm, indeed, to have sprung up in a night, the (l impness of (lie mould still clinging to them. There is a straining after pinnacles anil towers and topknots in architecture—after oiYeets quite dis proportioned to means in landscape gardening, and, in fact,an evident attempt to crowd to thoir utmost capacity the present limited space and timo.

This is the foundation built upon tho rock—gold. Another generation will dovelop tho fine arts, and possibly tho sciences.

In the meantime, will tell my little story. Paul Haves was sent hero to preach tho gospel", for thoro aro churches. Somo yf them, even scf soon, nro bogiiining to prldo themselves, not upon their sanctity, but upon the high social position of their members —in other words, upon tho distance at which thoy Jive from the loot of the street, which is their social scale.

Fortunately, Paul's church was not among thoso. If one has to deal with ignorant people, it is bettor to take them in tho rough. Tron in its natural stato holds wondorlul possibilities. Hut iron—spoiled in smelting—what can one do with it?

His church was only a mission chapel supported by a richer society of the same denomination his people—tho uion and women whom ho goes to with ungloved hands. Hut ho was young nnd strong, and believed himself died of God, which is the best preparation »or any work, lie throw aside his books at^d road men.

Thoro uro a few exemptions to tho houses I have described in tho more Aristocratic part of tho town. Ono will sulfieo to prove the rule. It stands awftv from tho street, just below tho staring white hotel that crowns its riso. It is square, of stone, and painted white, l-pon ono side Is a pleasant garden. Possibly it was built in colonial times, when the salt, salt wind swept in hero from the sea, unbroken by anything save these walls and tho. scattered remnants of forest trees. It has so far caught the spirit of tho times as to don a mansard roof but the tall Corinthian pillars still remain, as well as tho wide stone steps, with a lion couchant upon either side.

Vesrv Welles stood upon the hearthrug in the long, low drnwing-room, awaiting the coming of her guests. Ordinarily she might be a trifle pale— quiet, poi»ily--though with depths •quickly stirred lv the dropping of a careless stone. To-night she was flushed, tremulous, excited. "By tho way," said her father, pausing nt the door ns he prmsed through the hall, "I met that voting minister--Hayes, you know—this morning, aud asked him unto dinner." "But I don't know," resj»onded Vesey as he passed on,her eyes growing and wider in dismay: "I don't

wider knew

him at all. And to-night!" she haltisobbod. pulling at the flowers in the porcelain vase before her, until one rod rose dropjKHl all its jwtnls at her fret.

It was to bo tho last of tho pleasant evenings that had brightened all the winter. Darrel Winslow and his moth, er were coming to dine with thein once moro before going home. They had boon boarding at the hotel just above, two or three months. Veeey had built so many hopes on that evening. I tut now—

She was fastening a bunch of daphne r*weet-scented, velvet-leafed—into her "It, when Paul entered the room. analog fair!" be said to himself, at a f?«npse of the bont head. ''Hie Rev. Paul Haywl" anuouncKho servant. She turned quickcatching tho name, hearing on7 pound ot feet and the opening of

Kr. But the flush that over"P"** her face was not for him. The tu*** which alio hesitated *v»..a

A

came to meet him wit., some^ango in Vesey—graceful and

sJK*MS»«d.

grandest air, in hor offortn to compose herself. ,, "But haughty and cold," Paul added mentally, as ho turned away to inoet hor father.

Then at hist, Mrs. Wlnnlow and I)arrol came. "Who tho is this man?" looked out of larrel's eyes, as Vesey, grown suddenly shy presented him to Paul, un Paul to barrel's mother. "So glad I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Winslow, effusively. "Always delighted to moot our clergy. Hayes did you siiv? And where—

Vesev interposod. It would ltovt do to chill tho air, already frigid, with theological differences. Sirs. Winslow was a stanch churehwoinan. Paul, shr know was of another faith. "Lot me wheel your chair to tho flri Thoro—so," She seated her in triumph Tho gentlemen gathered in a knot at a littlo distance.

And von really go homo to-mor row?" Vesey said,' sitting down beside her. "Yes. I've done all tuv shopping My inuave poplin came home to-day There is nothing to wait lor now and Darrel does not care to stay. Tho opera season is over, you know."

So it was for tho gaveties of tho town he had lingered wcok after week, she thought with a sudden sinking of the heart. Oh, how blind she hau been" His careless laugh came across tho room just then, as if to mock her "You'll not come back before another season She could not hide the pain that quivered in her voice. But the limp littlo woman crushed into tho depths of the arm chair, by her side did not heed it. •'No," she replied, simply, "I supposo not."

Tho gentlemen joined them. "Sit down here by me," said Mrs Winslow to Paul, motioning to tho chair at her side. "It's of no use," whispered Vesey to R.irrel, with a hysterical sound bbtween a laugh and a sob.

What is of no use?" Ho followed hor from the fire. "Trying to avert grim fate. Your mother is determined to discuss chur aflairs with Mr. Hayes. What will she say to find ho is not in the succession at all? That he simply cares for the souls of our butcher and baker and—' "Candlestick-maker," suggested I Jar rel. "Yes, for aught I know. I have tried to keep them apart, but "Kxtromes will meet. I believe there is an attraction between the poles. But what does it portend, this invasion? Aro you about to assume a stifl gown and plain bonnet? Or do you propose to bring him into tho true church? Not a bad addition, I should say, fixing his eyes upon Paul, who had won tho respectful attention, at least, of his rather light-minded audience in tho arm-chair. "What wore you saying?" Vesey asked absently. Her eyes had followed his.

How lie chanced to bo here? Oh! father has met him occasionally, and so asked him to dinner. I was sorry he camo to-night."

Ah?" Darrel looked down upon her with a conscious air. She had spoken truer words than she intended. She went on as though she had not heard him—as though the color was not flaming hor face. ••Because I knew you would have littlo in common, and thought it might bo awkward for us all. It does not matter." Nothing did or ever would any more. A gray wall seemed to shut out all beyond this night. ''But I am not to be defrauded of my rights. I am to take you out to dinner amlml? You surely won't throw rne over at the last, Vesey?'' IIo bont his head/closo to her face. "I don't know you ean sit upon one side and Mr. Ilayes upon the other, if he will." Sire moved away towards tho others leaning over his mother's chair she pretended to listen, smiling assent to what she never knew. She was thinking how pleasant slio had hoped it would be, with only Darrel and his mother here—they four around the tiro in the twilight, Darrel by her —of the words she had thought he would speak. There was a ring hanging upon his watch-chain. It fitted her finger. Ho had tried it once in jest. "Vesey!" called hor father. And then she know tho others wore rising —that dinner was announced. "I hope you and Mrs. Winslow have become friends," she said to Paul as they wore going out. "Ono hardly gets ho far as that in a half hour's chat," he answered pleasantly. "And just before dinner," addod Darrel, from the other side. "That's tho time to make enemies. Miss Vesey." "Then do hasten to be served, gentlemen, lest you quarrel." "And the cause?" queried Darrel in her ear.

She turned away from him to Paul. And yet what should she say? What do pooplo say to ministers? she asked herself helplessly. And to young ministers above all? Oh if he had not come! Ifthev would all go, and leave her alone with her disappointment and shame!

How she passed that long dinnor ur sho never knew. She talked of trivial things, as wu all do, though beneath tho outward calm our very souls are soothing. Sho dared not speak of others, lest sho break this crust. Paul judged her. She has found her lowest depth, ho said when sho chanced to name a ribbon. Ilor spirits rose buoyed by hor light words and laugh perhaps. When they were back in the drawing-room, and the others fell into the quiet, desultory chnt that follows a dinner, she alono could not be still. Hor cold hands refused to lie quietly in her lap as shapely white hand's should. Iter feet lx»at an impatient wait* under her gown. Sho glanced at Darrel. Ho had thrown himself back In an easy-chair, bis hands under his head. There was no feverish glitter in his eye. Ho looked simply bored. Ho yawned furtively. She pushed her chair back. "How stupid we are It's tho lire I think. It always dulls everybody but itself. Will not some one sing And she sat down herself

IorIplay

MJ OIO the piano.

Sho struck a quick sharp chord. "I could dance to night!" She had forgotten the young minister and his prolable prejudices. He caught a glimpse just then, of the flushed, intense ftioc. But in an instant, with tho minor chord that followed, it changed. Tears rushed into her eyes. "If I hadn't lost my slippers." she breathed herself. Her, back was to the others. Only Paul saw the sudden saddening of the face, the fall of the wet eyelids. "Such wonderful spirits!" exclaimed Mrs. Winslow. "So light-hearted Vesey always is "Ah,"nwiponded Paul. But oe fell into a rovorv.

Darrel loaned over her. "What has come to YOU "IIOWY Why?" She did not pause in her playing. "You're simply glorious now. You hardly need a crown,"

unrJtsL^MUs Welles," with rather will fi^uJkness. "My father umwufcly rlP ilTSiJment. "He was The la* words ,JWJCn to-night. with her ."bo was growing strong equal to jhe

Her hands went wrong. A quick clash—a discord—then abo went on.

Af

Hi/?

tttrifa. There is nothing ao doathloas aa A woman's pride. It had rlaen at last. Her hands flashed over the keys, throw ing off sparks ofthe wildest gayest music. "Not that!" barrel whlspored. "I'hiy something soft and low. Do you for got it is our lust ovoning? You'ro not sorry aftor all then!" for her face nevor changed, Sho laughed—a low quiet ripple in hor throat. "Sorry? Oh yes lingering over the last word. And still her hands toy ed with the keys. "But ono can't cry at tho bidding, you know I dare say I may to-morrow." And again tho low laugh welled up in hor throat. She looked up fearlessly. It had boon all husks sho knew now. But at loast he should not triumph in her shame. Sho had worn hor heart upon hor sleeve but though it bled ho should not know it. Sho might indeed cry to-niorrow, but not now.

As for tho man ho experienced a new sensation—a doubt mingled with amazement. He had read her, as he thought liko an open book. lie even landed he had cut the loaves. "Poor little mouse!" ho said to himself, "I really must go away. Sho is certainly growing fond of mo." Ho almost wished now ho had decided to stay. It seemed that there was asequalto tho book. He was tempted to fall in love with her upon the spot. "If sho is acting, she's bv far more clover than I thought an'd if she is really indifferent, I've boon a conceited fool." "(tood-night! and good-bye, it must be," he said, detaining her "hand when they separated. "Wo shall take the earl}' train.

The flush had died out of hor lace. She looked worn and tired. Upon tho whole ho was not sorry ho had decided to go. "Oood-byc," she said quietly. "You'll i'omo and make us that visit in the summer, Vesey? Oh, my gloves and my veil! thank vou," began Mrs. Winslow, fussily. "I don't know. Perhaps so." "Of course you will." "To be sure," added Darrel. "I shall come lor you myself."

They were gone at last. She turned

"But Mr. Hayes! Vesey!" She had forgotten his existence. "I'm afraid I am rude." And she put out her hand. "Good-night but indeed I may confess now that I have wretche.f headache, and—and—" That was all she said. The play was over.

Tho spring' and early stuiimor Vore away. One letter came from Darrel. A letter such as ho might have sent to any chance acquaintance, full of hints of gay doings here and there—nothing more. One little note Vesey^ wrote his mother, to say she could not make the promised visit. Darrel had said nothing in his letter about coming for her.

And tell Darrel"—at the close of her note—"that I am saving any amount of gossip against writing him some day." But that "some day" never came. Ab sence, like a strong light brings out hidden defects, and Vesey knew now that he was a man selfish and vain, who had played with her heart. He had held it in his hand, weighed and measured it and her, and had cast them both aside as worthless. She thought of it with burning cheeks.

Among the mountains, in the summer, she gathered strength and life again for uoth had seemed to fail. Perhaps it was the heat. The summer had opened liko tho tropics. With another winter came the Winslows. If she had dreaded it, if she had feareW for herself, would it have been stmng^? But (the spell was broken. Lookitfg back she wondered.

Outwardly tho old intimacy was resumod. Darrel came and went as he had come and gone the year before. But to Vesey it was only a shell—a hollow, heartless thing that never had been friendsip and could nevor now love. Paul, plodding along day after day in the round of his duties, saw—as though a great way off—Vesey and Darrel flying up and down the icy stroots to tho tinkle of silver bells.

One night, Vesey, glowing in crimson, with white chrysanthemums in her hair, passed through the hall. The outer door was open wide. Paul stood outside. The wind raw and wet with tho breath ofthe sea, caught at her hair at the silken ruffles of her dress. "Oh, is it you But you are coming in?"

She little knew how hpr words tempted him—how tho vision tempted dim, as she paused with clasped hands under the gaslight, and with the warm, bright room bej'ond. "1 cannot, I am waiting for your father. Thoro is a family in the lower end of tho town starv

The words choked him. "Thank vou, not to-night," ho said. Ho had longed to meet her again liko this—alone and face to face. But her light manner, her dainty dross,, angered him to-night. Ho had come from such a different sccne. Only a woman of the world, after all, he' thought. And yet so sweet he owned when he had turned away in the cold darkness. Darrel wag waiting for hor in the drawing room. "You're like a poein to-night, in all that ruby-red—lifce an Eastern song." "Thank you," Vesey said droamily. "I couldn't imagine you in gray," he wont on, half to himself, "or in anything somber, or worn or poor." He had begun to study the girl in earnest now. "Yes, you aro niado for the rarest and best, Vesey to shine in satin and diamonds."

Satin aud diamonds! Vesey remembered the man she had left at the door. Ho was out in the winter night among the hungry and naked now, she knew. Sho had caught his half uttered sentence. And .she was made for satin and diamonds! "Is that all?" she asked wistfully. "All? Is not that enough? It would satisfy most women."

But to-night it did not satisfy her. IV. Down at the beginning of the long street was a black low-browed house, like many others here, with a shop In the lower story, or, more properly, two, since one window was oocupea by a watchmaker, and the other displayed pins, needles, spools of cotton, and small wares. Above were two or three rooms with slanting sides, where a deformed girl—a pitiful object to look at —lived with her mother, earning enough by sewing to put bread Into their mouths and scanty covering on their backs—no more. Vesey employed them from pity mostly, since her work oould have been better done elsewhere. She stepped out of the sleigh here at dusk one night, and ran up the stairs, a roll of work in her hand. She had to wait a moment, so she sat and talked with the girl who was young like herself, and yet not like herself at all. It made her happier in the happy lot that had sometimes wearied her. It made her thankful for her strong young life, which she had never namea among her bleaaings, and it shot a

5ark

leant of pleasure through the girl's days. poor, room with paper torn

wm

TKRRK-HA UTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL. MARCH 4, i871.

SiSSl

and d, and of many patterns, upilw with the bare boards of

soiled

on the wa the floor yawning, rising and falling unoaaily with the dim light struggling through uncurtained windows that peered froin under the caves like overhanging brows. In one of these windows a forlorn canary in a broken cage—a brown littlo bird with ruffled, unkempt feathers—chirruped feebly, like a moan. A low voice in a continuous murmur fell upon Vesoy's ear. It seemed to come from the next room. "What is that "That 'ni?" the girl's pale face grew bright. "It's the minister, Mr. Hayes. Uo comes and prays with mother, now she's sick." Tho light died down again.

The little room beeame all at once like a church, solemn and still, as the low voice rolled on and on, like a river far away. The girl laid down her work. Even the bird forgot its moan

Tho voice ceased. Sho heard his step upon tho stairs. It was but a second he could not have reached the street, when a shriek came from the room he had left. The girl sat like one paralyzed. Vesey threw open tho door. A swift line of light ran all adown the bed. It burst into a llamo in the tuidst of which the sick woman struggled. The overturned candlo at her hoaa told tho story. It was an instinct—there was no time for thought—which made Vesey drag the square of carpet from the floor and press it down upon the flames. They shot out into her face. They seemed"to catch away her breath. They licked hor arm. They strove and fought, and well nigh overcame—all in an instant, that seemed hours to tho girl, who threw herself upon the bed, smothering tho flames with her own weight.

Thev were conquered at last. Tho silent, breathless struggle was over "If some ono would only bring a light! Oh dear! what shall I do?" Don't," to the deformed girl, who shrieked and called upon her mother, Vesey had not heard the strong step springing up the stairs—tho opening of the door. Some one stood beside her inemont, lamp in hand. It was Paul. "Is she dead gasped Vesey,shrink ing from tho bed.

He threw back the scorched blanket that hid the motionless form. "No, not dead but I think she has fainted. Or tho flames—I must go lor the doctor. Stay here if you are not afraid. Oh hush hush!"" to the frightened girl it is nothing, I hope. Got some water for the lady aud sprinkle her face," he said to Vesey. Then he was gone.

She did as he had told her,—waiting, watching the blackened mass, she dared not touch. It was frightful, with that still white face shining out of the darkness. Was it death? No there was a faint quivering of the eyelids— that first sign of returning consciousness—a feeble moan. Then Paul came. Oh! the rush of joj-, of blinding tears, of sudden faintness, that overpowered her when she heard his step. The grim faced doctor behind him walked straight to tl»3 bed. "There are no deep burns, I think, he said at length. "The blanket saved her. The shock has done more than tho lire. A sponge—ah that will do. Now some water, and some linen rags." Thoro were none. Vc^ey quietly held out her dainty handkerchief. "Ilm!" he said as he tore his own into strip's. "And no\v you?" He turned to Vesey. "I have no burns." Indeed she felt no pain. The doctor raised her hand, and held it out to Paul. The sleeve was cut away from her wrist as by a jagged knife with a blackened edge. Tho flesh was like a flame. Paul's teeth shut tight and quick together. Something sprang into his eyes—not tears alone.

Then Vesey began to tremble and conscious at last of the cruel pain that bit and tore her hand, she sobbed like a hurt child. "Don't mind," she tried to say. Don't look at me. It's only—only The sobs swept all the words away.

Paul bathed her band. Sho remembered afterwards how tenderer than any woman's had been his touch. "Let her cry," said the doctor in a voice that must liavo been given by mistake to the grim face. "And now she'd better go home." He rose from the bed. He took the unharmed hand in his. "She's a brave girl." He looked away from her to Paul but still held her hand tight in his. "God bless you child. Now go homo and go to bed."

Paul lifted her into the sleigh and wrapped tho robes about her. "Shall I go with you "If I can take you home. "Oh no I must go in here again." 'Then you need not."

It seemed suddenly as if they had known each other a lifetime—she and Paul as if they could never bo strangers to each other again.

She held out her band. It was the one ho had bound up. IIo took it tenderly in both his own. "Tho brave strong hand he said, bonding over it in the darkness—"tho hand that has saved ^llfe to-night."

There was to 1)0 a bazar to raise money for the poor. It opened the next evening. Tho winter had been hard and cruel, and charity—somewhat exhausted—needed a spur.

Vesey had promised to tend a booth. "You must not think of going," her father exclaimed. Darrel,—too, who foresaw quiet hour with her alone, if sho remained at home. Ho had something to toll—something to ask for, and a ring to give. Alas lor him he had kept his words too long. A year ago they would have been manna to her heart. "But I am quite well," sho pleaded, "except my hand and that has ceased to pain mc." Indeed her face was radiant.

So she dressed herself with quaint simplicity in something soft and gray that wrapped her like a cloud, with only the braids of her heavy hair for ornament only her shining eyes for gems. Then alio went and took her place.

The maidens from the Chinese pagodas were all there. Before them, in their gay attire, the Queen of Rheba, and even Solomon the magnificent, would have shrunk away abashed— their glory dimmed.

Vesoy's nun-like dress was worse than diamonds in their envious eves. More gay gallant's than one paused to stare—to buy. "It cools your eyes, you see, and rests you some way," vouchsafed one man by way of explanation.

The evening was half over. Darrel had been her shadow. She was tired of his eyes that followed her whichever way she turned tired of nix. He moved away at last. Then, and not until then she saw Paul. All

"Will you go now he asked quickly. ''Are you strong enough to walk?" "Oh yes," "Then come."

It was strangely ploasant to be bidden to follow meekly. Thoy had reached the stairs loading to the street when thoy mot Darrel Winslow. "Vesey! where aro you going??' He scowled and nodded to Paul. "Homo." "But it is beginning to rain, and you have no cloak. Go back and I'll got the carriage." He laid his hand upon tho wrap over Paul's arm. Paul looked at Vesey. What did ho read in her face? "Let Miss Welles decide," he said in a hard, strango voice, lie was trying to be calm—to keep his hands from tho man who had suddenly come between them. He turned to Vesey again. His face was very pale his eyes were full of pleading. "Think a moment. Will you ride with him or walk with me?"

She did not speak. She only smiled and laid her hand within his arm. He would have been moro than human to have kept back the triumph in his eyes.

Darrel stared then wheeled and left them, with an oath upon his Hps. "But think a moment." Paul's voice grew more gentle now. "It will bo a long, long, road—a road that has no turn."

But still she smiled. "A rough way, perhaps, and your feot are tender." "I will walk with you," she said.

DRESS OF CHINESE WOMEX. A Chinese lady, that is, a small or bound-footed woman, may wear the most elegant clothing. Her outer garment is called a sang it is a looso garment, buttoned up the right side, and extending below the knee. It is often made of handsome silk or satin, sometimes very elegantly embroidered. Sho also wears a scarlet underskirt, coming below the sang, down to the scarlct pantalettes and both skirt and pantalettes are handsomely embroidered in many colored silks and gold. The provailing colors for the upper garments at Foo Chow, are black, dark purple, and sometimes drab, while tho underskirt and pantalettes are scarlet. In winter, the outor garment is sometimes lined with fur, but tue fur is always worn as lining, not outside. In summer the Chinese lady very generally wears white muslin or silk gowns, bound or trimmed with black muslin or satin. Her sleeves aro rather full, and when she calls upon vou, she keeps her hands clasped meekly before her, excepting when she examines your clothing, which sho does without* any hesitation.

I wish I could describe the stylo of the Chinese lady's hair. It is very elaborate, and is certainly far moro becoming than tho prosent stylo of American ladies. The hair is so thoroughly oiled that it is very glossy, and keeps its place, It would be useless to attempt a full description of it, but it is brought low down on the n^ck, though not touching tho neck, and then spread into a sort of fan or wing shape,ana hold in place by gold clasps and pins. A very elegant band, ornamonted with gold and pearls, is often worn on the head, just above the forehead. Flowers are universally worn they may bo either natural or'artificial. They are fastened to long pins and put into the back hair, extending out several inches from each side ef the head.

A full-dressed C'hineso lady would bo something for any ono of my readers to sec. Whiat with her wide-spi-eading hair, adorned with gold, precious stones, and flowers her heavy gold ear-rings, with jade-stone pendants tho heavily embroidered sang of satin, over which, and around the neck hangs a long string of perfumed beads the gayly embroidered red underskirt and pantalettes tho tiny foet in two-inch scarlet satin shoes the small-formed hands, two or three Angers of which have tho very finish of aristocracy, that is, nails an inch or two long in silver and gpld sheaths tho gold or jade bracelots on the wrists the cheeks and lips painted red, face powdered, eyebrows shaven straight —altogether, the lady before us is very gorgeous in her get-ftp and not unhandsome, if I except the poor littlo feet so wofully misshapen. Such is a lady in China "adorned with silk, satin, and jewels, but generally unable to read a word, secluded from the world, married to a man she never saw until bound to him for life unless he choose to set her aside, shut up in small cheerless rooms, having none ofthe comforts of our homes. Sho is the slave of her husband and his immediate relatives. She is an object for our pity and sym pathy.—Mrs. E. E. Baldwin.

BAIAKIREKFANDTIIBCZAR.—Balakireff was the favorite jester of Peter, of Russia, and many instances are related of his clever wit. It happened once that a cousin of the jester fell under the displeasure of the Emperor, who delivered him to the authorities for trial, and was just about to ratify their sentence, when Balakirofl', hearingofit, made his appearance with a doleful face, and approachodhis master as if about to speak. Peter guessed his errand, turned to the officers who were standing around him, and said, in aloud voice: "I know what petition this Icllow is bringing mc but I givo you my word of honor, gentlemen, that I will not grant it.''

The jester hearing of this, instantly threw himself at the feet of the Czar, and said with his most apparent earnestness: "I beseech you, Peter Alexcevith, do not pardon that rascal of a cousin of mine!" "Ab, you rogue!" cried Peter, "you'ro too sharp for me yet, I see!" and the next day the culprit received his pardon.

THE Count of Paris, head of the bouse of Orleans, and probable successor to the French throne, is in his thirty-third year, having been born in Paris on tho 24th of August, "1738. His father, the Duke of Orleans, oldest aon of Louis Phillipe, was killed by being thrown from his carriage when the Count was in his fourth vear, and before the latter bad reached the age of ten, the revolution of 1818 drove Louis Phillipe from the throne, Ilis mother presented the

Soung

Count to tho tumultuous Depue«, out received for an answer only the ominous words. "Too late." He was educated in England, and with nts younger brother, the Dukedc- Onarires, came to this country and formed a part of the highly ornamental staff of Gen. McClellan, during the early part of the war,.

THE LBOPABD.—"This 'er Tfianfmal, my little dears," observed the keeper of

..v. ....... .ucu a menagerie to a school, •'is a leopard. the maidens plumed their gay feathers His complexion is valler, and agreeably as he walked down the bail. But he diversified with black spots! It vos a came straight to her. wolgar horror of the hancients that the "Are you well enough to be here!" critter vos hincapablo of changin* his without» "-ord of greeting, as though spots, rich vas disproved in modern they h*- not parted. "You frightened times by observin' thst he wery freme .ih your white fare just now/' qucntjy slept in one spot, and the next 1 was tired. I wanted to go home." I night changed to another."

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A CONJUGAL LETTER—WHAT A WIFE MURDERER WROTE BEFORE HIS CRIME.

Andrew J. Bauder, who killed his wife in Cleveland sometime ago in a fit of jealously, was recently tried in that city. The following letter from Baudeif to his wife was read to tho jury:

CLEVELAND, Feb. 24, l.st»

Dearest One—Your ever welcome letter come to hand Sunday. I went to the Postofflce and inquired at tho delivery and obtainod it. Pet, if you could oulv have seen how delighted* your little boy looked .when they gave him your letter, you could have judged how much he thought of his little wife. Pet, don't stay long from your little sheep you dont Know how lonely I am, and how little Minnie and I look for you. I come homo every noon and feed her and myself, and then return to the depot and when I coiue home from work evenings I am hungry and tired, and by the time I build the lire and get my snp-\ per it is late. Most ofthe time I don't* cook any supper, but content myself with a cold lunch but I am willing to put up with this inconvenience and more for you and your parents' sake, if you aro contented. Thero is a let-

ter here for Martha, and ono in tho Postofflce tor you. ltosv and Jim I see quite often walking together. Minnie carries herself quite freely sho walks on all fours. I nave succeeded in killing all the flies thoy are scarce around the diggins.

I send a photograph of my honorable self, individually and collectively, to you, at your disposal if you feel inclined and it is acceptable and can be appreciated by tho receiver as Mr. A. J. Bauder, the husband of the giver. Allow me to stato while sitting for my picture a couple of ladies' curiosity was somewhat excited towards me, and I informed them that ifthev would draw their attention some other wa my picture would look moro pleasing. (They obliged mo.) Pet, when you write ag iii let mo know when you intend to start from Waukasha. 1 will look for you bv way of tho Detroit boat. 1 don't think you will be seasick coming back, as you couldn't have picked out a worse imo If vou had tried. It was awful rough. I don't wish you to tear yourself away from your parents in your enjoyments with them, but short Visits make long friends, and you will probably seo them more often than heretofore.

Pet, how I wish I could be with you. How I would press you to my bosom and give you a melting aud loving kiss again and again. How I would tlirow my arms around your loveliness, and sweetly sleepthatlovelysleepthat am patiently, yet anxiously waiting lor. Pet, from her husband.

The Bramin, being bonevolenUy .inclined, was moved by theso entreaties, and opened tho door of the cage.

Tho tigor walked up to him, waved his tail, and said, "Bramin, prepare-to die I shall now cat you." "Oh! how ungratft.l, how wicked! Am I not your saviour?" protested the trembling priest. "True," said tho tigor, "very truo but it is the custom of my raco to eat men when wo get tho chance, and 1 cannot ufford to lot you go."

Let us submit tlie case to an arbitrator," replied tho Bramin. "Hero comes a fox. The fox is wiso lot us abide by his judgment."

Very well," agreed the tiger.* The lox, assuniing a judicial aspect, sat oh his haunches with all the dignity he could muster, and, looking at tho disputants, said:

Good friends, I am somowhat confused by the different accounts which you givo of this matter my mind is not clear enough to render equitablo judgment but if you will bo good enough to act tho wholo transaction out before my eyes, I shall attain unto a moro definite conception Of tho caso. Do you, Mr. Tiger, show mo |ust how you approached and entered .that cago and then do you, Mr. Bramin, show mo precisely hqw you liberated him and I shall be able to render a proper decision."

They assented, for the fo* was solemn and oracular. The tigor walked into the cage, the spring-door fell and shut him in. He was a prisoner inaido.

The judicial expression faded from the fox's countenance, and, turning to the Bramin, ho said:—"Kow you aro all right, you silly Brsmin. I adviso you to go home as fast as you can, and abstain in futuro from doing favors to rascally tigers. Good morning, Bramin good morning, tiger."

THIRTY years ago, when railroads In America—and everywhere olso— wcro few and scattering,sanguine pooplo used to prophesy that the time would oomo when every country vllage, if not every family of respectable siao, would have a branch railroad of Its own. Possibly theso much-talked of narrow gauge roads may be destined to realise the dreams of tho prophets. One of them is to be built in Tennessee, soon, through Greene county. It will be only thirty inches in width of track, eleven miles long, and is to cost only $30,000. The rails aro of wood plated with iron strips on top. When railways, can be bunt at that, rate, every town will surely have thorn, snd no family in moderate circumstances need be without one.

GOOD resolutions lor the now year. To go outshopping with my wifo whenever sho asks me, and to do so cheerfully and with money in my pocket.

To try to like classical music. Gradually to leave off smoking. Not to sit up late nights, and to geU up early In tho morning, light my owa| fire, and do work before breakfast.

To know all about eclipses, ozone, spots on the sun, tides, etc. Not to excecd my income.

To eat cold meat at dinnor without a murmur or frown. To learn Bezique,, and to play it with my wife every evening when wo aro alone.

THE Ftiurr OPERA—The first performance of an opera as a public exhibition for the pooplo was at Venice, and before the ciose ofthe sixteenth century three hundred and fifty-seven operas by forty different composers had been: performed, but it was not until latere that the name of opera was given toiw these works.

fiiAT man has fallen into a pitablo state of moral sickness, in whose eyes: the good opinion of his fellow-men is the test of merit, and their applause tho principal reward for exertion.

1

A AUDKU.

P. S.—Please accept lots of kisses from your little sheep. 'f

A HINDOO STORY.

A tiger, prowling in a forest, was attracted by a bleating calf. It was proved to le a bail, aud tho tiger found himself trapped in a spring cago. There he lay for two days, when a Bramin happened that way. "O Bramin!" piteously cried Uio beast, "havo mercy upon mo, and lot me out of this cage."

Ah but you will eat inc." "Eat you! Devour my benefactor! Never could I be guilty of such a deed," responded tho tiger.

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