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STORY OF A CAMERA.
“Well, old fellow, I wish. you joy,”
said Huntly Johnson when his friend,
Dick Beaufort, after the fashion of the
newly accepted lover, had finished a
panegyric in praise of his lady love.
Dick Beaufort and Huntly Johnson
were bosom friends; as young lawyers
they occupied the same chambers in the
city, and had never in their lives had a
serious quarrel.
“Don’t you think she is quite the love-
liest girl 1n London, Huntly?” continued
Beau fort, a1 dently.
“Yes, old man,” replied his friend,
“I think she is much better looking than
that celebrated actress, Kitty Haw-
thorne, ’whom yon—er—well, were
rather sweet on, don’t you know?”
“I certainly did make a fool of myself
over that girl, but that was some time
ago. I hope Dorothy has never heard
about it. You know, she is just a little
bit jc alous, ” said Dick Beaufort, a trifle
uneasily.
“Yes, I believe
said his friend.
“How 1n the wo1. .d can you know any-
thing about it, old chap?’ said Beaufort
rather surprised; “but Ihave heard that
you were rather gone 011 her yourself not
long ago, and, in fact, that you proposed
to her, eh?” ‘
“Perhaps I did,” said Johnson, staring
hard at the ceiling.
“Well I no going out this evening
Sorry I can? it ask you to come with me.
Hope you’ll enjoy yourself, old man.”
“I dare say I shah, ” responded J ohn-
son, trying to force a smile. “I thinkI
know where you are going; at any rate,
it isnowhere where an old bachelor like
myself is wanted.”
The door banged, and Huntly Johnson
was left alone to his thoughts, which
she is rather jealous,”
\were not of the most pleasing char-
acter.
“So she has jilth me and accepted
Dick Beaufort; has she?” soliloquized
the young man. “Well, I always
thought that I was rather more of a
favorite with the girls than he, but then
he is so jolly handsome.” He thought
for some time, and. .as he pondered his
face grew darker and da1ke1. “N o ” he
suddenly shouted, “he shan’t marry her;
though he is myg
knows I love her more than I do him.
But how can I prevent it?" He thought
again for some time, and then murmured
to himself, softly: “I know. What is
the good of a hobby if one does not use
it for practical purposes?” .
It must here be explained that Huntly
Johnson was an exceedingly successful
amatetu photog1apher, and he had some
time ago learned to do what is called in
the phmseology of the photog1apl1er,..
This consists in '
printing (lifierent pictures on the paper ‘
“double printing.”
by means of using two distinct nega-
tives.
a snap shot of Dick Beaufort kissing his
sister some time back, which Miss Far- '
quhar had not seen; he had also taken a
photo of Kittie Hawthorne.
He now proposed to print Kittie Haw- '
thorne’s face instead of Miss Beaufort’s '
into the photograph, and as the two girls
were of similar size and build, the pho-
tograph would appear to represent Dick
embracing Kitte. Hawthorne. If Dor-
othy were to see this photograph, J ohn-
son refiected that she would probably
break off her engagementqwith. Dick
photograph would be carefully dated
some days after her bet1othal. It was,
a mean trick to play any man, and ’
Huntly Johnson felt more. than ever
ashamed of himself for acting in sucha
dishonorable manner toward his old
friend. But he was of a very firm na-
ture, and had determined that by fair
means or foul he would p1 event the mar-
flazo. 1 ‘ ’ , .
' '1 no next morning Johnson went to his
dark “room and, bringing out the two
negatives, succeeded,.by means of the
process before described. iii producing
the desired result. He chuckled to him-
self when he thought of the effect which
it would have on Dorothy Farquhar, but
his pleasure was considerably lessened
when he pictured to himself the'pain
which he would cause a- friend who had
always acted nobly toward him.
As Dick Beaufort was going out that
evening Johnson asked him if he thought
Miss Farquhar would care to come in on
a certain date which he mentioned and
look over some photos which he had
taken recently. Dick Beaufort knew
that 'Dorothy, who took what is called a
"sisterly interest” :in Huntly Johnson
would be pleased to come, especially as
she tooka g1eat interest in photography
herself, so he replied:
“Certainly, old fellow, I’ll give her
your message.
doubt you two will be quite interested
discussing photography.”
Johnson thought it just as well that
Dick should be out on that particular
date, and he quite agreed with his friend
that Dorothy Farquhar and he’would be
very much interestedt—Tperhaps painfully
so as to one party.
Huntley Johnson had all his latest
ph‘tographs in readiness on the day in
question, and as he heard the knock at
the door which announced Miss
Farquhar’ s arrival, he placed a. certain
photograph on the table in a fairly con-
spicuous place.
Johnson forgot all about Dick and the
shabby t1ick he was playing him as he
talked to this charming gill.
“What lovely photographs you take,
Mr. Johnson. I really think they are
better than those of many professionals,
the portraits are so extlemely life-like.
Now, this one of— Oh! Mr. Johnson,
whatever is thisP-Dick, and—and an
actress; taken yesterday, too! Oh, it
can’t be my Dick. "
The 11001 giil sank into a chair, and it
was only Johnson 8 p1 csencc which re-
strained her flom cr yinv. .
F01 the lust time Huntly Johnson
felt sincerely sorry for her, but be real-
hed that he had put his hand to the
plough, and that he could not now turn
Mk.
“I_—er-——that' 1s, 1 really am very sor-
greatest friend. God.
Now, Huntly Johnson had taken ‘
I’m sorry that I have an ‘5
engagement on the 15th, but I have no *
M’ ,
I By this time no: Ferquhar'heing I
very self possessed girl, had quite recov-
ered herself.
“Will you be so good asto give me a
' sheet of note paper'and-a pen, Mr. J 0hr-
lon?” she said, coldly.
l “Certainly. Can I be of any use to
you in any other way, Miss Far
‘ quhar." ' ~
| “No, thank you. I merely wish to
’ write M1. Beaufort a short note,” re-
'turned the girl.
She sat down, though Johnson could
see she was still very much affected,
wrote on b1 avely fora. few minutes; then
' she handed the note to Huntly Johnson,
requesting him to give it to Mr. Beau-
fort, and bidding him a good afternoon
left the house with a firm determination
never to return to it.
Presently Dick entered the room. “Oh,
I thought 1 should arrive before she
left,” he said, in a rather disappointed
tone. “A note from her, though. How
awfully nice of her to write.”
Huntly Johnson was seized with a
sudden fear lest Dorothy might have be-
trayed' him in the note she had written
to him.
“Whatever is this?” shouted Beaufort,
as he glanced over the first line of the
note.
“Look he1 c, Huntly, ” cried the young
man, clutching hold of his friend’s arm.
“what can she mean by writing about
‘faithlessness,’ ‘love for another woman,
etc.?’ Look at the note, man.”
Huntly’s face turned ghastly white as
he took the letter from the other’s trem-
bling hand, but as he read on he looked
more relieved.
“I’m afraid she means to give you up,
old man. She said nothing to me about
it, though I should go and see her if I
were you; there is evidently some mis-
understanding.’ ”
Johnson knew he was quite safe in
saying that niuch, as he felt sure Doro-
; thy would 1efuse to see Dick. At any
I rate, it would gethim out of the way for
I time.
.“By Jove, I think I will,” said Beau-
fort, slightly cheered by this suggestion:
and rushng out of the room he made his
way to Dorothy’s house which was not
far distant.
Looking at his watch, he found it
was still early in the evening, and he
felt quite certain of seeing his ladylove
and explaining everything there and
then. 011 inquiring for Miss Farquhar,
Beaufort was informed that she was en-
gaged and could see him on no pretext
whatevei.
“Tell her that I must see her.
a matte1 of importance.’
But the servant merely repeated her
message, and would not even agree to
take MissBeaufort'a small note; scrib-
bled on half a sheetof note paper.
“Miss Beaufort said that she would
see you on no account whatever, sir,”
was all that the maid would say.
l The door shut in Dick Beaufort’s face
and hegasleft alone on. the doorstep.
He remained there thunderstruck for a
3 few minutes and then slowly walked on,
wondering what on earth had given rise
to Dorothy’s unfair accusations. Was
it likely that when he had gained the
love of a creature little short of an an-
gel in his estimation he would be trying
to do the same thing with another
woman?
Some one must have been giving her
It is
, . .. false information about him, that was
Beaufort immediately, especially as the ..
certain. But who could be the culprit?
Probably one of her admire rs, who was
jealous of, his success. Could it be
Huntly Johnson? The thought chased
itself quickly through his brain and left
it as speedily as it had entered. No; it
Was an ungenerous thought. He felt
certain that his old friend t,would be in-
capable of such an action.
i Huntly Johnson was in his cwn s1 .tmg
room as Dick entered the house; '
! “She won’t even see me,” the latter
cried, throwing open the door, breathless
with. excitement;
Huntly? I’ve done'nothing to deserve
hei thlowing me ove1 like this. I think-
some cad must have been telling her
lies about me.’
Huntly Johnson winced at this, but,
luckily foi him, Beaufort did not notice
it. Beaufort walked to the table and
’ began absently to turn over some phot-
ographs which were lying there. Sud-
denl'y the other saw him sta1t as he took
up a photogmph in his han';d Johnson
made a clutch at it, but was too late.
“Johnson, what does this mean?”
shouted the young man. “A photo-
graph of me kissing Kitty Hawthorne!
Impossible! I never did such a thing in
my life.” ‘
i Suddenly. his former suspicion, that
Johnson was the cause of all this
9 trouble, 1eturned to him.
“Johnson don’t deny it,” he said,
“confess that you did this out of spite
because I was going to marry Dorothy
Farquhar.”
An explanation ensued. Johnson'was
certainly subdued and humiliated by
Dick Beaufort’s kindness. I-Ie oifered to
make the only amends in his power,
namely, to go to Dorothy’s house and
confess everything. At first, in an-
swer to his knock, a message was re
turned that Miss Farquhar was engaged
and refused to see him, but by dint of
: perseverance he was at last allowed to
enter. Dorothy at first treated him
coldly, but on learning the object of his
visit she reproached him bitteily for his
duplicity, but gradually began to take
a more lenient view of his conduct and
at last forgave him.
a 4': e:-
96 ‘36
Huntly Johnson returned home some-
what sad, but happier than he had been
for several days. Dick Beaufort and
Dorothy were married three months
later, and thus ended “The story of a
camera.”—Tithits.
Oliver McMooney, an electiical en-
gineer of Rochester, has won the Fleet.
bury gold medal for the most notable
electrical invention by a citizen of that
city for the year 1894. It was awarded
to him for his t‘electro-magnetic egg
colossilier." by means of which the or-
dinary hen 8 egg is made to glow £10m
three to five times its natural size. The
eggs thus treated are of delicious #273:
; l '
w 11‘. K Ly
-of the desert down below
“isn’t it a shame, .
SIGN OF'THE ARROW
“The beginnin’ of it all happened nigh
on to twenty years ago,” he resumed in
response to our request for the story,
“one time when I’d been out prospectin’
’round about San Felippe, and was on
my way for more grub and powder and a
new outfit of tools. It was a. sizzlin’ hot
September afternoon, and I was takin’ it
kind of easy haviu’ nothiu’ much to hur‘
ry me, and was joggin’ along on my
mule just fast enough to keep my pack
burro movin’ ahead of me.
“I was gazin’ up in the air, shadin’ my
eyes as best I could, to find how much
the sun had dropped since I’d looked
last, when I see ’way up above the trail,
half a mile ahead, what at first sight-
with my eyes bein’ dazzled—I took for a
little floatin’ cloud. Then, next minute
when I see it sailin’ ’round in a circle.
and each time it made a round droppin’
a little lower, I knew it wa’n’t no cloud,
but a bird, just one of them big Califor-
nia vultures. 9 feet from tip to tip of his
wings if he was an inch.
“All to once the pack burro pricked
her ears out forward, snorted and crowd-
ed ’round back 011 the trail, and my
mule got to tremblin’ and come to a dead
stop. I hollered to the jenny and headed
her off, as she was stampedin’ back the
way we’d come, and when I’d got her
cornered in among some rocks, I hitched
hcl‘ and the mule short up to a b‘owlder
and walked back to see what had scared
’em.
“I didn’t wonder they was rattled
when I seen what it was. There, lying
sprawled out on his back across the
trail, shot through the head, was a man
with his face t.ur1.1edup to the sun.
“I see just in a minute who the man
was lyin’ there, he havin’ been pretty
well known in them parts, and havin’ a
scarred, scowlin’ kind of face, which you
didn’t have to see more’ 11 once to recol-
lect it.
Him and his brother’d lived for the past
five years up in among the piuon timber,
way back on the upper slope of the same
range of hills, alongside of which I was
traveliu’, and there wa’n’t but few men
between the Colorado and \Vbite Water
as could speak of ’em even without get-
tiu’ mad clean through, though they
didn’t care much to meddle with ’em
really, bein’ moStly'just godd, long dis-
tancetalkers. One brother-”d been killed
the spring before, while actin’ sort of
fresh at an Indian fiesta, and . now here
was the other laid out, too.
“There’d been somethin’ of a mystery
about them two brothers, but more ’spe-
cially about the four or five men who’d
gone up different times 11e111 thcii cabin,
and neve1’d been afterw axd anyways
hvard from. Then, too, they’d been
considerable conjecturin’ as to them
brothers bein’ the ones what had got
clean off with a good many express
boxes and mail sacks from the d'esert
stage line, and if they was. as to what
they’d ever done with the coin and bul-
lion they must have collected. They
never was known to spend nothin’ and
so it was generally allowed they must
have it all on hand cached somewheres.
“Havin’ all these ideas runnin’ through
my head, and bein’ though you mightn’t
think it, naturally curious minded and
willin’ totake no end of trouble to— find.
mhbout things, no matter how trifiln’,
which I didn’t know and took interest in,
u I stobd there with the shadow of the
vulture movin’ like a‘ little cloud over
the sand—~he not seemin" half so much
scared at me bein’ there as I’d been ex-
pectln’ and sort of wished he had—I got
5. ponderin’ and plannin’.
“ \Vhy ,not,’ says I to myself, ‘go on up
to the cabin among the pinons and exam-
ine into things up there, now there’s no-
‘body to hinder?”
“Havi11’t=concluded I’d make the trip, I
didn’t waste no time in startin’ , and, by
hustling along pretty lively I managed
to round up at the cabin a little after
lundown. It seemed a gloomy kind of
place to stop at, looking a long ways dis-
maler than the bare, hot sand and rocks
Nothin’ all
around but~a low, scatterin’ growth of
,scrubby piuons, just thick enough to
shut out the view any way you’d look.
There was a low, two roomed cabin, with
the mud all droppin’ out of the chinks
a d the bark peelin’ off thelogs; 'abrush'
shed for stock and a little shake granary,
o 0 leather hinge.
“Havin unsaddled and taken elf the
pack and turned the animals loose to
plck up what food they could, I didn’t
wait to get supper, but started right In
iiuspectiu’ the premises. There was a
room in each end of the cabin,~ with an
open space between ’em, just covered in
train the weather by the roof, and some
shakes nailed up across the north side
to keep out the worst of the wind. Here
the only furnishin’ was a three legged
,stool, an old saddletree and a stirrup
leather hung up on pegs, a broken piece
of lookiu’ glass and a ragged, moth eaten
coyote skin tacked on the wall.
“I was gettin’ discouraged and tired
and hungry, and was just leavin’ to start
up a fire and get supper when I lowered
my candle to look u11de1 the bunks, as a
sort of finisbiu’ up for the night of my
examination, and there, under one of
’em,I seen. big board box, painted red
and bound with rusty hoop iron. 'l‘henl
forgot all about eatiu’ , and my cu1iosity
g- -t to wm L111 right away. I set the can
die down 011 the floor, and, after consid-
erable tuggiu’, got the box slid out to
where I could get at it. The lock was
gone all but the hasp and the lid was
only fastened down with a hair rupee
lashin’. I unhitched that in just 110 time
at all au’ took off the top of the box, bein‘
all of a tremble with excitement.
“At first sight of the contents I was
considerable disappointed. Aside from
some rusty iron junk in the bottom of
the box there was just a lot of old flannel
shirts and a faded canvas (:1 at wrapped
r uud a five pound baking powder can.
I. side the can there was a plecc of run-
cherla tanned buckskin, done up in a
roll. I was puttin’ this back again, feel-
in’ discouraged all through, when I see
tberewus some blurry lines and letters
drawn on it in ink, and I uurolied it near
the candle to have a better look. It was
meant for a map plain slough, but of
want, first along, I couldn’t make out.
“I qult looking out lor anything else
that. night, and afterl'd got supper put
In my time puzmiu’ away at the meanin’
of the map and went to sleep still puz-
lllu’ .
“111 the mornin’ first thing 1 Sta: ted in
a. ain, and then, in :1 flash, the whole
thing come to me. ‘ Everything seemed
so plain I just woudeied then I hadn’t
e 11 it all at first sight. "I" “(.13 Torrol
S itiou and 'W W’ While W- :uer, and.
the crook..- deluded line was the hills bar
d ring on the desert, betu‘ son the two
places, I’d known the whole touutry
\\ ith- a warped door hanging askew on'
:1 enchants lin- yeurs and. recoguiled
N (1' R? w,_ A I K’ i 5
l
where they’d tried to set 'em out on the
map. Then I see the little red cross was
‘ just meant to locate the rock, with the
' off, he bein’ a professional,
arrow and the figures marked on it. Now
I was on the right trail it didn’t take me
long to Work it all out. I seen the whole
Icheme and the idea of the map and the
blood just rushed to my head as I took
it all in. Under that there rick was the
coin and the bullion which folks had been
co'njecturiu.’ about; ‘9’ meant nine feet
out from the arrow pointed down, and
‘3’ meant three feet deep in the ground.
Thdt was where the plunder was.
“Well, as you can easy u11de1-,stand I
didn’t waste much time once I’d struck
thislead in startiu’ in to realize, and I
Went stumbling down that trail from
the cabin at a gait which astonished the
mule and worried the jenny considera-
ble.‘ But findin’ treasury on a map and
locatin’ it on the ground I soon see was
two very different things. I’d workedon
the first proposition all right enough,
but when I’d tackled the second I found
I had a bigger contract on my hands than
I’d been calculating on.
trouble 111 hittln’ on the rlncon, marked
by the 1cd' 111k cross, but there was ledges
and rocky blufi‘s for miles each way, and
though I put in a week huntiu’ for that
big rock with the sign of the arrow, I
wasn’t any wiser w hen I quit than when ‘
I started in, and at last I give 111" beat
and went in off the desert for the Winter.
“Now, though I’d give up, it was only
for the time bein’ . and I still kept the
map with me wherever I we11t,1neanin’
some day to go back; b11..o11e thing after
anothei kept comin’ up to hindei, and it
was nigh onto three years befoie ever I
set foot in that 1incou again.
“My next trip there come about this
way. ‘Early one May afternoon I got in-
to the \Vhite \Vater station and feund a
fat man, with a long, curly beard and a
euciable sort of way with him, monkeyin’
with some little rolled up papers just
outside the brush porch in front He
said they were photographs he was dryins
hired—so he
claimed—by some concern to make pict-
111 es of anything remarkable he run
against LlOWI) in that country. He wa’n’t
no ways p111 ticular what he photograph-
ed—so it leoked to meé-for he made a
point of takin’ a picture of me and my
mule and the .burro quick we’d got in,
and that led up to our gettin’ tolerable
filendly light away.
“He begun sp1eadin’ out his pictures,
and I stood by talkin’ and lookin’ ’em
over kind of ca1eless like, till he give me
one of a big palm tree, growiu’ just in
front of a steep, rocky bluff. Then I
stopped short in the middle of what I
was sayin’, and for a minute couldn’t
speak, I was so dumb founded, for on that
l
111‘ :4:
meme HAUOK’SDEBU r.
Thom Doun- Recalls Her 1‘11 st Ven-
ture on the SM -.~n ,
Minnie Hauck, the falllfl'ls
donna,'has written the follmxfm'
teresting account of her firs: .131; .: --
ance on the stage. She is new 15v 1 .,
{21‘ i 11‘. .1-
' a retired life in Germany, for 1161""
' of vecal triumph are over.
I hadn’t no.
rock in the picture, staudiu’ out plain;
among the clevagc lines, >was the:
figure of an arrow pointing to the
ground.
“I give a gasp, and the photographer
looked up surprised, inquiriu’ What the
matter was. \Vhen I asked him he de-
scribed tbe place where he took the pict'
are the best way he could, and before
ever he’d got half through I see plain
enough he was speakin’ of' the rincon
marked by the little red ink cross 011 the
map. I must have been by that samg.
ledge at least half a dozen times without
ever seein’ the arrow bein’ as it was all
.mix (I up with the weather cracks and
Criss dress lines on the rocks. I pointed
out an arrow, which he’d no notion of
bein’ there till I showed it to him, and
then he seemed pretty near as much sur-
prised as I was, and asked no end of
questions about what I knew bearin’ on
the subject. ~
"Beiu’ sort of unstruug with excite-
ment, and he seemiu’ terrible friendly
and interested, and the sort of man gen-
erally you could tie to and trust in, and
me bein’ naturally, perhaps, over con-
fidin’, I started right in and give him the
whole business, windin’ up by showin’
him the map. Finally it came to this:
He agreed to take me"round to the rocks I '
in the mornin’ early in a, light pole bucks
board he was travelin! about the country
in—it bein’ a trip of only ten or twelve
miles from where he _ was talkin’éand 1
we was to divide even up what We found ' '
we both of us allowin’ th‘ere’d
from all. accounts, more’ 11
there,
ought to be,
enough ‘1‘ .r two. : .
“I “as up before daylight—the moon -
just goin.’ down—potterin’ round to get
things 1eady for an early stait, and was
some surpnsed not to find the photo-
grapher’ s sorrel team tied up alongside
my mule when I went into the stable
shed to feed him, where I’d seen ’em
night before. Then I noticed, with a. sort
of misgivin’, that there wa’nt no sign of
the buckboard, which I’d last seen stand-
in’ out in front. Pretty quick the hustler
come out, rubbin’ his eyes and pickin’ out
straws from his hair, and when I asked
about the SUI‘I‘Blfl and the buckboard, he
said the photo-grapbcr’d hitched up and
pulled out night before, just after I’d
turned in. 1
“Well.of course,I seen then right away ‘
how it Was. That fat,.sociable, photo-
grapbiu’ scut had just gone off on the
quiet to rake in the plunder for himself,
not w antiu‘ no dividiu’ when he’d struck
a good thing
“Naturally I saddled up right away and
went ofl on a lope, hopin’ to strike the
rincon before he’ got away, and try ’11-
make his stay there interestmg for him;
' but he had too much the start, and when .1
- 19. Lehman.
at last I saw the 1001: with the palm tree ‘
in front, there was the mark of the arrow
plain encugh, and I knew where to look.
there Was nothin’ else left of what I’d
been plannin’ and dreamin’ about all
them years but a new hole in the ground,
two stove in express boxes and a dull col-
ored twenty lyiu’ on the new dug dirt,
where he’ d dropped and overlooked it in l
his hurry to make his clear up and get
well away.
“I was so Sort of worked up and death- !
1y disappointed, and mad all through,
that when a little dickey bixd roostiu’ on I
some brush near the palm commenced
warblin’ like he was celebratin’ my being
d011e up thatway-”
“Do'ubt.ess Melospiza Fasciata Fallax.
35 cents,” interposed the
Naturalist. ‘-
“Like enough,” continued Calkinl.
“Well, his warblin’ riled me that much
that before I’d .thought—havin’ nothin’
else handy—I’d hove the twenty a; bill,
I
, and couldn’t find it afterward.
l
i
“I made inquiries for that insinuatin'
photo-graphcr,‘longin’ to see him again,
if only just once, but I never learned
nothing’ about him or the treasure.
“That’s my story, gen’lcmen,” con~
eluded Ca‘kins, rising. ‘It’s getting
late, and I. reckon I’ll turn. i:1.”—Sau
Francisco Argonaut.
The Second Blow.
, latest
' sleeve. ,
' challie, or linen.
and 4'18
looks back with special pride 10- 1:.e
first faltering steps in her ‘long and
successful career. She writes:
“I was just about six years old who
I made my first appearance on the
stage. This was in Kansas City,
where I was then living with my
mother in one of the peculiar hotels
of that time. To-day Kansas City is
a town of 200,000 inhabitants. in
those days it was a village, with many
of the characteristics of a backwoods
town.
stopping, all the theatrical companies
WGI‘e wont to come and it was an oc—
casion of intense pleasule for me to
sit at the long dining table and listen
to the conversation of 0the actor folk
(if that time.
“So when I was about six years old
there came to Kansas City a. company
of actors who had arranged to give a
performance of a. popular play called
“The Golden Farmer.”é In this play
there was a part for a child of six. It
was rather long and full of sentiment.
It so happened that while we were sit-
ting at the table the director turned
to my mother and told her that the
play would probably not be produced
that night as the little girl cast for the
child’s part. had been taken ill. I
can’t tell what prompted me to speak
but I begged the director to let me act
asasubstltute. He told me it was im-
possible as it had taken weeks to train
the other child and he felt certain that
I could not learn the words in, the few
hours left before the curtain went up.
I begged so piteously that he finally
consented to let .me make a trial of it.
"For two hours I went through the
part in the hotel parlor and when the
curtain finally went up on the play
and the one came for me to go on. all
' nervousness .left me and I acted the
part with the feeling of an adept.
"I was. called before the curtain four
times ,and made a tremendous hit. The
director begged my mother to let me
travel with the company, .but she re-
fused, and that night I remember when
I went to bed I put my arms around
her neck and whispered ‘I will go on
the ',stage mother, and become a great
actress.’ Since then I have appeared
many times before the public in all
the great capitals of the world, but I
can never forget the happiness that
followed upon the heels of that first
LllLanh."
In the hotel at which we were =
’ JEWELS OF THE GOVERNMENT.
'Preclons stories In Store In the Treasury
Vaults at Washington.
At Washington, in the bond vault of
'. the treasury; is a great store of dlas
monds and other precious stones that
belong to nobody. Most of them have
been in the custody of the ofiicials for
about sixty years, but some of the
gems have been there much longer, and
their history rests mainly on hazy tra—p
dition.
There is a bottle four or five inches
long filled with diamonds, there are
various other loose stones, and there
are many set in gold ornaments. The
value of the whole lot is variously
estimated, the computations ranging
from $50, 000 to $100, 000.
Most of these gems were sent as a
presentto President Van Buren by the
Imaum of Muscat in 1839. This Asian
potentate conceived the idea that he
had received some service from this
country, and this Was his way of are
knowledging his obligation. President
. Van Buren could not accept them, for
there is a clause in the constitution
forbidding any person connected with
the government from accepting any
present or decoration from any foreign
power or ruler. I
But the Oriental’s present could not-
be returned; he would look upon that
as an insult. So at last the jeWels.
were turned over to the treasury to
keep till something was done about
them, and nothing has ever been done.
In similar ways has the entire col-
lection accumulatedeings and Princ~
es are frequently not as familiar with
the constitution of the United States
as they should be, and government om.-
cers of various grades have sent here
gifts they have received, and found it
inconvenientto return and impossible
to keep. '
In the bond vault they must remain .
till Congress “takes action” on their
situation. ' '
Birds Made to oi-‘der.
The. Japanese are ruthless in their
tampering with nature. If they de-
cide that they want a bird or an ani-
mal of a certain shape or color they
set about manufacturing the article,
so to speak, by: the exercise of exceed-
ingly clever. ingenuity and untiring
patience. Here, for example, is how
the white sparrows are produced. They
select a pair of grayish birds and keep -
:hem in a white cage in-a. white room,
Lilllle they are attended by a person
dressed in white. The mental effect
on a series of generations of birds
results in completely white birds.—
Rural World.
i r
l
o
Hump: 1H
n15
Irnrtmmv “
BLACK AND WHITE SUMMER GOWN FROM HARPER’S BAZAR
Black and White Summer Gown. .
A summer gown in'tbe black and
white effect so popular in Paris is
‘ quaint in many little ways, the bodice
being particularly noticeable for the
novelty—~the old-time under-
New styles of contrasting
slechs will be much favored as the
season advances.
The material of the grown is white
taffeta patterned with black polka dots
in g1 oups of three, though the design
may be more simply made of foulard,
The model is an ad-
vantageous one for refurbishing an Old
gown. ._ The rufiied skirt with flounces
reaching to the waist has the new six-
gored foundation skirt, three a 6. one-
Counsel—\Véll, after the prisoner gave half yards Wlde at the f0“ Double—
you a blow, what‘ happened?
ProSecutor—He gave me a third one.
Counsel—You men: a securl'd one.
Prosecutor—No, in, I landed hill" t"
”and cup!
quillings of black silk muslin border
. . each fiounce, as well as the full rufiles
of the waist and the puffed caps which
surmount the sleeves. The pointed
1'”
was
neCk, edged back and front with; a
band of fine tucks in black muslin. -
shows a full guimpe of sheer white silk
lawn, which forms also the lower part
of the bodice. The transparent under- ‘
sleeves, passing under ruffled caps, are ‘
finished at the wrist with-a pointed
cult of tucked black muslin and a foll
frill of lawn. Narrow velvet bands pass .
over the shoulders, back and front,
joined by small knots with many loops.
The collar :-'s plainly draped, and the
waist is encircled by a velvet ribbon
drawn through a pea1l buckle. T-he
,propei cut of the gown can be obtained
only from the patterns published by"
Harper’s Bazar, where it appears. '
Approximate quantity of material for
gown; Silk for lining, 14 yards; taffeta:
silk for fiounces and waist, 14 yards;
black muslin, 5 yards; lawn,21}yards;
velvet ribbon,2yarde; ‘ ' ,, 1;;
Norwalk Chronicler