NORWALK GAZETTE, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1889. A REMINISCENCE. I saw the wild honey bee kissing a, rose, A wei- one, that grows Dowi. low on the bush, when: her sisters above Cannot see all that‘s done As the numwnts roll on. Nor hearall tho whispers and murmurs of lovn. They Ilium out their beautiful Icarus in thc sun. And [hi-y flirt. vvvry one. With the wild [was who pass. and tho gay butter fiics. And that ww- thing in pink— " Why. thcy newr once think That she‘s “'01) n lovur right nndcr their cycs It reminded me, Kate. ”I n (lino—you know when You were so pntitc then, Your dresses \\'!‘l'i-‘ short. and your fact wore so small Your sislo-rs. Aland, lhAlha All-I Muilt‘llnc well. They both so! their caps for nm. after that ball How tho blue eyes and. black eycssmilud up in my hum "l‘wus a much and neck rat-u. ’l‘ill that day when you opvnml tho door in the hall. .\.nnl lntlkl'll up and loolicd down, \\'ith your swuut uycs of III‘(I\\'II. And you manned so tiny and I fall so tall Your sisti-rs had son! you to Iit'k‘p me. my dear. 'l‘ill thcy should appear Then you wer» dismisscd, like a child in disgrace~ Ilow int-Wily you wont! lint your brown eyes, thcy son! A thrill in my lwurt and a flush in my flu-c. We always wore nwcllng \‘(llllt' way al'ti-r than You hung up my hut. And gm: ll again wlwn l linislwd my call Sixlvvn. anal so saw-pi U Ilium-(1UP Illilv li-nl Shall I PVPI‘ lnrgci how they lrippml down the. hall" Shall I ever forgot the first kiss by the door. Or the vows murmured o‘er, Or the rage and surprise of Maud-Rollo? day. How swiftly lime flows And who would suppose That a bee could have carried me so far away? —Ella \thelor CIIECKERS. \VeIl-u- “Playing checkers l” exclaimed grandfather Weatherby with a look of great surprise. “ll'ell, what’s the harm of checkers, grand- father?” asked Dick in a rather fretful tone. “You play checkers yourself. It was you that taught me to play." “ch, checkers are very well in the even— ing when all the work’sdonc,” said grand— father. “I believe in having fun at the right time; all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. But checkers in the day timel You never saw me doing sucha thing as that, did you!” “Daytime’s good enough," grumbled Dick. “Yes, plenty good enough for a boy that hover means to amount to anything.” said the old farmer. “I‘ve. done my chores and all that father at me to do,” said Dick. “That’s just the sort of talk you hear from that sort of a boy," persisted his grandfa- ther. “He does first what he‘s set to do, and then he sits down in the shade on a summer day and plays checkers. Why, when I was your ace 1 could have covered every one of hfyutwglve squares with a silver piece of my own earning. Perhaps it was because I didn‘t have such an easy going father as you’ve got. But that oug.z;.i‘t to make the difference. A boy ought to have it in him- self, and then it’s sure to come out some where. " Dick swept his hand across the board with an impatience due partly to the keen criti- cism of himself, partly to his inward convic- tion that he deserved all that was said. But it was impossible to get angry at the half sober. half joking words of the genial old man. “I guess you‘re about right, grandfather I guess it was in you and it isn’t in me.” “More’s the pity," said his grandfather, now wholly serious. “Seems to me this isn’t the kind of a world for a. boy to sit back in and just do what he’s told to do and nothing further. Why, everything about him seems to be saying: ‘Look about you, you young lubber, and see how everything’s working with you if you’ll only takea hand in it. Look at the earth and the sun and the rain—all ready to be your servants. You never see them idling around.’ " Grandpa Weatherby, having said his say, set out with sturdy strides toward his own farm, a mile distant. Dick was stung more deeply by his words than the old gentleman imagined. “Come, let’s go on,” urged Sam Jones, a lounger of the neighborhood. “That was a tiptop game you spoiled.” But Dick turned away from him in ill hu- mor with himself and every one else. There was more truth in what had been said than he liked to acknowledge. He, 8. boy of 14, had never raised his hand to do a thing that was not required of him, and the require- ments had bcen very moderate He had at- tended school through the whool season, doing light work the while, and in the sum- mer had engaged in the farm work in the easy going style his grandfather had allud- ed to. “I guess itis just as he says,” mused Dick as he carried the checker board into the house. “There isn‘t many a boy about here that doesn’t begin to look out for earning a bit by the time he is as old as I am. There, old checker board, I’m getting too awfully fond of you. You may go into that corner, and stick there, for all of me, until I have shown grandfather I’m good for something—- if I can." Dick strolled thoughtfully out into the fields, wondering in what direction he had better turn his energies. There was plenty of work all about him and he knew well that his father would hire him and, except in the matter of the light duties which he always exacted from his sons, would pay him a fair price for his work. “What’s all that going on over in Deacon Blaisdell’s fallow?” He had walked until he had reached the boundaries of his father’s farm, when his attention was attracted by a wonderful amount of whooping and balloo- ing a little way beyond. “It’s a drove of cattlchand a big drove, too. Bad business if they get into the fal- low." He made his way out to the road, which was now filled with the cattle pressing on through the dust. Deacon Blaisddl’s fallow was not fenced, and the drovers were mak- ing their best efforts to keep the restless herd from straying among the logs and bushes. It would' be unlike a. farmer’s boy not to offer his mite of help in such an emergency. Dick took his stand in the thinly manned line, and by dint of persistent shouting and brandishing of branches gave valuable aid. In the course of time the drove had passed by, with the exception of one lively steer which had made its way far into the fallow. “I’ll give you fifty cents if you’ll get that critter out for me," said the drover to Dick. “Ho! that’ll do for my nest egg,” said Dick tohimself. “I’ll do it, mister,” he added, aloud. . Picking his way among briers and bushes until he got the steer between himself and, the road, by a. little clever maneuvering and a good deal of activity, he before long suc- ceeded in sending the animal trotting after, the rest of the herd, now some distance down' the road. And then Dick came, out of l l I. breath, up to a wagon driven by one of tht drovers to receive his well earned pay. “Poor thing,” he said, looking at a calf which lay in the wagon, gasping aS' if in great suffering. “Isit sick?” ' “Not sounuch that as overdriven,” said the man. “VV3‘had only a few such young ones —fact is, I don’t hold to taking such, but it is such a likely one I thought it might worry through. ButI guess it ain’t got much chance in this hot sun, and I can’t wait for it to get shade. Say,” he added, pausing with the half dollar in his ham. “s’pposin’ you take it for your pay." “I wonder if it’ll live?” said Dick. "Well, I don’t say for sure ’twill," said the man. “You will have to take your chances at that. It’s only that if you manage to bring it ’round it’s well worth five dollars to you, and if you lose it, you lose your fifty cents You take your choice, you see. It’s a fine breed." Dick was too good a. farmer not to be able to see at a glance the possibilities that lay in a fine calf. I‘I’ll take it,” he said. The man helped him with it out of the wa- gon, and Dick had a hard time gettingitinto a shady place, where he left it lying until he could bring some cool water. The poor creature would not, or could not, drink, so he bathed its head and then sought the help of his mother, a reliable counselor in all mat- ters pertaining to kindness to dumb animals, particularly of the weak and helpless sort. . “Nothing better than you have done,” she said. “Let it lie in the shade and rest. By and by it will take water if it ever picks up at all." She was right. Before night the exhaust- ed animal lifted its head and opened its eyes as if in grateful acknowledgment of Dick’s care and solicitudc. After a few swallows of water it willingly took the warm milk which’ stood next in the list of mother’s re- storatives. Dick’s father came around and looked at the invalid. Dick told him its his- tory, adding: “It’s coming to like every- thing, father." “Gcod looking calf," said father with an approving nod. “Yes," said Dick eagerly. “I’m going to take good care of it and feed it up, and it’ll make a good cow in time. Be worth a good deal, hey, father?” “At my expense, I suppose?” said father. Dick had not got so far as to think of that. He had only, as the worn out animal re- vived, considered one side of the question— the pleasure of raising it by his own care and becoming after awhile the proud possessor of a valuable cow. But here was the other side presented. His calf must be pastured through the summer, and when winter came on pro- vided with food and shelter. “IVcll—I don’t mean just that,” said Dick, after a few minutes’ thought. “I want to keep it here, but I don’t expect to have it kept for nothing. I want it to be every bit mine and nobody elso’s, and I’d like to pay you regular rates for it—that is, if you’ll hire me to work, so I’ll have something to pay with.” “I will,” said the farmer, well pleased at seeing the boy interested in work of any kind. Dick, as we have guessed, had high hopes of the profits he was to make on his calf, which, as it quickly recovered from the ef- fects of its march, gave good promise of not disappointing him. But he soon began to realize that it would require a very fair amount of what his father called “good solid work” in order to provide for his new charge. He was not naturally fond of work, and more than once felt tempted, when the weekly pay for the pasturage of his pet was coming due, to make a proposition to his father to take the animal off his hands, pay- ing him a fair advance on what he had paid for it. But his pride always arose between him and such a way out from under the bur- then he had undertaken. beauty with a rapidity which he could al- grew the less he felt inclined to part with it. Winter taxed him still more severely. He was then attending school, and much of the time found that it took nearly all his leisure in the short days to provide for the support of his fast growing animal. “Don’t work the boy too hard,” said mother, one day. .. “It won‘t hurt him a bit,” said father. “The vim he’s showing, the steady stick to it that it’s bringing out of him is worth a long sight more than the calf is.” “Right you are.” said grandfather. “No, it won’t hurt him. He gets a little time to take a game of checkers in the evening. don’t be?" “Sometimes, when he doesn’t have to study,” said mother, laughing. “He takes too much after you. father, to let the check- ers go." The calf quickly outgrew her calfhood, de- veloped into a dainty young heifer, full of grace and beauty in the eyes of many beside her proud owner and had settled down into the dignity of a young matron, when one evening Grandfather Weatherby came over and challenged Dick to a. tilt at checkers. “I’ll do it, sir, but you’ll be likely to beat me all hollow,” said Dick. “I haven’t played very much this long time." He handed the board to the old gentleman, then stepped up to his room for a moment. Grandfather leisurely set his men and then stood in astonishment as Dick took his seat before the board. “What—heyl What's all this’“ Dick was also setting his men—not, how- ever, the red ones that usually played against the black, but twelve shining gold pieces. He sat back in his chair and laughed at the old gentleman’s astonished face before say- mg: “I’m a little older than you were, grand- father, when you set your board with silver pieces, but as these are gold, don’t you think I’m about even?" ' “Ho, hol” laughed the old man. "He said he couldn’t beat me: but I am beat-the worst kindl" “It’s the price of my cow," said Dick. “Sixty dollars, and cheap enough at that, father says. Father’s bought her of me, so she stays here on the farm. I wanted to sell her and put my money into something else, but I’d hardly have the heart to let her go away. Mother says she’s the best milker on the farm. And I’ve kept the calf, so I’ll have another cow before long. ” . “Good for you,” said grandfather, approv- ingly. “You’ve made a. good start. Now listen—my farm’s too big for such an old fel~ low as I am to see to. I’ll give you an acre oil! it for every one of those gold pieces.” “Grandfather on don’t mean it 1” ex—i claimed Dick. ‘ uch land as that of yours for five dollars an acre”— “N 0,. I don’t mean that,” said grandfather. - “You’re to keep your moneyto work the land with, and wait till I get through. I say I’ll give ou the land just as long as you work: If we and make the best of it. You’ll need it when there are so many boys in the family besides yourself.” - “I can’t play checkers tic-night, sir.” said Dick, shaking his head as he arose and goth; cred up his money. “I’m too much u 1;! with in new greatness. Twelve acres! “flit shall I o with it? How shall I bfiln!” I “You’ve got a- calf to begin th,” said grandfather. “Better buys. few more and. go to stock raising. When our stock out-3 grows your land you can some of it 011.4. And then you’llbe able to buy more land. 1 Only you may be sure that for every'acro‘ you want of me‘I’shall char you full prim” ‘ P1101 England Homestoadge ' .—~ His piece of live ; stock was doing well, increasing in size and '. most see from day to day, and the older it - THE GIRLS OF SPAIN. Howflthe Dark Eyed Beauties Make Them- solves Look Fascinating. The traveler through Spain sees the young girls, anywhere, as beautiful as angels. They are tall, straight as an arrow, with the most perfect figures, and with faces which for a dark, tender, sad beauty are unexampled. The magnificent hair, always clean, always combed, always marvelously dressed, with the inevitable flower in it, is alike the dis- tinguishing mark of the poorest as well as the richest Spanish woman. In this respect the Spanish woman is unlike any other. Evcn Italy, the sister peninsula, so closely connected with Spain in the past—Italy has no such distinction. The Italian peasant does not take such care of her hair, nor does the Italian lady manifest the pride, the neatness, the coquctry of fresh flowers, as does the Spaniard. That beautiful undulating hair, so blue black, with a rose hidden in its trcsses —it is the joyof Spanish travel to look at those heads. In going into small shops and humble quar- ters one of ten secs the business of hair dress— ing in progress. Ono sister is dressing the hair of another, or the mother is arranging the coiil'urc, etc. They have little heated irons, with which they frizz the one side, and the other is allowed to go smooth. It is al- ways becoming to the face beneath it. They wear it much over the face, avoiding the Chinese style. Little curls around the ears or pushing forward on the temples show that the Spanish woman values the purpose of hair, which is to shade the eye and contrast with the complexion. At the back of the head the nuquc isalways carefully brushed up. This nuquc gives that character to the back of the head which is so essentially Spanish. It is a remnant of the high comb days and the mantilla. The high comb is now seldozn worn, but the hair is always dressed high on the head—a. natural crown which any queen might envy. The Spanish eye, large, humid, tender, grand, languishing, furnished with lashes so long, so curling and so beautiful that the pencil of the artist falls to despair; the black pupil, the White sea, in which the lustrous orb sails—all is indescribable! Spanish eyes are sad. Spanish women, when they are not coquotting and laughing, have a sad expres- sion. Is there a little of the Orient left in their expression? Is it Moorish, and does it speak of the harem and the inevitable heart- break? Next to the beauty of hair and eye comes the beauty of the flashing teeth. These are so universally perfect that the student of dent- istry should go to Spain and find out how they manage it. There is very little good eating in Spain. Perhaps these faultless teeth are not spoiled by cakes and pastry and sweets in childhood. But the careless traveler expects to be rewarded when the Spanish woman smiles with a row of pearls, and he is al- most never (lisappointcd.——Cor. Philadelphia Times. 311‘. Fitzgerald and )Irs. Drowning. It shows some progress in the age when the editor of Mr. Edward Fitzgerald’s memoirs feels called upon to apologize for the ungra- cious remark about Mrs. Browning which he allowed to appear in his volumes. The worst result of the remark was the spleen that it called forth in Mr. Browning, tempting him in his later years to undignified and even: coarse utterance. This retaliation was due, it is said, to a somewhat distorted and exag- gerated report of the original phraseology, which, as it stands in the book, would call rather for a silent and contemptuous disre- gard. The actual statement, made upon an impulse, no doubt, and in the familiarity of private correspondence, , was as follows: “Mrs. Browning’s death is rather a relief to me, I must say. No more Aurora Leighs, thank God! A woman of real genius, I know; but What is the upshot of it all? She and her sex had better mind the kitchen and their children, and perhaps the poor. Except in such things as little novels, they only do- vote themselves to what men do much bet- ter, leaving that which men do worse or not at all.” The refreshing thing is to notice that Mr. William Aldis Wright, the editor of Fitz- gerald’s memoirs, now feels bound to apolo- gize for admitting a remark which, if printr ed a. century or so ago, would have been re- garded as a piece of unquestioned good sense. The prejudice of sex still survives in all trades, and nowhere more than in the ele- vated regions of intellect: indeed it is per- haps greater there than elsewhere, because 01 the greater extremes of success and failure. I have known several novelists yet unknown to fame who still hold to the conviction that Mrs. Stowe quite unsexed herself in writing “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and Mrs. Jackson in writing “Ramona;” and had the circulation and influence of those books been twice as great, the impropriety would, in the eyes of these critics, have been doubled. Why, they justly ask, should a woman’s book be trans- lated into twenty languages, while one tongue is still enough for the masterpieces of John Jones? Writing novels is unquestionably, they maintain, one of the things which “men do much better,” if the age would only get over this preposterous inclination to read the “little novels” of George Eliot—T. W. H. in Harper’s Bazar. How Hair Cloth Is Made. Many people understand, of course, how hair cloth is made, but for the edification of those who do not we will explain the process. Inthe first place horse hair cannot be dyed. It repels coloring matter, so to make black cloth it is necessary to secure natural black hair. The horses, in many cases absolutely wild, unrestrained, are regularly corralled and shorn. Of course, black hair is prefera- ble, but sometimes gray stock is utilized. Not only the tails but also the manes are cut; the hair is bunched. These bunches seldom contain hairs of loss length than two feet; some are even three and three and one-half feet, and the thicknws of the bunches is usu- ally two or three inches. The hair cloth looms are provided with what we call a. hip- per, in place of shuttle, and the nipper is so finely actuated that it travels across the warp and seizes from the bunches one hair only, the jaws of the nipper being too fine to grasp _ more than one, and carries it across the weft threads. dropping it into its exact place. The action of the loom mechanically forces the hair next to its predecessor, the warp crosses upon it, snugly holds it in its place, the nip- per travels back and seizes another, and so on and on. The delicacy and almost human ac- curacy with which each separate hair is placed between the warp threads is really incredible. ~Upholsterer. Speed of Tornadoes. Professor J. P. Finlay gives the width of the path of destruction in tornadoas, as de- termined from the records of eighty-eight years, at from 10 to 10,560 feet, the average being 1,369 feet. The length of the tornado track varies from 300 yards to about 200 miles, the average being 24.79 miles. The velocity of progression of the tornado cloud varies from 7 to 100 milea an hour, the aver- age being 44.11 miles. These extremes , may often occur in different portions of the track of a single tornado. The shortest time occu- pied by tho tornado cloud in passing a given point varits from “an instant” to about 20 minutes, the average being 74 seconds—De. trait Free Press. , l THEI’CITY‘ 0F JERUSALEM. ," A PANELED RECEPTION ROOM; A BIRDIS EYE VIEW FROM A HOUSE- TOP ON MOUNT ZION. Changes Time Has Wrought Among the Sacred Scenes of Scriptural History in the Cosmopolitan Old City—The Small- est Stores in the World. I write this letter on the housetop of a bishop’s residence on the top of Mount Zion, in the center of Jerusalem. My American typewriter stands Within thirty feet of the great square tower of David, the base of which was undoubtedly built before Christ. At my left, surrounded by the yellow stone walls of houses, is the dark green pool which Hezekiah made to supply the Holy City with water in case of a siege, and beyond it, out of the honeycomb of buildi'ngs, shines the great bronze dome which stands over the spot on ,which Christ was crucified, and in which worship pilgrims from every quarter of the Christian world. In front of me, not half a mile away, on a great plateau cover- ing thirty-five acres, is a big octagonal tower with a bulbous bronze dome. It is the Mosque of Omar, and it stands on the very site of Solomon’s temple, while at its left is the church built on the Roman mosaic floor of the house of Pontius Pilate. The horizon on all sides is bounded by hills. Jerusalem lies in a nest in the mountains. It- is built on an irregular plateau, with valleys about it and steep hills running straight up from these to the city and to the higher hills on tho oppo- site sides. Around the cdge of this plateau runs a. wall about thirty feet high and within this is the Jerusalem of today. It does not cover, all told, much more than the area of a three hundred acre farm, and a good walker can make the circuit of its walls in an hour. LIKE A GREAT HONEYCOMB. Sitting, as I am, upon the site of King David’s palace, I see the Whole city spread out below me. What a curious city it is! In my tour of the world I have found no place so full of strange sights, of picturesque characters, and so different in every particu- lar from every other part of the World. Aside from its wonderfully interesting his- torical associations, Jerusalem today is a. city of itself. Forty thousand people are packed Within its narrow walls, and it looks more like a great honeycomb than a city. The houses are piled one upon another in all sorts of irregularities, and if you would take a half section of land and scatter over the Whole great piles of gigantic store boxes just as you find them back of a large store, you might get some idea of Jerusalem as it looks to me from Mount Zion. These houses have no chimneys, and their stone roofs are in every case almost flat. Many of them have little beehive domes jutting out of their center, and if the town were on a level these domes would look like the hay cocks ot' a great meadow at time of harvest. Yellow limestone is the material of Jerusalem. The wood used in the building of the whole city would not last an American family a winter, and the roofs, walls and floors of these thou— sands of houses are of cold, yellowish white limestone. Even in the bishop’s mansion, which is one of the finest in the city, I get out of my bed on to a stone floor, and I walk to my breakfast through stone halls, dowu l stone steps. There are no wells in this city of Jerusalem. All of the water comes down in rain, and the trees and gardens of the town can be num- bered on your fingers. The hills about the city are almost as barren as those of New England, and the only foliage visible is the dark silvery green of the olive orchards on the Mount of Olives and along the hills be- tween J affa and Bethlehem. The only green to be seen is an acre or so of common inside the walls of the temple plateau, and here and there a housetop which by age has gathered a coating of dirt from the dust of the city and on which the green grass has sprouted. Here and there you see ruined chears which are too dangerous to be inhabited by the bees of this human hive and on these the moss and grass grow. There is one green bushy tree at the base of Mount Calvary, and a solitary palm looks out over the city beside the busi- noss street named after King David. It is not an attractive looking town, and its glar— ing cream white makes sore the eyes under the rays of this tropical sun. THROUGH THE GATE. The walls of Jerusalem are clean and well cut, and they have not the dilapidated condi- tion of those of the cities of China. They are entered by gates which are closed at night, and at each of these gates Mahometan. soldibrs stand and exact a tax on all of the produce which comes into the city. The main busi- ness gate is that which leads out behind the Tower of David towards J afi‘u, through which the Bethlehem girls bring their vegetables each morning to sell and through which all of the imports which come by sea are brought in. This gate lies at my feet and I can see the curious throng which passes through it day in and day out. There are donkeys and camels with great loads on their backs. There are pilgrims by the thousands and all of the various characters which make up this curious people. Nearly all of the business and manufactur- ing establishments of J erusalcm are of this cave like character. There is a. nest in the city known as the bazars, and this is made up of long streets vaulted over, with these caves opening out from the walls on both sides and with every sort of work going on in them. The upper city or the town of today is made up, as I have said, of a series of stone boxes piled one on the top of the other. Each‘great stone box is a dwelling, and these dwellings areas curious as the vault like stores. Few of them have any Windows and most of the rooms are of the same cave like character. The town is as compact today as it was when David thrummed upon his harp and the tribes not only of Palestine but of all the world came here to worship. There are mag- nificent monasteries scattered throughout the city, and on the very’top of the Mount of Olives a great Russian church lifts its bulb- ous domas towards heaven. In the Garden of Gethsemane, where Christ spent the night before he was crucified, there is a resting place fwilgrims, and the Roman Catholics have 1, Brothers and Sisters in their mon- asteries and convents, while the old Arme- nian church has a big monastery near the gate of Zion, which contains 180 monks and which can accommodate 2,000 pilgrims. —Frank G. Carpenter. To Check Consumption. The minute sanitary regulations enforced : by the German police seem rather curious to American readers. But :whatever may be thought of them: as police orders, they are are always interesting and valuable because they. embody the practical application of the most modern scientific observations. It is this‘fact that gives importance to the notifi- cation lutoly issued by the president of police at Berlin announcing prephylnctic regula- tions against the spread of phthisis or tuber- culur consumption—Herald of Health. A Well Beaten Truck. Omaha Teacher—Can any of the class ex- plain to me why the way of the trausgressor is 90 hard? Omaha Spark—I guess it’s ’cause it’s trav- eled so much—Omaha Wgrld-Igerald. Bow to Furnish an Apartment Tastefully . and Quietly. A recent number of The Boston Budget gave a. very helpful description of a quiet ar- tistic apartment under the title of a “Paneled Reception Room. ” Some of the cuts and the more essential portion of the letter press are here reproduced: THE ROOM. The floor is covered with a. carpet of a deep, rich, orange red, in a plain tone. Over this Oriental rugs of many dull, soft colors are strewn in great profusion. These afford apleasing variety and richness of coloring. The walls are paneled to the height of about five feet. They are of dark, polished ma.- hogany, and are enriched by heavy, plain moldings. Above this the mural decoration consists of a wall paper in an inconspicuous design of a conventional Whirlin dark green and deep yellow tones. The doors opening from this room are heavily paneled, with bronze hinges of good workmanship. The fireplace is an im- posing feature. It is broad, low and arched, and it is surrounded by un- glazed tiles of a deep, warm red. Above these runs a band of rich carv- ings in a. renais- sance scroll p at- tern. On each side of th a fireplace panels of different sizes are arranged, while above this carved band a row of small panels is ' set. The broad, polished shelf overhangs these panels, and has on either side two columns of classic pro- portions. These in turn hold the broad cor- nice, which is further supported by rows of paneling on the sides and across the top. About half way between the shelf and cor- nice two small shelves are inserted between the columns. The tiles of the hearth are of a. dark olive gray, highly polished. For a room like the one shown in the illus- tration, deep orange red hangings should be used, with sash curtains of white, with pale . ~: 72—. yellow figures. If you have not a broad ledge to your window, you may substitute 5 0 me- thing equally pret- ty and appropriate in the way of a long box, fitting the curve of the win- dow and handsome- 1y upholstered with a blue to match the blue of the portiere. You may object to the blue and red as colors unman— ageable in point of harmony, but .. you need make no 5' mistakes if you ‘ '~ ' ' ‘ study carefully the CLOISSONNE JAR. many examples of- fered by the Japanese In their ceramic deco- rations. In the corner by the fireplace 8. tall vase will make an effective spot of color. The cloissonne jar is a very beautiful specimen of this branch of Japanese industry. This per. haps is of Chinese manufacture, however, and as it may be of some little interest for us to decide from whose hands it originally came, let us examine it closely. It is of a pale blue at the top, with a spray of conventionally treated flowers, in light greens and pinks, on the side. The surface is broken unevenly into spots, the background of which is in some instances white, again of the pale blue, and at the very base of a deep, rich blue, covered by an all over design. The wire which traces the pat- tern is about one-sixth of an inch in width, which alone would show it to be, aftcr all, the product of Chinese labor. The Japanese vases are almost invariably of a rich, dark green, Indian red and deep blue. The patterns are arrangements of geometrical forms irregu- larly disposed upon the surface. while the wire shows as a tiny line. There is one thing which you owe to society, and to feminine society particularly, and that is a. clock in your , reception 1' o o m . E v e r y w o m a n wishea, of course, to make her cere- monious call exactr ly ten minutes in duration. If she is clever, and has taken advantage of long experience,she will be able so to . arrange the topics of conversation that they will come to the proper cli- max just as the alloted time is expiring. To the woman, however, who is not endowed with this gift, for it certainly is a talent, a clock is an absolute boon. It should ‘be so at tractive and lovely in appearance that when her eyes fall upon it she will think as much of its beauty as of its utility. To choose a clock is indeed a. difficult matter, they are to be found in such variety of style and ma.- tcrial. CLOCK. SCREEN. There are bronze clocks,supporting a. bronze I figure or group; there are clocks all gilt and clocks all porcelain, and there are the light onyx ones, made to represent Grecian basil- icas, with gilt columns and ornaments. The one shown is both elegant and dainty. The face is of gilt, with the figures in white enamel and with black and gold hands. This is framed in Luneville porcelain with a white ground, on which are strewn garlands and wreaths of flower-sin light and varied chintz colors. Every room which contains a fireplace should alsohold a screen. This maybe of wood to match the wood work of the room, or of almost any material which the fancy may suggest. It may be tall and folding or wall and swinging. The one shown in the sketch has a light gilt frame work with afairy like design of a wreath and leaves across the top. In this frame is stretched a piece of heavy silk of a deep yellow shade, on which is worked a design in leaves and scrolls. In the center of this pattern the ground work is of a light golden brown. shot with light red. "If a woman is pretty, To me ’tis no matter, Be she blonde or brunette. So she lets me look at her.” An unhealthy woman is rarely. if _ever. beautiful. The peculiar diseases to Whlch. so many of the sex are subject, are prolific l‘l IAY,‘ causes of pale sallow faces. blotchcd with un- SIghtly pimples, dull, lustreless eyes and ema- ciated forms. Women so afflicted, can be per- Prescription; and with the restoration of health comes that beauty which, combined With good qualities of head and heart, makes “ Favorite Prescription ” is the only medicine for WARRANTE [ women, sold by druggists. ' t we g arantee from the manufacturers, that i will give satisfaction in every case. or money will be refunded. It ders, irregularities and weaknesses With which so many women are afflicted. Copyright, 1888, by WORLD’S DIS. MED. ASS’N. Purely Vegetable ! Perfectly Harmless! UNEQUALED AS A LIVER PILL. One tiny, Sn ar-coated Pellet a dose. Cures Sick Headac e, Bilious Headache, Constipa- tion. Indigestion, Bilious Attacks, and all de- 25 cents a vial, by druggists. . Cream Balm I! . i Y 1“ .' I E It mancntly cured by using Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Women angels of loveliness. u n d o r a p o s i is a positive specific for all those painful disor- DR PIERCE’S PELLETS . . Smallest, Cheapest, Easiest to take. rangemcnts of the Stomach and Bowels. ‘1 T U I t E S .\ 5 I) FEVER . in Head. Aparticlcis appliml imn (-m'll nostril and is agreeable. Price on cents a! Druggisis; by mail, registered, Illl (llS. ELY Blm'l‘ll Hits, 56 Warren Street, hew York. 1y“ A Liar outfit Indicates the name etc light clcur ci- gar known as SLEEPBR’SEYE Provon by expert testimony to be the best ten :cent cigar on the market. Sold everywhere. A sk 'l‘rudc- .\l :i r ..: . S. .i'. SLEEPER & (30.. Factory, Boston. using "RED by PERRY 17A VIS’ PA/Mflllik ltllasdmitmflinefirlfm For Sale at a. Sacrifice. “’iIl be sold ifapplicd for soon. TEN ROOM COTTAGE. within five minutes walk of the bridge, with never failing well of excellent water, and a cistern . holding three hundred hogs- heads, for laundry purposes all modern improvements conveniences, etc. Cost owner $8,000, and will be sold for $5,000 with only $1.500 "down. to satisfac- tory party. 1m33 Enquireat GAZETTE OFFICE.
Norwalk Chronicler