v1 11: a K11: 15on A 11 11 so A Zn TT 111 I
‘
ASTOLEN PICTURE.
My own poor holidays were of the '
scantiest at the time of this naxra—
tion. I had enjoyed my fleedom for ten
days of June, but (though the peziod
bade. fair to live for ever in my mem—
ory) I seemed to have been already a
twelve-month back at work upon the
evening when I found Dick's letter
awaiting me at my lodgings.
“\Iy Dear Mortimer: I am in town
again at last; a1rived last night Cor 1e
1ound and smoke a pipe—to— night, if
possible;
you. Meanwhile—if you‘ll believe i;—
l’m engiged. Yours, PICK."
The news he told me was the :‘l.‘:‘.$‘.-
antest possible; for I also, to tell the
truth, had learned in my days of free»
dom how unenviable are the liberties
of the mere bachelor. I remained free.
1'01 the present but I neve1theless
hoped to follow his example befm e the
year was out.
One can do a good deal in ten days:
indeed, I‘had fallen hopelessly in love
in less than that number of hours. But
I felt it rather much to ask that Maud
should have recognized and learned
to reciprocate my feelings in so short
a time; and so I had not spoken. All
the same, I knew that it would be a
crushing disappointment to me if she
had not accomplished it. Her home
was at Brighton, she once told me;
and she well knew my friends, the
Meynells.
For Maud—I could find no words to
express her. I put my hand into the
breast-pocket of my coat and drew
out a photograph. It was not a very
good likeness; . the hair was not
dressed in the fashion which had be-
come so familiar to me—and that fash—
ion of a surety was the most chann-
ing that ever occurred to the mind of
ingenious woman. But still, the pic-
ture had' enough of her to be for me
the most beautiful thing in the world
-—s:1ve only her sweet self. I had- stolen
it‘. She was stopping with the Lut-
trelis. with whom I spent my holiday
at Sandybar; and Madge Luttrell was
a great friend of ,mine. She had de-
tected or foreseen my devotion to
Maud,’ I think, even before it revealed
itself to me. At any rate, I knew she
would be discreet, and, trusting to her
clemency, I‘ had stolen this precious
photograph out of her album upon the
morning when I left Sandybar.
I had soon finished the meal which
stood ready for me, and from which
1 had been kept by Dick’s note and by
the emotions resulting from its peru-
sal. Then I found my hat and stick
and my very largest pipe, and set out
across London to Dick’s rooms. The
place was in 1111:":11ess and untenanted
when I entered, but I knew that "he ,
would not fail me, and struck a match
to discover if he had left a. note to tell
me w hen he would return. “Back at
eight.” it read. “Meanwhile, there’s
b'accy and a new Stevenson."
It was now upon the stroke 0f 7, so
11 lit the lamp, found the Stevenson,
and prepared to spend an hour pleas-
antly. The time passed most happily;
at last I laid aside the book and filled
my pipe. I walked across the room to
take a spill from the mantel—shelf, and
in a moment found myself gazing at
the photograph of Maud Cameron—the
girl I loved, the girl I hoped to marry.
It was in a frame of elaborately
beaten silver, already somewhat
tarnished by tobacco smoke, and be-
yond a doubt was a portrait of Dick's
fiancee.
There was a sudden sound of foot
steps on the stair, a hand upon the
door, and (even as I thrust back her
photograph into my pocket) the door
opened and Dick entered.
“Hope you’ ve not had a long wait,"
he said. “I had to be outfor awhile.”
“Not.-long,” I answered. “Anti I—~I
found plenty to occupy me. And now.
I suppose. I must congratulate you?"
Dick laughed. “Do you only sup-
pose? I am the luckiest beggar in the
wo1ld. But never mind; you will see
l1e1 some day, and then you will speak
diffe1ently. You will envy me—madly;
for indeed— But we ’11 wait until you
have met her; only I promise you you
may safely venture your congratula:
tions. Here is her photograph, by the
bye, a wretchedly bad one, but still
not at all unlike."
He moved to the mantel and handed
me her picture, enclosed in that abomi-
nable frame of his. I took it; from
him, and for a minute and more gazed
hard upon her face.
“It is all true,” I kept. whispering to
myself. “She has betrayed me."
Dick watched me in silence. evi-
gently convinced of my admiration; in
reality I was wondering whether it
would be better to tell him that we
had met .
Presently he broke silence. “Well?”,
he said holding out his hand for the
return oi. he1 photograph. :
“You are lucky,” I answered slowly.
“She is very beautiful.”
“Ah,” he said; contentedly, “but you
don't know howbeautiful. That pho-
tograph is a libel."
He. put it back upon the mantelshelf,
and selected a pipe. Then he stretched
himself in an easy chair.
“You two must know one another; in-
deed, she is already eager for your ac-
quaintance."
l was steeled, I thought, against allg1
that he could‘ tell me, but upon this
wellnigh betrayed my'self. Had she
admitted that her fancy for me—I
knew that she had come near to loving
inc—was dead. I could have borne my
burden uncomplainingly, and might
have. forgotten. But that she should
deny that it had existed—that she had
ever known movthat was. past tolera-
I'ltlIl.
."They live at Brighton " Dick con-
tinned. “so that we are not too far
'nway to visit them. You must come
down some day with me. I' want you
'1.) know her." ‘
1 V9 :1 hand Cd 1h “3“ 1') t “1 l u1day, and three or four friends are to
here are times when it were
to be sincere.
“I shall be delighted." I said. even
while I
1:... 11 1'5 «1.511111. be able to rely in the
c-vtnt of his some day tendeling a
more definite invitation. Then I
turned the conversation into other
channels, and in a little while (some
what to the disgust of my friend, who
had much to tell) I left.
About a month had passed when I
had a note one day from Mrs. Luttrell'
“Dear Mr. Mortimer—We have taken
tickets for the Ly ceum matinee on Sat-
meet us there. I wonder if you are
free that afternoon, and would care to
.meet us at Charing Cross and go with
us to the theatre. Yours very truly,
Frances Luttrell.”
It was a miserable, foggy day, and I
half-feared they wohld not come. But,
though their train was somewhat de-'
layed, they presently arrived, and we
took a cab along the Strand. Madge
looked unusually pretty, and greeted
me with a disappointing cheerfulness.
I had counted on a little sympathy
from her, but her aspect was one of
gather mischievous enjoyment. It
would have been timely enough if she
had held in store for me some very
delightful surprise. She even referred
to a matter which I had hoped for a
month past had escaped observation.
“I did not think that you would de-
scend to theft,” she said; “I would
have given it to you. And of course
you discovered your mistake?”
We were entering the theatre as she
spoke; there was a momentary press
of people, and I adected not to have
heard her speech. Indeed, I was not
a little angry; her clumsiness was ob«
viously intentional, for I was well
aware that she in no wise suffered
from want of tact.
A moment later we were being shown
to our seats.
“Vi'ill you take the inside seat?” said
Madge, and I moved obediently to the
last vacant place—next to a lady whose
face was turned from me. I was just
taking my seat when she turned and
looked up at me. She had the grace
to blush——for it was Maud Cameron——
but there was no tremor in her voice
when she spoke a moment later.
“How do you do?" she said politely.
And in the same words I answered
her.
P1esently she. ham :1 little nearer and
spoke to me in her soft. pietty voice.
“You have nothing to say,” she said.
“You may talk, you know.’
I turned to her with a look of des-
peration. Why could she not leave me
to myself?
“I had forgotten.” I said. “I must
congratulate you—or Dick, at any
rate.” '
“0!” she answ Ol'ttl. s111.‘1ingly “you
may conglatulate me also; do n01:
fear. It has happzned marvelously
well."
“Marvelously well i" I echoed.
“Yes," she continued; “and partict
larly in that you are his particula
friend.
the husband’s friend is nice. But why
didn‘t you tell him you knew the Lut-
trells—and me ?"
I stared at her,
cruelty.
“How could I tell I tell him?” I
said indignantly. “You had denied ac-
quaintance with me, and since you
had forgotten, do you think I wished
to remember?”
I was a trifle startled at the effect
of this speech. It should have silenced
her, I thought; but:I it seemed as if I
had injured her, and now a greater in-
incredulous of her
‘iignation than my own arose in her.
“It is not true," she said. “What do
you mean? I saw him only a fortnight
ago, when I returned from Sandybar,
and I distinctly remember telling him
that day that I had met you there.
bring you down one Saturday, but of
30nrse———”
I interrupted. “You only saw him
a month ago? Why, ’tis a full month
since he told me you were engaged.
And yet you have known him only a
fortnight?”
She looked at me with a sort of plti~
ful amazement.
“He told you he was engaged to me?
Why, he’s engaged to Mary, my sis.
ter. And besides—"
A new life entered'into me; the old
hopes lived again. Yet I was uncon-
vinced.
“He showed me your photograph”
I said.
She leoked at me a moment. Slowly
the bewild -11nent faded from her face,
and it a, peared she was .mightily
amused.
“Did he tell you my name?" she
asked.
“He showed me your likeness, and
told me you were engaged to him. I
don’t remember if he told me your
name. But there was no need; I do
not forget so easily.” '
Maud chuckled—there is no other
word.
“You had seen the photograph be
fore?” she said.
“I stole it out of Madge Luttrell’s al-
bum the day ,I was to leave Sandybar.
I t110ught———”
"Surely it was a little curious to steal
the photograph of a lady you had
never met? For it is to Mary, my sis-
ter, that Mr. Ferguson is engaged, and
it was her photograph you took from
Madge’s album. She is considered
rather like me."
,I was stunned with the sudden joy
and with the sense of my great stu-
pidity. I know that her eyes were up-
on me, and would have given worlds
to be with her, for a moment only,
away from this great crowd of people.
“I burnt it," I said, “a month ago.
You will give me one of your own.”
She answered nothing, and at that
moment the curtain rose. But I was
well content. -—I‘rom Black and White.
White. 1,
-' .¢~¢.""' —-
unwise
reviewed the excuses upon-
It is so nice for the wife when '
Mother did suggest that he might ',
KINDS OF GREETINGS
PECULIARITIES OF THE COMMON,
CUSTOM OF HAND-SHAKES.
You May Know Your Man by the Way in
‘
FUR‘JISS ON PARKHURST
England' 3 Most Celebrated Caricaturist
Hears the Doctor Preach.
If Dr. I’arkhurst delivered a sermon
in place of reading an essay, he would
be an effective speaker. As it is; he
Whic" “6 Extends Hi8 Hand—Some of strikes the stranger as a sincere think.
the Principal Methods Illustrated for
' Guidance in Observation.
When a mail bows, or takes 0E his
hat, or shakes hands with another, by
the manner in which he performs any
one of these habitual signs of exterior
politeness you may discover his inter-
ior sentiments. Bowing, nodding, tak-
ing cff one's hat 01' shaking a friend by
the hand is dumb language, but a very
:.'I.;;'...l;’:;.:ut one.
’1' he v1: :‘ious ways in which the above
1---.c11111ts are performed constitute
also b; their physiognomical signs a
very rich language. In the illustra-
tions you see a man shaking hands
‘with two fingers. From him no gen-
erosity may be expected, especially
when the other fingers and the thumb
are bent inward. An egotist or hard-
hearted individual may be detected in
a man who gives a cold shake of 'the
hand and withdraws his unwelcome
paw as soon as possible.
'9 .. 11'.
: >'.' -.1_‘
own and shakes -- 1 .1.-
cates real Symp!“1’:.i 1 ..
creature. Rema ' 5'11... 1. 1:1: 1-1
the shake takes place. It See1 -
part of one’s heart has found - '-
Then there 1' tin -
into the fingers.
hand of a busy, active, good-"H.211”?
individual. It is symbolical of lawn:
and cordiality. On the contrary, there
is just the opposite sortoof a hand.
shake, that of an effeminate man,
without much will power or force of
character. Another hand-shake is that
of a. man who is in a bad state of
health- In all cases the owner of the -
hand is i“. .11 mt to you. Urbanity
11".: ~ ' .1“ '
1 1.1 '1:- . 1 1
s51 ' 1.
1 .1. ' 411 -.
11mm... Be welcome ant. 111..., 1......
‘Il'ess you.
In the manner in which a man takes
off his hat, his character may likewise
be read. The proud man will raise his
hat a little and will appear as if he
hardly perceived the person whom he
is saluting. The modest and. humble
individual will not only uncover his
head completely; he will likewise bow
and consider attentively the person
Whom he passes.
Salutes of friendship are entirely
different from those of politeness and
social customs. The light-hearted,
thoughtless individual has a way of
noticing an acquaintance not at all
like that of the thoughtful and serious
individual. A man who is always “all
smiles” is false and hypocritical. Vain
persons always wait until they have
been saluted So as not to compromise
their dignity. A man of education or
a well-bred man displays evident
marks of gracefulness and wit and
much tact in the way he raises his hat
to an acquaintance.
The ill-bred individual and the vul-
gar fellow will never be able to take
off his hat and bow with natural ease.
Perfect as he may hope to be, he is
ever ridiculous at one moment or oth-
er. If a man bow without lowering
his eyes, you may take him to be a
man (if rank or at least one who has
been educated‘as such. A hypocrite
will overdo the salute and get his body
into such a position that at one mo-
ment or other of a salute his face will
disappear entirely from the view of
the person to whom he is bowing or ‘
taking 01f his hat.-
1...“ ..
er rather than a spen taneous or,ator
depends too much on the midnight oil
in place of midday inspiration, and
sacrifices the indescribable but absolute-
ly necessary magnetism between the
speaker and his hearers for the elec-
tric light of the reader’s desk. This
hideous roll of light, which acts as a
barrier between the speaker and the
listener, is not only the cause of de-
stroying oratory, but also picturesque-
\"lf,,%,\ , _
1: “ma;
PARKHURST PASSIVE.
ncss. A speaker does not want to ex-
hibit his teeth and his lower gums,
but illumine his eye and develop hi‘.
thoughtful brow by light from above;
light from below distorts the features
and darkens, if not obliterates, the up-
per and interesting features. Actors
paint to counterbalance the, footlight
effect. Charles Dickens is probably
the only public reader who sought the
hare’s foot and carmine to insure jus-
tice to his features, but in my experi-
ence Dr. Parkhurst is the only pulpit
orator who speaks over a “chin” light.
Dr. Parkhurst as a social crusader
has a worldwide reputation. He has
brought destruction to blackmailers
PARKH URST PEREMP’I‘ORY.
and a fortune. to my innhargu-t-g “1'9 have
.. : .~' " ‘ .'-1:: layman,
1- y - = , {'arkhurst
r;:. '17:“ '1' 1nds over
- . 1ohce. As
puip1t attraction the1e is a similar-
-:y which extends beyond the first syl-
able of the surnames between Dr.
Parkbnrst and Dr. Parker. The Eng-
' ‘ . ‘ E;1e, however, does not read his
address. as Dr. Parkhurst
Dr. Parker occasionally al-
"- I. 1ulse to get the better of him
813111711“ political sermons has sometimes
made himself ridiculous. Both doc-
tors draw large congregations and are
largely draw'n themselves.
.HARRY FURNIss
-1'.' . :I‘
.,.. - .
1' .4, 1 .'.'. L 1'": :1'1' g}-
111593.:
"11.7 35-1.
Her Ten-“’ord bIessage.
Before «leaving for St. Louis Mr.
Blodgett instllicted his wife to not
- 11- .- 1": '.‘-:::. :1 - .. “MM-a 3 she
-:;‘11 .1. sab-
. and
ban pusuuu“mound“... 1,- _ '.. '. - tlly
that a meeting with several gentlemen
at the Planters’ Hotel on the evening
of the fourth day would, in all proba-
bility, bring the deal to a successful
issue. Several hours before the time
of his appointment he received a tele-
gram from Mrs. Blodgett. It read:
“Fire Sam frightened Joey badly
hurt no one escaped uninjured."
Mr. Blodgett pored over the unpunc-
tuated message for several minutes. It
was a decided puzzle. tt last his anx-
ious mind evolv-v d this out of the
chaos: ,
“Fire. Sam frightened. Joey badly
hurt. No one escaped uninjured.”
Then his fatherly heart was troubled
at the thought of his little boy’s lying
at death’s door, and the wife of his
manhood passing into eternity without
his being there. He hastily scribbled
notes of explanation to his business
associates and took the first train fo1
Chicago.
His pulse throbbcd wildly and tears
coursed down his checks as he neared
his home, and when he saw that the
house, at least externally, was not
damaged, a prayer of thanksgiving as
cended on high and he. hoped things
were not quite so had as represented.
He let himself in and hurried upstairs.
His wife wasin her room. He clasped
her in his arms and wept aloud.
“Thank heaven you are not badly
hurt,” he cried. “Where are the chil-
dren?"
“Out in the yard playing.” she said.
“Why, what on earth ails you ?"
“Out playing so soon?” he said.
“What did you mean by this?” anti he
gave her the telegram.
“Why, just what it says,” She rc-
plied.. “ ‘Fire. Sam frightened Joey
badly. Hurt no one. Escaped unin-
jured.’ lf I hadn’t wished to confine.
myself to ten words I should have said
that the fire was around the corner,
that Sam frigh ened Joey with :1 net.
false face. and that all escaped unin ‘
juled. but I had to have out words. .
thought von ’11 11111.. $4111 213.! 1 gin. '
THE MOST STYLISH HATS.
Shapes that Must be but to Practice 5‘
Good ' Eflcct. )
(BySpecial Arrangement'withrhn N. " ' a.
The least that can be'said of hats
this season is enough, for anyt'
very pretty has not put in an upmar-
ance. The milliners give as a reason
for this that we are to have a decided
change in shapes. The old English
walking hat is to be brought on 1' ;:.;.~a in
in a moderniied edition, which is
either very stunning or very ugly ac-
cording as it suits the face under-
neath. The crown is of medium
height, the brim rather narrow, curv-
ing a little on either side, and the
trimming is cox feathers, paradise or
ostrich plumes, spreading away on
each side from a wide 'bow or buckle
in front. Silk hats in colors are seen,
but the Amazon shape seems to lead
in these. One of the, few hats which
- m.
.1“...
are pretty is a black felt with a round,
medium brim, trimmed with two ro-
settes of moss-green velvet and a clus-
ter of feathers on one side, two to-
settes of cream lace on the other, with
jet ornaments in the centre and some
satin.
prettily twisted black
The high, rather pointed crowns and
wide brims, rolled a little on one side,
trimmed with many plumes 1. ad showy
buckles, are some of the latest shapes
which are becoming to very few. no
men. These large hats vary in the
'height of the crown and the width of
the brim, which rolls more or less at
the side as you wish, but the Madonna
face which makes them a success is
the exception; so the low-crowned,
medium-brimmed hats are quite as
fashionable and not nearly so trying
in shape. The felt hats in green, blue,
black and brown are very nice, and
all the necessary height is. given in
the trimming of feathers, wings and
ruches of ribbon or velvet. .Velvet
hats of all colors and shapes are to be
very much worn, and the small hon.
net shapes are prettily trimmed with
fur tails, cream lace and jewelled or-
naments.
One very pretty toque is of black
and green velvet, with a. soft, full rim
and trimmed with cream lace and
steel buttons. Another toque is of
green velvet trimmed with lace and
pink roses. The Trianon shape, which
has an undulating brim, is shown in
mauve velvet of two shades, woven
together like basket work, for the
crown, the darker shade of velvet for
the rim, and trimmed with violets and
lavender crepe. Pink, yellow, Empire,
green and violet velvet bonnets are
made for evening wear, with glitter.
ing ornaments for a finish, with flow.
ers or feathers, and there are all sorts
of toques in capote shape, without any
strings. Shaded velvet Chrysanthe‘
mums in purple, violet and pink, with
the green leaves, are a fashionable hat
trimming, and feathers are sometimes
arranged in front like a crest. Louis
XV. hats, with narrow brims turned
up, are worn, and among the imported
novelties are hats of leather, which
are recommended for cyclists, except
those of white kid, which are .to be
worn for calling and on other dressy
occasions.
For Very Little People.
Small girls have coats of pink,
white, ecru, and blue corded silk, and
they are trimmed with fur and lace.
The collars are I0 large that they have
the appearance of a cape, and are
trimmed with fur and lace, and pretty
little muffs are made of silk and fur
to match. Large bonnets shirred in
around the head with a. wide-flaring
frill in front, which gives them the
effect of a poke, are made like the
cloak, with a band of fur around the
crown and on the cape, and a full
ruche of lace set in around the face.
Black velvet is also used for these
cloaks. lined with a. color and trimmed
with ermine. -
Very small boys have similar gar
ments made of white ribbed vel-
veteen and vicuna cloth cc‘ difgerent
colors, which are quite as suitable for
the little maidens. One of the mod-
els shown is a. full blouse mounted on
a. yoke of the velveteen trimmed with
guipure lace, and a. second one is of
cloth made with a. short waist, and
skirt gathered on. Long stole plaits,
which may be of silk or cloth, extend
down the front on either side, and
narrow velvet ribbon and cream lace
Ire {hefl trimming.’
——~W.” UM F!- M. 1' ‘1.
.. .._.'_..____._..‘
AMERICA’S CHAMPION HUNTER
She is Owned by Mrs. s. s. Rowland. and
is 3 Venus Among Hunters.
Lady Bird, the wonderful hunter ,
owned by Mrs. S. S. Howland of Mt.
Morris, N. Y., has won five champion-
ships. twenty first prizes, seven second
prizes and four third. In her class
Lady Bird is the most extraordinary,
horse in America. She. is a. middle
weight hunter, which means she must
be able 'to- carry from 165 to 190
pounds to hounds. She was bred in
Canada and schooled for the high tim«
ber fences, which are characteristic
of the hunting in this country as op-
posed to the low, broad style of jumpsin
England. Lady Bird is therefore a per-
fect type of what is distinctively the
Not only is she an
American hunter.
TAKING A FIVE RAIL FENCE.
exceptionally beautiful animal, with
the all-proper curves and the most ap
proved design of legs, but she demon-
strates why it is good to be such at
Venus among horses. The strength
which her perfection of shape gives
her and the courage she gets from her
sire, the thoroughbred Sharp Catcher,
has made her one of the highest-jump
ing horses in the world, although she
has never been trained as a high
jumping machine nor pushed to her
limit. Lady Bird has competed in a
score of horse shows and has won in-
numerable ribbons.
Lady Bird has not only established a
record as a prize-winner, but she is one
of the most popular horses ever ex-
hibited. Her head is singularly hand-
some and intelligent Women almost
fall in love 'with her. Not a single
fault can be found with her form or
features.
FUN FOR THE SERIOUS.
Kleptomania is rated to be, by all
odds, the most lucrative form of in-
sanity—Lampoon.
When a man goes to live in the top
of a six-story flat it is all up with him.
~Binghamton Republican.
“This is a hard set,” as the hen said
when she was trying to hatch a porcc- '
lain egg—Boston Bulletin.
Everything depends on early train-
ing. A rope gets tight because that’s
the way it is taut—Yonkers States-
man.
There is' really no tangible objection
to violently plaid trousers except that
they keep one constantly wondering-
whose move it is.—Washington Post.
The Nile river at present is very
low. Serious results are feared as it
is confined to its be and unable to
rise—Baltimore American. .
The expression of the mouth in art
really constitutes the picture. In oth-
er relations of life more depends on
the expression of the tongue.—Phila<
delphia Times.
“Yes,” said he, reflectively, “I was
at the races.” And then, with a sol-
emn minor tone, he continued: “Do
you remember that Enchanted Horse
in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ that used to
fly about a mile a minute? Well, if I
were to bet on that horse, he would
fall down and let a cow beat him.”-—
Cincinnati Enquirer.
A PARIS SUGGESTION.
'1'... “11191111 Bachelor,
“Why." asked the sweet Young
Thing, “why do they say that love is
of the heart?”
“To show,” said the Doleful Bache«
lor,”.to show that the brains have noth
ing to do with it.”—Indianapolis Jour-
nal.
Undergoing Repairs.
Lilli (at a soiree, whispering)—What
has become of Aunt Lucie’s habitual
smile? ‘
Erna—It is at the dentist’s.—Tid E
Bits.
.' '.”."".<‘--" -i.‘. 1 ." *7- area/1w *9"va
Norwalk Chronicler