«at THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

VOL. 43—-No. 50,

 

 

 

NEW YORK, OCTOBER 13, 1888,

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“BEARS IN THE WAY.”

BY HARKLEY HARKER.

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The children often cry, “There are bears in the
way.” The thick shadows of the wood at twilight,
the lawn after nightfall, the vacant chamber on the
second story, or any other dark corner of this bright
world, has to timid childhood a bear.

But some children do not outgrow the fear of the
bear. Difficulties are always confronting them and
hindering them. The young man would gladly at-
tempt some of life’s errands, but he sees so many
bears, he is afraid of the obstacles, and notices them
far more than the opportunities; he cannot, some-
how, see that there is nothing without a bright side
as well a dark one, and no purpose in life free from
perils.

Next to moral weakness, a fear of the difficulties
to be met is, undoubtedly, the most unfortunate

mental trait of any young person. Some are born
with this timidity. They are pampered also by in-
dulgent parents, who insist on ‘‘never allowing a
ehild of theirs to be frightened or go where he is
afraid to go.” I have heard a father try to persuade
his boy toa certain thing by persistingly showing
“how easy it is,” instead of frankly acknowledging
the hardship and attempting to harden the young
fellow’s courage.

Indeed, courage is largely being bleached out of
our modern life. The civilized law protects us to
that degree that delicate ladies can travel round
the globe alone. Every railway is so soundly scolded
for any accident, that we are telegraphically ticked
to safety from start to finish. The doctor, the drug-
gist, the seller of food, the manufacturer of every-
thing we use, the employer of help, are all held to so
rigid a liability for safety, that mere bravery is
about done with. There are no dangers that can be
put out of the way but are put out. The result is
that the men and women of this generation are
cowards; not naturally, but as the result of a pam-
pering legislation; there being no need of courage,
we are dropping it; and our children are inheriting
the degeneracy.

Life is hard enough still; but itis moral dangers
rather that beset us. That is, there is the note to be
looked out for, the bank account to be squarely met,
competition to be mastered, professional rivalries to
be turned to good account rather than against you.
Who can name the dangers of modern life? We have
no bandits to fear; highwaymen do not molest our
castles as they did the homes of our ancestors. The
modern bandits are nervous prostration, the quicker
wits of the next fellow who undersells you by tele-
- graph, the sharp commercial corners that make suc-
cess a thing for the bold, thé courageous, the strong,
the plucky, and the ready.

Courage is necessary. And dangers, of the kind
that,we haveto meet ‘in these piping times ef peace,”
are just as readily conquered by men of good spirit
as were the bears in the woods of old times. There
is a keen pleasure to the healthy mind in overcom-
ing. Two-thirds of the satisfaction of business and
professional lifeis in showing yourself your neigh-
bor’s equal. To match him by honorable means, to
hold your own in a fair fight of peace, to stund right
out and take the storm, yet not be sent to shelter like
a craven; these are the manly pleasures of our in-
tense American world. When a man feels that he
has “the grit,”’is not afraid and can hold his own, he
knows what that word ‘‘manliness” means. When
one has done ahard thing, done it in a clean and
straightforward way, he has one of the most ex-
quisite sensations of which the human heart is
capable. He looks back on his contest and enjoys
every moment of it, in retrospect. Not one rough
hour of it would he sponge out of memory. If you
were to be asked by some Ariel, with magic wand,
what things he should forever blot from your
memory, you would not part with the hard-fought
battles where you were a hero. You often recall
them and encourage yourself for to-morrow. by the
tough lines which you passed safely yesterday.

We say to ourselves, “Old fellow, don’t you know
what you are made of? You cannot be killed easily
You have faced worse storms than this.” No man
can, by any possible means, know whatis in himself
except by the bears he hasmet. When we have killed
our bear, we know what to do next time; what stone
struck him in the ugly eye, or what stab behind the
rib let his heart out. Men of resources, men of ex-
pedients, ready men, are nade only in this way. The
calmness and self-poise necessary to any degree of
success in life are the sole result of harsh and
hazardous experiences.

As years pass, we all find that we do not die easily,
or we would have been dead long ago. We learn that
the chances are, even if a revolver is pointed
straight at us, that it will not go off this time. Es-
pecially is it true of the men. Thank Heaven, the
women are largely protected from such lessons of
danger. We know that out of forty dangers our
luek is likely to be to find thirty-five of them “not
loaded,” as they will snap a cap and fail to explode.
Dangers become our familiar friends. We are saved
by the skin of our teeth every week or two. We
“manage somehow.” We may not get over the tor-
rent by the bridge; but there will be a log, or step-
ping-stones, or the rain will cease and the river itself
run dry. Go ahead! We shall get over. We will
mareh right onto the bank, anyway. We will stand
there, and be ready to take our best chance.

We find thatit is only by such means that we have
lived atall. ‘He that regardeth the clouds shall not
plant.” Face the bear; he may run—if not, we have
as good aright tothe path as he has, and, at least,
we will try for it. We keep our own secrets. Don’t
blab your fears. If you are in danger, and if you are
a true and honest man at heart, if you have wronged
no one—why, then, do not let any one but God and
some good friend know that you arein any danger.
Confront it. Leave word where you are gone, so that
if you die in a fight we shall know where to look for
the remains. But go! God and nature favor the
righteous brave. The chances are a thousand to one
that you will come back to relate your own victory,
and surprise those who never knew that you had a
bear in your path.

 

OLD-FASHIONED HEROINES.

BY KATE THORN.

In reading an old-fashioned novel, we are struck
forcibly by one peculiarity in the heroines.

They each and all faint away whenever there is
anything exciting going on. They faint when Lord
Adolphus proposes; they faint when a cruel parient
refuses the use of the parlor and the front gate to an
adoring swain; they faint when they come across a
stray cow; they faint early and often, and every-
body carries smelling salts to “bring them to.”

The heroines in old-fashioned novels were a deli-
cate set of beings. They were totally unlike the
hardy and enduring race of women which writers of
this nineteenth century are so fond of holding up
for the admiring emulation of us, their degenerate

daughters.

“Our grandmothers were never nervous,” they tell
us; “they did not have neuralgias, and sick head-
aches, and weak: lungs, and degenerate backs; they
were able to help their husbands and do their own
housework, besides spinning stocking yarn and knit-
ting stockings for the whole family.” ;

Butif the novelists tell us correctly, they fainted
away on every possible and impossible occasion.

Fancy the girl of the period swooning when the
man she had pursued for three seasons succumbed,
and offered her his heart and hand, and invited her
to share his home and his lot!

if the home he spoke of had speaking-tubes, and
Meaney wash-tubs, and what was the size of
the lot.

In the old-fashioned novel, all the elderly women
are “cats” of the most disgusting order, scratching
everybody within reach; and all the young women
are angels of the tirst water, and would take the
prize at a celestial fair where angels were entered
for premiums.

But they will faint away; and all the best love
scenes are marred by the sprinkling of cold water,
ete undoing of corset-strings, and the smell of harts-

orn.

Now, to us, there is not the slightest romance about
a woman who has fainted away. She will have her
mouth open, her eyes rolled up, her false crimps
skewed round, and her ee generally demoralized;
and after you have fired cold water, and brandy, and
camphor, and spirits of ammonia at her, and brought
her round, she looks about as interesting as a hen
that has been caught out in a north-east rain-storm,

We are sorry to notice that afew ot our enterpris-
ing modern novelists are disposed to revive the
fainting away heroine. Don’t do it, dear friend. Let
us not have any such nonsense in our new books.
Give them heart-disease, or brain fever, or consump-
tion, and we can bear it cheerfully; but don’t intro-
duce the old-fashioned heroine who faints away at
the end of every chapter, and has to get unbuttoned,
and unlaced, and undone generally.

Let her rest with the ashes of Amanda Fitzallen
and Clarissa Harlowe, and don’t try to resurrect her.

THE WIFE'S WARNING.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

“T never saw anything so splendid in my life,” said
Eunice Alderley.

She was sitting before her own cheerful little parlor
fire, one cheek supported on her hand, and her eyes
fixed earnestly on her husband’s face. A bright-
browed, silky haired little brunette, with velvet-red
lips, and dimples on either cheek; the crimson merino
dress she wore was exquisitely becoming to her, and
the tuft of scarlet geranium flowers above her left
ear glowed like a spot of flame among her ebon
braids.

“So you’ye been to call on the bride?” said Mr.
Alderley, trotting the baby up and down on his knee.

“Only to think!” sighed Eunice, a little pensively;
““t isn’t much more than a year since she was my
bride-maid, in plain white muslin and real flowers—
Nanny Olcott, and nothing more—and now she lives
in Fifth avenue, with her own carriage, and two foot-
men in white and chocolate liveries, and her boudoir
all paneled in pearl-colored velvet and gold! It’s
like reading about one of the enchanted palaces in

the ‘Arabian Nights! And, oh, John, I am to go.
there to-morrow and spend the day, with baby. She
sends the coupe for me.”

“Ah!” laughed good-humored Mr. Alderley; ‘‘so
the omnibus is too democratic for you, eh? Well, be
ise a please. Did you see this fine husband of

ers?”

“No,” Mrs, Alderley answered. ‘‘He has happened
to be out every day that I have called, but Nanny
says his appearance is truly distinguished.” ;

“It must be a very fine thing to be ‘truly dis
tinguisked,’ ’’ observed John, dryly.

“Now you are getting into that sarcastic mood of
yours,” pouted Eunice.

“A man must take refuge in some sort of a mood,”
retorted Mr. Alderley, ‘‘when his wife has neither
eyes, oe nor memories for any one but Nanny
Alcott, and the splendid match she has made. Nanny
was a pretty girl enough, but, dear me! she had
hardly the average allowance of brains.”

“She wasn’t very brilliant as a schoolgirl, cer-
tainly,” Mrs. Alderley was compelled somewhat re-
luctantly to acknowledge, ‘“‘but she has a great deal
of manners now!”

“lm happy to hearit!’ Mr. Alderley observed,
“and now suppose you ring for tea.”

Mrs. Alderley obeyed, only observing, under her
breath as Susan brought the unpretending little tea
equipage.

‘Nanny St. Eval has solid silver marked with the
family crest.”

“T shall wish Nanny St. Eval in Jericho if her
grandeuris going to make my little wife discontented,”
Mr. Alderley broke in, somewhat impatiently. ‘‘We
are not rich, sweetheart, but we owe no man
apenny, and we pay our way as We go, which is
more than many a young couple can say.” a

Yes, it was every word of it true, but Mrs. Alderley
kept thinking of how splendidly Nanny Alcott had
married. = : :

Was she envious of her pretty, shallow-brained
schoolmate’s greater success in the lottery of life?
She herself would have scouted the idea, John was
good, and true, and noble—she would not have ex-
changed her John for Howard St. Eval a dozen times
magnified—but, if John had only been a rich man!
If John would only bea little more progressive, in-
stead of settling down so contentedly upon a salary
of two thousand a year. Mr. St. Eval had made his
money by “speculating”—why could not her John
“speculate” too, as well as anybody else?”

Mrs. St. Eval received her friend rapturously the
next day. For it was a melancholy fact that in spite
of Nanny’s “splendid match,” she had, as yet, very
little society.

“You won’t mind Howard’s cigar?’ she said, apolo-
getically, as she conducted Eunice into the glittering
labyrinth of the drawing-room, and then, for the
first time, Mrs. Alderley became conscious of the
presence of a coarse-looking man in a satin-flounced
dressing-gown and a velvet smoking-cap, who was
sprawled ungracefully out on one of the sofas.

“Happy to meet you,” drawled this stranger, as
Nanny, with some embarrassment, introduced “her
husband.”

If ithad been any man but the magician whose
gold-tipped wand had lifted Nanny to such a height
of luxury, Mrs. Alderley would have pronounced him
a vulgar-looking man; but Howard St. Eval must, of
necessity, be a patrician. =

“Come into my boudoir, dear,’ said the bride.
“ve some of the sweetest dresses to show you, that
Madame Fanchonnette has just sent home. And
Arnold, Constable & Co. have sent up three India
shawls for me to select from, and I really think I
never should make a choice if you weren’t here to
help me. It is so hard to make up one’s mind! And,
oh! the set of diamonds that dear Howard has just
given me—they are loo sweet!”

Mrs. Alderley’s richest jewelry was an exquisitely
tasteful set of Florentine mosaic, neat, yet in no way
showy. She recurred to them with a feeling almost
of disgust as Nanny’s diamonds blazed upon her
eyes. Ear-rings, brooch, necklace, ring, and brace-
lets—all blazing with many-sided facets of reflected
radiance. Eunice Alderley felt a sensation of envy
as she gazed. John could never give her such royal
jewels as these.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” said Nanny, complacently.
“Tm to wear ’em at Newport. Howard has bought
me a Gothic cottage at Newport. Are you going any-
where this season ?”

“T don’t know,” Eunice answered.

And she felt a blush steal up into her temples.
How could John, with his salary of two thousand a
year, afford to send her to Newport, Saratoga, or
Long Branch ?

And as Nanny St. Eval rattled on, Mrs. Alderley sat,
her eyes fixed on the glittering stones, and her mind
vaguely pondering on what might have been.

For two happy years, within a few months, she had
been a wife; and until now she had never asked her-
self whether it was not possible that she might have
done better.

When she went home that night the serpent of dis-
content and envy had writhed its way into the Eden
of her heart.

“What makes you so silent, little wife?’ asked
John, as he helped her to peach preserves. ‘‘Have
you talked out all your talk to Nanny Olcott ?”

Eunice siniled, and tried to laugh it away aS was
her usual wont, but it was a sort c£ forced merri-
ment, and Jolin Alderley saw that something was
wrong.

“T wish Mrs. St. Eval and her hushand were in
Guinea,” he thought, after his usual impetuous
fashion. ‘Eunice has not been the same girl since
she got to be so intimate at the Fifth avenue
house.”

“John,” said Mrs. Alderley, abruptly, one day,“why
don’t you buy and sell goid and stocks and bonds?’
Why don’t you speculate ?” :

“Why don’t I speculate!” slowly repeated honest
Jobn. “Because I have a little common sense, and a
great deal of self-respect.”

“But wouldn’t you like to be rich ?”’

“Not unless my money was honestly come by.” -|

“Nonsense !” flashed out Eunice. ‘Everybody does
it.”

“Meaning Mr. Howard St. Eval ?”

“Well, isn’t he afair example?”

“Eunice,” said Mr. Alderley, gravely, ‘‘I am some-
times disposed to regret your intimacy with that
mau’s wife.”

Eunice colored and bit her lip.

“But,” cheerily resumed her husband, “I give you
credit for too much good sense to allow yourself
actually to be warped and perverted away from your
path of duty. So give me the baby, and we'll get

She would be a great deal more liable to ask him

 

rich by degrees, instead of risking our all, speculator
fashion, upon a chance, which after all is onein ten
thousand, as far as success is concerned.

Mrs. Alderley was silenced at least for the nonce,
yet she resolved at some future time to renew the ob-
noxious subject.

Her usual pilgrimage to Mrs. St. Eval’s shrine was
somewhat earlier than usual the next morning, but,
to her amazement, she found her friend among the
panels of pearl velvet, outlined with gold, weeping

 

and sobbing violently.

‘Dear Nanny, what is the matter?’ she ex-
claimed.

‘‘He—he’s gone to Europe, and never took me-e-e !”
sobbed Mrs. St. Eval.

“But he will soon be back.” —

‘‘He’s taken the diamonds and the silver plate, too,”
wailed Nanny. “He said they would be safer in
London.”

“But why should he do that?” questioned the won.
der-stricken Eunice.

“T asked him, and hesaid I was a f-o-o-l,” wept Mrs,
8t. Eval; ‘‘that—but who on earth is that?”

She might well ask, for at this moment the privacy
of her apartment was invaded by two gigantic police-
men in blue and gilt uniform.

“T thought so,
around, “Our bird has flown.”

The other bewildered Nanny by the quick, brusque

uestions he asked her as to the whereabouts of Mr.
oward St. Eval.

And before nightfall the deserted wife had taken
refuge in Eunice Alderley’s home, penniless, de-
graded and terrified. For Howard St. Eval was no
other than Joseph Hodgson, a notorious forger, coun-
terfeiter, and a man of numerous aliases.

Late in the evening, when Nanny had wept herself
to sleep in their little guest chamber, Eunice came
down to where her husband sat before the fire, and
silently passed her arm around his neck,

“Dear John,” she whispered.

“So your eyes are opened at last, Eunice,” he said,
with a smile, ‘and you don’t want to ‘speculate’ any
more.” :

“T never knew before,” she answered, “ that it was
to be truly proved that my husband was an honest
wan. Poor, innocent ] ny, what a dreadful fate is
hers, while I, who repined at heart because wealth,
and station, and rank were not mine, am spared.’’

And Eunice never again found fault with the lot in
life which Providence had given her.

 

Fashion, Fun, Fret, and Fury.
BY JOSH BILLINGS,

FASHION. -

Fashion is a goddess.

Sheiz ov the maskuline, feminine,and nuter gender.

Men worship her in her maskuline form, wimmin
in her feminine form, and the excentricks in her
nuter gender. 3 ay

She rules the world with a straw, and makes all her
suppliants. ;

She enslaves the poor az well az the rich, she kneels

in sanktuarys, pomps in cabins, and leers at the

street korners. 3 !
She fits man’s foot with a pinching boot, throttles

him with a stubborn collar, and dies his mustash
with darkness. ays

She trails the ritch silks ov wimmin along the filthy
sidewalks, leads sore-eyed lap-dogs with astring, and
banishes helpless children to murky nurserys, in the
kare ov faithless hirelings. ;

She cheats the excentric with the clap-trap of free
dom, and makes him serve her in
the harlequin. ~ i

FUN. “33

Fun is the soul’s vent. | é

Fun iz where the kruditys eskape, where she kiks
up her heels, and runs snorting around the lot, un-
haltered, and az eager az an eskaped konvikt.

Fun iz a safety-salve that lets the steam preshure
oph from the biler, and keeps things from bussting.

Fun iz the dancing particles, which fli_oph from:
surface ov unbottled cider; it iz the senseless frolik
ov the spring lam in the ciover, it iz the merry
twinkle that kreeps down tew the korner ov the par-
son’s eye, to stand inthe sunlite and see what’s going
on.

Fun iz az karliss aza kolt, az happy as a bride-
groom, and az silly az a luy-sik skool-girl.

Fun iz the holy day wisdum ov the sage, the phools
pholly, and everyboddys puppet. >

Sun in it iz

Next tew the virtew in this world, the
what we kan least spare.

FRET.

Fret is a kanker, a gangreene, a blister, a bile, salt.

on a sore place, and a sliver every where.

Fret is a frickshun, a dull lancet, a gimlet.

Fret makes a yung man ackt like an old one, and
an old man ackt like a yung one.

Fret iz a grind stun, whare he
and haz tew do hiz own turning.

Fret haz burnt more holes thru a man’s koppers
than all the other hot things; it haz killed az.often
az the doktors hav, and iz az lawless and senseless
az a goose. ;

Fret makes the husband a tyrant, the wife a plague,
the child _a nuisance, an old maid terrible, and a

bachelor disgusting. = oe :
Fret makes home a prizon, and puts teeth into the
gums oy all life’s misfortunes. Sak RES

holds hiz noze on,

x

eS

Fnry iz the tornado ov the inner man, a thunder
shower, a blak kioud phull oy litening, a tiger out of
hiz kage, a maniak armed, a bull in fli time. ey

Fury knows no law only its strength; like a rocket,
it whizzes till it busts, and when it has bust, likea
rocket, it iz but a senseless and burnt reed.

Fury iz the argument ov tyrants, and the aha
ov the embecile, the courage ov the kat, and the

glowing embers of dispair.

Fury makes the hornet respektabel, and the ant a | 4,

ljaffing stok; it makes the eavle allmoste human, and
clothes the little wren, battling for her brood, with
a halo sublime. :

 

HOW TO MAKE MONEY,

BY ELLIS LAWRENCE.

7.-KEEP A TIGHT GRIP.

Last week I warned you not to bein a hurry about
disposing of any promising property or chance, just
because you could make a handsome profit by a
quick turn. But impatience isn’t the only fault by
which a man may lose his chance of a competence—
perhaps a fortune. xg

There are people whose hands seem to have no
grip to them. No matter what comes to them, they
don’t hold it. “It came easy; it goes easy” seems to
be their rule of life. When beset by misfortunes, or
embarrasssed by a lot of demands which all come at
the same time, their first impulse is to part with
something which cost them little and will sell for
much. Itis easier to do this than to think their way
out of their perplexities, and most people in this
world prefer the easiest way in all things. That is
one reason why comparatively few people hold most
of the property and money. _

An effort is now being made, by some prominent
citizens, to make proper provision for the last days
of a fine old fellow who has had more splendid
chances than any successful man whom you could
name. Millionaires—some men who are millionaires
ten times over. have turned almost green withenvy as
they thought ofwhat they might have done with that
fellow’s chances. I won’t mention his naine, for itis
a cruel thing to hold up a decent man by name as a
frigh ful example, but you can learn it_ for yourself
by waking a few shrewd inquiries. This fine old
fellow has always been brilliant, manly, industrious,
respectable—he is a most loyal husband and father,
a faithful friend, and a good patriot. The *‘‘good
things” which he has discovered have made for-
tunes for hundreds—really—hundreds—of other men.
There have been years when for months at a time
his income was larger than that of any other man in
the United States. To-day he is as poor as the
poorest of my readers, and not through any misfor-
tune, either—it had all come through his inability to
keep a tight grip on his own. :

How did he lose itall? Ob,in a variety of ways,
but in the end it all centered on the same thing—his
lack of grip. Somebody coaxed him to part with one
valuable property; he did it—against his will, to be
sure; nevertheless, he did it. He always lived fully
up to his income—a practice which would bankrupt
an Astor or a Rothschild, sooner or later; so sharp
fellows learned that by oe him closely they
would find a time when he would need money so
hadly that he would have to let something good slip
through his fingers for whatever it would ela He
had such a keen eye for the birds in the bush that he
never set proper value on the bird in hand.

His career had been a striking illustration of what
ean befall the most lucky of men through lack of
grip, but you can find plenty of smaller men who are
just as distinct warnings, if you will look around a
little. As you have already been told in these
articles, and probably knew before vou were told,
specially good chances of making money are not
quite as plentiful as tramps in midsummer. When a
man does find such a chance, he ought to devote his
energy to holding on to it until all that can be made
out of it comes into his pocket; but what he really
does is to hold it so leosely that it goes to Somehody
aioe Eve sctors who discovered the rich gold in
silver ‘‘le:
stockholders, of the mines from which the paying ore
is being taken. Edison seems to be the only inventor

who has kept his grip on his own inventions. The|-

villa plots which are being sold at city lot prices,
from old farms a few miles from New York, are not
swelling the bank account of the original owner of
the farm. Perhaps the old farmer said there was a
fortune in the ground to the man who would lay it

out and put it on the market, but when somebody

’ said one, with a quick glance

Cigggetitiments ov |

s” of the West are not owners, or even

|

 

what depressing,

Iwill never leave her again, no, never while

seen my husband from
‘and that was at church. He avoided looking at me,

Clarence opened his eyes. When he

else agreed with him, and offered him a thousand or
two dollars above the mortgage and taxes on the old
place, away it went, and the farmer started to roll up
mortgages and taxes somewhere else.

“But,” you say, “it isn’t always easy to hold on to
a thing which ays know is good.” That is so; if it
were, everybody would be rich—or, poor. It isn’t
easy to do anything that ought to be done, except,
when the proper time comes, to love or to die. If you
expect to make and keep money in some easy way,
you may as well give up before you begin. Nothing
that is worth having comes easy, except, perhaps,
the grace of God—perhaps that’s one reason why so
little of this is found in any one’s possession.

It isn’t even easy to hold on to one’s own in this
world. Beside out-and-out thieves, there are any num-
ber of schemers who are always on the lookout for a
man who has money or property, so that they may
get it away from him him in one way or other. Some-
times they coax, sometimes they bully; there are
others who, like prairie wolves, jackals, or hyenas,
just keep quiet, but also keep up a sharp watch un-
til they find you napping, or stumbling, or in a hole;
then they go for you. If you patent anew way of
doing a thing, they will imitate you as closely as they
dare ; if you start a newspaper that becomes popular
they will take pattern after you, and profit by your
wits; if you merely start a kindling-wood route in a
new neighborhood, you’re likely to find a rival with-
in a day or two. But you have your brains to defend
yourself with. Brains take care of the property of
most of the rich men in the United States and every
other civilized country; make proper use of your
brains and you won’t get left. 2

But doesn’t steady thought and grip over propert:
make @ man narrow, and selfish,and hard? Well,
that depends upon your purpose in doing it. If
you’re trying to make money merely forits own sake,
itcan make you as bad as all the Criminals in Sing
Sing rolled into one; it can do this, even if you are
seeking it only to supply you with pleasures that
can’t be had except for cash. But, if you are a
rational human being, you probably see many press-
ing and honorable uses for money in your own family
and those about you; you want to properly educate
your children, make homes for them, and start them
in business; you have some dear invalid who needs
better attention, some good friend who is fighting the
battle of life single-handed and under a heavy load,
and whom you want to encourage with a stout lift.
Keeping a tight grip on his own didn’t make old Hi-
ram Sibley—who died the other day worth ten millién
dollars—narrow, or selfish, or hard; he made new
businesses, provided work for thousands of men, who,
otherwise, would have been idle; he controlled big
farms in half the States of the Union, and by his im-

roved methods taught thousands of other farmers

ow to better their condition.

Keeping a tight grip on his own didn’t make Peter
Cooper narrow, and hard, and selfish. Why, just
when he was having to ‘keep his eye skinned” most
persistently, he was erecting Cooper Institute—the
greatest work of benevolence done by any individual
in the world, up to that time, during the giver’s own
period of life. : : : ;

You can hold tight to your own and still be a model
family man, a good friend, and a public-spirited
citizen. At any rate, keep your grip tight until you
do find yourself falling off in heart. It has to be
done if you would make money.

My Husband's Risk Relations.

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

I was a poorgirl when my husband married me.
Tt was a love-match; love at first sight, and I went
from my mother’s humble cottage home to a mansion,
in my estimation, fit for a queen. —

Don't think for a moment that [ was received with
open arms by my husband’s rich relations. Far from
it. From the first they had opposed his marrying me,
but his dominant will prevailed, and I was duly in-
stalled as mistress of Belmont Hall.

My readers must think me deficient in spirit to
have acceded to any such arrangement; but love is
mighty, and I loved my husband with ail my heart.

previous to starting on my wedding journey. Dear
mother! she had done her best to bring my brother
and myself up respectably-on her little means, but

she could afford us no “extras.” So we had nothing

but a common school education and such training in
“manners” as her old-fashioned notions of ‘society
in her day” could impart. a :

My father had been dead ten years, but he left

comparatively nothing,soI went to my husband’s

home portionless.  __ ey tc ies eee : ~s
_ My husband’s relations were civil, scarcely
teous; hut their coldness of manner, although s
d 8 had no serious effect upon m
long as I possessed my husband’s love; then, I was
young and hopeful, too—merry as a bird, and as light’

of heart. But the honey-moon could not last always, |

2 fact, in our case, it hardly held out the usual given
me, ; : £ =

On “company days” I tried my best to dress in
taste, and acquit myself as befitted the lady of Bel-
mont Hall. But it seemed I was lacking in some-

SHG. oe : }
“Clarence should have taken you to some fashion-
able parties before you were married, my dear,” said
my stately mother-in-law the morning after one of
our weekly dinner receptions. ‘You have very little
taste in dress; he will tire of a dowdy very soon, I
fear, Mabel.” :

“He was satisfied with me before our marriage,” I
ventured to reply. He used to say, ‘Mabel, put on
your simple white dress, with a rose in your hair,
when I am coming.’” :

“Ah! that corresponded very well with your
humble life, and his foolish romance, poor boy !” and
the lady mother would heave a mournful sigh, at
what she termed her ‘“‘poor boy’s infatuation.”

Icould have borne this proudly, bravely,as long
as my husband loved me, but before I had been
married a month I perceived a change in him.

“Tt is all their doings,” I cried, as I wept bitterly
one morning, after Clarence had left me. “Laura
Seville was their favorite, while he could not bear
her; now it is all changed! He is even holding her
up to me as a pattern of style and lady-like de-
meanour. Why did he take me from my mother, my
unchangeable friend? I will go back to her in,
for she is not welcome here, that I can plain) pao |

ive.

She warned me about marrying above my station,
but I would not heed her counsel.” Here I threw
myself on the bed and wept till I fell asleep, where
Clarence found me on his return to dinner.

“What, asleep, Mabel? Not dressed for dinner?
Are you growing lazy?’ was the salute sounded in
my ears as the dinner bell rang.

An angry retort was usual to me now, I had grown
so tired of reproof, but.I restrained myself on this
occasion, for had I not made up my mind to leave
him, my darling, my all.

He looked pale aud troubled, and I threw my arms
about his neck, but he repelled me; this was ‘the
last straw on the camel’s back.” ‘ i.

“T can leave him now, gladly” I thought, as I
eo myself by his side at a late hour at the dinner
table.

He was politely attentive to me as ‘usual, but his
pale face haunted me all the afternoon !

That night I packed a valise with my commonest
clothes, leaving all my finery and my jewels behind,
and went in a cab to my mother’s house.

How changed seemed everything about the little
eottage where I had spent so many happy hours be-
fore my marriage! : :

Genteel poverty seemed to me now, after my luxu-
rious living, meaner than the pauper’s lot. Poor
mother! she did not find again her happy, merry
girl. Only a complaining, sour half invalid. She
was patient with me, though, for she hada choice
secret of mine locked in-her faithful breast.

The 7th of May, 18—, my boy was born. I had never
etime I left him but once,

and passed out with his lady mother as proud and
stately as a prince. He had never forgiven me for
leaving his mother’s house. _

One morning, when my little Herbert was three
months old, a servant from the hall brought me a
pie. written in my mother-in-law’s stiff, formal

and. :

My husband was sick, and “the doctor had recom-
mended” that I be sent for.

Oh! with what trembling hands I unlatched the
garden gate, and with what faltering steps I as-
seended, after receiving ae mother-in-law’s cold
greeting, to my own and my husband’s chamber!

“He has been failing ever since you went away,”
said the old cook, as she passed me in the hall, in an-
swer to my inquiries. ‘‘The doctors calls it a decline,
with aslow fever settin’ in, ma’am, as may carry him
in no time away from the world. God help him!”

“Amen!” I fervently responded, as I softly opened
the door and entered the room where, stretched
upon the bed, lay my husband, altered almost be-
yond recognition.

“He has just fallen asleep, and mustn’t be dis-
turbed yet,” said the nurse, eying me with as much
suspicion as if I had been a false wife, as well as a
se wide S

I sat down by the bed and Maroy waited until
did the light of
reason shone clear in their brown depths. He knew
me, and held out his thin hand to receive mine. |
“Can you forgive me, Mabel, all I have made you
suffer since I married you, darling? The doctor
ee as not live long. Can you forgive me be-
ore ie?” : ;

“I have nothing to forgive, my precious husband, ‘any

but you have everything to forgive in me. I did
wrong in leaving your home and y

-half an ounce of myrrh.

‘sluggish, and will not work, the blood is not relievec

-| salt, and celery seed ; or if celery is in season,

| Rio Grande de Santiago, to the waters of which river it is
Mother held me in her arms, and rained loving |
tears on my upturned face, as I took leave of her, |

of | re
than ‘deem the currency, but such action was oe eee
Artist, Jersey City —Among the insignia of court fools, | _

‘that two sisters of M. Louis,

. Porter,
“We shall give the

A.C. F., Nashville, ee first express
n 1 }
'& Dunning, under the style of

ton covers n

 

your protecting | kno

care. I should have conformed myself more to your _
ways, who was wiser than I.” ; aL gage ee

Thus it was that we became reconciled, which was
the best medicine he could have. [installed myself _
in the place of the nurse, and in four weeks he was ~
convalescent. |

Little Herbert (his father’s perfect image) grew to
be the pet of the house, and a perfect promoter of
peace between all members of the family.

In time I became accustomed to my husband’s
ph rey eet mee longue’ the mal = ee
of polite society, becoming by degrees a favor-
ite with his ric relations. ¥ ;

hit i as
—_><-

Correspondence. |
GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS

( Communications addressed to this department will
not be noticed unless the names of responsible parties are
signed to them as evidence of the good faith of the writers.

B. W.L., Newark, N. J.—ist. Gen. Grant’s orders in
the field were written by his own hand. 2d. In his
memoires is a fac-simile of his letter in which he dic-
tated to Gen. Lee the terms of surrender. Of that letter
Gen. Grant said: ‘When I put my pen to the paper I>
did not know the first word that I should make use of in
writing the terms. I only knew what was in my mind,
and I wished to express it clearly, so that there could be
no mistaking it.” 3d. The presumption is that Gen.
Grant wrote his own orders so as to be sure that what he
wanted to say would be said correctly, and that if any
error occurred in their execution there would be no third
party involved. Rtas

Mary C., Annapolis, Md.—ist. To clean the inside of
jars, fill them with water, and stir in a spoonful or two of
pearlash. Empty them in about an hour, and if not clean,
fill them again, and let them stand another hour or two.

For large sized jars lye is excellent. 2d. To sweeten a
refrigerator, after removing everything out of it, clean it
nicely with soap and water, and then set in the inside, on
a china pate. a piece of unslaked lime, and let it slake
while in the refrigerator. 3d. An excellent tooth powder
is made as follows: Two ounces of prepared chalk, two
ounces of Peruvian bark, half an ounce of orris root, and

‘Lewis L., Newburgh, N. Y.—The yellowness of jaun-
dice, according to medical authorities, is caused’ as fol-
lows: The bile is formed by the blood, and not by the ©
liver. The office of the liver is to draw or strain off the

bile from the blood, and when the liver is inflamed, or so
0.
its so-called yellow freight. The bile accumulates, and
in attempting to escape through other channels, it lodges _
in the various tissues, particula the skin. The entire —
of a rsen who has died of jaundice, including j|
bones, muscles, and membranes, has been found to be
full of bile, and colored yellow. | a P

R. C. M., Middletown, N. Y.—Boefsteak rolls are thus
prepared: Cut the beefsteak in half lengthwise; that is,
split it, and then cut into strips as wide as one’s hand. —
Put over the inside of them one onion. In each strip roll
avery thin slice of bread buttered on both sides. Stick
two or three cloves in the bread. Put also some pe; per,

ot it cut and put in the gravy. Secure each roll witha -
ece of thread. Dredge them. Roll in flour, and fry in
ot butter. Then put them in a stewpan with water
enough to stew them. Serve with gravy.
J. W. J. Greenland Station, N. H.—ist. The relative _
proportions of the letters, in the formation of words, -
have been pretty accurately determined, as follows:
A, 8; B,16; C,30; D,44; E, 120; F,25; G,17; H, 64;
1,80; J,4; K,8; ; M,30; N, 80; 0,80; PB in: G85
: ¥, 20; Z, 2.
6

 

 

*

R, 62; ;*h, $0; U, 34; V. 13; W, 2; X, 4;

2d. Gorey’s’ “Law Without La mets som
twenty pages to the subject of pat

trade-marks, includin e schedule of ete. Price

1.25. If you desire it, write direct to the NEW YORK

ERKLY Purchasing Agency.

Betty Jane, Springfield, Mass.—The largest lake in
Mexico is Lake Chapala. Its depth during the floods—
July and August—is between six and seven fathoms. In
the dry season it is about five fathoms. Its surface is
dot with beautiful islands. It communicates with the

sareones to owe its formation. Area, about 1,200 square
miles. ‘ [ :

Melville Jones, Savannah, Ga—tist. Spoons vary so | _
much in size, that they should not be usedas measuresin -
giving powerful medicines. Generally a tablespoon con-
tains about four drams; a dessertspoon, three drams; a |
teaspoon, one dram. 2d. In administering medicines, it | -
is always well to begin with the smallest dose mentior Sees
and gradually increase until the desired influence is pro-

Bolivar, 8. T., Providence, R. I.—The Continental cur- | _
rency which was issued to carry on the Revolutionary
war was not redeemed because the government had no
money to redeem it with, and no way of raising any. Con-
Picch tani andl ae Gentian levy tanee either aitecits w
ly, as that power lay whoily with tite States. 1
uy recommended the States to eet twore-

or jesters, were the fool’s cap, party-colored, adorned
with three asses’ ears and a cock’s comb, and worn on a
shorn head; the variously shaped fool’s scepter or bauble; —
the bells, which decorated the cap and _most other parts
of the costume; and a wide collar. In England for some
time the fools wore calf-skin coats which had the buttons
down the back. é Be. stead ei

Juvenis, Newberry, 8. C.—Ist. “Dawson’s Origin of the
World” would probably meet your expectations. It is —
thought to enable the reader to determine the precise —
import of Biblical references to creation, and how these |
may be harmonized with modern discovery. Price$2. |
2d. Manuscripts are not in request by us at present 3d.
It was declined. 4th. Your handwriting is quite fair.

Student, Cleveland, Ohio.—Webster gives two defini.
tions of the word proser. First, a writer of prose ; second,
one who proses, or makes a tedious narration of uninter-
esting matters. The first definition cag A signifies the —
antithesis of a writer of poetry—a poet. The second sig-
aification is the more generally accepted one.

B. C.J., Natchez, Miss.—In a list of tall persons we find
the names of two women who were seven feet in height,
namely, Alice Gordon, of Essex, ey ERE Anne H. _
Swan, of Nova Scotia. In addition is, it is stated
a Frenchman, who was
seven feet six inches, were nearly as tall as himself.

Christopher, Hastings, Mich.—Charles III., of Ger- |
many, was called “the Fat” because of his corpulence ~
and his inordinate love of the pleasures of the table. He j|
died at the age of 56. He was noted for his incapacity and _
cowardice. His last days were passed in poverty and —
seclusion. Sv See a

Lawrence, S. C., Richmond, Va.—There are believed to *
be no spiders in the United States whose bite will kill a
healthy man, but the bites of the largest species have
been known to cause the limb bitten to swell uptoa —
large size, and cause much pain. P a :

A Reader, Indianapolis.—The Girondists werea French | |
political party, deriving their name from the deputiesof |
the department of Gironde, whom they acknowledged as
their leaders. Madame Roland was their inspirer. See —
Lamartine’s “Histoire des Girondins.” te eu

&. M. F—The United States Pension Agent in_this
city is Franz Sigel; Philadelphia, William W, A. Davis;
Boston, Benjamin F. Peach, Jr.: gy Me., John D.
Anderson ; Pittsburgh, Pa., William H. Barclay ; Knox-
ville, Tenn., Daniel A. Carpenter. : F ee

C. C., Bridgeport, Conn.—A strong solution of common ~
washing soda and water will generally Serer warts.
Keep the solution in a bottle, and apply freely tothe —
warts as often as convenient. Let the soda dry on. Sis
. Carrie C.—ist. Yes, in bookform. Price, in paper —
cover, 25 cents. 2d. Out of print. 3d. If wish the —
book, write direct to the NEW YORK
chasing Agency. ie } HP

C. M. C., Framingham, Mass.—Unusual clearness of |
the atmosphere, with corresponding brightness, or twink-—
ling of the stars, indicates rain. A morning rainbow is |
also regarded asa signofrain. _ : . -

Amelia B. F., Brooklyn, N. Y¥.—‘George Eliot's” first | |
pronounced with two syl- _

husband’s name, Lewes, is
lables, as though spelled “‘Luiss,” with the accent on }
first syllable. rie ; gn soe eS
Baltimore—Thanks for the suggesti
matter due consideration, mad

John C. ‘ion. | |
it is. :
likely that, in one case at least, your wi will eT
ae nara r :

com

B. C. J, Staten Island.—The salary of the District At- _
torney of New York is $12,000. He has five suarnts at. 4
$7,500, and three deputy assistants at$4400ayeareaeh

F. B., Rochester, N. Y.—Any leading manager will give
you the necessary information upon the subject,ormake {
suggestions that will prove of practical use to you. ae
Buffalo was commenced A 1845, by Wells, eS:

. —

Wells & Co. ; Ee

Two-Thirder, New Orleans—ist. A two-thirder is one —
. co only two-thirds of the wages of a journeyman.

Langdon Baylis, Savannah, Ga.—The President of the _
United States is frequently called His Excellency t
President, but there is no legal sanction for the title —

La Salle, 111.—Addresses for business purposes are not | |
given in this department. — Pe — Pa

Marion, Lynchbu
of Danctohan dali Cc.

A. C. T., Pou

pinck Washington 5Gn net
Pakemacuitete Te
Vinita yee tee

 

P. C.F, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.—No_

 

 

 

 

 

VEEKLY Pur- | §-