Semi-weekly Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 March 1896 — Page 6

Miji-br-r-r-ick! Miji-br-r-ick! You fat raseal! What right have you to lio before the fire on that Persian rug, dozing and

Oh, you needn't come rubbing against my leg and singing any songs of peace to me! I'm tired of seeing such laziness and contentment.*, There you are, sleek, dignified,

Now, what are you saying? How did I meet her? Well, you see a poor devil of an artist like me doesn't often have such rare fortune, but it seemed as though an angel dropped from heaven a moment to pluck from danger a wee doggie. There! There! don't arch your back and spit merely because I mentioned your bitterest foe. It was a wee doggie, and you abused it.

Tor It was through your fight with the little pup that I made an acquaintance jwith her. Who is she? Now you won't "know until she comes here to live.

You remember, Miji-br-r-ick, how you rOuflly walked through the hall like a .ged tiger that day, how you soon saw at your domain was Invaded by the tiniest dog you ever saw. It was then that your sleek fur stood on end that your gentle eyes shone fire, and you spit as though 'jrou were trjgng to get the taste of a bad iword out of your mouth. But the little Jjrascal was not afraid of you. He came j)ravely to the attack, and you had to light, and fight hard at that,. Mrmrmrm. "You came off victorious? Why, of coursa Vou did. You great, big bully. He wasn't calf your size. You made him run? Yes, 'and he ran right under the skirts of the Wettiest lady you ever saw, Just as she was Soming by the door. I heard the racket, ithe whole house did for that matter, and fl looked to see what it was, when in you bounded. The little doggie, seeing your flight, took up the pursuit and darted between my legs. In an instant I saw that you had been in the wrong, and took off my cap to apologize for you. What did this vision say, but that it was all the fault of

Gyp. Gyp—Indeed! As if I didn't know {better. How could anything belonging to •her, living about her, do anything wrong? I But, anyway, we made an acquaintance (with each other, she with Gyp in her arms, and I with you safe behind me. I learned that she sometimes came here to give music lessona to a friend of hers, an artist on the floor above. I didn't know until then that there were any floors above. I thought when I came up this far that I was surely directly beneath the vault of heaven, and when the portress asked me, "Did I wish to look further?" I gasped out, "No, indeed! My clothes are not fit," for I thought she wanted to introduce me to St. Peter.

Puff, puff, puff. Puss, did you ever '•moke? Whew! It was too much for you, iWas it, my dainty boy? Well, in deference to your wishes, I will lay it aside, and tell you why I am in such good humor to-night.

You don't know, for I have kept it hidden from you, but have been seeing her every day since. I suppose her friend must .bo making great progress in music, for she gets a lesson every day. And I have seen her every day. For, just as she would be I coming in I would be going out, and -I would meet her on the way to the ground. iOr, she would have finished her lesson end be starting home, when I would just

i.ibe

coming up the stairs. How did I know the time so exactly when to be there? In I the morning, look out of that window, and you will see the corner of the street. Well, I the passes that corner every day she comes

Now, do you see why I moved my easel even though the light is not so good where jIt is? And some days I would walk a few blocks with her. "Her father did not like the idea of her going to see her friend," said she, "so it was better that I did not call until I met her in some other way."

!But every time I walked with her and every

time 1

spoke to her the blood surged

madly through my veins until I could hardly keep from telling her how much I adored 'tier.

What right has a poor devil like mo to tell a girl as poor as himself that he wants to marry her? Why, I can hardly find a EMeoent living for you and myself, let alone a woman. She is a music teacher, I think.

She plays divinely, for I've heard her of an afternoon. Perhaps that is the. reason 1 ihaven't painted much of late. Listening to har. Well, I begin to-morrow In earnest, for she is coming here to let me paint her. rOb, what joy! Is It any wonder that I am half Tvlld with deiight? For such a picture ae I shall paint will make my name and fortune, and then Then what? Never mind, old boy, you shall see what you shall see.

Mrow-ow-ow. Mrr-r-ow. Mr-ow-ow-um-Hmmm. I wonder when that foolish fellow will come back? Here he has been out for an hour, or two, when he should have been liard at work. And what a bustle he was In this morning. The place was all upside down. After a hint as he gave me last eight about the fat mouse, I think he might faave let me have a little quiet here by my•elf this morning, so that I might have bunted up something good to eat As if I .would touch half of that paltry roll he had ior breakfast! I should say not! I turned my back on it in disgust when he placed it before me and said it was all we oould have to-day. He saw I wasn't going to eat it, and took it himself, with a shrug of his 'shoulders, and muttered "ungrateful beast." As if I didn't know he was dying for it, but was too generous to leave me without anything.

Heigh-ho. Men nan never understand eats. We are too sensitive for them. That is the reason we get along better with women. Their natures are so much like our own. Well, he cleaned up all the place this morning. Everything was *dusty and Nflirty before. Now it is clean and bright. There is not much of it to be sure, but still it makes rather an attractive picture, 'even for a well-bred creature like myself. do hope she is a thoroughbred. I hate these models with their loud talk and boisterous laugh. They all like him, and that Is why they used to come here so much. ^Ther don't any more. Guess they made so much nolso he couldn't hear her play.

Well, well, there is his step on the Btair tand his whistle. Here he is, with his arms full of bundles. Why, where did he get the money? I heard him complaining all day that he broke, and muttering bad words under his breath. Words which shocked my sensibilities. Why, he has lost his ring, that beautiful ring that I ad•mired so much. And I know he thought so jiuuch of it. I am so sorry he lost it. Jimmmmm. Meow! Meow! Mmmrrmm. pe's looking out the winddw. There he runs to the door. She is coming. Meow! Bhe is here.

Oh, what a darling girl. Her fluffy (brown hair falling over her frosted, rosy 'cheeks her dimples and her long lashes. Her dark eyes and that beautiful blue suit which clings to her figure so closely.

My! Wow! What! Miji-br-r-ick! You're "ng excited. What la that ourlous crea-

fp^S.-v s.y s.

ture hanging about her neck, Miji-br-r-ick? It is detestable. Wei!, I shall soon see, for she is taking

purring as happy and cosey as a cat can it off and putting it ou a chair. How he be while your master is out in the storm?1

fat and lazy, while I am almost the exact sinelt tea since I came to this place that opposite. Burr-r-rr, what a cold night it jSi except some evil smelling stuff the is. There, now, wait until I take off my coat and shake the sncw off it. Then I will hang it up—so—take off my shoes, put on my slippers and jacket, draw my chair up to the fire, and lfght my pipe. Now, now, I didn't say anything about petting you, did I? Well, if you must be petted I suppose I shall have to do it. There is no one else, is there?

Miji-br-r-r-ick

old

fellow—I am as happy as a lord to-night. I don't exactly know how happy a lord can be, if he tries, but he couldn't be any happier than I am. You ought to have seen her to-night. But you don't know her, do you, old fejlow? Never mind, you shall Know her, for she is coming to-morrow to sit for me, and I will paint such a picture it will surely make my fortune. My fortune? Nay, our fortune—hers, yours and mine. "Mmmmmmm, mmmm, mmm."

watches her uvery action. How caress ingly he speaks to her! And she seems to avoid looking at him. Will 6he have a cup of tea after her cold walk? Tea? Tea? Are my ears deceiving me? Why, I haven't

portress sent up one day when he was sick. He must have fallen heir to some grocery score! Of course she will have a cup of .tea! What does he do but swing a couple of pokers across the fireplace. Now I know why we had no fire this morning. He was making a niche to hold these pokers. From them he suspends a kettle, a llttl the worse for wear, but polished, oh, so bright. "I prefer to make it this way, he is saying, "although most prefer an alcohol lamp." The sly dog! "It Is so nice," she murmurs, "here in this warm, bright room." And then they talk of other things—the weather, music, art, and all the rubbish that mortals in love usually talk about. Mortals in love, did I say? Well, don't correct me. He confessed as much to me, and my eyes tell me the same about her. Of course, he doesn't see that she loves him. Trust a man for that. Why, he wouldn't believe it if I told him myself.

How he looks at her when he talks to ber, and how she don't look at him when she talks to bim. But when he grows enthusiastic and tells how he fought his way through Europe how he was half fed, badly clothed, ill treated

every

man's hand against

him because he had no money. But still he

Oh! oh! You villain! You recognize me fought on, until he had seen the famous now, do you? You haven't forgotten the

WCTks 0 ar

other day when I let you out In the hall masters of to-day, had examined the schools for a run about, hoping you might catch 10f painting, had worked early and late to fat mouse and save me the price 9^_a perfect himself, and had now come to this Steak for you, and how you had a fight '•with a mite of a terrier, one-third your alze? Uh, hum. I see you remember it .•ery well. Where are you going? Don't ifun away from me as if I were chiding you. \I am not, though you richly deserve it.

t, and had studied under the

country, bis native land, here to carve himself a niche in the temple of fame, and incidentally to bring to the surface a few tons of gold bearing quartz. In all this time how she looked at him from under her eyelid,s, and flushed at his resolution of stern determination to succeed. And how those limpid, liquid eyes filled with tears when he told of the struggles he had been through.

Did he see it? Of course he didn't see it. If he had he would have known what to do. As it was, he tumbled along like a blundering Idiot, until he came to the place where he should have told her what he thought of her, and he sighed and turned toward the window, looking out into the street where the shadows were beginning to

fall. Oh, no. He missed the sweetest sound ever heard in those rooms, the sob that comes from swallowing the lump which gathers in the throat when the sorrow afflicts those whom we love.

But he did see that it was getting late and that he could not paint her this after noon. So he brought himself back to this world, and with a bad grace, told her that time had flown so that he could not see to paint her that afternoon. Would she come again? Yes. She would come again to morrow afternoon, and every afternoon until the picture was finished. Foolish maiden. Under such conditions the picture would never be finished! Now she is about to go. She picks up that creature she had about her neck when she came in. How its vicious little eyes glisten in the fire light. Why the impudent thing. I believe it is defying me. You will, will you? Mrowoow! Mr-r-rw! Fist. Br-r-r-r. "Miji-br-r-r-ick."

It is all past now. I shall never do it again, but when I saw those little beady eyes blinking at me I sprang for it and tore the creature from her hand. I pawed and shook it. I slapped it and was wrestling with it on the floor when she tried to take it away from mo. What! Take first my master, then my prey? The only thing I had seen all day that looked as though it might be eaten? I guess not. I carry in my paw four sharp claws, and she found it out. for with one movement I sent them down on her hand so hard they made great ugly scratches in her soft white flesh. And the blood came. And there was a terrible clamor. For when she saw the blood she ecreamed gently and quietly sunk downward. If it hadn't been for him she would have struck .the floor. But his arms were around her and he was crying, "Oh, my darling girl! How did it happen? Sweetheart, it will soon be all right. My dearest!" and other idiotic expressions. Pretty soon she opened her eyes. She may not ha*a heard his last words, but I think she did. Any way she saw she was in his arms, and instead of struggling to get away she simply twisted herself around a little, threw up one hand over his shoulder, rested her head quietly on his breast, and fainted again. This spell was longer than the other. When she came to this time he was kissing her furiously, and she was blushing, oh, so red.

Well, I haven't heard how it came out yet. You see, when he got through kissing her, she explained how it happened. Then I went out. I took a pane of glass with me, as I was in such a hurry to go. Of course I didn't jump to the ground. It was eight stories down. But I knew the window opened on a veranda a little below, and I lit there.

He came down and picked me up about an hour later. He was trembling all over with Joy, and said he would forgive me. That it was through me that he was the happiest man on earth. That she loved him, and oh, such nonsense. But when it was all over, and I had eaten my supper, he sat in front of the flre and gazed into the dancing flames. Then he looked sad, then sadder, and finally two big tears rolled down his cheeks as he softly said "Miji-br-r-r-ick." I wonder why?—Washington Post.

To Serve Olives.

The most attractive way to serve olives Is to drain them and place them on a bed of crushed ice in a fancy dish.

Frederic Leighton's peerage was the shortest lived in the historv of England. He died on the day following that upon which the patent of nobility was issued, and, as he left no heir, the title died with him.

THEIR WORK IS IMMORTAL.

Not with the anguish of hearts that are breaking Come we as mourners to weep for our dead Grief in our breasts has grown weary of aching.

Green is the turf where our tears we have shed.

While o'er their marbles the mosses are creeping. Stealing each name and its legend away. Give their proud story to memory's keeping.

Shrined in the temple we hallow to-day.

Hushed are the battlefields, ended thsir marches, Deaf are their ears to the drum-beat of morn— Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and arches!

Tell their bright deeds to the ages unborn!

Emblem and legend may fade from the portal, Keystone may crumble and pillar may fall They were the builders whose work is immortal.

Crowned with the dome that is over us all! —Oliver Wendell Holmes.

A Seasonable Medicine.

A tested cough 'mixture recipe comes from an English lady. It is palatable and very effectual. Boil three large lemons in water seven minutes, drain off the water and slice th.n lemons as thin as possible. Put them in an earthen bowl, with one pound of sugar, and stand the bowl on the stove until the mixture is at boiling point. Then draw to the back of the stove and let the mixture simmer three hours. Remove from the fire, and when it has stood half an hour, add a small teaspoonful of oil of sweet almonds. It i3 to be used warm. Stir and take in teaspoonful doses as often as needed.

To clean varnished paint, take a small quantity of tea leaves, pour some hot water over them, let them steep for half an hour, then drain through a sieve and use the liquor for cleaning the paint.

SPRING TIME FANCIES.

Tarn o'Sha.iter crowns appear in three out of every four hats seen, which speaks forcibly for their popularity. They come in the blocjted hat and are to be the feature of made hats.

Bows of light-colored chiffon, such as yellow, light green or tlue, are ntade of the doubled material and boun.d with bias strips of black velvet or satin and wired into a series of loops.

Combined jackets and capes are expected to appear, a divided cape taking the form of sleeves. Such garments are of cloth, or of clorh and velvet, the latter forming the cape. Embroidery and braiding trim the sleeves and collar.

Fichu effects are brought out on capes of velvet or silk. The back and front pieces run into a point at the waist line and are held to the form by a ribbon belt. This is of peau de soie embroidered in beads, and the sides are bordered with plaited satin ribbon.

LENT.

She has a dress of Dublin green, And many glowing colors blent, She longs to have the costume seen. But she must wait awhile, I ween.

To show the garb—for it is Lent.

She wears her heart upon her sleeve, With coquetry of mild intent And yet, her many suitors grieve, Because, alas! they must believe,

In spite of all, that it is Lent.

So, everywhere we turn to-day Our dearest hopes in twain are rent. And, though our bills we long to pay. To creditors we have to say: "No cash to-day for it is Lent." —Chicago Record.

YOU CAN'T ESCAPE THE POET.

*~tt

hy*%--

SPRING

The balm of spring is in the air And vernal signs are everywhere. The russet sparrow stands and trills

A madrigal upon the street. The brave policeman's bosom thrills. As he parades upon his beat, Inhaling, with a joy intense, An atmosphere of indolence.

The alleys and the vacant lots Are blossoming with pans and pots, Tomato cans and broken plates,

Discarded of last year's delights. The pensive cat at midnight prates Beneath the stars, nor heeds the flights Of missiles from an audience That watches her in mad suspense.

The door bell jangles in the hall. It is the tax collector's call. And in the papers there are signs

That voting days are drawing nigh. And party artists drawing lines. The spring seems here, and yet we sigh, With tearful eye and choking throat— We have no new spring overcoat. —Chicago Record.

TEAR BOTTLE.

Glass wherein a Greek girl's tears Once were gathered as they fell, After these two thousand years

Is there still no tale to tell?

Buried with her, in her mound, She is dust long since, but you Only yesterday were found

Iridescent as the dew—

Fashioned faultlessly, a form Graceful as was hers whose cheek Once against you made you warm

While you heard her sorrow speak.

At your lips I listen long For some whispered word of her, For some ghostly strain of song

In your haunted heart to stir.

But your crystal lips are dumb, Hushed the music in your heart! Ah, if she would only come

Back again, and bid it start!

Long is Art, but Life how brief! And the end seems so unjust This companion of her grief

Here to-day, while she is dust! —Atlantic Monthly.

The Czar of Russia owns a single estate that is lO.OOO.BOO acres in extent, and is said to be the largest in the world.

IN PASSING.

Through halls who?e carven panels held A host ofvCherubim, Up stairways wide I wandered on,

Through curtained vistas dim. And ever as my footsteps came /r By alcove, hail and stair, I", r' A myriad mirrors started up

And caught my shadow there. HriTu

Sometimes my profile paled and sank, A smile upon my lipss. Sometimes a blur my features were,

Swift darkening to eclipse But following as these figures fled, Faint ghosts of grayish gleams I walked beside, as one who walk3

Companioned in his dreams.

Oh! winding years that round my path Like mirrors flash and pass, Once, always, do you hold for me

The wraith within the glass Some night or day, some star or sun (As what should say "Beware!") Reveals in your dead seasons' flight

My shadow passing there. —Brnest McGaffey.

Henry W. Sage, the benefactor whose birthday Cornell recently celebrated, has given that university at different times sums amounting to $1,155,000. As the Cornell "Sun" puts it, without Mr. Sage's gift Cornell would not be a university at all, but merely a polytechnic institute. One of the most notable of his gifts is Sage Hall, for women.

Bows for the neck have not diminished in popularity, and for belts rich ar.d fancy ribbons are employed, the chine pattern being possibly the favorite.

Sir Charles Dilke has recorded his wonder that the popular name of Britain abroad is not Scotland, so numerous are the Scots in every outlying part of the British Empire.

sfeiil

'$?&»*%*

TERRE HAUTE EXPRESS.

If Carlos had ever given, the matter a thought," he would, every day of his life, as he stretched himself on his well-beaten straw, have blessed his patron saint for permitting bim to be born in the Fortunate Isles.

Were the days not almost perpetual sunshine? and such sunshine as warmed the bones and made life the luxury of the poor as well as of the rich.

Could he not supply his wants with the least imaginable expenditure of labor, and was not Marinsha the prettiest girl in the whole district, and would he not marry Marinsha when she had earned enough to support him and their family, and, lastly, herself in ease and comfort.

But the sunshine and Maridsha and his heppy prospects were all so much a matter of course to- Carlos that he never dreamed of blessing his patron- saint, but only stretched himself luxuriously in his bed and thought how good a thing life wasjwd who so fortunate as Marinsha.

Tile little whitewashed hut where Carlos lived with his brothers and withered, old, round-shouldered mother, was far up the hill from the sea, with the land rolling in huge good-tempered billows on every side, clothed in black volcanio dust and bound by acres of vines.

Beyond it the mountain crest rose high in the mist, its barren rugged peaks softened and subdued by the magic of the atmosphere.

Below was the blue of the sea, with the white flat roofs of Las Palmas just showing over the lower slopes.

Further on lay the Isleta, on the road to which Carlos went each day to his work— or at least each day that a ghostly Exchequer warned him of approaching evil.

By profession Carlos was a stone breaker, but chiefly by profession. In practice he lived in a genial way on his mother's earnings, aided by a few pesetas from Marinsha's store. What did it matter? was it not all to be his some day and if he drew upon it prematurely, it only meant the postponement of the wedding for a little longer and was that not as hard on him as on Marinsha? for every one knew he loved Marinsha and wanted to marry her as soon as prudence would allow but meanwhile he must live. When these sources of supply failed he turned to his labor.

Miserable present ,after such a beautiful past! Yesterday there had been a festa, and Carlos had—with Marinsha's money—treated Marinsha to all the delights of the town. The marionettes that played under the shadow of the tall, gaunt cathedral, the wonderful poodles that tumbled like clowns and shot at one another with real guns in the booth beyond, and all the ecstacy of an al fresco dinner at a little round wooden table behind an oleander in the corner of the plaza. Oh, a delightful time! Marinsha said it put off their marriage for at least a month but the wise Carlos knew you could not be more than ha0py, and that happiness was a shy maid who pouted and hid herself unless seized on the moment. So happy they were to the highest pitch for five whole hours, and until all Marinsha's money was spent. Then they climbed into an already overcrowded coach bound across the island with His Most Catholic Majesty's scanty mail, and Carlos paid both their fares with merry words, songs, laughter and many promises.

Who could be angry with Carlos, he was so gay and light-hearted!—not the coachdriver, who only smote him gently across the shoulder with his whip, and genially cunsed him for a rogue, driving on, laughing the while at the latest jest Carlos was so droll. Not the-other passengers, crowded and hot as they were before even he and Marinsha pushed their way amongst them for had not. Carlos made them forget the heat and the dust and did not the cheerfulness die out of the day as they turned the next corner and were hid behind the aloe hedge with its softanned outline of luxuriant dusty brambles, while Carlos and Marinsha stood in the middle of the road, waving farewells!

Only Giustfffe Molina, up in the seat beside the driver? but then Guiseppe loved tylarinsha, so how could he find good in Carlos, whom Marinsha loved? Naturally he hated Carlos, and of course some day they would come to blows after that, if Giuseppe were only half so good a fellow as Carlos, they might be friends.

But the festa was past, and Carlos had nothing but empty pockets not even a cuarto to buy cigarettes—ah, the hateful day!

A handful of fnaize ground into a coarse flour and then baked over the glowing charcoal served- Carlos for breakfast. His dinner was a square of dark rye bread and a dozen of figs, together with a small skinful of red Piquette wine, acid, enough, but refreshing in the middle of the day when the almost tropic sun was at its strength. Such a small skinful it was a shame to have killed so small a kid.

The bread and fruit were carefully knotted into a gay crimson handkerchief, while the wine-skin was slung round the body by a strap at the waist.

Hanging the bundle over the head of his stone breaker's hammer, and resting It on his shoulder, Carlos tramped slowly -down the black cinder-strewn byway leading to the main road, depressed and out of temper with life.

But not for long the flutter of a brown wing from hedge to hedge, and the sudden trill of a song among the branches, was like a challenge, and he answered blithely enough, shaming the bird with the changing melody of his whistle. Ah. the good day that it was! even to live and be warm was good, and was there not another festa in three weeks' time! Then he caught sight of the trim little house where Marinsha was servant wench. A cottage much like hla mother's, only surrounded by cactus plants, with their fleshy arms carefully swathed in dingy muslin. For Marinsha's mistress was a cochineal farmer, and Marinsha worked not only indoors but also among the insects, and their curious grazing ground, thus earning most of their money, for she worked on shares, and the price of the dye was on the advance. Only three weeks! By that Marinsha would have added to her store, and he—yes. he would earn money, too—two pesetas—three—perhaps a dollar! And the whistle broke into a song, and all the cares of labor were forgotten as Carlos eat down under the warm shelter of the hedge to wait for the first passing oart to save him the walk into Las Palmas.

Of a certainty Christopher Columbus must have touched at the Fortunate Iales while on his long Journey to the unknown world.

How else wo old they have the sajne buckboard so dear to New England hearts, and so trying to frail humanity?

As Carlos sat in the shade enjoying to the full the luxury of a good intention, there came a jingle of bells from round the bend of the road, then a slowly rolling cloud of dust which filled the space from hedge to hedge as it advanced. "Hola—Matteo! flower of my soul, we are both in bast« this morning let yi go

3 --._»r2\f

feBiiiSilS&gdgSBlSsafaaaWaff^ '"B""fl "~'.^»ifkw«-^itM „„1 -UV •—., ».1, »„„.. ^r* I -S....1I-. nkj gggggg

MHI

VJ? r**S*,' *V

together and the way will be shorter." And without waiting for an answer, Carlos swung himself up on the vacant shaft, while the "flower of his soul"—a swarthy pock-marked half-caste—grinned an appreciative welcome. "None of thy Jokes, Carlos keep them for 'Seppe when thou meetest him below he is early astir this morning, and looks as if all the merriment in the world would not sWeeten his temper." "Let him keep it sour then," answered Carlos carelessly "and lend me thou thy tobacco pouch, for mine is as empty as my pocket or Giuseppe's head. What a fuss because a girl has good taste." And Carlos settled himself back against the cart head, puffing his borrowed cigarette in supreme self-content.

He had had his breakfast the sun warmed him luxuriously Matteo's tobacco was fuli flavored and soothing what cared he about Giuseppe and his jealousies?

So the buckboard Jogged on past the tobacco factory which crowns the hill above Las Palmas. and looks so like a peciten

tiary or a work house down the hk past Wc»d of the grape not

the Octroi, and Into that street which seems the street of the washerwoman. On one side, thirty feet down, is the river's bed—a gray line of dry bones bordered fifty yards deep with a banana plantation on the other sicre, a conduit lined by a string of women of all ages, the air full of a Babel of shrill voices and loud laughter. Here and there one with tucked-up petticoats stands ltnee-deep in the water struggling with some obstinate stain, and the butt of many suggestions.

As the buckboard Jolts along the line the fire is turned on Carlos and Matteo— "Ah, the good-for-nothing!" say the elders, the wives and mothers "has Marinsha not a centime left that thou goest to work? More fool Marinsha! Giuseppi Molina is worth two of thee thou and the wooden idol there—a useful pair, truly."

But the younger smiled kindly enough at the bright face, with its shining black eyes and even white teeth and if truth must be told, thought Marinsha had her fair share of compensation. As for Matteo, he was ugly—him they jeered unmercifully. Both take the raking fire placidly. Carlos, from a sense of conscious superiority, too serene to be ruffled by such petty warfare Matteo because it is his due. Nature formed him to be the target of easy criticism. He is slow tongued, and so unfit for such strife. He therefore whips up the wiry little mountain horse, and on they rattle. Past the villas, with their citron and banana groves, and trailing abundance of rosy Bougainvillea. Into the narrow cobble-paved street, and down the final hill to the plaza, where the buckboard with a last spasm halts in front of the ugly cathedral.

Here Carlos jumps off with an "Adios Matteo good thanks and good luck to thee!" but the tone suggests that Matteo has already much to be grateful for.

Throwing his hammer and his bundle over his shoulder, Carlos saunters down the side street leading to the shore, pausing to devoutly cross himself as he passes the weath-er-beaten, tarnished gilt crucifix at the east end of the cathedral.

A shrill whistle, sounding fifty yards away, and round the bend of the street, hastens his leisurely pace.

The steam tram is about starting for La Luz, the port on the isleta and to miss it means two miles of a walk along a roadway ankle-deep in sand. True, he has not even the necessary two pesetas but, then, he knows the guard, and has a supreme faith in the powers of his good fellowship. So he clambers up on the rear oar with absolute assurance. A groan, a lurch, and on they go through the narrow streets, the whistle shrieking like a demon thrice possessed, as the cars grind and swerve round the corners. Over the bridge spanning the dried up bed, and down the long, straight street a mile or more along the sea. Carlos is regretfully rolling Matteo's last pinch of tobacco into a cigarette, the glory of the day dimmed by the knowledge that it is the last, when he catches sight of Giuseppi Molina scowling at him from the other end of the oar. Whereat Carlos brightens up, and shakes his open hand in the air in a friendly way. He knows well enough there is a conflict inevitable, and he does not shirk it time enough then to look sour and savage. For the present he would drink with Giuseppi, smoke with Giuseppi, share his tobacco with him, if he had any, and. when the time came, thrust his ugly lancetpointed knife into Giuseppi's hairy throat. "Hola, Giuseppi! HolM" he shouts, "a lucky day to you what a good festa we had."

But Giuseppe only scowled the more, and spat vigorously Into the cloud of dust flying alongside and so Carlos changed his mind, and borrowed his match from the conductor of the car.

Presently they stopped to take up a passenger, and Carlos' heap of stones being near at hand, he leaped out, bidding the driver, whom he called the blood of his heart, go on like a bright boy, and he would be good to him, and go back to Las Palmas with him in the afternoon.' Wbereat there was a horizontal glimmer of white teeth through the coal dust. A final wail from the engine, and Carlos was left to make his way to his stone heap.

A friendly hedge casts a shadow over the scene of his labor, and there in the warm sand he stretches himself with complete content.

He had come from far, and a rest Is but his' due presently the sun will be at noon, when he can Bleep with a clear conscience till then he will only rest. Soon there ploda along the road a sun-tanned, barelegged, sturdy urchin. "Hola, 'Rico, my soul, come thou besida me and talk it is dull working by oneself, even in the cool of the morning." In five minutes 'Rico, he hardly knows how. is busy breaking Carlos' stones, while the rattle of the merry voice goes on untiringly.

For full an hour 'Rico labors he thinks Carlos the finest man on the Island. Is his tongue not ever ready, and has he not every one's good word? To sit beside Carlos and break stones is not work—it is play.

"That one, my apple," says Carlos that jeta.

round cheeked one, round like a melon. Ah, the good thing a melon is! what an arm thou hast some day thou wilt be able to work almost like Carlos/' And 'Rico flushes with happiness, crimson brown under the dust. Is not Carlos his ideal?

But all Joy is short-lived, and 'Rico regretfully betakes himself to the dusty road again, cheered on by Carlos. "Adios, my soul thou hast learned something to-day, I think, with thy friend Carlos!"

The shadows draw to their shortest, and Carlos spreads the gay handkerchief before him, serene In spirit that the forenoon has not been wasted, for 'Rico has wrought with all ithe vigor of youth and enthusiasm. With but little more added to the heap Carlos might rest content sufficient unto the day was the labor thereof.

The rye bread and sweet half-dried figs taste pleasant to the hungry palate, and that draught of thin red wine tickles gratefully down the dusty throat.

Carlos Is a connoisseur of wine, and remembers with happy regret the flagon of yesterday's festa. Ah, but It was good white wine, too, and white wine was a rare treat. By. all the saints, but this tasted thin after It. Nevertheless, be squeezed the last drop out of the small skin, and sorrowfully shook his head at its limp proportions.

Then he brightened up. "Thou hast labored enough for this day, my lamb," he said, aloud. Talk be must, he was such an exuberant soul—to htmarif, if to so one

l®PS«

else. "Take thou thy siesta, and presently we will see if Father Leon has not a drop of good sound wine for that mother of thine she needs it at her old age—alas! that she will never touch the good things."

Having eaten to the full, and cheered by the brilliancy of his idea, Carlos stretched his limbs in the shade with the comfortable consciousness of having earned a muchneeded rest.

How soft the warm, dry sand was—how It heaped itself about him as he thrust out hia

legs! How good life was! even Giuseppi fa'r

wasn't a bad fellow, take him rightly and

in five minutes Carlos in luxurious selfcontentment was fast asleep. An hour, and the sun had stolen through the hedge into his eyes, and with a, brisk, "Hola, Carlos my man, waken thou!" he sat up, folded the gay handkerchief which had been spread under his head, and strapping the shrunk wine-skin round his waist, set off across the sand, swinging his hammer, whistling as he went, blither than any canary.

Beyond the narrow strip of sand an arid sharp rigid hill stretches Its length behind the town. From the reservoirs hid away in the upper valleys steal down slender precious streams, and wheresoever they wander there is life and luxuriance. Banana groves, fields of cacti, gaunt straggling fig trees, and here and there a date palm, all wakened into life by the kiss of the stream.

In the dip of one of these groves lives Father Leon, withered like a pippin but the lines of his face crumple up into a laugh, as Carlos, cap in hand, looks in at the ever open door. "The sunshine is in thee, Carlos come thou in and warm us with thy looks." Whereat Carlos laughs and strokes his shrunken wine-skin, thinking how plump it will be presently.

Father Leon is plainly in high good humor, and Carlos is right. "Ah, the good woman," says Father Leor "the sap grows thin In the dried boughs, but this wine will warm her heart and lighten the burden of the years five years old come next vintage," and Father Leon fills to bloate| fullness the all too tiny wine-skin—why were the mountain goats so small a breed?—fills it to overflowing. Carlos' eyes dance merrily, and he gently licks his lips as the red drops splash upon his fingers rich red rubles, the very

that sour

Piquette. no in faith—ah, the good wine. The grimy driver of the downward train looks in vain for Carlos that afternoon.

The shade of the hill tempts him, and the town is but a mile away now so he strolls leisurely along in the mellow afternoon, now and then stroking, in a friendly fashion the fate wineskin lyfng under his 6hirt. There is the usual stir about the plaza, yet It looks deserted and dull after yesterday's busy crowd. So Carlos pushes his way up the narrow cobble paved streets and out into the country, thinking that a returning market cart is sure to. pick him up before long. Out over the dusty, wiuding road and up the weary hill. "Ah, beast of a hill!" says Carlos, stamping sharp disapproval ini the dust as he halts at the top.

The sun is far to the west, and the evening is the perfection of cool languor but Carlos is in an evil temper, and not all that wide vision of sunlit sea, beating itself to foam on the hard sands, can woo him to good humor. "What a fool thou art, tramping the dust like a mule, when thou mightest have sat in the cool of the plaza till the coach started, and then have set the echo flying with that new. big. silver trumpet of Taddeo's—

a fool, Carlos, a competent fool but sit thou down under the hedge and rest thyself, and the saints forgive thy folly they know thou hast tolled enough."

It is curiously comfortable under the hedge, with the back against the dry grass, and the crickets and the grasshoppers drowsing in the ears.

But that wine-skin is heavy, and Carlos slips his hand into his shirt and draws it out.

His eyes flash a gleeful look and his lips part from the white teeth. Slowly the string is untied—ah, how good it tastes! Worthy Father Leon!—^h

,ve years old come

next vintage! What a "pity, what a sore pity, ttie old mother will not drink the good wine! And the skin Is but a poor weak flaccid thing when Carlos ties up its mouth and thrusts it back where it had lain.

What a beautiful world It is, and he must tell Marinsha how he climbed the hill, and is not a lazy fellow at all—lazy fellow, indeed! and such a dusty walk home. But he would rest now.

So down full length that was better and presently the coach would come, presently and so Carlos fell asleep.

Up the hill, tramping wearily through the dust, comes Giuseppi Molina. As he tops the last rise, lastinctively his bands clinch like one who fears an attack, and he puts himself into the position of defense. The light 4s growing a little dim now, and he lias to look, and^ook long, before he is sure that his enemy makes no move. Then he creeps closer to him.

He was ready to meet him in fair fight, but his blood is hot, and he is none to( scrupulous.

Giuseppi if a carpenter-by trade. In one hand is a chisel which has been sharpened that day in the workshops at the I~s-

it a

foia(|e

broad as his two

broad fingers, and an edge keen as a razor, for it marks the skin as he draws it across his thumb.

Silently, half crouching like a beast at spring, he draws near to Carlos, his feet making a long trail in the dust as he slips them inch by inch across the road.

So he kneels on one knee by his enemy and with desperate strength drives the chisel full into his side.

There is a warm rush over his fingers that stains him to the wrist end spurts even into his face.

With a howl Giuseppi flings himself over the steep bank bordering.the road, into the bushes below, where he Clings, shaking.

But the shallow roots tear out of the dry soil—a crash and a rattle of falling stones a cry from a puff of dust rolling sluggishly down the hill one cry, and nothing more.

From the valley sounds the creaking of the coach, the shouts of the driver chatter and laughter.

Up the winding road swings the coach, and the horses swerve and snort as they pause at tbe top. "Hist! What is that there In the shadow! Hist behind. I say—what a chatter yot make! You. there, speak up you, there, under the hedge!"

Dazed and still half blind, Carlos staggers to his feet with one hand' to his side, and draws out—a tattej-ed wine-skin.

From the slowly settling dust at the foot of the hill—sUeMfti .%

ts.

PARIS GOWNS.

BV»n^h V~Wbetber you look lik« French fashion piate this spring or like so body from Wayback will not depend ni^LUPC?}

goods you

manner ?n Vif«ri,y0U'

dize over wha

P'ck or hal

upon tbe

PartlcuM

manner in which you elect to have the fat made up, as upon whether you succeed capturing some of the mannerisms of stu

hopelessly plebeian.

t^se piqutm LJnnertS

contribute the way of stylish effect th« .t

em out and label

i. fLyou

^em and d»

scribe them clearly enough to make tl description valuable.

haa,de8igned

smart

gown, of whi4

sketch, that is plain 1

simplicity but has the unmistakable cach« ,6t m6, thante to—well, what is it thanl to. To the lining, to the departure froj the conventional in cut, to the decoratlt a""?113-

Th®

^oth 's a palish green, sat!

finish the skirt hanging in half-form* box plaits on each side of the middle lin in front, the bodice a basque and blou« combined. The foundation of the bodice a plaited blouse, for all the world like 1 boy's "shirt waist, made of ivory sati| Then there Is a slashed and rippled basqm which is made of the cloth, and which do« not end at the waist line, but extends ui ward to form a sort of cuirass. A colla with a cape, shaped like the "double ende? fur collars worn by men to drive in yeai ago, is added to the neck. This is also the cloth, and, like the basque, is linfll with the whito satin. The buttons a cameos, on a faint pinkish ground, whi shade appears in some cinnamon pinks si against the hair at the back of the haj This is of blue horsehair, trimmed witj white mull and black feathers. The en semble is a distingue-looking calling toileJ not calculated, as may be readily seen, fq anything but dainty women and dellcat attentions.

All the new evening gowns that hay bodices are pointed back and front, ani are much longer in front than at the bacg Where basques are set upon waists, undq narrow belts, the belt is adjusted to givj a short waist at the back and a much lotfgej one In front. A beautiful gown worn a Madame de Nerville's last soiree had petticoat of white satin, with a bodice anj

train of rather brilliant pink satin. Thl bodice had a white vest, very short puitel sleeves, and the drapery formed bouffaq pan tens on each hip, before it slipped awaj Into the flowing lines of the train. The pel ticoat showed six bands of pearl embroider] running in straps of uneven length from uq der the paniers down the skirt, the longea bands coming at the sides. Under thesl bands and trailing up to a point in tbe cem ter of the front was hand embroidery, ii natural colors of roses and leaves. A con responding spray ornamented the center a the vest, and garlands of real (artificial roses drooped over each shoulder amonj the fall of point lace. This was a Wort] model.

A sweet gown for a girlie of 10 or ll is of corded golden brown silk, made witl a front of Dresden figured silk In rosebu^ design upon a cream ground, and epauleti of tbe same the latter, the neck band anf the foot of the skirt front, and the lnsldi seam of the cuffs are bordered with a ban of the velvet. To make the gown becomi Ing to the immature figure of la jeun fllle, the material Is laid in soft box plaiti on each side of the front. The cuffs ar made close fitting, and fasten after th hand is slipped through with small ivorj ball buttons. The hat is a brown straw with a fluting of cream ribbon, and somi flowers foi* trimming. The Parisian giij wear gloves and shoes as fine as her mam ma's, and looks quite as chic.

What are you picking up for your ho^ weather dresses? French organdies^ French printed dimities, Swiss batiste^ colored batistes in dotted and wavy effect homespun linens, brown linens, Irish line batistes, are some of the fabrics nam over to you by the Rue de la Palx shop* keepers. Lierre and Mechlin laces and rlb« bons for the organdies will be the lovellesl of decoration. For the linens in the fii\ei grades the real ecru laces, which cost sevi eral dollars a yard, are to be u/yed by all who can afford them. Everything from th black cloth street dress to apple blossom organdie is to be helped upon tbe summery summit of charm by the addition of whit in one guise or another.

Airy mohairs in chameleon effects that in« troduce lustrous Iridescent color yarns lfl intricate weaves are being made into gown* for the first warm weather, with umbrella skirts, partially blouse effects in waists, anq large drooping sleeves. Down the front ar« clouds of fluffy tulle shirred and puckered and set off with lace, with bands of either satin or flat embroidery running up each side of the vest, and forming the collar. This may be plain it may have quills of tb4 ribbon or tbe lace at the back, or there m'ayj be a large bow of lace under the chin.

Buy all your shirt waists with detach^ able collars, for unless you have the curves of a goddess and the youth of these apparitions of loveliness you absolutely must not wear stiff, straight starched lines about you# throat, but a soft ribbon or mass of tulle instead. The shirt waist craze is as virulent as ever, and all the ready-made waists which will be shown you will have the everlasting collar, in boardlike fashion, but beware of It unless you are actually young and pretty. The coloring of the cottons will make the shirt waist of the season very enlivening to dark dresses, for not only are the pinks and blues, but the most brilliant lemons and greens, are being made up (with white collars and cuffs generally). To prevent the ugly gap Usually showing below tha cuff where the opening comes in the sleeve, the new sleeves have tbe circular opening at the wrist end made somewhat full, instead of plain with a slit. The cuff does not then go quite round, and the space that is left makes, when the cuff Is buttoned, a little seml-clrcle that does not gap or showperceptibly, since each end Is at the Wase o& the cuff and held firmly.

A wonderfully beautiful gown made recently for Comtesse Jacque de Pourtales had a petticoat of ivory brocaded satin, with gold threads coming to the surface here and there as if quilted in by hand. The bodies* had a very long point in front and a short one behind, and the sides and back of the skirt were of a delicate new willow shoot green. The green skirt which disclosed an inverted front

the

petticoat, fell In soft

folds and was draped enough on the hips to give a panier effect just under the arms, but not in front of the hips, as do the draped paniers put on separately as on the gown described above seen at Mme. de Nerville's. There were short sleeve pufte in the greea gown, and the square neck was outlined by a deep bertha of point lace shaped in tha weaving to give a plain upper edge and a slight fulness below. The stomacher of the bodice was of the gold broche satin, and some of the motifs In the lace were picked out by hand with greea silk. The coloring' and materials were all most beautiful.

Young girls are giving a pretty tonch to their hairdreasing by tying a ribbon about tha coll. with a bow at the nape of the neck.

The greatest work of sculpture made by the late W. W. Story is said to be the monument t» his wife, who la buried next to the grave of Shelly In the cemetery at Rome.

One of tho most prolific authors of short Ktorles in Engiand is Mr. Pett Ridge, who la the brief five years he has been writing the® hai Droduced 250. besides a countless number of sketch^ dialogues. Mr. Pett Ridge Is 35 years old. He is an employe on a small salary of tbe municipality of London, and this gave him his entire support unUl ho went into Journalism.

The tea table is banished at last from the parlor. When a fad has become so vulgarized as this has. with its souvenir spoons arid tiny toppling cups and general aspect of uselessness "they" lose no time in divorcing it. Tea'is now taken in large houses in the breakfast or tea room, where the

sQuaro

table.

the big. old-fashioned tea service, the closet, with its cake and Jellies and llquers and all sorts of goodies, are a feature of the room. Or else it is laid on a big silver tray by the great hall fireplace. When neitlwr hall nor tea room are provided for in a Rnall house, the butler or maid brings the tea things Into

\ll

parlor on a large tray, lights the. tanp under the already hot water, and leave* th» hostess to serve.

The home dressmaker who has Dressing board for sleeves seams win find Ph#. rolling pin covered with soft "flannel tightly pinned oa w'll serve her purpose very well. one of the largest stockmen of Lincoln County Wash-, has notified Preildent clere(^!nd that he ^uld Itlth 5,000 horses free ot