Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 13, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 September 1876 — Page 6

THE_MAIli

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE,

Clioldga7.wl

8EPT. 23, 1876.

WISH I WERE YOU."

"1 wish I were you!" said a friend one l«y, »s fffmpcd my hand In a heartfelt ».». I glanced at his upright honest fac«. Anil stRhed as I thought, oold he tak-

He'S'^uow how a heart, tho' It e'en did CounTus woes conceal for a woman's sake. "I wish I were yon!" sighed a bridesmaid ak nhi» Loved with stress of cnestnut hair. Tlhe (glittering genu on the young brides

Kespletulantly gleamed as her brow she

WlU^'her* Jeweled hands. And her heart

Wluio shfthougbt of a lite she had wrecked for gold. ,1 I wish

were you!" lisped a

fair

eoni,r

SIie

haired

In lit* grandslre's eyes and

And the frosted head of the man As his heart thanked God it could not be so, And silver locks blent with ilie fleecy gold. As his trembling arms did the child enfold. ®h, envv not other?, but be content. •tfeuiur not at fate. Take what C*c sent. All

hearts

have tlielr sorrows

We never

When unsmiling face hides a hear of From the time of birth till the lit*? Most lives ore naught bnt a livlDg lit

it he

Lumley's Pardner.

I have forgotten tho name he brought with hiin from the state?, for nobody Kere ever called bim anything else but "Lumley's Pardner."

We miners have a familiar knack of reChristening, and a name once altered sticks to a man as long as be sticks to the mines so, even alter Lumley had thro

up his claim and left the diggings

a good three years ago. Lnmley's pardner still remained, a finger-post to trace tho distance back. Alter all, John Junes, or Lumley's pardner, what muttered it in that doubtful tideofimminrarion setting in toward the wild regions, where the first confidential question, after lntimicy seemed to warrant tbe libertj*, was inyariaby, "S.-iy, what was your name before you cam- here?"

You see, I knew Lumley's pardner •when ho first came into tho mines. I •was up at Wood's diggings at the time be and a p.iriyof two or tbree more came around pi aspect ing, I remember I thought what a fine stalwart young follow he was, straignt as young pine tree, and no foolishness about him either, for ho had been roughing it a year or two down on the Texas border. 1 never saw the boys more downright pleased over a now

than with us. He wa?

not a man to talk much about himself, nor one you would feel free to question but there was honest square dealing looking out of hifc clear gray eyes, for all the trouble and unrest laid up behind th.'in.

Lumley waaasdiflferent as a man could bo. I have often noticed that men take to unlikes in mating anions t't»-n«eivps, as well as in choosing mates for .tie. camo into tho diggings a week or so later, and thev somehow fell in together. Lumley was what you might call an extra clover fellow. He looked scarcely morn than a boy—these falrskinnell people never show their age— with his handsome womanish face, bright blue eyes, and trim built figure but he had confidence until you coulJ n't. rest, plenty of the gift of gab, and a »iuotbliig about him—I believe people o-iil it magnetism at least, when you wero with him you believed just as he did, and then wondered at.yourself afterward for doing it.

Lumley always had a knack of twlstHig folks round his little finger, »r all that the lines of firmness were quite ticking about his mouth. Lumley's purduor now with his close-set 1 ip•*, and square massive jaw—you might as well fcn|o to move a mountain as hlin against his will. He would be strong to do or lib bear, v«»u could easily see tnat.

I do not know as It was exactly f«dr! novf meant to oavesdrop, but it happened in this wise one night I went over to Lumley's shanty—it wus amazing strange bow soon his name got tacked to everything—to see about a broken pick he wanted mended. I used to do the smithing In those days. As I opened the door, 1 saw there was no one in, and, being tired with my days work, I nropped down on a log just outside, lit my pipe, and sat leaning back against tho pino boards waiting for Lumley to come back. I guess I must have got drowsy and fallen asleep, for the first thli'g heard was voices, and Lumley's pardner speaking out bitter and short, ni a way we seldom heard him speak.

I reckon it's of no use to ask if there's any letters come to my name," ho said, "There's no one to write to me.'1

I rubbed open my eves and saw two

earns or light streaming out through open door and the on« loophole of a window, ami then I knew that Lumley and his mate ntn«t have pass«d me by and never seen mo in the twilight, liaising myself up, I saw Lumley 'through tbe "window, sitting down to the pine table beside a tallow dip, with two or three' lette.*# lying beside him, and one open in his liana Then it flashed across my mind that one of the boys from a camp beyond had gone in to tbe station and was due^with the mall that njght.

Lu in lev's pardner wit over the fkr side of the table ..ith a gloomy look in his eve. Bein* in tho same boat myseir, I knew how lot osotne it was never to have new* mm home, and wondered to mvself how a uisuly fine-looking fellow Uke him should be without wife or sweetheart waiting with a woman's pride In hhti somewhere.

Lumley was busy reading his letters. I thought I had better stay outside. He was that intent at first that he seemed not to bare heird tbe other's word, but after a moment be lifted hta (Me with one of the proud bright looks that were Lumley*a wn. Ay, comrade!" he cried cheerily "and don't tell me It isnt all your ovu fault. Don't dare to envyrne my wife and child." ,,

There was no reply bat looking over, I saw such a bitter sorrowful look on the feoe of Lumley's pardner, that, scarcely knowing what I was doing, I stood and watched and nited him. I heard Lamlev read aloud words of love and trust, watching and waiting, and of happhiem in him and tbe child. I saw his race as he read. He might be a weak man. but ho lov«d tbe woman and the child. From tbe last letter there propped out a oarte ae viste. Lumley caught It op with

^^OM^pSd,*' he cried, "yon my two treasures. Here they are Lulie and tbe boy ..

He tossed the picture across tbe table. Hie other picked It up. I saw a man die one*, stabbed through tbe heart. Just such a look c*me into the free of Lumley's pardner as be glanced at toe jtcture in his hand. Lumley, bending

I.Vv.W --0 'Jel-Sj*-

over his letter, never saw it. When he had finished reading, he held out his hand. The other did not even raise bis eyes, but kept them fixedly on what he

he,1,(I,

too, once thought to have a wife and child," he muttered presently, less to Lumley than to himself.

Tbe words, following that look, were a whole book of revelation to me. pily, Lumley did not notice. showed some surprise, mingled with that placid satisfaction tbe successful

"-Ah7'Te »uE»ed, shaking his head knowingly, "is that the way the land Hes? I knew you were always closemouthed, but a dlMppointment-I never suspected that, She, whoever it was had precious bad taste when she looked the other way and he ran his evo admiringly over tbe other splendid proportions and manly handsome face. "She never lefusea me, broke in

Lumley's pardner, in a low smothered tone, his eyes still fastened intently on the picture. "I—never

a«k?d4.her

Vui

she knew n-.y m'nd, and I thought I knew hers, I was sure she would wait for me until I came back. It was for her I went away." "But you wrote to

her?"

U1"She'don^t

questioned

Lumley, with genuine interest. Not a word—not a line. I am a poor scribe. But she knew me well enough to need no written assurance of my intentions. Every day would he

lived

lor

her. There could be no doubt of that in her mind." Luuiley made a hasty gesture of dissent. "And there, old man, was precisewhereyou failed to connect! It don do you know, for women to take too much for granted. They like to be well fortified and then you are the surest to win it you take them by storm. Why

look as though she ever

walked over a true heart with her dainty feet, and that glad little smile just curling her lips!" 'u-oke in Lumley pardner, his white face still bent,on the picture. His deep'voice trembled a little over the last words.

Lulie is truth itself," answered Lumley quicklv. "She never loved anybody but me. tobesuresho had admirers— how could she help that and lw what she i* ?—but she l»ves tin* truly. \ou can see it in bereyes!"

Lumley'8 pardner turned deadly pale He caught the table by ,,no hand as if to steady nimself, and fairly hurled the picture across to Lumley. It missed its mark and fell to the floor. As he saw it fall to the floor all the fierceness died out of his eyes, and frightened look crept into them.

Pick her «p, he said with timid ap prehension, as though it were a human being to whom, in a moment of passion, be bad committed some act of violence. "I didn't mean to do thatpoor little mother!"—that last word seemed to xive bim a stronger footing with himself. "I was thinking how my wife married another man, and never let me know." ,, ..

Come, come, old man, don take it so to heart," said Lumley, soothingly. "There'll be a pleasant home, a dear littl© woman, ana bright-©* ed children in the future for you yet." "Never!" ,ft

Lumley's pardner brought down his first like a sledge-hammer then he leaned forward in his seat, with a feverish eagerness in his manner which he tried hard to keep out of bis voice.

Tell me how would you nave given up your Lulie?" Lumley laughed with easy careless good nature. "You put me in a tight place, be said. "But, supposing tbe case, the first question I should ask would be, did she go over to the enemy's campin other words, forsake me for an old rival?"

N n-o!" answered Lumley pardner, slowly, "It was some one I had never seen. I've nothingag'in the man." •'Why, then," went on Lumley— "truth sometimes cu»s hard, old fellow —I think it was your fault and not tbe girl'8. It's a man's privilege to speak his mind a woman'sdestiny to fold her hands and wait. 8becan never be quite sure unless be has spoken out. hen perhaps another, who has learned to love her, does speak. She feels the need of love in her life women as often marry to be loved ss because they love. Then, lustead of wasting her life for that which may never come to her, she takes up the fate lying at her feet. Does she go so very much astray."

Lumley's pardner dropped his head upon his breast. "Poor girl! I never thought of that," he said.

I do not know just bow it was that I remembered all the words so plain. There was no more.said, and feeling guilty like for atealing a mate's secret which it was not meant for me to know. I crept to my shanty, bunked in, and let the broken pick lie over until morning.

I always felt sorry for Lumley's pardner after that. Well, for a time, things went on in the old way. Then Lumley's pardner came down with mountain-fever, and Lumley nursed him through it. He was ss tender as a woman, was Lumley! When I used to drop in of nights occasionally, tQ lend a hand at -watching, the sick man's eyes would follow him about the room, in a helpless beseeching was that was pitiful to see.

It was only the ghost of Lumley's pardner that got up from it, but the t-vo were always nigher together after that.

When Lumley got back to the claim, and Lumley's pardner was Just able to crawl about they came into a wonderful streak of luck. Lumley struck into a big pocket, and there they were, in the turn of a die, rich men. Mining, after all, is a game of chance—you buy vour ticket, but it does not always win there are plenty of blanks to every prize.

It would not matter tho exact amount this prize netted, il I had remembered it. Lumley was jubilant over his "pile," snxion's to sell out and leave the mines so nobody was surprised when his pardner bought him out for a good round sum, saying, in his quit way, that he guessed be'd May and see the thing through.

It was very qu'et in camptbe morning t*»ai Lumley went away. The boys were sor to lose him, for he bad notany but well wishers among us.

Well, six months went by, and then came a little white letter, "scribed" in a dainty woman's hand to Lumley's pardner, Tbe man trembled all over ltke a leaf when It wss put into his hand, took it into bis cabin, an'1 shut test the door. Within the next half hoar he came out again in a desperate hurry, saddled his mule and rode off down toe trail. "Unexpected business!" was his hasty explanation. Could not say how soon be might be back.

The news came to us at last by a party of traders, stopping to noon in camp. Then I knew what those marks of weakness about his mouth stood for Lumley had never left the city at all! He bad sat down to tbe gaming table one night, and gotten up from it the next morning poorer than he bad come into tbe mines. He had first won. then lost, and lost and won and won again and then that last total blank stared bim in the (ace.

Lumley could never give up at that. He mast win it all back! Luck wassufo* ly in store for bim yet! He haunted the gambling hells, playing recklessly, des

perately, so long as be could win enough X) keep the ball rolling pawning his bis ring, even his clothing, when other resources failed.

So Lumley's pardner found him— heavy eyed, wltn a seedy flashiness in his dress, marks ol dissipation on his fair womanish face—a pretty nearly played out individual.

The blood rushed all over bis face for the mainliness yet left in him oould but feel the shame of that meeting. But there was no backing »ut now. Lumley pardner took him to onei side. "I've heard of you, old man," ho said, in his inatter-of-fact way, "and I've come to see you out of this! How much do you say will clear you up, and have a trifle ahead?"

Lumney never raised his eyes. Old pard," he answered, choking up, "you're ft better friend than I deserve. Den't ask me to take anything from you. I wont in with my eyes open, and thanking you all the same, I'll have nobody's help out."

Lumley's pardner laid a broad hand on each of the pitifully drooping shoul-

d6"01d

Lumley put down his head upon that and cried like a baby the which, if it be not manly, I like him the better for. There are tears, I am thinking, that are far from disgracing even the eyes of a man. ,, "I'm ashamed of myself, through and through, for what's gone by," were Lumley's next words, "but I can't give up now. Matters can't bo any worse, and there's a chance of bettering. Per haps to-night I shall win it all back."

There were the old willfulness and pride, and the new fascination or the gaming table. There was no turning him back, no moving him from that re solve. ...

Lumley's pardner took lum by the arm. "i:»h»r way, I'm bound to eeeyou through." ho said. "Come."

So night after night, as Lumley played there stood Lumley's pardner looking on, with never a word of that little white letter, his answering message, or the two passengers on board an ocean steamer bound for California.

Despite Lumley's hopefulness luck never turned. It was the same feverish unrest and tedious waiting, tbe sense oi degradation by day, arid at night the brilliantly lighted gambling hell, the excitement, the fascination, trembling betwixt hope and uncertainty, the freqei.t potations to steady his shaking nerves, and, as the night wore on, uncertainty depening into failure and disappointment and each morning Lumley's pardner led him slowly and silently away, until time, wearing on brought at last this appeal: "For God's sake, old man, when will you let up?" "So help me heaven, as soon as I get back two thousand dollars, I swear never to touch cards or dice again." And Lumley was dead in earnest this time.^ Still, he would accept nothing from his part-

neThe

night the Ocean Belle was signaled into port. Lumley's pardner beckoned "Monte Bill" aside (I reckon you have heard of Monte Bill, the best brace dealer and short-card player west of the old Mississippi), and some secret under standing passed between them.

In the midst of »he game Lumley's pardner left his post, wliich was something unusual, passing Monte Bill on his way to tbe door. It was not generally noticed, but as he passed he dropped a small compact package into the gambler's hand then slouching bis sombrero over bis eyes, be left the room.

Pausing in the street Lumley's pardner looked anxiously down, it would have been dark but for the street lamps, for it was full two hours to moonrise but down by tbe wharf shone out the gleanl of a new signal light, which poised at masthead, glowered through the dark like tbe fiery eye ol a gigantic cyclops the Ocean Belle was in. Ten minutes later, pushing bis way through the bustling crowd that thronged tbe deck, he hurried across the plank and made his way straight to tbe cabin.

T?he past seemed all a dream, as he stood again with a wildly beating heart betore a once familiar form—familiar still though bearing the maturer crown of motherhood. Her face was even fairer than of old, blushing with its own wild rose tints of loveliness, her soft eves shining up in glad expectation. Tfhe broad sombrero, slouched over his forehead shaded his features. She saw only bronzed cheeks and a strong brown beard. The tremor in his voice might have meant diffidence. "Pardon me, madam, you are—I believe—that is to say—I am Lumley's patdner."

She held out a soft white hand oor diilly. "And my husband?" "Is well. I am to take you to him."

He took timidly the hand she extended, awkwardly the little woman thought and then let it go. "Give me the child."

He took the sleeping boy in his arms and so burdened piloted the way to a carriage waiting close beside the wharf. Putting her inside, he laid the child gently, almost reverently upon her lap. "We're to drive round and Uke up Lumley. It is only a few minutes' ride."

One last searching glance from under the protecting sombrero, and be closed tbe carriage door, mounting to bis place beside the driver.

O Idly enough, Lumley had jtfct finished a winning game with Monte Bill when Lumley's pardner came hurriedlv in. As be slipped quietly back his post, Lumley *at eytfng tbe "pile"— twenty-flve hundred dollars. He put out bis hand to rake it up, paused, drew it back, picked up the cards, and began to shuffle for anotner stake not that he had forgotten his oath, or the woman and child he loved, but along way ahead of anything else was the thought that luck had turned—that be had only to follow it up to win back all tbe past. Lumley's pardner stooped to his ear "You'd better throw up tbe game. The 'little mother' and your boy are waiting here, outside."

Lumley started—half rose to his feet, looked op into his partner's fhoe, then at the cards, then at tbe door, then wistfully back upon tbe cards and the gold. As with a heavy sigh he sunk into his seat again, Lumley's pardner. dashing the cards from his bands, raked up the stakes and foroed tbe money into Lumley's pocket. "How long will you keep your wife and child wailing alone, at night, in a strange city before the door of a gambling bouse?"

The thrust struck home. Like a man awakening from a dream, Lumley sprung up, crushed on his hat, and Sew to the door.

Once in tbe Uttie woman's arms, he was safe. Lumley's pardner knew him well enough to be sure of that. He never followed him, bat slipped out at the side door and the next day saw him back in camp, a trifle pale, sterner than was his

TERRB HAUTE SATURDAY, KVBNIM MAIL

man, when the fever had me

down I'd ha'gone under if it hadn't been for vou. So nelp me God! I'd rather ha''died than have taken what I did at your bands. Do you dare deny nm this small return now"? What's a paltry sum of money between you and nie, and the 'little mother' waitin' at home?"

wont, but tbe clear gray eyes dauntlessly honest and brave. And I reckon, to this day, Lumley never knows how much he owes his old mate, or that bis Lulie bad one true lover., whom he once knew and appropriated to himself in the person of Lumley's pardner.

WOMAN.

FLO A TJSQ FA CT8 REOA HI)

-V

THE OENTLEli SEX. vi Vv

\TTKUS MATERIAL TO MAIDH AND A'A I HONS.

WOMA .Y'& WIT.

gentleman not unconnected with the Boston press vvtw in St. Mmi8 recently (says the Republican ol the lattui city,)and while here confided to a friend the details of an adveniiiie in a Boston hotel so remarkable as to deserve life in print. The story is brief, but with an immense moral,as showing how in some things lovely woman will always come to the relief of a sister in distress to outwit the tyrant man.

The journalist above referred to, stopping at the hotel, a private one, where the guests were accustomed to theeuti.e freedom of the house, felt late one night the imperative necessitv of eating some fruit before retiring. It was too late to send out to buy any he did not want to arouse the servants of tho house at so late a hour, and yet fruit, or pre-» serves, or something toothsome of the kind, seemed to him a personal necessi ty. He knew where the storeroom was, knew that the door was left open, and finally resolved to go down quietly and prig enough sweetmeats to satisty this need. No sooner was tbe thought con ceived than acted upon, and in five minutes he was in the storeroom hooking preserves out of a jar, and enjoying himself immensely in satisfying the craving Which had come upoi\ him.

For a few minutes the enjoyment of the man at the preserves was complete. Then he was startled by a light, swift step in the hall ttu^e was a swish and a rustle of garments, the door opened suddenly, and some one bounded io with such suddemyjss, as, coming squarely against (.he forth of the midnight raider, to knock bim half way across tbe room and otf his feet. Leap ing up at once, bo closed with his un conscious assailant, to be startled by a subdued shriek, and to find that he had captured a woman. Further, and more terrible still, he discovered that the plump form of the lady who had wanted something to eat as well as himself, was clad only in a nightdress. Still, though trying, the occasion was not one of un mixed horror by any means, and in a moment the gentleman's nerve returned and curiosity rose to fever heat.

Who is this*?" he demanded of the plump figure in his arms. No answer "Who is it?" he repeated. "You'll not get out of this until you tell." Still no answer, but a struggle in tho dark ness. the plump figure trying hard to get avvuv.

Apain the query was repeated, with equal lack of response but this time a resounding slap in tue face from a hand that was doubtless pretty, but which hit with decided forco, was the reward of tbe questioner.

He was put on his mettle at once. "You think you'll get off unknown. We'll see about that!" he exclaimed. "I've a device that'll work, I think."

And then, after a short and determined struggle, he caught a little bitol the lady's cheek between his teeth and bit it—not badly so as to break the vel vety skin, but sufficiently hard to leave a mark which he knew could not disappear for a day or two. Thon he released his unknown prisoner, and she fled like tbe wind along the passage, dis appearing in some room impossible to locate in tbe darkness.

Tbe next morning the gentleman with) a mystery to solve came down to breakfast early. No ladies had yet appeared, but at his table were one or two intimate male friends, and to them he confided the story of his adventure in the night, relating also the means he had taken to secure the identification of the unknown lady. The most intense curiosity at once prevailed at the table, and the advent of the ladies was awaited with an impatience scarcely to be controlled. Five minutes later the belle of the hotel entered demurely, glided across tbe room and seated herself for breakfast. Eager eyes followed her, and, as her face was fairly exposed, there was a sensation among tbe gentlemen. Upon ber right cheek was a strip of court plaster an inch long! The excited meit exchanged glances and whis pers and smiles. The mystery was solved early. But just then another lady entered, this time a dignified mat ron. As she seated herself, there was discovered upon her right cheek a piece of court plaster identical in appearance with that upon the belle! Another and another lady entered. Upon tbe right cheek of every one of them appeared a piece of court plaster. The tables filled up, and not a lady at one of them but wore court plaster on the right cheek. And then the gentlemen looking confidently for rf revelation wilted. They comprehended the situation. The lady who had been captured in tbe night had confided her extremity to her friends, and they had come to her rescue to outwit male humanity. They had succeeded too. Well indeed the discomfitted men at that particular table knew that beneath one of the many pieces of court plaster in the room were hidden the marks of teeth, but which was the identical bit of court plaster tbey could not tell. And they never learned

A WOMAN AT LONG BR ASCII. A feminine correspondent writes to the St. Louis Republ'can thus: Let me describe tbe sensation and, as I am a woman, own just the truth as to this fashionable diversion. First, there is tbe undressing in the bath-bouse—a closet hardly big enough to turn about in for no lady prepares for bathing at the hotel before going down to the beach. You feel sure somebody sees you through the cracks in tbe imperfect planks, and you get red and nervous with fear and shsme. Then the ridiculous dress. Why, it is a bloomer costame, short pants and a blouse, making a guy of the prettiest woman, and a fright of nearly all. Tbe bit of mirror only shows how absurdly your head looks in the coarse sundown hst, and iron know you are sure you cannot face tbe curious and idle spectators on tbe shore in such a rig. Then comes a tap on the door, and "Are you ready ?M gives no time for cogitation. ou open the door and step out on the platform to Join your companions, •elf-convinced that if ever in your life you have acted and looked like an idiot, now is the time. You cross tbe sands and make an advance Into the first breaker. Oh! whst a chill creeps through your whole body how deathly oold—and you see another breaker oomlng. You catch tbe rope aod await tbe consequence*, while your companion says "Courage,"

in that slow, rasping voice which means that something dreadful is coming. And it has come. The wave has gone over von in one blinding, smotberiog mass. Your eyes, your ears, your nostrils are futl of it, and a rain of spray comes down your broad brimmed hat to blind you as you feel the sand* washing out from under your feet with tbe retiring wave. When you see, you know that another breaker is coming to overwhelm you. It looks like a white-capped demon that has gathered all its force to destroy you and dash you up on those yellow -sands that look*so invitingly dry at this present moment. "Now for it," thouts somebody as the monster goes oyer you, and in a twinkling ^rour feet are where bead should he. You grasp at the rope and wonder if the undertow will take you out before you can be rescued and set on your feet again. Assistance comesjust'in time to be whipped and tossed again, and this is repeated over again for a few moments then you walk out again as best you can, clinging to the rope all tbe time in the most depressed and crestfallen manner. Even the joy of being on tbe dry sand does not compensate for your forlorn appearance and you know that Smith and

Brown are laughing, as you pass them, at your dripping garments. If it was an ordeal to go down to the watei in this wretched dress, what is it to face this crowd of grinning idiots as you return The only comfort possible under such circumstances is to remember that you will not bo recognized by your best friends in your present costume.

HOW FIFTH AVENUE BELLES DRESS. •[Prumtlio New York Sun.]

This is the way a Fifth avenue girl is expected to dress in the first sharp mornings of October or November Her polonaise is of ink-blue India cashmere or camel's hair or laine carree. It is trimmed with pipings, facings and'linings of cardinal red silk. Down the front is a row of ink-blue gros grain bows, lined with cardinal, and made in the long looped style. Down tbe back are three rows ol ink-blue buttons, with red stars embroidered on them. So long is this polonaise, and so slightly is it raised on the sides by tho looping back of the draperies, that it almost entirely conceals the trailing flounces of th« dark red skirt over which it is worn. So closely, too, does it cling to her person from the throat to a line around ber hips, far below the waist, that the beholder wonders how the lady got into the garment. Little or no bouffant effect is produced by the looping of the polonaise, the back draparies of which are simply drawn together low down, and fastened under a large looped sash bow of blue gros grain, also lined with cardinal silk. The large single pocket of blue gros grain, lined with red, is made to do duty iu trimming the polonaise, being placed very far back and verv low down on either tbe right or left'side. From its red depths peeps out a cream -white silk handkerchelf, bordered with blue or red, or both colors. On her head she wears a Gainsborough hat, looped a little back of one ear, and coquettislily up-tilted on one side. Its ta|ering crown is almost concealed under nodding ostrich plumes or lophophore feather bands and wings, and a bunch of red flowers or cherries Alls the place where the brim is looped. Over her face is a ret^grenadine or lace veil, and in her hand, if it is a bright, sunshiney day, she carries a dark red parasol. Her lingorie is piped with red, hor ornaments are of coral, hor bosom bouquet is of red fl wers, imbedded in a fine lace bow. II«r hose, too, are red, with nly a seam of white down each side, looking as if the stocking was ripped and showed the white skin of her leg. Her buttoned boots are square toed. Her undressed kids correspond with the color of ber polonaise, or they are some one of the new shades ol gray, ecrue, or wood color. r-- A WOMAN OF XER

Saughter

VE.

A Newport correspondent writes: A lady, young and beautiful, for the sake of her health returned to the scene of her old glories as the gue«t of a friend. The other day she went to a dinner party dressed simply in a plain black silk, devoid of ornaments, and rather «bahby as to its wear. When some one asked'her what she had done with her flounces, she boldly answered that they "had been sold, and laughingly declared that 6he only wished sue had others ol the same value to dispose of. No doubt tbere was a bitter jar at tbe bottom of the laugh, but the courage of tbe fine lady was commendable Another woman who did not come to so close a need, appears without her jewels and lace flounces, which are safely put away until her husband is in better condition.

Her courage and sense are still better. I do not wear costly things, though have them," she says, "because they are not in keeping with our present circumstances."

•r POOR OIRLS. The poorest girls in the world are those who have never been taught to work. There are thousands of tbem. Rich parents have petted them they have been taught to despise labor, and depend upon others for a living, and are perfectly helpless. If misfortune comes upon their friends, as it often does, their case is hopeless. The most forlorn and miserable woman on earth belongs to this class. It belongs to parents to protect their daughters from this doplorab'.e condition. Tney do them a

reat wrong if thdy neglect it. Every should be taught to earn her own living. The rich as well as the poor require this training. Tbe wheel of fortune rolls swiftly round—tbe rich are very likely to become poor, and the poor rich. Skilled to labor Is no disad vantage to the rich, and is Indispensable to tbe poor. Well-to-do parents must educate their daughters to work no reform Is more Imperative than this.— [Southern Christian Advocate.

I s"''' LAZY DA UOHTERS.

An old bachelor writer in the Louisville Journal says: There are some young ladies in this city who can get Ifey, go hungry, live along, and perhaps die happy bat their one laea of worldly happiness seems to be to wear striped hose, a $2JM) tllter. 97 worth of jewelry and "scrambled hair." They'll sit up in the parlor until midnight telling "Gawdge Augustus" what terrible time mother Ess with her servants how she gets up at four o'clock in the morning to help ms," and all that, when that same girl's poor old mother does her own oooking, washing and ironing, and thirteen kegs of coarse grained blasting powder touched off under that girl's bed wouldn't blow her out of it at 8 o'clock

A. M.

up for the breakfast "her ma" bad been fool enough to oook and set aside for her. That girl will remain at home until cold weather seta in, and then come out and tell everybody she meets that "she saw Mis. Jinks st the Centennial, and had such a jolly time."

MAKING EXCUSES.

A great many people when asked to •ing or play in company have a disagreeable nabit of delaying and making

excuses. All the while they know that they can do what they are asked to do, and in thre end they generally mean to doit. We have seen some cases delightfully opposite to this practice. When such a request is made of a certain little lady ol our acquaintance, she always modestly but promptly complies. Not seldom she says: "I think I don't play it very well but III do the best I can." She has the true idea of bow to give pleasure to others, and this makes her willing to do ber utmost to comply with their desires, rather than to consult her own inclination.

rpHE

S rV

Saturday Evening

MAIL,

FOR THE YEAR

,1876.

A MODEL WEEKLY PAPER FOR THE HOME.

TERMS:

One year, (with chroxnoj WW Six months, (without cbromo 81 OC Three raontnts (without chromo)...„_^0 ota. -s •.

Moil and office Subscriptions will, Invariably, be discontinued at expiration *f time paid for.

Encouraged by the extraordinary sucoesa which has attended the publication of THE SATURDAY EVENING MI, tke publisher has perfected armngeiuvnitv r-jr whieh it -jt will henceforth be one of the moat popular papers in the West.

v-"i

THH CHOICE O*

Two Beautiful Ghromos .'

Preseuted to each yearly subscriber, from and after this date, 'flies©beautiful pictures y.._ just from the bands of th*. French chrom 'A' artists, are faithful copies of oil paintings by the artist W. H. Baker,of Broohlyn. One, entitled

"Cherry Time"

Represents a bright taoed boy, coming from the orchard, bountifully laden with the redripe fruit. The other, entitled

"lily of the Field"

Is a beautiful little girl, with *ue of the sweetest of faces, gathering lilies in the field. One is a wood soone, the other has an ©pen meadow in the back ground. They are of striking beauty.

For one dollar e^tra (53.00 in all,) we will send The Mall one year and both chremoa *•••/. mounted ready for framing. These pictures ,w are catalogued and sold 1m tho art stores at FOUR DOLLARS EACH.

FRAMES.

We have made arrangements with an extensive manufactoty of frames by which we can furnish for One Dollar a frame usually sold for 81.50 and $1.75. These frames are of the best polished walnut and gilt. Hereto the

BILL OF PRICES.

The Mail one year and choice of Chromo I2

offices

The Mail one year and Both Chromes mounted 3 00 -n. The Mail one year and Both Cliromos

FRAMED 5

THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL is an Independent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages of book paper, and alms to be, in every sense, a Family Paper.

Chromo 8 ou Hkrper't Weekly, price *4JX), Tho Mall and Chromo 5 60 Harper'* Bator, prioe *4.00, The Mall and Chromo 6 60 Frank Leslie* Illustrated Newspaper, price *4X0, Tho Mall and Chromo 6 Leslie* Chimney Corner, price *4X0, Th®

Mail and Chromo 6 00 Bout' and Girl*' Weekly, price *2.50, tbe Mall and Chromo

Chromo

to wake her

With this aim in view, nothing will appear*'"^ In its columns that cannot be rend aloud in the most refined fireside circle.

CLUBBING WITH OTHER PERI-5 ODICAL3. We are enabled to offer extraordinary inducements in the way of clubbing with oth- t\t er periodicals. We will furnish THE SAT-, URDAY EVENING- MAIL, PRICE 12.00 PER YEAR, and elt of the above Chromos with any of the periodicals enuraera-* ted below at greatly reduced rates. These periodicals will be sent direct from the

of publication. Here is the list:

SEMI-WEEKLY.

Semi- Weekly New York 1'rlbune, price •8.00, The Mail and Chronao 14 50

WEEKLY PAPERS.

IndirnnapoUt Journal, price 12.00, The Mall and Chrsmo W

Jndianapolii Sentinel, price $2X0, The Mail and Chromo.^.^..„......„..... 8 66 N. Y. Tribune, price 18.00, Tbe Mail and

Chro mo 8 GO i, Toledo Blade, price *2.00, The Mail and

Chromo 8 60 N. Y. Sun, The Mall and Chromo 8 00 ,, Prairie Farmer, price 12X0, The Mall and Chromo 8 Wettern Rural, price 12.50,The Mall and

Chromo iVV." Chicago Advance, price $3.00, The Mail And Chromo Chicago Interior, price 12.50, The Mail and Chromo frfii Chicago Inter-Ocean, price *1.60, The

Mall and Chromo^.•••••

8 28 1

Appieton'* Journal, price H.00,1 he Mall ,, and Chromo Rural New Yorker, price *8X0, The Mall Vi and Chromo 1 Hearth and Home, price *8.00, The Mall and Chromo 4 60, MethodM, prioe *2-50, The Mall and

MONTHLIES.

Arthur'* Home Magazine, price *2.50, The Mall and Chromo *4 00 Peter ton's Magatine, prioe *2,00, The

Mall and Chromo 8 60 American Agriculturist, price *1J50. The Mail and Chromo 8 00 Denmrett's Monthly, price *8,00, 1 year,

The Mall and Chromo Godey'* Lady's Book, price *8X0, The Mail and Chromo 4 60 j/uit Corporal, price *1.50, The Mall and

Chromo 8 60 Scribner's Monthly, prioe *4X0, The Mall sod Cbromo 5 20 AtUmHe Monthly, price *4X0, The Mali and Chromo —.. 6 30

0(d and New, price *4X0, The Mall and Chromo *0 sr,v OverUmd Monthly, prioe *4X0, The Mall and Chromo 6 00! Harper'$ Magatine, prioe *4X0, The Mall and Chromo. -jk—Mall

ss-tj

Gardener'* Monthly, prioe *2X0, The and Chroma....

580

Young Folk* Rural, "Hie Mall and Chro-mo-L Z. «... S 75 "fr The Nuriery, price *L50, The Mall and

SL Nicholas, price *8X0, The Mall and Chromo.

10,

All the premiums offered by the above pub ligations are included In this clubbing arrangement. nr

CLUBBING WITH COUNTY PAPERS.

We have made arrangements to furnish THE MAIL, with Chromo, and any one of the Newspapers in the neighborhood of Terre Haute all for *3JD0.

Addreas P. WUTFA1L, Publisher Saturday Evening Mall, .. TEBBJCHAUTE, WD •,