{ title: 'The Columbia Republican. (Hudson, N.Y.) 1881-1923, May 05, 1887, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-05-05/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-05-05/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-05-05/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn89071100/1887-05-05/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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BIRTHDAYa OR HOLIDAY PRESEWT. a THE W ONDERFUL LUBURC 'CHAIR JagaParfor, Ubr«T* orOCCU. C Price,J 7.00 for Ci^Iogioe. ^ BUlPPKDtoaUparU CHILDREN’S GAUGES THE LUBURG MANF’G GO., 14 S N. 8th St.. PMIUA., PA. nEAFHE 8 S “ S i: n ? S U Who-waa deal twenty-eightyearB. 'Treated by S^FAOB i no . « wet?ti SlBt. New-YorkCi^ HIES’ ftpiwi ROOT BEER. Mitifik ^ S o n , of % Coimts. C a m s ; $1.50 p a in V O L U M E 6 8 . H U D S O N , N . Y . , T H U B S D A Y , M A Y 5 , 1 8 8 7 . N U M B E R 1 8 THE EUSSIAN HOCTOE. ^u-eSrfcaSsinsrtflici' Erem-aiitic S t o r y fro m R e a l L ife. I Copyrtghled, M,V7, hy A. J\~eicspaprr Company, CHAPTER. I lEllMAN OF MME. IE m o d e st dyvell- in g of the physi cian who, since Ms return from a r esi dence o f m a n y years in K a s a n , had gone by the j o f “ the R n s- to fall the little >end tim e or sian D o c tor,” so densely ( howerecl in press and gvApe vin e s tha- one could scarce have found the door knob blit for its brightness from con stant scouring. A large, old-fash ioned garden, in w h ich both flowers and weeds were allow e d to grow at their ow n sw e e t w ill, stretched far be hind the house, .and ended in a forest of beeches, a path through w h ich led to a dilapidated rustic tem p le on the brmv of a hill. Tliis tem p le, w h ich oc cupied an open sjiace, w a s flanked b y a w eather-beaten stone table, surrounded by w o o d en benelies, and liad, evident ly, been reared by som e lover of nat ure. But the death or absence of its ow n e r had allow e d the place into decay, and no one in th( tow n had cared to expe m o n e y for its restoration. Dr. Arnim Elbtl distant Itussi.au citj'.. Worn M ere told of his skill, v •lit, Ivan, w h o m he had brouglit liom e w ith liim , endeav ored to eoiilirm in his broken German, resorting to expressive p a n tom im e when, words failed Mm. A ccording to Ivan, his ma.ster liad cut off innum e rable noses and ears, to say nothing of arms and legs, and no one had ever f e lt pain under his knife. Incredible things in glass jars adorned his sleeping-cham ber. These Ivan dusted every m o r n ing ■nlth reverential awe and not w ithou t a secret lon g ing for the spirits in w h ich they were preserved. The doctor som e tim es n-ondci-ed th.at the spirits those jars had .so often. and that disappeared in such incredible 'ways. As none of tlie other servants sm o k ed, and the housekoexicr detested the “filthy -weed,” Ivan m u st have been! the sole transgressor. In spite of cheeks often distended, and an odor of excellen t tobacco he carried about tvith liim, he denied this persistently, and! the doctor contented him self Avith ah occasional scolding. U n a b le to speak ithal had ivon great re now n and an extended practice in that slan t liussi.an citj'., ere to ld o f h is ski ■ed, been phenom enal. These stories e llu s s ianL citj-., W o n d erfulsto] is sk ill, w liieh had, servant to be renew ed, ; his store c t Turkish tobacco obliged to m.ake w o rds from w h ic h f the ditti w ith “dog iguage, he had been I o u t a list of r e p r o v ing mary. TM s list,' ebel” and e n d e d ig,” he w o u ld read from Ms easy-chair w ith great solem m ty; th e delinquent stand ing before him and liskiiiing M'ith an air of utter annihila tion, until, at the la s t -word, he w o u ld kiss the seam of his m a ster’s coat, and slip like a g u ilty t h in g over the thresh- Fraiilein M a rianne, the doctor’s cousin and housekeeper, had often in sisted on the dism issal of this “sav age;” but Ivan w a s to the doctor a liv in g rem iniscence of a strange, aetljg life on a foreign soil. H e h M thought to r em a in in K a san to the end, but the inheritance of a sm a ll fortune through the death of a distant relative he had s carce know n aw a k e n e d in Mm,' a sudden hom e sickness for Germ any,, from railw a y s, ■ stood, and wMch in a cradle had; age of restless on for hundreds of y e a rs. H a v ing purchased this vine--wreathed house w h ic h , during a ll t h o se years in a foreign land, had stood before him a sort of enchanted vision, he sum- )usin M arianne, his m inister o f m o n ed his orphaned cousir a m o d el housewife, as his the interior. M a rianne indeed sighed m e n tally that her cousin had chosen for a hom e his native town, r ather than som e gi’eat capital, w ith its constant succession of new faces and am use m ents. But yet the idea of reign ing sole m istress of a household appeared so beautiful and enticing that she w o u ld have follow ed the doctor to the ends of the earth. She had alw a y s lik e d him; she felt great respect for Mm; his only fault in her eyes w a s an open aversion to m a rriage. A physician w h o rem ained single w a s, to say the least, uuw ise. A rnim w o u ld w a rd off her frequent reproaches on this score b y declaring that the unm a rried physician, lik e the Catholic priest, is m u c h m ore efficient than the m a rried one, b e in g w h o lly devoted to Ms call in g w ithou t the distraction of outside interests. “ O n ly those undeterred b y thou g h t of w ife or fam ily sacrifice them selves :s to t h a t,” he said. ;e s t t h a t l am not sacrifice cheerfully, i f it com e s ' ients can atte st heart. H itherto I have had no tim e for love to the individual; now it is too late. W■hy h y need I m a rry “M y patien ts destitute of a n, ■when h a n d s lik e yours keep m y house in order and Ivan sei-ves m e so faith fully? W h y seek to realize personally those torm ents w h ich the poets tells us are inseparable from love, w h e n I have seen and still see so m u ch sorrow in the lives of others i In that foreign land doctor had w o n the nam e of of pain and i t foreig n lan d ■ octo r ha d w o n th e na m e b y ardent devotion t o his calling. ailm e n ts of chM i'cn had been h pecial care. In t h a t som ber un iversity city, there w a s seai-ce a boy or girl of the poorer elassisses Mm, did n( w h o did un a fter him ong the streets and J )se to the lap p e l of his jautiful pair of w o m a n ’ 1 n o t 'k n o w as h e passed press its dirty 1 coat. M a n y a iautifu l pa ir o f w o m a n ’s eyes also fol low e d the m a n ly figure ivith tho thoughtful, noble face. M a n y a rosy m o u th sm iled upon Mm, m a n y a fasci natin g lad y teacher offered to assist Mm in m a stering that extrem e ly difficult foreign idiom . B u t all these entice m e n ts w ere lost upon the doctor; ho had no tim e f o r them . A n d , besides, there w a s one liv in g earning il l who]lly dark-eyed foreign beauties—a pale, aU m o st childish face w ith piquant nose,’ lustrous blue eyes, light-brow n hair—a King there was ever present to him the face young g i l l w h o unlike these, y’ed foreig n beauties— a pale, al- blue e y es, light-bro w n hair— a peiiie figure w ith charm ing icy of H 8QJ lent, w a s th) delicate, _ hands and feet, am bookish student, was A ¥yeo9h «mi«rrAP*- id a joyous, m u sical )t- re, in ly cM ld of T h is fair m a iden w h o had thus cap t ured the fanc y o f it som ew h a t grave, lived proudly isolated in tlio vine- w r e a thed house, in trustin g the educa tion of his daughter to an elderly French governess. The garden w a ll had then, as noiv, an artistically- ■WTought latticed gate on the forest- sid e . In the line season, Arnim , w h o loved to study in the open air, w o u ld take his Greek and L a tin hooks to the forest, wliGi'o he was sure to m e e t a child-like figure in a w h it e dress -svith rich em b roideries .and dainty ribbons, skipping np and dow n the broad, peb bled path. To the am a zem e n t of our Student, she alw a y s w o re loose, lig h t - colored kid gloves. Som e tim e s she stood close to the gate, her graceful head pressed against the cold iron bars — the broad-brim m ed hat lian g in g from her neck h y its blue ribbon, w h ile the eyes that gazed w istfu lly in to the deep- green of the forest m ayhap caught a glim p se of the student w h o w a lked hes- ’ som etim es le t a b o o k rogress. d w a s quite unlike other yo u n g girls of the little toivn— the sistei'S of Ms school-fellow s. She did not at all resem b le the burgom a s ter’s daughter,:er, w hh oo ivasvas consideredonsi 'e 'l off goodood ■reeding w i c m o d o g b and fine m a n - •nim slie s e em ed coarse be side this stranger, wlio had about her som e(th thinging of the libellula < o f the airy gr.aee of that w inged creature,, destined for one brief sum m er’s day, and t h e n Lila, som e thing i shim m e ring- I destine d to flit about The foreign m a iden som etim es i governess, a severe-look- ically-dressed peared on the prom enade— a som b e r w a lk shade rounded tlie little tow n —but never w ithout in g , fantastically - and elderly Frenchw o m a n . N o w .and then she w o u ld han g u p o n the arm of her father, and both w o u ld be chatting m errily. B u t this seldom hai>pened, as the Mar quis traveled hack aud forth a deal, passing but little tim e at hoi Once upon a spring first M ay flow ers w ere bird-songs enlivened the forest, as Ar nim passed alon g the w o n ted path, a great leather ball flew over the g and h it him in the lig h t eye. A sudi cry of pain escaped him , his book f e ll to the ground, and, m o m e n tarily b lind- id after the nearest tree, irned hastily, the §ate creaked on its hinges, and an exci figure in w h ite appeared before him. ;he g r oun d , a ed, he graspe d The key turned hastily , th e g creaked o n its hinge s, an d an excited figu re in w h ite appeared befo re him . Soft little hands sought w ith gentle force to w ithdraw his ow n hand from his eyes, and a sw e e t voice spoke con soling w o rds in French—then to Arnim an alm o st unknow n tongue. THEIR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE. H e set Ms teeth—this youn g girl m u st not kn o w how he suffered. A n d y e t he w a s helpless, for he could not open Ms eyes. A n g r y at this help lessness, he thrust back the little hands now gloveless, and turned away. B u t they w o u ld not he shaken off. Once m ore they w ere e x tended, and the v o ice took on a pleading accent. L ittle as he kn e w o: , A rnim w a s aware that the girl w a s b e g g in g his forgive- id w a n ted to take Mm to the Soon he f e lt over his inflam e d eye a m o ist perfum ed h a n d k erchief. The paini abated, the w e ll e y e slow ly opened and gazed into the lov e ly face that, flushed w ith m ingled archness and anxiety, bent toward him . “M crci bien m a d e moiselle,\ he said, heroically recalling one of Ms few F rench phrases. \ S o f tense!\ cried a sharp w o m a n ’s voice. The girl’s sm a ll hands tore a w eb of lace from her neck, laid i t over the handkerchief and kn o tted it around the youn g student’s soft blonde hair. T h en hurriedly slipp ing on her gloves she showed her patient out throu ' gate. A s she did so, Ms e a r c a uu ggh h tt en-: rough tl a e treating vrhispurs of w h ich he under stood only “A de.n.dn. A u revoirj\ H e again sought his -wonted place in. the forest, and threw him self upon the grass. But though be lay there for lo n g tim e he did not study “A demaiti in his ear. tim e he d id n o t stud y one w o rd— dema in — a u revoir!\ kept echoing U p o n reaching hom e he hunted uj French gr.ammar .and.a French-ai Germ an phra irase-book hidden aw a y in depths of the fam ily librai'y. To m orrow he w o u ld return the handker chief w ith thanks, and assure the thrower of the ball tiiat his eye no lon g e r pained hie. B u t he f e lt that it w o u ld be eiisier to com m it a Latin ex ercise than these F rench phrases. H is sw o llen eye did not escape Ms m other’s notice, but the lim b of a tree take them out late at n ight and unfold them . In one corner of the pocket handkerchief he discovered the in itial H. w ith a coronet above it. Could this other dainty thing, w ith its deli cate perfum e, be any protectioin against w ind and w eather? W h a t use less trifles these spoiled g irls m u st hairo to ^wear, and this w a s , a Parisian through and through! Germ an w o m e n w ere so diffaeut. What, indeofl, could a m a n ly m a n do w ith a doU w h o carried su c h handkerchiefs, w o u n d SUCh spiders’ w ebs about her neck and w ore ■ ■’ \ '•’\’lat w o u ld his days allow e d _ white under sleeves, and w a s b y no m eans lavish in collars and handkerchiefs for her husband and son—w h a t w o u ld she say about the alw a y s fresh w h ite gow n s of tills you n g French wom a n ? Terrible m em o ries of the R evolution and of N a p o leon’s wa TM s night A rnim dreamed of gigan- ........................... . N a p o leon ’s w a rs had- t a u g h t her to hate the French, and she w a s displeased to learn that her son even know these foreigners. tic balls flying throu gh the a ll hit Mm. Handkerchief after handkerchief w a s w o u n d around his head, and tw o soft little hands w ore laid upon hia heart, w h ile a sw e e t v o ice asked: “H a v e I really hurt rou?” iXfc I sonf '-hi»] The nex t d a y A rnim had m a n y les- ite at the gym n asium , but m e m o r y w a s not as 'usual At com - ...................... • No 18 to recite found him self on the fam iliar path. A s ho passed the latticed gate his heart beat v iolently. From beneath the low - draw n vision of Ms cap he gazed stealth ily in to the garden. Suddenly he discerned a w h ite shim m er. The gloveless hand of Hortense w a v e d him a greetin g through the lattice-w o r k of the gate. “ O, sir, you n French. “I cam e at 1-o.st,” she said, ‘‘H o w is i t w ith you?” tim es rehearsed: “Je m e p a r te assez bien, m a dem o iselle.\ T h en takin g the handkerchief w ith the coronet from its paper w r a p p ings, w ith a “ thank you very m u c h ,” he handed it to its owner. ■Where w a s as the ripp lin g rivulet of her speech flow ed g.ayly on, w h ile the rosebud m o u th w a s w reathed in sm iles and tho eyes glow e d like sunbeam s. ; “ O, how I love the forest!” she cried, in ecstasy. The tvoes m urmured softly above those two you n g heads, and-with happy hearts they paced slow ly up and dow n the x>ath. i Y o u n g violets in charm ing profusion' nestled am id the grass. A rnim would' odorata, and e, Viola\ he forebore. H e told her; its he w a s able that he spoke- y little French, and she repliec sadly: “ I have no m o ther, no brothers to r s .” T h e n she.' be afraid of MUe. ile. F ifine,, hut very little French, and she replied,; laughing, that she kn e w no G e r m a n .' I'licn she asked him to g iv e her Ger-' man lessons, assuring him that lierl father w o u ld not object. She next in-j qiiired as to his nam e, his hom e ,wheth-j er he h.ad p.arents and brothers and sis-' ters. W h e n lie had answ e red she s a id ,' er, n o broth legged Mm - - ______ M F if l_ - ,, her governess, assuring him that she w as not so cross as she looked. “ I s it she w h o alw a y s m a k e s you w ear gloves?” he asked. She laughed and nodded. “ B u t I do love to take them off,” she said, su iting the action to the word. “ H ere they are. P lease keep them aw h ile for m e .” H e put the gloves in his breast pocket. “A n d y e t I w o u ld not lik e to have brow n or red hands like so m a n y of your Gorman girls,” she added. “ That is so ugly— u g lier even than glov e s .” So they w a lked up and dow n or stood side b}' side at the gate, un til M ile. Fifine’s call seji.arated them . This day, also, our student learned little from Ms books, although Ms eye w a s now w e ll. In response to a c o u rteous note from the M arquis, he ere lon g found duly ly inst.alled as German tea him self inst.alled as German tea c h e r to irtense. The M arquis also jiaid his larents a visit, charm ing both w it h Ms inners and the prospect of m ent f o r their son, although r shook her head om inous' and talked m o re than ever of the i events of the F rench cam p a ign oi The Germ an lessons w e r e not given igant m a n n ers an d th e pros] in the usual form a l m a n n er. Teacher hy som etim es w h e n M ile. Fifine w a s in them to forest, to tho m eadow or to the tem p le on the hilltop. A vnim soon and pupil w a n d ered out in to the gar den, and seated them selves com forta bly in the aibor or bj' the fountain. go o d hum or, she accom p anied the forest, to tho m eado w o got fear of the m o rose old French governess, w h o every day cursed the lo t that forced her to rem a in far from la belle F rance in this stui>id Germ.any. She scorned the youn g Germ an in no friendly w a y through her eye-glass, and honored him w ith but little of her conversation. B u t she left the “ tw o children” to their fate, as she sat a lit tle distance aw.ay absorbed in the ficti tious destiny of the hero and heroine of som e rom a n ce. N o n e questioneduestioned w h ichch learned m o st the alloted N o n e q w h i Icc of the foreign language, Hortense, but both found t m a ined longer and longer, not until M ile. Fifine, from the ’ leaving ipths o f A r - iliar hour m u c h too^ short, and A rnim rc- her novel, gave the sign a l for depart- T h e y belonged to the lau g h in g spring and to the season o f r o ses, these tw o youthful creatures. H o w m u sical rose and fell H o r tense’s clear lau g h am id this m erry t w itter of birds! H o w droll w ere her German words and phz-ases, and how aw k w a r d from Mm’s tongue cam e the dear, fi Fi-ench sounds! Both soon learned to lau^h heartily over their m u tual blun- spring up, shake back her golden- brow n curls and run aw ay. It w a s then the preceptor’s m a n ifest duty to brin g back the refractory p u p il. W h ile w ithin range of M ile. Fifine’s eyes, w it h the gi-ave, slow dignity of a teach er—then in the full eagerness of y o u th they w o u ld play hide and seek like tw o meri-y children, un til P ifine’s grim figure loom ed up near by, and her— “E n o u g h of this nonsense” — ^recalled them to their tasks. T h e n they w o u ld again s it opposite-each other, H o r tense repeating w h ile the dim p les in her cheeks deepened into an arch sm ile: lom etim es the U v ely child w o u ld poem . “That is m u s ic,” she w o u ld say. “I feel the m e a n ing of the w o rds if I do not understand them .” H e never w earied of reading to her from Eichendorf, his fa v o ilte poet. These lin e s im p r essed her as so heauti- fu l I h a t she b e g g e d him to copy them for her in F rench characte m igh t learn them by hear “ X liear a ’brooMet mtirmu iters s o that she ^ Now now nearTit^’oms; Tlirovieli the forest at Its murmur 1 pass on as in dreams. “ Beneath tho moonbeam’s shimme; It seems so fair, so near, That castle in tho valley That lies so far from here. “ As If within that garden Of roses White and red, She still for mo were waiting— My darling, long years dead.” Once— sum m er w a s already passing w ith lig h t footsteps through t h e lan d — w h e n A rnim , at his pupil’s request, had r ecited these dream y verses, Hor-^ tense rose suddenly, and -with feverishl haste plucked a nosegay from the red! roses and w h ite lilies, w h ich bloom e d ' in w ild luxuriance in the garden, and* laid it on tho table before M m. He- carried i t in*his hand as hq went home, deligh ting in its heauty and fragrance.' W h a t a dear, kind-hearted c reature she w as, this little girl! Even. Ms m other, spite of those'rem iniscences of 1812, could hu t love her. » . The nex t noon w h e n A rnim retornedi from the gym n a sium , he found a letter' from the M arquis. It c o n tained a c h e ck and som e obligatory words of courtesy, expressing m u c h regret that the les sons m u st be discontinued f o r a season, as his daughter was about to-visit Paris. A rnim persuaded him s e lf that a brief ise in the lessons w o idd be the best tM n g for Mm, as Ms e xaiiainations w ere near at hand. H e alsd decided th a t he w o u ld m a k e no attem p t t o hid H o r tense farew e ll, that in Ms visits to the forest he w o u ld choose a paiii n o t leadin g by the latticed gate. If the roses and lilies in that glass of w a ter had only been less enchanting in their perfum e as he cam e to this con-, w a s aboutbout too throwhrow 1hem, indowndow ;; butut w hh yy m akea elusion! H e w a s a t t t out of the w i b w m k e thej ipt his r esolution un til evening, then h e w a n d ered again alon g the dear old path, past the garden gate. H e w a n ted to say t o his pupil that in her absence he should no lon g e r pass this w a y . T o le t her go w ithout one part in g w o r d w o u ld be discourtesy. B u t no sM m m ering w h ite dress greeted Mm; all w a s silen t and em p ty. The, w indow of the cham b er look ing on the garden w a s lighted; he saw figures m o v in g to and fro, and heard Fifine’s; sharp voice. H e lingered long, a w a it - . in g the silvery lau g h of Hortense— she laughed s o often and so m e r illy w h e n he w a s near! B u t to-n ight if she laughed i t w a s n o t aloud, and he slow ly returned hom e. The next even ing ju s t as he w a s set- foror thehe forest,orest, ann unknownknow n , note ■with tin g out f t f a u n , lad appeared brin g ing hir la perfum e of violets. “ From the F rench youn g lad y ,” the hoy said. To a n s w e r req u ire' \ tVithIth a s a strange f e e lin g of apprehen sion he broke the seal. A w k w a rd Ger m a n characters confronted Mm. H e “DEAR TEACHEn: My aunt, the Marquise Duvois, has come, and -will take me ivith her to Paris. She is the mother or my cousin Real, ■whom papa and Piflne say I am one day to marry. I do not know whether -we shall return here. I have wept very much at the thought of leaving. II we do return, I shall at once resume my lessons with you. They have been so beau tiful aud so jolly! I shall never forget you— never 1 An revoir. Please remember your sad. H obtknsx .” To be Continued. NOTES FROM ANNAPOLIS. Blatters of Interest from the Historic Capital of Maryland. [Special Correspondence.1 A nnapolis , ild ., April 26.—Do you -want to see one of the most interesting old cities in the world? If you do, come -with me and we iet -str\ ■■ ae, it is the capital of Maiyland; true, it is the location of the great naval academy; true, its society is as delightful as it is aristocratic; and yet ----- But come with me. That building on the like an old time fort, d, is the .state house, re is where Washing ton resigned his commission. There is the big oil painting illustrating the great event. It was an occasion of great son-ow? Of course it was in a certain way, but these old Annapolitans were too glad that the war was over to weep much, and Washington was not the kind of a man to refuse a good time ■when he had the opportunity to enjoy it. Look at those old records—you will notice that the state library is crowded ■with them—and see how \Washington and his revolutionary friends observed the event. Read this: “At Washington’s reception, the day before he re signed his commission, Mr. Mann furnished an turn e supper at the state house. Ninety^eight ittles of -vvine, two and a half gallons of hits, nine 'pounds o f sugar, a lot of limes, music and waiters. A dozen packs of cards were supplied, and the governor dhected CoL Mills, of the Annapolis Coffee house, to fur nish the people with pimch and grog to the value of £1010s. Sd.” And if you will look a little further you -will see that Washington, ■with the belle of Annapolis, opened the ball, and went through the evolutions as neatly as he thrashed the British redcoats. Look fur ther if you want to. Then you will observe how these gay and giddy old fellows cele brated the peace between America and Eng land. Read a few of the items: 116 gallons of rum, 49 gallons of claret, 32 gallons o f Ma deira, ^ gallons of port, 6 gallons of spirits, several hundred broken glasses and dishes. Oh! what a day it must have been! You can ramble among these old papers with interest and profit for a week if you want to. You can find out that in those old times Annapolis was the Paris of America. Its society was full Of life. Its horse races were great events. Its theatres were filled with the best attractions. Here is one little fact that illustrates the life of the city; one of the ladies employed a French hair dresser at a salary of 1,000 crowns a year. Oh, yes, our forefathers and oim foremothers were simple people, but they had their fun. But come -with me up those crooked hertoug JLUclt IS the -..V. w. Books fair enough to deserve the name of tho Mediterranean of America, doesn’t it? You ■wiU observe that the plan of the city resem bles that of Washington—all the streets radiate from two points. That venerablo looking building over there’ is St. John’s, one of the oldest colleges in tho country. Doesn’t look very prosperous? No; i t isn’t, but it has on its list of graduates the names of some of the country’s biggest men. It is like Annapolis—^its past is more glorious than its present. Did you ever see so many old man sions? You -will observe them on almost “ ■ lir history runs fai'back into ■ ey are splendid specimens :ong, roomy, handsome ■wonder they stand the ell, Tho Chase mansion, then on King Gleorge street—nearly all the streets have royal n am es-built in 1770, has one of the most stately and beautiftzl halls of any residence of this COUfltry. Ond itS decora tions are on a scale that one would not ex pect in those colonial times. That house fac ing the creek was the residence of Charles Carroll of Carrollton. He had a priest in his family and gave up one of his rooms for a Catholic chapel. Now the Catholics own the whole building, and it is occupied by the Ro- demptionist Fathers. Over yonder is tho Naval academy, but we cannot visit it to-day. As we ore getting out of the state house we will stop In the execu tive chamber to pay our respects to the youngest. governor in the United States. Henry Lloyd is his name, and he came into his present jjositidn from the presidency of tho state senate when Mr. MoLane, then gov ernor, was sent by President Cleveland to . represent this country a t Paris. Two of Gov ernor Lloyd’s ancestors have occupied tho same choir, and he looks as it he felt at home there. He has followed President Cleveland’s example since he has been In office—that is, he has married a charming and beautiful wife, and they occupy the large executive mansion near the state house. J. L. M orton . Xha S«wm and Oatacombi. Tlw pnfsctof the SsiM aUowi 800 azeup- ■tonisb a. day’to Tlait.tha Mwers and eaia- tiw flood* In theaonaio^ granoa, Bomance and Beality. A Gonsul’a Dreams Dl'spcMcd by Sun .dry V n r o u ia m ic F a c t s . San Francisco Chronicle. A consulship sounds very big—till you 'get there. There are innumerable islands in the South Pacific, and tribes who declare war, fight, publish procla mations Of defiance, and seem altogeth er extraordinary herioc. The United States sent a Consul to one group lately, wherein the ideal was grand— immense. Kneeling subjects in the way of American citizens ; suppliant chiefs and trembling kings, with all the attendant gorgeousness and dig nity, filled Ms mind’s eye. He “bus ted” himself on an outfit, laid in an elegant dress suit, a pair of patent- leather shoes, 'white ties, white gloves, *and an enormous diamond pin for bis shirt front. Thus equipped he sailed away with all the conscious pride of a representative of a grand repu' Prom the port he landed at he conveyed in a small sailing vessel to the point of ofiScialdom. As the ahip entered the offing, the flag of the Uni ted States gayly flying at the mast head, the white residents of the islands came off in a small boat to welcome him. The new official received them affably, was quite amiable, and did not put on too many airs. “Come on shore with us and we’ll present you to the Eing,” said the welcomers. “The King! I can’t go up to the palace in this dress. My trunks are in the hold. I can’t- present myself the King like this.” “O, come with us. That’s all right. You can put on all your finery and call on him again. He’s waiting for you.” “Waiting for me ?” f‘Yes, We told him the Consul was coming.” “And he’s waiting for me 7 I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep his Maj esty waiting, but I can hardly go up in this dress.” “O, that will do. He won’t mind.” And they tumbled him into the boat and took him on shore. If you’ve ever tried to step out of a boat on a shelv ing beach you know how it is yourself. He did it. He Pepped clear into the water and went rolling. Here was a quandary. The residents gathered the wet Consul up, took him to a store, and got him into a $12 hand-me-down suit, which didn’t fit him. It took a long time to argue him into going then. But they would have it, and off they went. “Look here! I don’t feel comfor table, at.all going to the palace to make AOy_fi.rjt^p,pearance as Cimsol in this condition. Where is the palace*? are we near it “Quite. There it is.” He looked and saw a conical mud hut with two square holes on opposite sides, and a gentle smoke floated up through the point of the roof, which was apparently a vent hole. “What?” “That’s the palace. The King and Queen are in there waiting for you.” They entered. In the centre, in what looked like a kind of mire, sat a fat, black, dignified fellow, whose pro tection from the inclemency of' the weather was a wisp of cotton tied around his waist. By his side sat a small, dark lady of acquiescent, con tented mien, whose toilet had all fallen around her waist, too—at least, she hadn’t any anywhere else. “Hullo!” said the newcomer in the language of the country. “Hullo, old chap, how are you ?” Then more po litely, “This is the new Consul from America.” The new Consul, who had been prac ticing his bow ever since' his applica tion had been filed, made an obeisance, when a pig suddenly ran in by one en trance, skipped between his genuflec tions, landed Mm head first in the mire, and skipped out by the opposite hole in the hut. All dignity was out raged, but the King didn’t mind it, nor did the numerous royal family who lay around promiscuously without any toilet at all. “That's all aight, old boy,” said the residents to the embar rassed Consul. “We’ve got up a 'bail for you to-night, and you’ll see the King i,nd Queen in style there.” So the Consul got his trunk out, got his dress suit, his white tie, his white gloves, and his patent-leathers ready and presented bimself at the “hotel” w here the ball at the “h( ball -was to be. T h e hotel iden frame with a mud roof. the King’s sister—a noble Princess— and they all .had a royal night of it. Before the new Consul had .gone to bed in the morning the Princess Royal returned from the palace, paid him a special call, and solicited bis ■washing. He does not look for any dignity in hie position now. He is looking for profit. A m an ought to gain some thing from being a Consul.. Tell Your Wife About It. I think it is safe for a man to tell his wife all he knows. And it is un safe for him to keep her in ignorance of his financial afiiars, or in ignorance of anything beariug dirqctly upon her domesJtic affairs. The judgment of most true wives and mothers is often remarkable good; better, in many cases, than that of their husbands. “ Tcllgyour wife,” should be the husbands's motto. No need to ask wives t o . tell their husband all they know. They do it anyhow. And this is no slur on them, for they have a right to.—r'Lanm Ddnel in Good H m f i e t p i n g , When Postage Was High. Vea.ru W iten i t Cost a U o u n d F ig u r e t W r ite to C a lifo r u ia —I’«i>ular F o i A little more than one hundred years ago Benjamin Franklin started an opposition newspaper in Philadel phia. He found It Impossible to cir culate it among readers in the rural districts except by bribing the post boys to carry it on the outside of their mail bags. Bradford, who was the editor of the opposition sheet, was also Postmaster ot Philadelphia, and he forbade th e b o y s carrying th e paper o f his rival. Franklin, in referring to this matter in his autobiography, say; “This treatment of Bradford’s excited my resentment, and my disgust was so rooted that, when I afterward succeeded him in the Post Office, I took care to avoid copying his ex ample.” In place of the post boys going on horseback once or twice a week from Philadelphia with a handful of letters, there are now great trains of postal cars with tons of mail day every whirled along at lightning speed over' double-tiack steel roads. The difference in a hun dred years Is something almost inesti mable. But the larger part of it has come about in the last few years. The Post Office business of this country is more than five times as great as it was in i860. Cheap pos tage and fast mails have done much toward producing the increase. Prior to 1845 the rate of the pos tage was reckohed on a scale of dis tances. For thirty miles and under it was 6 cents for a letter composed on a single sheet of paper ; over 30 mih and not exceeding 80 miles, lO cents ; over 80 and not exceeding 150 miles, 12J cents ; over 150 miles and not exceeding 400 miles, i8f cents j over 400’ miles, 25 cents. People in New England writing to their friends who had emigrated to the Western Re serve of Ohio had to pay 25 cents; but the sum was usually charged upon the letter and paid by the person who received it. ’Very often the letters remained in the Postmaster’s hands for weeks and months because the pioneer did not have the necessary funds to pay the postage. Sometimes the persons addressed knowing the nature of the letter and the person who had written it, refused to take it at all. Letters containing duns, and not prepaid,- seldom reached their des tination, For every double letter or letter composed of two pieces of paper double the above rates were charged, and for every triple letter or letter composed of three pieces of paper triple these rates, and for every packer composed of four or more pieces of paper or one other article, and weigh ing one once avoirdupois quadruple these rates, and in the same propor tion for all greater weights. In those days envelopes were not known. Letters were written on large sheets of paper, and skillfully folded so as to leave a white surface on the outside for the addresses, and were fastened together by red wafers. If was late in the night of March 3, 1845, the last day of President John Tyler’s administration, that the first substantial reduction was made in the rates of postage. The law passed at that time reads as follows : For every single letter in manu- iript, or paper of any kind, and upon hich Information shall be asked for vri and signs, conveyed communicated in writing, or by marks and signs, conveyed in the mail for any distance under 300 miles, 5 cents; for any distance over 300 miles, 10 Double these rates were charged tor any letter or parcel weighing more than half an ounce, and so on. It was not until the closing hours of the next Congress, March <3, 1847, how ever, that the idea ofaflixing a stamp was authorized by law. Up to that time postage had been paid in money, and its prepayment was always left optional. On the first day of July, 1847. postage stamp was affixed* to a letter in the United States. T w o stamps only had been devised— the five-cent, with the face o f F r a n k lin upon it, and the ten cent, bearing the face of Washington. For many years before 1845 the amount of postage received was about the same for each year. The reduc tion in postage and the convenience of stamps increased the receipts of the department yeiy greatly. But there were wise men in Congress who be lieved that the postage was still too high. The matter was agitated, and in- l 8 p postage was reduced to'three and six cents for letters. A new series of stamps was struck. These at first consisted of the one-cent and three- cent denoniinations only. The one cent stamp bore the face of Franklin and the three-cent that of Washington. A little later 5, 10, 12, 24, 30, and 90 cent stamps were struck. This reduction in postage for the first time in our history made the Post Office popular. Everybody now be gan to write letters. The enormous increase in mail matter can scarcely be imagined until the official figures are. Studied. For four years previous to th is tiiBP o n l y ly o r th o f stamps had -been sold, or 4,603,200 stamps, The number of stamps sold the first year under the reduction was 543*3^>3*9> their value was the encouraging sum of 81,535,639.51. The new arrangement brought great business activity. People began to g e t a c q u a inted w ith each o t h e r . T h o s e w h o had o n ly w r itten a letter or tw o a year now wrote as many every month. Before that the arrival of a letter at a cou n t r y p o s t office had b e e n a su b ject for gossip and conjecture for a week among the curiou.s, but now it came to be something expected by every body, and the person who seldom received a letter 'was the one talked about. - But the act of 1851 still somewhat limited thg^ffistance. Its exact word ing is as follows : Every single letter, in writing, marks, or signs, by mail, not exceed- 3 j °°° miles prepaid postage, three cents; not prepaid, five cents ; lor any greater distance, double these rates. It seemed impossible to work the statesmen up to the idea that letters should be carried for a great distance at the same rate as a small distance, and that the great law of averages should be applied. This law was a direct discrimination against the Pa cific coast. It was not till two years ago that th e sam e price w a s charged for carrying a letter to th e e x t r e m e limits of the United States that is de manded for a drop letter which only goes to the next block from the Post Office. The figures showing the increase of business by the reduction of the price of postage are very interesting. Only about 1,000,000 stamps a year were sold up to 1851, when the three-cent postage went into effect. Immediately a jump was taken to more than 50,- 000,000 a year, and now the number reaches nearly 1,000,000,000 a year. The income at the old extortionate rates was less than Si00,000 a year ; now it is more than $20,000,000 per Romance in Names. Philadelphia Press. I knew a man by the name of Rose once who was of a romantic disposi tion, and when a girl baby was born to him he named her Wilde. It sounded very poetical to write it Wilde Rose, but when she grew up and married a man by the name of Bull, as she did, it wasn’t half so pretty. But they called her Rose Bull then, and she now signs her name in that way. The clerk of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia is named Re turn Jonathan Meigs. His father and his grandfather’s were the same, and the ftrst of the line, nearly a 'hundred years ago, was called Jonathan Meigs. He had a sweetheart who jilted him, but afterwards was sorry for it, and sent him a little piece of paper cn which was written simply this and nothing more: “Return Jonathan.” It was the most welcome and gratify ing message he ever received, and it was answered in person. The couple were soon married, and when their first baby was born they celebrated the event by calling him “ Return Jona than.” The name has been handed down in the family for four genera tions to the first-born son, and it now appears twice in the Washington di rectory. The name of a member of Congress from Michipn is Julius Caesar Bur roughs. His father was fond of sev eral characters in history and showed his admiration in christening his chil dren. Mr. Burroughs has a brother in Northern Ohio whose name is Na poleon Bonaparte, and he has two sis ters called Marie Antoinette and Cath arine de Medici, respectively. The father o f Vice-President Ham lin had a sim ilar t a s te and called his four son s after t h e great warriors o f an c ien t history— Alexander, Julius Caesar, Cincinnatus and Hannibal, while he named his four daughters after th e co n t in e n t s — E u r o p e , A s ia , A u s t r a lia and A m e r ica . I f h e had b e e n forturiate en o u g h to have a fifth I suppose he would have called her Africa, but the children didn’t hold The name of the Secretary of the Interior is Lucius Quintus Cincin natus Lamar, A. M., LL. D., while h e h a s a clerk under h im , a colored m a n , w h o s e father christen e d him Washington Jefferson Lincoln Gerritt Sm ith J o n e s . T h e r e is anoth e r cc ored m a n , working in a Washingtc barber-shop, whose title is Farragut Dahlgren Foote Porter Hopkins, in honor of the several naval comman ders under whom he served in the navy during the war. There is a young lady in the city named ore, and her sister, who was born a few years later, is called Plenty Moore. The Bed Man>a Wife. Fatia;u«B and JBurden* Which She jBfa* to E n iture -tor B c r m a s ter’s S a k e . Xio I the poor Tadian, says his wefr wisher, Faugh! think of the poot'^ Indian’s wife, exclaims a writer in-tfie New-York Graphic. He has Ms, wrongs and sorrows, he suffers from, the injustice of the wMte inan, be has been pursued and plundered and cheated these many generations. But think of his wife. Every sorrow that be has she not only shares but chiefly endures, and-bas besides a thousand special and fatigueing burdens of her own. He hunts aud fights, and in th6 intervals of battle he feasts and sleeps and dances. But the crushing weight of vrarj, all in indeed, save the mere wager ot battle,\ fails upon her. The paint and feathers, the boasting and glory are his. The anxiety and sorro,w, the care and nursing of the 'wounded, the last-rites for the dead are for her. A truce then to the sentimental suf fering of the Indian. Let us have charity where charity is doe, aye, sorely needed. Abate not your efforts, reader, in behalf of the red man. He has his woes, his true and particular bill of grievances. But forget not the dis- ressing case of the Indian woman, the sad-eyed and sorrowful, whose toil never ceases, whose burden is never laid down; but who journeys on, ever in the shadow, until the end conies and there is rest and peace in death. And BO the day drags heavily on. A little visiting, a little- racing, a little hunting and fishing, but poorly re warded and altogether unsatisfactory when judged by the Indian’s only standard, success. There will be some games of skill for the boys and young men, many games of chance for young and old of all sexes and conditions; for the Indian is a gambler, deep-dyed and inveterate. . As night approaches the fires are rebuilt or replenished, the pot goes on and the valley is filled with the bustle of preparation for the evening meal. In quality it is the same as that which ushered in. the day ; in quantity it is perhaps more ; like it, it is quickly and silently despatched. The men may now sleep; the sleep of careless satiety. The women, after! a few more duties in preparation Of the morrow, they, too, may sleep. When tho sun has gone and the twink- ' ' ling stars have come she seeks tho hardest spot, wraps herself in the few est and thinnest blankefs and strives to forget in the heavy sleep - of weari ness and exhaustion the crushing la bors of the door, the sorrowful pros pect of the morrow. It must be said for the red man that he keeps good hours. Darkness usu ally finds him in bed, and daylight, ; of hunger and. t ’ ne swarm s biting flies, may be counted of buzzing, biting flies, may be upon to rouse him at the first blush of dawn. His 'toilet is soon performed. In summer it is limited to a stretch, • and a long drawn chest-aatisfying yawn ending in a querulous demand for breakfast. In winter it is some what more elaborate, but it is even then comprised in a judicious selec tion of blankets and robes for the day’s wear; choosing from those in which he has passed the night a greater or less quantity according to the inclem ency of the weather. The Indian goes to bed as he dies, with Ms boots on. He washes—never. In all tMngs save eating, horses and the labor of women, he is scrupulously economical. He wastes nothing- A few sticks of wood, and they arealways surpriynglv small, suffice to -keep his lodge ably warm in t ^ severest’wealhto:. If the nights are cool, and they frequent ly are so, the lodge floor at night is t writhing mass of Indians, great and small, lying closely together foi warmth. Night has few attractiouf )re, peoplf whose presence influence is ab ■ and misfortune. 'Nothing shoi direct necessity will induce vel at night, and\: lans no good, whof ways evil, boding deal ----- ’ \irtoi nighi of amusement can be conceived or at tractive enough to draw an Indian from the blankets which he seeks at close of d a y . ______ _ _ ______ On Ris Bridal Tour. Arkansas Traveler. A gawky young man and a shy,\' “hang-back” girl, walking arm-in-arm, attracted much attention as they walked along the street. The young fellow had told a hotel clerk that he lived near Carney Fork, and that he was on his bridal tour. “Lou,” said tho husband, stopping near a fruitstand, “order whut yer apertite is er cravin’ an’ blamed ef I I don’t pay fur it.” The wife selected an orange, and the husband, as he handed over a nickel ih payment, said, “Oh, when I go on a spree uv this sort, I never let expenses skeer me off. Podner,” nodding at the fruit dealer, “this is my wife, an’ you bet I ’ll stan’ by her. Whupped in er bead uv er feller that had cou’ted her six years an’ jes nacfau’Ily tuck bet away frum him. Lou; order what yer apertite is er cravin’ an’ blamed ef I don’t pay .\fur it.” She took a nickel’s worth of candy, and as her husband handed over the amount, said: “Oh, it ain’t often -in er man’s life that he gits on -sich er sloshin’ ’round spell ez this. Lou, I ’m with you, an’ I want yer to un’erstan’ that n i la’n down the cash fur any thing yer order. Ef yer’d married Andy Buckner, yer moat stood ’round with yore mouth waterin’ fur things. Lou, I ’m your husban’, ain’t I f” - ‘^68, Ban.” Then “ Facing the World. One thing is certain, that a man who from his boyhood has been compelled to” face the world to fight his own bat ties, to pay his own bills, make his own way, is better calculated, bettor forti fied to meet the blow of adversity than he who has been cuddled by loving e u f o and nurtured in a well protected- “Then order what'ypre apertite is cravin’.” The Decaying House of Lords, A striking estimate of the probable duration of th e existence of th e bouse of lords was given by Lord Napier of Magdala to the tallow chandlers. “As long,” said Ms lordship, “as the house of lords numbers among its members ' such men as Lord Beaconefield, Lord Tennyson and Lord Shaftesbury I be lieve it ■will continue to retain the con fidence of the British \peopla” As the honse no longer numbers among its members. Lord Eeaconsfield or Lord Shaftesbury, it appears that in Lord Napier’s estimation it has already lost two-thirds of the confidence of the people, and if the other third is to be* measured by the attendance of Lord Tem-yson, the light of the house of lords must be waxing almost as dimas that ghed by the .tallow eblmdleri
