About THE SIZE OF IT
We do not want to fight ye. John.
But, mind ye! if we do.
'1' will be about the sickest job
'l hat ever fell to you:
We 'rc tired o’ blufl an‘ banter. John.
An” insults not a few,
An‘ so we‘d like to tak’ ye down
, A peg. or maybe two.
We do not want to fight ye. J ohn.
But if ye gev’ us cause
We'll quickly deck the lion‘s tail.
‘ An’ manicure his claws;
Nor will we rest contented, J ohn, ",
’Till ev‘ry cockney knows '
As glibly as "God save the Queen"
The Doctrin’ called Monroe’s.
We do not want to fight ye. J ohn,
We’re Anglo-Saxons; Bosh?
Thct flimsy can’t o’ cousinship
VVon’t any longer wash; ' g
\Ve are not Anglo-Saxons. J ohn:
Nor any sof‘-brained mush. :1.
But double distilled Americans~
That’s what we are, b’gosh .5
We is not want to fight ye. John,
Sbol why put out o’ sight
. The candid truth? for truth it is.‘
We‘re spillin‘ for a fightl -
in reach an’ weight we’re even J oh
Au’ pretty much in height.
Say will ye pick the gauntlet up.
Or show the feather white?
-— Will Stokes, First U. S. Artillery.
TIIEjVANDEltER.
There was presage of a storm. Mas
cos of blue black clouds hung over the
sunset. The wind wailed and died, and
died and wailed. In the roadway rusty
leaves leaped suddenly to the air, eddied
and swirled, strove to unite with the
tree that had cast them, shivered in the
dyke. At the fringe of the cloud there
was a star. ~ '
A stile had been fixed at the turning
of the road. It had three bars and a
step to cross by. On either side the
hedge grew thickly; and also two trees,
like guardians gaunt in the horrid light.
So the stile was picturesque; but it had
its uses. On the further side there
stretched a path across the meadow; it
led to the old house that had stood
among the beach trees through genera-
tions. From the stile you could see the
turrets above the tree tops. The inher-
itOr of the name of Dalrymple, the
Squire lived there. If you followed the
road you would also come to the Hall,
and enter by the great gate. But the
pathwaywas nearer by far. ’
A man ,was seated on the stile. His
back was to the road and his eyes were
fixed upon the turret tops above the
trees. He had come upon a journey;
you could tell it from his boots. He was
hungry; you could tell it from his eyes.
Such a man, indeed, as one would pass
upon the further side of the road, and
beglad to get rid of before darkness set
in.
The wind walled in the branches, and
the clouds massed in the West, but the
man sat still upon the stile. But when
those who were hurrying from the
storm came by, he moved to let them
pass; yet ever he dropped upon the side
that was furthest from the Hall. Such
as were women eyed him askance, and
such as were men with wonder. But
not a soul passed him a salutation. So
the man remained, and thebirds cried
out for the storm. Then two maids re-
turning to the Hall came to the stile.
and tossed their heads, resenting that he
should soil with his clothes the rail
which their skirts would surely have to
touch.
Yet the stile was his own. Nor the
stile alone; but the grass at his feet,
and the great house at the end of the
pathway, and the broad acres that
pressed it round. There was warmth
and good cheer at the house. Still the
man moved not. Had the journey been
long, and did he linger at the stile to
rest? Or did he wait there for some one
who tarried?
Then there came the prattle of chil-
dren’s voices in the road. They babbled
merrilly as their nurse pressed them on
from the storm. And they.passed the
man by. Then their voices ceased and
their feet sped faster still and many a
frightened glance they cast behind them
as they walked and hurried again. So
they heeded not the pond. But the man
watched them wonderingly. And he
saw a laborer approach along the path-
way, returning tram his work. The
pipe he smoked glowed warmly, and
the man shivered. But at the stile he
spoke to the laborer; and his voice was
hoarse, as one that was not used re
cently.
“Whose chilren are those?” he in-
quired. ~
The workman stopped abruptly and
looked at the man in surprise. He won-
dered at the question, I' doubt not, and
may be, he wondered at the ques
tioner.
“Them?” he said, at last, in a strong.
broad accent. “Them‘s the Squire’s
bairns.” V
“But I thought that the Squire was
an old man?"
“T’owd Squire? V’Vhy,‘~ bless your
life, ’e's been de ad this ten years.”
There was a pause. And then the
man said:
"So these are the children of his eld-
est son‘!” ‘ -
“N oa,” said the workman, “it winna
be the eldest, ‘E wanted ’s brother’s
gal and cos’ she would a now’t to say to
’im. ’e went away i’ sulks. An’ ’6 never
comeback no more. Aye, that was 20
years ago.”
“And what became of him?"
' “Aye, bless your life, ’ow should I
know. ’E’s dead, they say.”
And the brother married the lady?”
“Aye, that ’0 did.”
> There was silence; for the man was
gazing at the turrets. The laborer was
about to move away. But the man
stopped him with another question.
“And are they happy, these tWO?”
“’Appy?” Again the workman seem-
ed amazed at the question. “Why, it’s
beautiful to see them. Aye, often and
often when they passes i’ the road wi’
the bairns, 'agoing to church mebbe, or
mobbe not, the missis she says to me,
‘Jim, it’s a pictur’,’ she says, and I says
to ’er, ‘It is,’ says I. ’Appy?” And the
workman smiled.
But the man at the stile was silent.
From the heavens thereshot aji-gged
#4
streak of light. ‘ For a moment it lit'm
the faces of the two men; than the :1 1r}.
ness had fallen like a poll. mud th
workman laid his hand upon the shun?
der of the traveller. .
“Look ’ere, stranger,” he said, “I
don’t know ’00 you be, or where you
come from, or what yer doing ’erc;‘ but
you seem a civil sort, and I’ll tell you
this: we’re going to ’ave such a night
as not many i’ these parts ’ I remember
the likes on, and if you’re got a glare to
go to, don’t wait no longer, but make
tracks: and if you ’aven’t why conic ye?
ways along 0’ me.”
, The stranger seemed movel; but. he
replied:
“I thank you. You are very kind. I
ave shelter from the storm." As he
spoke his eyes were trained across the
stile. So the laborer passed on his way.
And the storm gathered. Thunderc us
clouds loomed overhead. The air was
thick. and pressed upon the brow. A.
great bird rose from the rushes at the
pcnd’s verge and shriekod to a surer
refuge. The wind dropped.
But the man lingered. And over in
the meadow, in the pathway, there ap-
peared a light. It drew nearer, and
swung gently to and fro. The traveler
saw it was carried in the hand of a man
walking. He was clad in a coat that
was lined with fur, and his face was
soft and white. At the stile he saw the
man. He frowned, and would have
passed. But the stranger stopped
him.
"Mr. Dalrymple,” he said.
The other raised his lantern till it
shone in the face of the man. . He shud-
dered slightly, and again would have
passed on his way. But the traveler
stood before him so that the path was
closed.
“Mr. Dalrymple,” he repeated.
“By what right do you bar my way?”
The tones were quiet but imperative, as
of a man accustomed to receive defer-
ence. “And why do you call me by
name?”
“I have news of your brother,” said
the man. -
“He is alive?” The words were said
gladly, but there was a gulp at his
throat when he spoke. The man saw
the gulp.
“He will never return,” the man re-
plied.
“By what means,” said the Squire,
“can I tell that you speak with author-
ity?”
The man put his hand beneath his
rags and drew forth the faded photo-
graph of a woman. On the back there
was a name written. He passed it to
the Squire.
The Squire looked at it. And he
turned it over and read what was writ-
ten on the back. Then he raised his
hand and uncovered his head. And he
said to the man:
“May I keep this memento
the man nodded.
“What you tell me,” he said quietly,
“is only that which, necessarily, I have
always understood. Nevertheless, this
confirmation grieves me deeply.” There
was real sorrow in his voice. And that
too, the man noticed. “Did my brother
have no message?”
“He spoke much of a woman.” said
the man.
"Can you tell me her name?”
“It is Marianne.”
The Squire was silent. Then softly,
“Poor fellow!” and again, “Poor fol-
low!” to himself. “It is my wife of
whom he spoke," he said to the man.
“I trust she is well,” said the man.
“She is very well. I left her but now
with the children.”
As he spoke the first heavy raindrops
fell from the clouds. They were omin-
ous of the storm to come. On the water
in the pool they pattered softly.
“I fear,” said the Squire, “you have
travelled far and are weary. It is pos-
sible that you are at a distance from
your home and there is a terrible night
before us. The rain has already begun.
You may hear it on the pond. Will you
not go to the Hall for some rest and re-
freshments?”
“I thank you,” said the man, replying
in almost the words he had used to the
laborer. “I have all I need.” And
again his eyes seemed to gaze into “the
darkness beyond the stile.
There was the sound of a rumble of
wheels on the road, and two lights
shone out of the dimness. The lights
brightened; the sound cleared; a broug~
ham and pair drew up at the turning.
a My carriage meets me here,” said the
And
r)”
s
- Squire, “and I am somewhat pressed
for time. But you have laid me under
a deep obligation; is there no way that
I can serve you?”
“There is one,” said the man. “I
should like to shake you by the hand!”
The Squire hesitated. It was only
momentary. But a flush rose to the
check of the stranger. “It is my hands,”
he said. “I will wash them in the
pond.”
But the Squire had pulled 01f his
sealskin glove, and he held out his soft,
white palm. The other clutched it in
his bony hand, and for a moment the
eyes of the two met in the light of the
lamp. The Squire started, and released
his grasp. There was a look in his face
that held something of fear. When he
entered his carriage the look remained
still on his face.
And the man sat again‘ on the'stile.
In the darkness the lights from the Hall
shone brilliantly, and he gazed at the
lights. Then he turned his eyes to the
trees that were dim around the pond,
and again from the pond to the lights.
Was their happiness at the lights? Was
there peace in the pond? So the man
crossed the stile. In the quietness be-
fore the storm there was a great cry. It
was a cry of despair; yet a cry of hope,
of joy. . ,
The Squire heard it, and stopped his
carriage. The laborer heard it as he on.
tered his cottage and lingered at the
door till his wife called out for the
drught. The children at the Hall heard
it as they sat at tea, and dropped their
spoons askance,
again. But the trees at the pond bent
closely; the circles melted aWay. And
the storm burst—Black and \Vhite.
listening to hear it.
' THE‘Ri-‘LIIS NOTHING LIKETHEM. '
Pretty Light Fabrics with an Infinite Var-
riety of Trimming.
Published by special arrangement with the
’ 'New York Sun.
‘Open meshed fabrics are decidedly in
the lead of all other wool materials this
season, and they afford new and various
opportunities for the display of taste in
the combination of color and finish.
Linings are of the greatest importance
in this sort of gown, and have to be
chosen with special care. Materials
were never more desirable or prettier
than they are this year, and a new edi-
tion of crepe de chine, with masses of
blurred roses and subdued tinted foli-
age all over the surface, is one of the
latest and most charming additions to
the list. Since subdued colors are the
rule among the best dressed people,
gray comes in for the lion’s share of
popularity, and soft gray blue is another
desirable tint.
9‘
.5 ‘ . i213"; % ‘n'n. ( .' g
. / 52,6
I 74,59 ‘ '7’ "
fl‘l‘bu"; ""72 ”'9‘“ ‘
_, , "in
; all ‘ t
Black and white gowns with one
touch of color are a distinctive feature
of the leatest ideas in dress, and black
canvas made over white or black silk,
with a bodice of white silk well covered
with applique lace, is decidedly correct,
and the only note of color may be in the
collar band. Black and white striped
silks are very popular, and, in combina-
tion with a white chiffon bodice ,artisti-
cally arranged with narrow frills edged
with cream lace and a yellow satin belt
and collar, you have an ideal gown.
The only noticeable change in skirts
is in the length. Skirts are decidedly
shorter than they were last season,while
nine but often are devoid of any trim-
ming except among the thin gowns.
They fit closely around the hips, but the
outspreading fulness commences just
below. The modern sleeve is nothing if
not politic in its method of reduction in
size, for every sort of device is brought
into use to make the close sleeve attrac-
tive and disguise the fact that it is real-
ly diminishing. All sorts of frills and
puffs and epaulets are set in at the top,
but the very latest tailor gowns are
made ‘with the tight- fitting sleeves.
Some variety of epaulet is sewn in the
armhole to sort of conciliate matters,
but the sleeve fitting the arm from
wrist to shoulder is there, all the same.
However, we have many days of grace
yet, for the medium sleeve is to prevail
during the summer.
Some sort of fancy cape is considered,
an indespensable addition to a summer
outfit, and while it is so often the case
that when any wrap is needed a warm
One is required, the average woman can
easily convince herself that one of the
frivolous gauze garments so attractive
.in appearance and so useless as a pro-
tection against the cold is a positive ne-
cessity to her comfort.
Parasols have blossomed out more
gorgeous and varied than ever this sea-
son, and materials are employed which
never entered into their construction
in years gone by.
Rich soft‘ tints, rather than bright,
glaring colors, are most fashionable this
season, and Dresden flowered and chine
patterened tafietas and brocaded silks
make the 'most useful parasols, which
in some instances match the costume.
But this is not considered necessary to
good style this season, as one flowered
silk parasol, well chosen. is equally
pretty with many different gowns. '
Lyter—'—You are still continuing your
efiorts in literature. they tell me.
Writer--Yes. '
Lytc—r— -What are the returns?
.Writere-Unanimous; everything I
'Iend out is returned. ——Boston Courier.
» SLEEP IN THEIR COFFINS.
A Strange Sect Who Practice ‘_Extraordi- .
nary Seventies.
In all the worlk, probably, there is no
body of religious enthusiasts whose reg~
men is so severe as that of the Aubins,
of Montreal. Deprived of every sug-
gestion of comfort, they sleep at night.
not in beds, even of the hardiest sort;
not even on a bare board, such as pious
monks of the Middle Ages used, but in
coflins. These grewsome resting places
are not cushioned or even lined, and
year in and year out the devotees occu-
py them, for the betterment of their
souls, and a more thorough mrgetting
of the vanities of the world.
They subsist upon bread and water,
and to vary the weird monotony of such
living, they spend hours of each day
bent in prayer, about an altar in a dark-
ened chapel, their necks laden with
chains of great weight. The austerities
prescribed by the rules even of the Car-
melita nuns are trivial compared with
what these women undergo.
This strangest of all religious com-
companies was founded by a Dr.
Jacques, had among his 1,500 patients,
the family of Aubin.
They were persons of good moral
standing, but after the disappearance of
the smallpox they set about the fulfil-
.ment of vows they had made during
sickness. Father, mother, and five
daughters, they withdrew entirely from
the world, and live now in the house of
Dr. Jacques, who, himself, is head of
the company.
The upper floor of the house is divid-
ed into rooms, or cells, bare of carpets,
or of furniture, save the unsightly cof-
fins, plain unpainted tables, and tin
washbasins. There is not a single arti-
cle of bedding or of raiment, and no or-
- namentation except the images to which
prayer is said. In the room used for
purposes of regular worship, there
stands in the shadow of an alter, a post
with heavy chains hanging from it.
The prime motive of these recluses is
to intercede for the souls of their sisters
of the world whom destiny has thrown
in the way of temptation. So, when
the social season arrives, when parties,
balls and festivals are in progress, when
the word comes to them from the out-
side world that the spirit of carnival is
abroad, and temptation and danger go
hand in hand to waylay and destroy the
souls of men and women, then, in the
Aubin household, all the rigors and de-
privations of monastic life are redoubled
and the cloistered family, with their
learned preceptor, Dr. Jacques, fast
faithfully and spend hours of each day
upon their knees in urgent prayer, their
necks weighted with the heavy ox-
chains, in exaggerated token of humili-
ty and self-abasement. Even in the
fierce cold of a Canadian winter, they
have no fires in their cells-New York
Journal.
Mrs. locum (to her husband’s chum)
—-Tom, wish you (1 break George of
playing poker.
The Lilian—l did break him only last
Liight.——Uezrozt Journal.
DRINK
HATHIIIll
SPRING
WEITER
FOR THE
0
Stomach,
Bo wels,
Liver and
Kidneys.
FOR SALE BY
The Holmes, Keeler Helen Us
WILLIAM S. KEMP, /
Carpenter -:-‘and -:- Builder,
34 West Main St.. Norwalk.
Mr. Kemp has been a carpenter and builder
in Norwalk for the past 25 years. and refers to
owners of buildings erected under his super-
vision as to workmanship.
Chilton Paint,
Every gallon of paint made by the
Chilton Mfg. Company is mixed and
ground in pure Linseed Oil. Ail shades
are mixed and ground by machinery
seven times, making them uniform and
even. Compare the size of cans and
weight with the cheaper makes. You
get an honest gallon. Give it a trial and
you will be convinced.
H. H. WILLIAMS
17 Main St.
SPECIAL SALE
———OF———
Sailor Hats
Now READY.
Ilnirimmsd, Inc and Upwards,
Trimmed, 50c and Ilpwards,
.. FAWEETTS.
3 Water Street, Norwalk
‘- _ {EOHTENE
H. R. BULKLEY 8: CO., A
'AWEEKLYénoawnnxicaznimfli”i
A
AND I32:
is known throughout cycling as
some new catalogue.
E. C. STEARNS d: (30., Makers,
San Francisco, Cal. Buffalo, N. Y.
rm
— — , Yellow
"fellow
stylish, speedy mount. There’s a best in every-
thing; the ’96 Stearns is a veritable edition dc quc
among bicycles. Finished in black or orange.
_ Steams riders are satisfied riders, and always
proud“ as kings of their mounts.
Your address will insure receipt of our hand—
gents, s UTH
a light, staunch,
Syracuse, N. Y.
Toronto, Ont.
NORWALK.
YOUR FRIENDS ARE USING
PLAISTED’S CDUGH REMEDY
' AND RECOMMEND ITS USE
Get a Bottle at once. 25 and 50 Cents.
ALL DRUGGISTS.
I’m Doingltfi ;‘
If you Don’t believe
it, Come and See?
$|00 BICYCLES males.
PIEBGE,
MES,
LIGHT,
GOLIIMBIIS,
HORSMMI,
Carriage Factory and Repository. .
— "cw "
/‘\
. ,1“
' 3*‘\s;i.;e
Wins ,
“lililéie—
“fibula...
1"
,_ IS'
-..'.'v .:. 1.15?
{\éwl/éh Top Price.
V
Latest ’96
Pattern.
Built to Sell aI
/ Full Guarantee.
Easy Terms.
‘2‘, . a...
WE ARE NOT IN THE COMBINE.
For Terms and Lease of Norwalk Fair Grounds, apply-t0
LUTHER m. WRIGHT,
e.
moo for a bicy:
cle, \LhLbc content
W
should mean much
Beautiful Art Catalegu
Branch at o'er-Lani D
.' .-
L"...",_; , .;
h: essalison Sta, So. Norwslk.
irisn.
by the certainty 0 quality assured by our
to any buyer of a. bicycle.
Columbia quality—one Columbia price—
TO ALL ALIKE.
c of Columbia and Hartford Bicycles is free if you call upon'any
Columbia Agent; by mail from us for two n-ccnt stamps.
POPE MFG. CO., Hartford,
Branch Stores and Agencies in almost every agnigdicttogninow
, .
$ECO
properly represented in your vi
icycle
STANDARD oF THE WORL .
Nineteen years of re utation for building the best biggie, backed
‘scient c methods,
There is but one
Conn.
if Columbia: are not
W
____.0
That you can save money
by buying your Meats
and Fish at
Everything First Class.
‘ I
. z
PRIVAT
CLASS
F. W. SIEITH’S,
55 Main Street.
OPEN EVENINGS
E
Instructions given in
BOXING'
at the pupil’s home.
Now foiming, and ap-
plicants desiring to
join should apply at
once to ‘
Prof. Ceo. Yoerger, >.
South .Norwal'k.
' .rr‘al this office.
(
Norwalk Chronicler