, Cheap rates. PROMINENT PEOPLE. ' The Archbishop of Canterbury is pa- , tron of 191 livings, the Prince of Wales . of twenty- -one. . Princess Marie Von Hohenlohe, wife of the imperial Chancellor of Germany, . performed the notable feat of killing ,a bear while hunting on her estates in I‘IIISSla. The Princess is 68 years old. 1‘. Gladstone is the owner of the largest lead-pencil in the world. It is the gift of a pencil- maker at Keswick. andis thirty-nine inches in length. In pace of the customary rubber cap it has a gold cap. Its distinguished own- c1'.uses it for a walking stick. Phoebe Wood,ea young Indian girl, daughter of a Pawnee chief, has re- cen’gly successfully gone through the course for trained nurses in Philadel- phia. The other Indian girls, Lily Wind, of the tribe of the Ottawas, and Kate Greenod, of the Wyandotte tribe, haIe also gone through this course. The German Emperor, it is said, was about the worst- dressed boy in the school at Cassel, partly because he was obliged to wear out all his clothes and partly because he was not quite so fond of dress then as he is at pres- ent. He did not caie for the school particularly, though he was on very friendly and democratic terms with the boys there. Miss Alice Hughes, of London, daughter of Edwin Hughes, the great portrait painter, is said to be the most successful and artistic photographer in England. She has her gallery -in her own beautiful home, and her art in posing her subjects'is said to be ex- quisite. She photographs royalty and all London celebrities, and has more orders than she can attend to. Her prices are very high, but she is the busiest and most popular photographer in London. Toys of the Kaiser’s Sons For Charity. According to the diary of a German com-tier, the children of the Emperor are well supplied with‘ play things. On Easter eve, he writes, the tutor of the Emperor’s sons collects all the toys which have been given to the children during the year. They consist for the most part of things of a military na- ture, such as minature cannons, sa- bres, horns, drums, comets, and, of course, tin soldiers. Then he causes Lthem to be repainted and generally re. paired, and distributes them among the poor and the hospitals of the capi- tal Last Easter four cart loads of toys weie thus distributed. Life Insurance Manager (in astonish- ment)—“What under the sun. ever made you take a risk on this man’s life? \Vhy, he swears that he has been a confirmed invalid for five years.” Agent—“One of the best risks, sir. Confirmed invalids never die of any- 'ihiz::, but old age.”-—Tid-Bits. Shortness of breath—ea Sensation of dryness nd heat in the throat. 7Neglect is dangerous- HALE’S WHEY Hannah: 1111 Hale’s Honey of Horehound and Tar acts like a charm on the throat and bronchial tubes. Use it before it' 5 too late. Sold by druggists. Pike’s Toothache Drops cure in .one minute. . u. I Special to Rea lers of This Paper. TE ,1; Send this "ad. " and 10 1':- cents in stamps and we will mail you 1-4 lb. of FAMILY TEAS on receipt of this‘ ‘.ad " and $2. 00. charges pa1d. . any kind of Tea you ., ‘ 7. may select, the best‘ 1m. THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA 60., 31,8nd 33 Vesey St., N. Y., P. 0. Box 289. : Horace E. Darin, EXOELSIOL Livery and Sales Stable. bkuvuw‘au JW\\ .2; Opposite Danb‘ury and Norwaik Railroad depot“ Norwalk. Conn. Stylish Single or Double Teen 5 with or without drivers’ Safe horses for women sndchildren. . SADDLE HORSES A SPECIAL'l Y DAVID W. RAYMOND. funeral 1111111111 and Eiihalmer '39 Washington Street South Nor-Walk " ence, Manaekemn ‘fptel. Ln ' LIGHT PARCEL and iUbKWUUU S PACKAGE DELIVERY Will also take orders for mes- manger service in New York. Goods called for and delivered to all arts of the town. Urders received at, E P eed’s Drug Store WallStreet,w1th telephoneconnection un- ' 'o E LOQKWOOD. J'. D. Jennings. UNDERTAKER pposite Street Bailway’Depot. . 1V 1 GE 1' BELL AT OFFICE. THE Ev EN 111111 11 A 21111 '1' 11; 1:: 11111111710111 OFEVA. lira Norrington inserted her latch key into the keyhole of a Bedford Square boarding house, and entered. It was a dismal, windy, rainy November evening. and ever since lunch she had been paddling about London, climbing grimy stairs of newspaper offices, and talking to people who did not seem es- pecially pleased to see her. Her skirts were wet, and a wisp of damp hair was tumbling over her eyes. .On the hall table, disclosed by the flickering gas- jet. were some letters. "A year ago today!” said Eva to her- self as she closed the door against the wind. "Has he written, or has he for- gotten?” He had not forgotten. Eva picked up the letter from the hall table, looked quickly round at the closed hall door, at the closed dining-room door, and at the baize (loci-that led to the kitchen stai1’s——and kissed it. Then she went upstairs to her bed-sitting-room with the letter in her hand, and joy in her heart “Hateful little room!” she murmured to herself, as she struck a match and lit the gas. “But it’s the last time. thank God!” - The room was not really bad; a bed in the co1ner, a wash- stand, a wa1d- robe, here and there a picture on the walls, and a table by the window, rather rickety, on which lay a heap of manuscript—a half-finished story. “I will burn that before I go to bed to-night,” said Eva, as she caught sight of it. Then she took ofl? her hat and cloa,k drew the only easy chair under the gas jet and sat down; fingering the let- ter—she did not Open it at once. Now that happiness stretched in front of her it was pleasant to linger on the confines of misery, to look back on the life she was to leave. “It is not every one,” said Eva res ffectively, “who can make experi- ments in life—without expense.” Eva Norrington had been the pride of the provincial town which gave her . birth. At the High School no girl could stand against her. Her form- governess, who now and then asked her favorite pupils to tea, even said she might be a head-mistress one day. To Eva. this seemed absurd. But when, at the age of twenty, she gained a guinea prize for a story in a weekly paper, she began to think that at least' she might be a great novelist. At. any rate she felt sure that somewhere ahead of her stretched a career; and as her twenty-first birthday ap- proached she announced to her start- led parents her intention of going to London in search of it. Thereupon en- sued a series of domestic scenes such as have been common of late in the homes of England wherein the par- ents play the part of'the apprehensive hen, the daughter that of the adven- turous duckling. The duckling invari- ably gains its point; and so it was with Eva Norrington. Eva was almost happy; for she had the ho-pefulness of youth and beauty, and all the exhilaration of taking her life into her hands and fashioning it as she would, with none to raise ob- jections to the process. She would have been quite happy but for Allan Craig. heard that Eva was bent on going to London to make a name for herself, promptly offered her his own for a sub- stitute. It was a good enough name, and at the foot of a check it was gen- erally respected, as Allan Craig had lately stepped into his father’s busi- ness as estate agent and was prosper- in-g. Eva was disturbed, but she turned not aside from her project. Eva had mapped out her life and Allan Craig was not included in the scheme. As she sat fingering her letter in her bedroom, she went over the parting scene in her mind. The details of it would only increase the delight of the letter. They were sitting-out a dance together, for Eva was not disposed to think unkindly of Allan, though she might resent his intrusion into her scheme of life. She remembered how there had been silence between them for some moments, how Allan had leaned his elbows on his knees and dug the heel of his dancing-shoe into the carpet. - “And so you are quite determined to leave us?” said Allan. “Of course,” replied Eva. boxes are all packed.” “Full of manuscript novels and oth- er things?” “One novel and several stories:” “I cannot understand why- you want to go 1vl1en—” 6‘31), “I want to—well—«to live a larger life. ” “You mean you want to live in a big- ger place?” “Well, not exactly. I don’t thinkyou quite understand.’ “I quite understand that there is not enough scope for you here, and that I am a selfish brute for trying, to keep you from your ambition. Look here, Eva, can you honestly say that you dont love me a little bit?” ' Allen had risen and was standing over her. Eva looked up at him. She could see him standing there now— big, comely, with something in his eyes that thrilled her, half with fear and half with pleasure. She rose and faced him. _ "I shall be sorry to leave you—very sorry.” ' “Then why—” “Can’t you see, Allan? I know I have it in me to do good work and I must be where good work is wanted. Here I am hampered ;" in London—” ‘You may fail ”'said Allan, with a note of hope in his voice. Then Eva spoke: “I shall succeed—I know I shall.” “Will you write to me?” Eva hesitated. She was half inclined to give in to that extent. Allan had mistaken her hesitation. " M --- For Allan Craig, whenever he, . "No,” he said. “There shall be no selfishness in my love for you. I will wait a year from to-night, and then, if London is no go, you know there will always be me. You can’t expect me to pray for your success, can you?” Eva, placed on her mettle, looked- him in the face. ‘I am bound to succeed," she said, and turned to .go. The waltz had ceased in the room below, and a rustic of skirts and a ripple of tongues had taken its place. “Eva—onceA—the last time, perhaps.” She turned again laughing. “Quick,” she said, “some one will come. ”‘ A woman may forget many things, but no woman ever forgets the fiist time a lover’s arm was round her waist and a lover’s lips upon her own. And as Eva sat in the corner of a third- class carriage in the London train next morning, looking forward to the career before her, the remembrance of the support of Allan’s arm persisted in ob- truding itself. Having got what she wanted she already began to doubt if she wanted what she had got. For a career, after all,- is rather a lonesome sort of thing. Such small success as may come to the inexperienced girl upon her first incursion into literature came to Eva. She lived sparingly, worked hard, and never made the mistake of refusing in- vitations on the ground of work. She stayed up a little later or got 11:0 a lit- tle earlier instead. A weekly column on “Health and Beauty” placed at her disposal by the youthful editor of a new woman’s paper, who had met her at the Writer’s Club and thought her 1*1'etty, paid her weekly bill at the boarding house. Her stories found fre- quent acceptance, and occasional wel- come in the minor periodicals, and a happy meeting with an editor at :1 din- ner party paved the way to her ap- pearance in a widely-read magazine. By the end of the year Eva Norrington had got so far towards the realization of her ambition that when peo.le heard her name mentioned, they wrinkled their brows and tried to 10- member where they had heard it be f01e. All this time Eva was lonely. And the most fair thing about the whole business was that, while success was almost within her grasp, success was not what she wanted. There is no fun in living your own life when that is precisely the life you do not want to lead. It 11 as not as though Allan C1aig had ne1 er kissed Eva Noriington. 'She opened the letter—cutting the en- velope with her nail-scissors. She felt like onewho has held his breath to feel what suffffocation is like. The letter was long. Eva read quickly at first, then slowly, knitting her brows as she turned the pages, and came at last to the signature, “Ever your true friend, Allan Craig.” The letter lay for some minutes in Eva’s lap, while she looked vaguely round her room. “He is afraid of spoiling my career—— my success has put an insuperable bar- rier between us,” she murmured. The phrases of the letter had burned them- selves into her brain. “0, Allan! I wish I could tell you—or do you want to hear?” When the dinner-bell rang an hour afterwards Eva rose wearin from her writing table, where she had been toil- ing over her half-finished manuscript. She had not burned it. Five years passed before she saw Al- lan Craig, and then the meeting was unexpected—at the exit of the theatre where Eva had gone to.see the hun- dredth performance of her play. Allan was obviously proud of knowing her, and introduced his wife, to whom she gave graceful recognition. It was raining and Allan offered to see Eva to a cab. They stood for a moment on the steps to the entrance. “Yes,” said Allan, in answer to Eva’s polite question, “all is going well. We have a little daughter—Eva—my wife’s name cu1iously enough.” He stood by the hansom as she en- ieied. guarding her dress from the wheel. As she turned to give the ad- dress. he said: “i ought to congratulate you on your success. It is very sweet to me. You know—you—owe it all to me. Are you grateful?” “Yes; I owe it to you,” she said. leaning forward as the apron closed upon her. and the attendant constable g1ew impatient. “Come and see me— Tuesdays. “I can’t think 1111y I should be so silly,” said Eva to herself, as she stuf- fed her handkerchief back into her of her flat in Kensington.—Black and White. - A Rather Weighty Volume. Profesor Max Muller, of Oxford, in a recent lecture, called attention to the largest book in the world, the wonder- ful Kuth Daw. It consists of 729 parts in the shape of white marble plates, covered with inscriptions, each plate built with a temple of brick. It is found near the old priest city of Man- dalay, in Burmah, and this temple city of more than 700 pagodas virtually makes up this monster hock—the re- ligious cod-ex of the Buddists. It,is written in Pall. Rather strange to shy, it is not an ancient production, but its preparation was promoted by the Buddhistic party of this century. It was erected in 1857 by the command of Mindomin, the second of the last kings 'of Burmah—Home Journal. A Wiend’s Advice. “I’ve about decided to give up the study of law. I fear I’ll find it too con- fining.” ‘ “Oh! keep on. You’ll soon be ad- mitted to the bar, andthen you won’t have anything to do.”—'Puck.‘ . "t pocket and felt for—her latch-key, when , the cab drew up before the hall door 1 1 costs WASHINGTON NOTES. It is impossible to find a member of either house of Congress who will con- fess that his official salary enables him to more than cover expenses. What is it that they are all to enjoy after they have won the goal? First of all, the annual salary of $5,000. For Repre- sentatives add $1,200, allowed yearly for clerical services, but whose expend- iture need not be accounted for to any one. For members of both houses add $125 a year, allowed for stationery, the balance to be drawn at the end of each session. if not all used. It seldom hap- pens that more than $50 of this allow- ance is expended. There is no reason why a thrifty man, even one accustomed to the nice- tics oflife, should not save near two thousand dollars during each term in the House. It is hardly possible for a Senator to save. however, since he has to (spend a great deal of money to keep up with his greater Social duties in the Miliionair’es Club. 'I he tiuth of the mattei is that many iepicsentatives and a few Senatms do manage to save a little. The richer the man in the Washington official set, the more is required of him. Overa third of the men who sat in 'the Son ate during the last Congress econo- mized by living at hotels or in apart- ment houses. One—half of the Repre- sentatives cut down expenses in the same manner.. They thus avoided the unnecessary cost of maintaining a house, rented or leased, between ses- sions. To the milliOnaire member of Congress the annual official salary is merely ornamental. It is the heavy swell thing for the legislator of this brand to turnover his five thOusand a year to his private secretary, who gen- erally has his employer’s private inten ests to attend to in addition. A num- ber have done this already, and it is said that Hanna not only gives his sec- retary his whole annual salary, but a thousand in addition. Brice is said to have given his whole Senatorial salary to his secretary, while his social pilot probably receives even more—some say $25,000. But good things like Cal« vin seldom blow into the Senate, ex« cept from Ohio. ' During the past week new members of both houses have been pounced upon by swarms of young men clamor< ing for private secretaryships and clerkships. Under the old order of things Senators’ secretaries who re- ceived six dollars a day during session would now be toppling over Willi mirth and happiness because of the extra session. But now, those who have become ripe in the business are making wry faces ‘and tearing their hair. The sal- ary of the Senatorial secretary was changed to $1,200 a year, to be re- ceived in monthly payments, regard- less of sessions or adjournmeuts. It was figured that under the new rule each secretary would receive about as much per Congress as he did before, but extra sessions were not included in this reckonina. The president of the last Senate ap. pointed his son as his private secre- tary, and so did the Speaker of the Fifty-third Congress. Senators who are chairmen of committees are at lib- erty to appoint whom they please as clerks to their committees. The clerk‘ to the Senate Committee on Appropri- ations receives $3. 000 a year, and has an assistant clerk, who gets $2,200 The clerk to the Committee on Fi- nance gets $2 ,500 a year. The piesent incumbent is the son of the chairman of the Committee on Finance. In the last Senate altogether eight chairmen appointed their sons as their committee clerks. There is no reason why Senators’ sons should not make good clerks, but it frequently happens that clerks to these commit- tees are mere figureheads, functiona- ries bluebooked as assistant clerks or “messengers” doing all of the actual work. . There was one case, a few years back. where the son of a Senator was nominally clerk to one of the most im- ponant committees of the Senate. 11 [1111: 1:1 reality he was attending col- lege in :1 distant city. The Senators on the side will be able to dispense a Republican great 'deal of pastry if their body finds that it (-1111 be reorganized, and there. wilb be no civil service obstacle in the pas- sage leading to the counter. Statis- tics Show that there are about four employos in the Senate to every Sena- 301'. The pared long Senate’s extravagance, com- wiih that of the House, has been proverbial. The House the government only about ,twice as much as the Senate, :11- though its membership is four times as great as that of the latter. The men who watch the doors to the Sen- ate galleries get $1,440 a year, and those who lift Senators from floor to floor in the elevators get $1,200. Men who fold Senate documents get $1,000 a year. The Senate firemen get $1, 095 and the Senate locksmith and uphol- slei «'Ar $1440. (‘11 “.e lionSe side salaries are m1. " smaller, and there are fewer sinecures. House messengers do not receive more than $1,200 a year. Clerks to committee get $3.000. $2,000 or $1,000. Conductors of elevators on the House side get $1,100. One member of the last Congress used his wife as his private secre- tary. Representatives of wealth, however, generally give the full $1,- 200 a year to young men regularly employed as secretaries. - SExa'ron. Mr. Citiboy—I don’t see how it, is the cyclone didn’t carry away that shaky little house cf yours. Farmer Kansaw—Couldn’t lift the 'mofigage.-—l\cw York Journal. CAKE U? SSH-ET SOAP IN EVERYyPACKAGE OF. _: WASHING WPOWDER so: BACK TO DE 01.0 HOME. “ Uncle ”' Loses His Money anh Finds a Friend In Nashville. ”As we waited in the Louisville and Nashville depot for the train, some one began crying, and an excitement was raised among the passengers, says a contributor to Our Dumb Animals. A brief investigation proved that it was an old colored man who was giving way to his grief. Three or four peo~ pie remarked on the strangeness of it, but for some time no one said anything 1:0 him. Then a. depot policeman came forward and took him by the arm and shook him roughly and said: “See here, old man, you want to quit th.1 t! You are drunk, and if you make any 1no1e disturbance, I’ll lock you up!” “ ’Deed, but I hain’t drunk,” replied the old man, as he removed his tear- stained handerchief. “I’ze losted my ticket an’ money, an’ dat’s what’s do matter.” ‘ “Bosh! You never had any money to lose! You dry up, or away you go l" “What's the matter yere?” queried a man as he came forward. The old man recognized the dialect of the Southerner' in an instant, and,- 1'epressing his emotions with a great effort, he answered: “Say, Mars Jack, I’ze bin robbed.” “My name is White.” “Well, then, Mars White, somebody has done robbed me of ticket an’ mon- ey.” “Where were you going?” “Gwine down into Kaintuck, whar I was ,bo’n an’ raised.” “Where’s that?” . “Nigh to Bowlin’ Green, sah, an’ when the wah dun sot me free I cum up this way. Hain’t bin home since, sah.” “And you had a ticket?” “Yes, sah, an’ ober $20 in cash. Bin savin’ up fur y’ars, sah.” “W'hat do you want to go back for?" “To see de hills an’ de fields, dc to- bacco an’ de co’n. Mars Preston an’ do good old missus. Why, Mars White, I’ze dun bin prayin’ fur it fo’ twenty y‘ars. Sometimes de longin’ has cum till I couldn’t hardly hold myself.” “It’s too bad.” “De c‘e woman is buried down dar, Mars White—dc ole woman an’ free ch'illen. I kin ’member the spot same as if I seed it-yisterday. ' “And what will you do when you get there?” asked the stranger. “Go up to de big house an’ ax Mars Preston to let me li-b out all de rest of my days right dar. I’ze ole an’ all alone, an’ I want to be nigh my dead. Sorter company fur me when my heart aches.” ' “Where were you robbed?” “Out doahs, dar, I- reckon," in de crowd. See? De pocket is all cut out. l’ze dreamed an’ pondered—I’ze had dis money in my mind fur y’ars, an’ now I’ze dun bin robbed an’ can’t go!” He fell to crying, and the policeman came forward in an officious manner. “Stand back, sir!” commanded the stranger. "Now, gentlemen, you have heard the story. I’m going to help the old man back to die on the old planta- tion and be buried alongside of his dead.” ' “So am I!” called twenty men in chorus, and within five minutes we had raised enough to buy him a ticket and leave $50 to spare. And when he realized his good luck, the old, snow- baired black fell upon his knees in that crowd and prayed: “Lord. I’ze been aboliever in You all my days, an’ now I dun axes You to watch ober dese yere white folks dat has believed in me an’ helped me to go back to de ole home.” And I do believe that nine-tenths of that crowd had tears in their eyes as the gateman called out the train for Louisville. Soferteramonigo. 1 I A gentleman stopped to listen to the ; tune played on a hand-organ, which happened to strike his fancy. When the air was finished, he approached the Italian, and asked the name of the music. “Soferteramonigo!” answered the Italian, showing all his teeth in a smile of appreciation atthe compliment to his melodies. The gentleman walked on,'and en- deavored for many months to obtain the piece of music with the unpro- nounceable name. But he never could find it. At last one day he heard it played by an American, and again asked the name of the air he admired. “Oh, that,” said the player, “is an old thing—‘Silver Threads Among the Gold’ "—Harper’ 3 Round Table. Cyclist: “I always get nervous when I see a woman crossing the street ahead of me.” > Second Cyclist: “So do I. They have so many pins in 'their clothes, that if a fellow collides with them he ’s almost sure to "sure a tyre."— ‘73-‘1 'llS. A new KIND oi= SYRUP. A Ito-minder of ‘Vhen Prohibition Firs! Struck the Country. A good story is told of a Kansas farmer who entered a general store in Emporia, Kan, and inquired for "somethin’ nice. to put on griddle cakes.” “Molasses? said the storekeeper. “Naw, somethin’ nicer. Be’n e-atin’ molasses for twenty years. Ain’t ye got somethln’ slicker?” The grocer told him about maple sy- rup and praised it highly._.All the “toney people" of Emporia used it, he said. "That’s what I want. tonedest you’ve got.” By a strange mishap when the boy went to pack the goods for the socially ambitious farmer he took a tin of van nish, the varnish coming in square cans of a kind similar to these con- taining the maple sap. Three or four months afterward the man came back to town and reported at the store. The Storekeeper, having made the dis. covery of the error, was in a panic“ At length he mustered up courage to ask how the maple syrup had an- swered. “Oh, she was all right,” said the customer. “Kinder highfalutin, but gocd. My wife at first said she thought it was some rancid, but when I told her what you said about it bein’ a hightoned dish that the best people: in Empory jos’ nacherally craved she seemed to take a second holt, and now she won’t eat nothin’ else. I thought there was a kind of a Snap an’ bite to The high- , itthat sorter reminded me 0’ what we used to git when prohibition first struck the country, but in glneral it’s mighty good stud.” “Was there any bad effect at all?” inquired the amazed storekeeper. “Well, now, I can’t say there wasn’t. You see, it was my wife’s first experi- ence with dude grub, an’ she kinder lost her head. Got ambitious. Al- lowed that if we was good enough to have that kind of eatin’ we was good enough to have some other things to match. Bought a lot 0’ new chiny dishes from a peddl-er an’ made me promise I’d get her a new hat with red in it an’ a dress this trip in town. 1Yes, I s’pose you might say that they was some bad effects, because vanity is certainly sinful, but you’re a married man yourself, an’ you know they ain’t no way to stop a woman’s ambitions when she begins to kinder get in so- ciety. Gimme a couple gallons more 0’ that syrup, an’ if you have some that has jes’ a little more 0’ that pleasant bitin’ sting to it, why, let’s have that.” —Chicago Record. , AN A’PRON FRONT DRESS. In some respects an apron front1s 11o novelty for a. dress; but this pai ticulai one is very novel. The odd part. is in its start. Instead of beginning at the waist line, as an orthodox apron would, it begins with a ruflled top. stitched to the skirt about. half way down its nor- mal length. The dress material is printed India. silk. f The Kick of the Camel. Most of us are familiar with the 11 a 1 in which a horse or a mule kicks but 'few of us know how a camel exp1'1esse1 his anger. The camel doesn’t seem to be out of temper. He lazily chews his cud. with his eyes half closed. and those not familiar with his ways might fancy that he is half asleep. But di- rectly he draws one of his hind legs up under him, and then, as soon as the object of his wrath is in range, he sends his hoof straight back like a shot. A writer says that he has seen a heavy man se'nt whirling several yards in a dense crowd by the kick of a camel. ' Happy mother: "Oh, George, the baby’s beginning to take after yOu!” Happy father: “Afte1 me! In what way?” Happy mother. "He’s begin- ning to crow!” . - ”—.__,-___._-1.__..._
Norwalk Chronicler