Evening gazette, Saturday, September 5, 1896 · page 2

 

 

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"“' SinceI was not too well ofi, either. GOWNS WORTH seamen , = MA'RRV'mNG Fro“ HOME’ .- ééé—ééééééé :——‘ éééiéééé

ON HIS BLINDN ESS.
When I consider how-my light is spent

half my days. in this dark world and to have come in for.

. wi e, . _
And that one talent whic , is death to hide
Lodged with, me usele 3, though my soul
more bent. ‘
‘To serve th erewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“ Doth God exact day-labor. light denied?”
2 fondly ask. _ But patience. to prevent '-
That murmur, soon replied: “God doth not
need '
Either man's work, or His gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve him best; His
state -
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest,
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
., -‘—John Milton.

A CASE, OF LUCK.

Charley Wiburn and I are cousins,
but somehow I scarcely seemed to be-
long to the family at all. We had no
end of relatives, and he was a general
favorite with all, even some he had
never seen, for they would die and leave
him legacies. He was constantly get<
ting some little “windfall” of this kind,
until at length “Charley Wiburn’s
luck” became a general catchword
among us—a synonyme for all that was
lucky and fortunate.

. One morning at breakfast—we were
artists and shared the same rooms and
studio—he received a black edged let-
ter, which, upon opening and reading,
he cast down ‘ with a discontented
100k .

“Another funeral to go to,” he grum-
bled, “and here are my pictures unfin-
ished, and next week is sending in
day.”

“Who is it now?” I asked.
legacy, I suppose, eh?”

“Very likely,” he returned indiffer-
ently. “It’s Uncle Alexander Stephen.
Did you know him?”

Ishook ‘my head. “Have heard of
him; never saw him,” I said.

“I hardly knew him myself,” Charley
explained, “at least, not since I was a
boy. lt’s a rare bother, this, coming
just now. Such a tiresome ride into the
country. .I say Jack, you have done
your pictures, and have nothing to do
for a spell—couldn’t you go there for
me?”

“What, in your name?” I exclaimed.

“Yes; why not? It’s years since I was
among any of the set. This letter is
from Mr. Parchly, the solicitor . of the
will, I suppose. He doesn't know me.

 

‘ ‘An other

~- You are Jack Wiburn—it’s only a. differ-

ence of Christian name, and it’s allin
the family, you know. ” .

To cut the matter short, I had to con-
sent, as I generally did where Charley
was concerned. ‘

I took the lawyer’s letter as a sort of
credential, .and set out, grumbling a
good deal at what I considered Char-
ley’s “cheek” in thus making use of me.
IfI had'finished up my work before he
had it was only because I had worked
at it more constantly, and now, instead
of reaping the advantage in the shape of
aafew days? rest he made it an excuse
for sending me off on a lugubrious mis-
sion like this. and Charley would, no
doubt, have a good legacy, too, out of
it. '

“I don’t suppose it’s much,” he said
to me. “Perhaps one or two hundred—
hardly worth going down for, you
know.”

So I had to go—with no legacy in
view at all, small or large!

However, as I have said, I set out for

.the place—it was in Devonshire—and in

. eyes.

it

due course I arrived at the little town
and put up at a hotel for the night. The
funeral was fixed for the following day,
and on inquiry I learned that the house
I had to go to. was only a short distance
away.

The next day, therefore, saw me
among the assembled guests. I found
out Mr. Parchly and silently showed
him his own. letter.

“Ali.” said be. “you are Mr. Wiburn.
Very good. Glad to see you.” '

Idid not reply, so he concluded that I
was Charley Wiburn, without my hav-
ing said one word one way or the
other.

But when, after the funeral, the will
came to be read, I found Charley was

' down for £5,000.

At the end of the reading of the will
I was making my way out to get back
to the hotel, when some one said:

“Mr. Wiburn, I believe?”

I. looked around and saw a stiif, mili-
tary looking old b0y,regarding me with
a smile through his spectacles.

“Charley,” said he, “don’t you re-
member me?” _

I thought to myself, “Oh, now I’m in
for it. Here’s a nice mess—all through
trying to serve Charley. Just my bad
luck.” This feeling, did not grow less

when he said:_
“Milly wants to speak to you. She

has been looking at you and says she_
can hardly recognize you for her old"

playfellow.” (No wonder,” I thought.
“It would be strange if she did”).

She came up and shook hands, and
the moment I looked at her I simply
fell helplessly head over ears in love
with her then and there. She seemed
to be the loveliest, most adorable crea-
ture I had ever seen. Rather than run
the risk of losing a chance I now had of
(speaking to her, I would say nothing of

' not being Charley, let the consequences

be what they might. \ .

“Don’t you remember your little play:
mate, Milly?” said she,with a blush and
an entrancing look in her beautiful
“\Vell, it’s not surprising, for I
should never have known you'either, if
Mr. Parchly had not pointed you out to

” '

Before I exactly realized what I was
doing I was whisked off to Major Rain-
field’s house—as I found his name to' be
-—to dine. calling at the hotel for my
evening “togs” on the way. ‘-

I found the’ Major’s house a neat,
quiet looking little place on the out-
skirts of the town. He lived alone with

his daughter—his wife being dead—a.

housekeeper and:one servant. Though
everything was comfortable, there was
that indescribable air that gave one the
impression that they were not too well
ed as regards this world’s goods.

I

 

 

A

finding myself alone with M-illy, I blurt-

hesitated.

and sell them, which is more than be.

this would not have troubled me, but
for that legacy of £5,000 I was supposed
"Was ' that. the
secret cause of their friendliness?” I ask-
ed myself. But then I looked. at ~Milly
and saw the frank look of her truthful,
honest looking eyes, I felt ashamed of
myself. * ‘

'Such good friends did we become that
I lingered on in the placefor a week,
during. which time I daily grew more
uncomfortable at the part I was play-
ing. At last [sought out Milly one day
alone and confessed the whole truth to
her.

“I am not surprised,” she said. “I
thought you were not -much like the
Charley I used to'know. But I am sor-
ry for you—sorry to ~, think that your
cousin should have got that £5,000
while you were not even as much as
mentioned.” ..

“Ah l” I said with a sigh, "‘that is
Charley’s luck.” '

I was thinking what I dared not say-
that if that £5,000 had but been mine I
would have asked her to be mine, too ;‘
whereas now, with my poor prospects—
well, of course, it was folly to even
dream of such a thing. '

I watched her narrowly after that but
could see no- difference in her treatment
of me.

Another week slipped by and I still
stayed on. At the end- of that time I
was in such a state of mind that one day,

ed out my hopeless love for her, and
said I should go away at once, for I felt
I could not possibly stay there any long-
er. Milly, always quiet and self-pos-
sessed, remained silent a while and then
said, looking down:

 

 

"I think you' had better Speak to 3,

papa.” l

"What !” Ira'pturously exclaimed, “do i
- on really bid me hope? . Do you really 5
:nink there is a,possibility of your fath- l
- r ” I stopped and shook my head. 1
“Alas, no 1” I said, “such‘a thing could ‘
not happen to me. It would be Char-
ley's luck, that—'not mine.”

“Well,” said ,Milly, composodly.
“they say you never know your luck till
you try, but. if you are too faint heart-
ed to try, why, of course—”

“I’ll go off and find the Major and
have it out at once,” I burst out.

And I saw him accordingly, and told g
him the whole story, humbly apologiz g
ing for daring to ask for his daughter :
hand, when, as I was bound to tell hinz. ;

 

I was not Charley, but Jack Wiburn l' ‘

and 1 had no £5,000 legacy, and no
prospects in particular, and “no luck!" .

“H’m,” said the Major; how is it that ‘
Charley comes in for all the ‘1uck’ in §
this way?” i

“I don’t know” sir,” I answered, dole- i
fully. “He goes about more, and makes
himself more liked, I'think, while I”-—I

“While you stick at home and' work.
Is that it?” he said.

“Well,” I returned, “I tryhmy best.
You see, I have nothing else to rely on
—or hope for—like Charley. It's his
luck—and mine l"

“However,” said the Major, “1 have
been told you get your pictures hung

does. Is that luck too?”

To this I made no reply; I couldn’t see
its relevancy. -

“Now, look here, Mr. Jack Wiburn,”
the Major went on. "I knew you were
not Charley Wiburn (I looked up in
surprise. Milly told me, and I have
madecertain inquiries of my own and I
have something to tell you. The late
Alexander Stephen Wiburn was a very
old and intimate friend of mine, and had
long ago set his heart upon Milly mar-
rying Charley. (Here I jumped up ex-
citedly but he waved his hand to me as
a sign to be quiet.) But he was deter-
mined that if it came about at all it
should be spontaneous, and not through
any compulsion or any unworthy mo-
tive. ‘ »

“But in that will you heard read the
other day there was something you did
not hear—it was mixed up in another
matter; but it comes to this—that if
Milly marries his nephew he and she
was to have a certain sum between them
to commence housekeeping with. I have
consulted Mr. Parchly upon this matter
and he agrees‘ with me that, as Char-
ley’s name is not expressly mentioned,
and as he would not take the trouble to
come down himself, even to the funeral
of his poor old uncle, who had been 30
kindly disposed to him, if Milly likes
you well enough to have you she will be
just'as much entitled to the sum set
aside as if Charley had married her, and
I am sure that I shall not object to the
substitution. _

“In the Will the only condition is that
Milly should marry his nephew, and of
course you are as much his nephew as
Charley is. Therefore I leave it to Mil-
ly; if she says ‘les,’ I say the same, and
you will .both have something to set up
housekeeping with.”

“I’ll go off and tell Milly at once,” I

said, but'I had not gone far when he _

called me back.

“You don’t ask how much you will.
have to start housekeeping upon,” he
said, ' .

“What matter, sir, since you think it
enough?” I answered.

. “H’m, but you may think as well.
You may not think it enough."

“How much is it then?” I asked.

“Fifty thousand pounds,” said the
Major.

And this is what Charley lost andI
gained by that journey—Milly (worth
more than all) and £50,000.

And now Charley won‘t speak to me
or my wife—for Milly and I are mar-
ried—and he says I meanly took advan~
tage' of him, but I say, as I used to say
before, it is all his luck—and mine.—
The Gentlewoman.

 

He—Did Miss Flyrt receive manypro-

posals last season at Rye Beach?

. She—Many? Why, receiving propo-
posals got to be a habit with her. In a
very short time she couldn’t hear a soda
water bottle pop without exclaiming:
“This is so vsuddenl”—thcago To”

 

ate.

 
 

rresh Ideas of Eashion for the Attire ol‘
Woman.

(By Special Arrangement with the N. Y. Sun.)
Skirts are changing considerably,
both in the mannerof making and in
the dimensions. _ '
Skirts made of silk or woolen fabric
are scarcely ever lined now, but if nec-
essary are mounted on a foundation
skirt out much the same, though not
quite so full as the outside skirt, and
joined to it only at the belt. 'Any m'a-

 

terial that does not absolutely require
a foundation is finished with a. false
hem ten or twelve inches deep and in-
terlined with some stiff material. The
gowns fit the hips like a riding habit.
Even if they are very full they are laid
in pleats from the waist to the bottom
of' the/ skirt. The thin gowns are
trimmed with four spaced flounces, the
top one put on with a gathered head.
One of the most fashionable bodices
now worn is the short bolero or Zeuave
jacket, of which there are many types.
One made with a tiny pleating of cream

 

I
silk muslin is a delightful finish to a
light silk or muslin gown. Belts and
sashes are all important features of
costumes. Closely folded belts .as‘ deep

'as a co'rselet are,very graceful and

must fit the wearer like a glove. When
made of silk or satin such a belt can be
worn with any gown, mohair, silk or.
lawn. Loosely- draped sashes are
charming with muslin gowns on very
slight figures or youthful wearers, and
are now almost a necessity for com-
plete toilet. If only the belt or sash,
collar and bows to correspond, are well
chbsen and made up with taste and ele-
gance, the plainest dress can be con-
verted into a toilet fit for any occasion.

 

The Point of View. , -

In politics when a man on the other
side comes over to your way of think-
ing he is a “liberal-minded reformer.”
When one of your persuasion goes
over to the other side he is a. “waiter.”
When your party holds a conven«
tion for nominations it is a “great man-

ifestation of the people asserting their

liberties.” 'When the other side nomi-
nates it is only a “distribution of
plums.” , _

When a speaker on your side talks
in public on the question at issue he
delivers a “centre shot” or a “learned
and-eloquent settlngfor‘th of the great
issue.” When the man on the other
side. has his say he gets of “rank as-
sertions and stock fallacies.”

A Parrot’s Bad Language. ..
‘What on earth do you want with a
parrot?” , .
“I have to have. something to remind
me of my husband while he is away.”

KNEW HIS TOUCH.

 

- , ‘- .aellh—fl

Bridget—A h, away wid ye,‘ Dennis
McCarty, an’ let .me sleep! It’s ye, fer
I know the "feel av thim pwhiskers.-
New York Herald. - ‘

 

“ -

 

 

 

Shrewd Game of aged Pauper: in an Eng.
» . ; lish .Alms House. .

a A London despatch to the Sun con-'

tains the folldwing account of a scheme
of English paupers to get into better
quarters: -

A marriage epidemic has broken out
among the ancient paupers of Hamp-
stead, one of the parishesof London,

and the guardians of the poor are at '

their wit’s end. ‘ It seems that they un-
wittingly put a premium upo‘n matri~
meny by erecting comfortable, cosey
quarters for married couples. These
are far nicer than the general work—
house: The English law forbids the

. separation of husband and wife when

past sixty. There are about 150 pau-
pers of both sexes who are above that
age in the Hampstead workhouse.
When they saw the home-like, well-
furnished rooms in the married couples’
building they grew envious and "took
counsel among themselves. Finally
Mr. Pigeon Hill, a hoary-headed pau-
per, and a female inmate equally an-
tique got married on their afternoon
out. They returned and applied for"
married quarters. The guardians re.
fused at first, but ,were advised that
they had no choice but to comply. They
declared that they would rather break
the law than be jockeyed in‘ such a
fashion, and have lodged an appeal with
the local Government Board. Mean-
time more than a score of additional
matches have been . arranged pending
the decision of the authorities on the
fate of the first couple.

A FORTUNATE FIND-
A Bond With Thirty Years’ Interest Pre-
sented for Payment.

An application has been made to the
City Treasurer to pay the principal and
interest on a bond issued by the city
over thirty years ago, and of the exist-
ence of which all the parties concerned
were ignorant until lately. The bond
is one of the series of thirty— year bounty

'bonds issued by the city under date of

March 30, 1865, for the sum of $400, with
interest at 6 'per cent. It was found by
accident among the effects of the late
C. A. Meurer, by his heirs, and pre-
sented to the City Treasurer for pay-
ment. ' Mr. Oellers referred the heirs to
the city’s fiscal agent, the Farmers’ and
Mechanics’ Bank, but as the bank was
not made the city’s agent until 1872, it
had no account of the bond. A search
of the records in the vaults of the City
Treasury convinced the Treasurer that
the bond was genuine, though it had
never been registered, and no interest
had been paid upon it.

The bond, with the accumulated in-
terest for thirty years, is worth $1,120.
It will require an appropriation by
Councils to pay the entire debt, as the
only money now on hand that can be
applied to such a purpose is $324, the
balance of an appropriation made some
time ago to pay unclaimed interest from
July 1, 1872,‘to July 1, 1885, which will
be used to pay a part of the claim, leav-
ing $796 to be appropriated by Coun-
cils.—Philadelphia Ledger.

The Ameer is Liberal.

As an acknowledgement of Queen
Victoria’s hospitality to his son a few
months ago, the Ameer of Afghanistan
has just sent her presents valued a:
£120,000. .

Can’t

This is the complaint of .
thousands at this season. Eat
They have no appetite; food
does not relish. They need the toning up of
the stomach and digestive organs, which
a course of Hood’s Sarsaparilla will give
them. It also purifies and enriches the
blood, cures’flthat distress after eating and
internal misery only a dyspeptic can
know, creates an appetite, overcomes that
tired feeling and builds up and sustains
the Whole physical system. It so prompt-
ly and efl‘iciently relieves dyspeptic symp-

toms and cures nervous headaches, that it

seems to have almost “ a magic touch.”

Hood’s

Sarsaparilla

Is the best— in fact the One True Blood Purifier.

are the best after-dlnner '

Hood’s Pills pills, aid" digestion. 25c.

 

‘GOLIG, , .

. GRAMPS, ; . .
. -. ,DIARRHlEA,

And all Bowel Troubles
Promptly relieved with

HALE’S

SAFE llflliflllll.

Large Bottle 25 cents.

At all Druggist'.

 

um Annwen;

My new line ’of _s'pring and.

Summer Suitings, which
will be made up in the latest
styles and at the lowest ossible
price consistent with goo ~work.
Call in and inspect them.

7.F.KocoUR,
'MsncHANT TAILOR,

 
 

. nun. Main-8t. sum llorwalk. '-

 

: “lib

Sixty years is quite a lifetime. When a bztsz'nets 1m!)

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time, you can put it right down that the goods
represented are 12072652“. “Barstow” has made
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and their reputation for quality
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- \.-You are looking for the best in

. / ' stoves and furnaces. The above I
A egg is the reason why you will find
it in the “Bay State ” goods,-manufactured by
us. Ask your local dealer for ourflcatalogue,
or write. us for information; ,

 
 

"ill; BARSTOW STOVE co.

. Rudder—Providence, R. l. "i;
228 Water St., New York

. Boston OECP56 Union St.

 

 

 

 

 

is handsome, light, durable. Such grace of design as
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approved methods, finest material and skilled work-
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The ’9§ Streams is the best bicycle it is possible to
produce. Finished at your option in orange or black.

Address now for beautiful new catalogue.
. “the Yellow fellow.”
E. c. STEARNS a co., Makers. Syracuse, bl. v.
BUFFALO, .N' Y. SAN FRANCISCO,Q CAL. ~TORONTO. ONT.

WGXOXWG

< 9

G)

 

it”

I

H. R. BULKLEY 6!. 00.. Agents. SOUTH NORWALK.

 

 

'Towl'e‘Vault Light Company.

vAu‘u LlGHltSKYLlGHlS

Office:

Factory:
animus AVENUE. I61 an. stain,
, HEW YORK.

snooxtvu.

 

 

 
 
 
 
 

Lyon are able to
pay sloo for a bigy;
.cle, why be content
with anybuta

 
 
 

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