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About Hemingford herald. (Hemingford, Box Butte County, Neb.) 1895-190? | View Entire Issue (July 10, 1896)
I I i c ? V n ON THE STAIRS. "We were siUlnr, ntter waltzing, On the stair. lie, before I could forbid it, Btolo ft rose, eroyot I initsed It, And, rb tenderly lie kissed it, Swiftly In his pocket hid it, Unawares. We "tro talklnR.after traHxInf, On tlio stairs. 2 baa said thnt he should! rue It, And a lecture I intended, Which I think he apprehended; 2 was kissed before I know it, Unawares. We went silent nlUr wftlttlni, On the stairs. Thud stormed with angry feeling, But ho spoke lovc.never heeding. And my eye tell 'neath his pleading, All my depth of love revealing, Unawares, Boston Courier, i . mm UNCLE DAVE. It was a Vunday in June, many, many years ago; one of those perfect days sometimes sent to earth to givo us poor mortals a foretaste of heaven. As I stepped out upon the south porch of the long, low farmhouse, in -which I was a welcomo visitor, an ex clamatlon of delight involuntarily fell from my lips. Before mo far as tho eye could reach stretched tho bound less prnirio, dotted hero and thero with farmhouses, criss-crossed with lines oi rail fences, and decked with orchards ana scattered groups of trees, while herds of cattle roamed at will over great unfenccd spaced, and a long irregular lino of timber on the east showed where a creek wound its way. "Yes, said my host, "it is a right sightly country, and its fillin up fast, too; 20 years ago when wo came here, Miss Walton, there wasn't but ono house within 10 miles of us, and thero wasn't a rail of fence on this hull prairie," "Thero is a good deal of it unfenccd now," said I. "Is it government land?" "Ob, no, there's no government land round here now. We leave that for our cattle, part of it belongs to .me, and a good deal to speculators," was tho answer. "But sit down, you can Bee as good sittin as standin, aifd xnothor'U bo out pretty soon. I'll go git some airly apples while we wait for her," and "Unclo Dave," aa every body called him, picked up a basket nd walked away in tho direction of ihe orchard. 5ow peaceful and quiet it was. JfeAt indefinable something which hairows the Sabbath in the country hovered in the aV, 1 thought: "if I did not know it waaSuwdayinature would proclaim it hers,elf. ' ow and then a meadow lark would nou, out hja happy soul in song, or a quataucily call to his mate.whilo the dran?1ng 0 te prftj. rie chicken.or tho whiru a pheasant as it rose from tho long e,a8B) B0Una. ed pleasantly to tho ear. -, M postesB came to me uol, uQur youngsters," she said, "are gouover Jto Bethel meetin house to sim . Wouldn't vou and Mr. Walton uko. wasci?hQro'B lota ' room m o "M. "Oh.nbj , RMvnn nnA answered. We enmo to xoure right, Mtssvnirnn he said, "you'll find it pleat J than rid nc nlonrr nth thnt c2k .i he glanced at the wagon-load of young men nnu women driving out of tho barnyard. "Not that they won't uve a good time, but you'll be in bet ter company,;' and ho laughed as he niyeu mu moisture irom his faco and fanned himself witn his broad- orimmea straw hat. A few minutes later we were all seat ed comfortably, Uncle Dave and roomer, as lie called his wife, myself uu uijf nutjunnu, in tne split-bottomed wooden chairs, on tho vine covered porch. "Is Bethel a Methodist church?" I asked. Undo Dave looked quizzically at his wife. "Now do you hear tliut, moth er?" he said. Mother smiled. "He thinks that an odd question," Bhe answered, address ing me. "Why? Aro there no other denom inations around her?" I said. "Oh, yes;" she replied, "there aro people belonging to several others, but there aro more Methodists than any thing else." "Yes," said Unclo Dave. "Metho dists jess swarm 'bout yer. You seo. Miss Walton." addressing me especial ly, "I never did like 'em; fact is, one thing brought me out West was to get xid of Methodists." H "Why, Uncle Dave," said I. "I thought you were a member of that church." Ho laughed and looked at his wife; ho was very often looking at his wife, and ah! how much the look oxpressed of love and pride. It was evident to the most casual observer that Bhe was dearer to him than tho apple of his eye. "You aro mistaken," he said. "I am only a sort of relation. I ain't never signed no contract. You see, Miss Walton, I took a spite at the Methodists when I was a boy. They had a bis revival in our neighbor hood, and some of tho youngsters I run with got converted, and that spoiled my fun. Why, one of the big gest scramps of thehull lotgotacall to preach, too. You see he was a aw ait earnest sort of a feiler, and he waB jess as earnest preachinand prayin as ever he was cumin, if so be us our cuttin up wassinnin, which I'm free to confess I hev my doubts about. Pears to me like the angel that keeps the book must take time to laugh at such pranks as we cut, jess going to spell in schools and singin in winter, hook in the horses outen our own dads' stables when the old fellers wasn i wiilin, an in summer frolickin round watermelon patches. Oh, pshaw! youngsters will bo youngsters, and where tho rein's hold too tight tho horso will break. But as I was eayin I took a spite at tho Methodists, and when I married into a good old Scotch Presbyterian family and moved way out yer, 1 thousht 1 was rid of 'em; but laws, Mies Walton, it was jumpin outen tho frying pan into tlis fire. Tho very fall after wo came, our lit tle Dave took awful sick; no doctor In 10 miles, mo an mother scared to death. Well, we mado up our minds to git in tho wagon, siek baby and all, and go to Gilbraith's our neighbor, when, whilo l'se hitchin up, a great, tall ganglin feller on a right good horso stopped in front of tho cabin." "Hallool" says ho. "Might I in quire tho way to Brother Gilbraith's, friend?' "Beforo I could speak mother was at tho door. 'Are you the preacher?' sayrf she. Miss Gilbraith told mo about you. Won't you'eome InT'My baby's so sick.' "Well, aforo I got to the houso, the fireacher had tho baby in his arms ookin at it, and tho upshot was he had medicine with him that jess worked liko a charm, an by mornhi little Dave was peart as ever. Of courso, after that wo had to go hear him preach. He held his meetin at Brother Gilbraith's, they was all the Mothodist family then in a rajus oi 15 milo. But lawBl whenever a Meth odist family settlers nnvwhero you may look for a circuit rider bout tho time the root's on his cabin, and bv tho timo there's half a dozen fam ilies of any sort, ho's ready to organ ize a church. That's the way it worked yer. anyhow, an, Miss Wal ton" for all tho timo Unclo Davo ad dressed me in particular as if I wero especially interested. I found after ward, however, it was ono of his ways of showing his respect for my sox " you'd hardly beliove it, but my wife, that I thought was a regular dyed-in-tho-wool Presbyterian, was one of tho first to jine. 'Betty,' says I, expostu-latin-like, 'what do" you reckon your father'H say?' 'Writo and seo,' says sho, quick as a wink; an I dun it, an I could hardly believo my oyes when his letter came, for ho never said a word, till ho'd told all about the family and tho crops peared liko tho prospeck for corn worried him consid erable an then ho putB in kind q liko a poscrip: 'So Betty's jincd tho Methodis-ses. Well, I hope sho'll bo a credit to 'em;' an, Miss Walton, that was all, and I was that dazed I jess sat up and looked at Bet ty for a hull nnuit, an she laughin and cryin as sho read." He paused, and turned his head as a quail called to its mate from the orchard, and an answer sounded short and clear from the fenco just in front of us. "Them little fellers knows its Sun day," ho remarked. "Queer, Miss Walton, how knowin the birds are. Why, thero was a flock of wild tur keys hunted down in tho timber last winter, an we never got but three out of tho lot. Fact, we was haulin rails, and wherever wo went without a gun we d seo 'em struttin roun sasBy as you please, but hev a gun along, nnd jrou might look your eyes out 'thout seein' turkey. But I was tellin you about our church. There was, an 1 guess it's bo yet, lots more wim men than men jincd. Why, when Brother Benson organized lie had eight women and two men. Odd isn't it? Guess wimmen," with a Blight planco at his wife, "needs the console- n of religion more en men do. gSuess they do," retorted his wife, ,ifihow much they hev to put up WI" N the men." j ofnclo Davo laughed and look t&it5 f Bhook his Hy lieadand istWe?" fitting ahead of her, ncss nnrl mv i9 delightful to wit- SXtfiJInB&r1 ?nd 1 jined Voi1 r oii mont. onn nn im n..i.i -0 went on, as owuu na iic iuuiu outki. iir.. rioKf onoo, ,:.Ai .Sly wifo's wr0' r"'",V i!BiN?u see, Miss "..VII, UUOTOII.VBBIIJ . c. onlv weiched 'hour, on r M wo was married, and nowV , quizzical look at her, "sho 1 lt Jt beam at 100." 3 the "David, David," said his wifen know I only weigh 158." v "Now, mother, that was after dv, er, and I was lowin," but mother in v -o . l".w1a uignnntly refused to hear anything "ui esuuject, anu witn a sub dued air Uncle Dave turned to me. "We was talkin' 'bout the Metho, dis, I believe." he said. "Well it's astonishin how they're growed. Threo years after wo moved out here. Brother Benson pro posed we should hev a camp-meetin. ' hero'll you git the people?' says I. 'Oh says he 'you an Brother Gil braith fix up that sycamoro grove a little, an I'll git the people, an he did. Why bless you! they come from fifty miles round, whole families, and there never was a hotter time. Wo had brother Benson and three other preachers, and I declare, Miss Walton, there was many as sixty people con verted at that meetin. I never Bee such a time. Why one night thev was sinjim nnd prayin, an my wile! my Presbyterian, she tot that happy she was ehoutin. fust thing I knowed, an, thinks I, she'll be in heaven next thing, an I grabbed her and held on " "David," interrupted his wire, sol emnly. "Well, now, mother, it's so, and I been half afraid ever Bince ofyourslin pen off." "David," again from his wife. "Oh, these wlmmens!" eaid Unclo Dave. "It's dreadful hard to git along with 'em; now ef I wns to say I was afraid she wouldn't get to heav en," and now he addressed my hus band, "what do you think she would do?'' .We joined in hia rintjing laugh, as his wife shook her head until her cap border quivered, and he went on, as she rose and went indoors. Turning to me: "Miss Walton, sho's the finest woman in the State. I ain't a perfes For. never sinned no contract, but I believe tho Lord's got it on tho cred it side of his big Look opposit Dave Benson's name! -good to his wife, an thankful to God fur her. " The old man's voice trembled. "I tell you, Mlso Walton, I know women has a hard time in this world" just then his wifo returned to her rocking chair, and he went on: "Mother, I was jess tellin Miss Walton how glad I was the Lord didn't dress my spirit in wom an's clothes." "Did you tell her how glad I was of the Bamo thing?" sho replied, with a meliow laugh. "Now, mother," ho said, deprecat inaly, but' glancing around at us to seo if we appreciated the remark. "Now, mother, aint you jokin? You seo," to Mr. Walton, "mother knows all my ins and outs, and she feels bad 'causo I don't jine meetin, I expect," meditatively, "I'll havo to give bond yot. You Bee my oldest girl married aMothodis preacher, an," brightening up, "you ought to see their boy, named for me, actilly named David Bonson Peirce. Shouldn't wonder it that boy ud bo bishop yet. What, supper timo, mother? as his wife again rose and went indoors. "Why this has been a short afternoon, and I novor told you about our camn-meet-in, but wo hev'em yet every fall. You come out the last week in September nn tent with us. Why, Miss Walton, I conio home nlways night's to tend to tho things, you see," pointing to a grovo about a milo distant, "wo use tho samo old placo Brother Benson lie's our presidin elder now picked out, and its so close I ken watch over tho farm, an as I was sayin I come up hero, an I ken hear 'em singin and prayin down there, and it sounds, like, well, liko tho now Jerusalem I ex pect, though I never been there, but if you'll oxcuso mo I'll go and help mother start supper; them young sters' 11 bo long directly hungry as hunters." Good old Unclo Dave! a few years after our visit "gave bond" as he quaintly termed it, for his good be havior by uniting with tho church, which had followed him so persist ently all his life. Taking dinnor at our house one day when ho had business in town ho told mo about it. "You see, Miss Walton," he said, "two o! my boyB is in the army, an afote they went I tole 'em mother'd feol a sight better if they'd list under King Mnnncl'8 banner afore they left, an ef they'd do it I'd go long, and so wo went up to be prayed for, an they took us on probation. I tell you mother was that happy sho shouted, an 'twas tho only timo she's done that senco our first camp-meetin. Well, Miss Walton, when niv time's up they wanted to take mo in full mem bership, but Bays 1, no, sir, me and the boys started in together and I'm going to wait for them, ef it's five years or forever." The old man's voice shook and tears filled his eyes. "It's pretty tough, Miss Walton," ho went on, "pretty tough on mother; you seo our son-in-law's none too, he's chaplain of the same regiment Tom and Fred's in, and May she's home with her boy, and we must keep up our sperrits or she'll break right down." Good old Unclo Dave. That next winter his boys came home on fur lough, and Brother Benson took fa ther and two sons into the fold. The boys went back again as veter ans.and one came home no more. The crass grows now on the craves oi Lnclo Davo and his beloved wife, and near them sleepstheirsoldierboy, for after the'war was over Uncle Dave sought and found the body and had it broucht to rest in Bethel, nnd now on Decoration day, when people gather to remember their dead,grateful descend ants with loving tears place flowers on tho grassy mounds where lie Uncle Dave, mother, and their soldier boy. E. V. Wilson in the Current. Saved by a Manly Confession. Gen. George A. Sheridan laughingly relates tho manner in which he did violence to President Hayes's feelings as a non-alcoholic advocate. The Btory as told is as follows: Sheridan preceded Fred Douglass as recorder of deeds of tho district ,of Columbia. Before he was appointed to that position nn enemy brought word one day to Mr. Hayes that little Phil's cousin had been uproariously convivial in tho Ebbitt house the pre vious ovening. Mr. Hayes sent for eridan and sterenly and in plain la'nnce said: "1 am told, sir, that you Xere drunk in the Ebbitt house last owning." Without moving a muscle xf his faco tho candidate for recorder ot this accusation with the query: "lv. President, are you ac quainted wio, the size of the rotunda in the LbbitUouse?" "Yes, sir; wlit 0l that? said Mr. Hayos. N "Well, sir," saVl Sheridan, "last eveninc it was not he.lt big uiouch for me." Hayes tried to look very Fevere, but failed, and in a burst of (auchter, he said: "You am the first man to make a frank acknowledcniert to mo when charged with such nn accusa tion." He got his appointment. A Typical Kentucky Boy. Tho typical boy on a Kentucky farm was tenderly associated from in fnncy with tho negroes of the house hold and tho fields. Says the October Century. His old black "mammy" became almost his first mother. She had perhaps nursed him at her bosom when he was not long enough to stietch across it, sung over his cradle at noon and at midnight, taken him out upon the velvety grass beneath the shade of the elm trees. Often in boyish years ho had run to those black arms and cried himself to sleep in the lap of African sympathy. As he grew older, alas! his first love grew faithless; and his wandering affections settled humbly at the feet of tho cook in the kitchen. When he stood by the biscuit bench while she mado him marvelous geeso of dough, with farin aceous feathers and genuine coffee Grains for eyes, there was to him no other artist in the world. WEDDING ETIQUETTE. Soolnt Roqulromontsof tho Evont Obligations of Brldo nnd Croom. Tho ctiquetto of weddings, says Har per's Bazar, is remotely founded on tho early savage history of mankind, and which bears fruit in our later and more complex civilization, still reminding us of tho past In early and in savage days tho man sought his brido hcroicly, and carried her off by force. Tho Tar tar still does this, and tho idea only was improved in patriarchal days by the' purchase of tho brido by tho labor of her husband, or by his wealth in flocks and herds. It is still a thoory tint tho bride is thus carried off. Always, there fore, tho idea has been cherished that tho brido is something carefully guarded, and the groom is looked upon as a sort of friendly onemy, who comes to toko away tho much-prized object from her loving and jealous family. Thus the long-cherished theory bears fruit in tho English ceremonial, whorotlio onlycar nago furnished by the groom is tho one in which ho drives tho brido away to tho spending of tho honey-moon. Up to that timo he has no right of proprie torship. Even this is not allowed in America among fashionable people, tho bride's father sending them in his own carriago on tho first stage of their jour ney. It is not etiquette for tho groom to furnish anything for his own wed ding but the ring and a bouquet for the bride, presents for tho bridesmaids and anal best man, nnd some token to the ushers. He pays the clergyman. Ho should not pay for tho cards, the carriages, tho entertainment, or any thing connected with the wedding. This is decided in tho high court of eti quette This is tho province of the family of tho bride, and should bo in sisted upon. If they aro not able to do this, thero should bo no wedding and no cards. It is better for a portionless girl to go to the alter in a traveling dress, and to send out no sort of invitations or wedding cards, than to allow tho groom to pay for them. This is not to tho disparagement of the rights of tho groom. It is simply a proper and universal eti quette. At the altor tho groom, if ho is a mil lionaire, makes his wifo his equal by say ing: "With all my worldly goods I thee endow;" but until ho has uttered tho words sho has no claim on his pnrse for clothes, or cards, of household fur nishing, or anything but those articles which come under tho head of such gifts as is a lover's privilego to give. Suppose, as was tho caso twico last winter, that an engagement of marriage is broken after tho cards aro out? Who is to repay the bridegroom if ho has paid for the cards? Should tho father of the brido Bend him a check ? That would be very insulting, yot a family would feel nervous about being under pecuniary indebtedness to a discarded son-in-law. Tho lady can return her ring nnd the gifts her lover has" mado her; they havo sutlered no contact that will injure them. But sho could not return shoes or gowns or bonnets. It is therefore wisely ordered by etiquette that the lover bo allowed to pay for nothing that could not be re turned to him without I03S, if the en gagement wero dissolved, even on the wedding morning. Nothing is moro honorablo than a marrirge celebrated in tho presence only of the fathor, mother, and priest. Tho young people, unwilling or unable to havo splendid dresses, equipages, cards and ceremony, can always bo married in this way, and go to the senato or White House afterward. They are not hamper ed by it hereafter. But tho brido should not forget her dignity. She should never lot the groom pay for cards, or for anything, unless it is tho marriage license, wherever it is needful in this country, and tho clergyman's fee. If she docs she puts herself in a false posi tion. It is tho privilego of the bride to name the wedding day, and of her father and mother to pay for her trousseau. After tho wedding invitations are issued she does not appear in public. The members of tho bride's family go to tho church beforo tho brido; the bridegroom and his best man await them at tho alter. The bride comes last, with her father or brother, who is to givo her away. SJib.ib joined at the alter, stops by her fiance, who takes her hand, and then she becomes his for life. All these trifles mean much, as anv ono can learn who goes through with the painful details of a divorce suit. -.. Now when tho circle of friends on both sides is very extensive, it has of late become customary to send invita tions to some who are not tiled to tho wedding breakfast, to attend tho cere mony at tho church. This sometimes takes tho placo of issuing cards. No one thinks of calling on tho newly-married who has not received either an in vitation to the ceremony at church or cards after their establishment in their new homo. In most cases tte after-cards aro or dered with the Hher cards, and the bride's mother pays for them. But if they aro ordered after tho marriage, tho groom may pay for thes as he would pay for his wifo's ordinary ex penses. Still, it is stricter etiquette that even these sliould bo paid for by the bride's family, People who aro asked to tho wedding send rards to tho house if they cannot attend, and in any case, sond or leave cards within 10 days after, unless they are in very do?j mourning, when a dispensation is granted them. The otiquetto of a wedding at home does nut diner at all lrom the etiquette of a wedding in church with regard to cards. A great confubion seems to exist in the minds of soma as to whom thoy shall Bend their re turn cards on being invited to a wed ding. Some ask, "Shall I send them to the bride, oh I do not know her mother?" Certainly not; send them to whomsoever invites you. Afterward call on the bride or send her cards; but the first and important card goes to tho lady who gives the wedding. The order of the religious part of the ceromony is fixed by tho church in wlu'ch it occurs. Tho groom must call on tho clergyman, seo tho organist and make what arrangements tho brido pleases, but all expenses, except tho foo to tho clergyman, aro borno by the brido's family. A wedding invitation requires no an swer, unless it bo to a sit-down wed ding breakfast. Cards left afterward aro sufficient. Tho separate cards of tho brido and groom aro no longer in cluded in tho invitation. Nothing block in thoway of dress but the gentlemen's coats is admissible at a wedding. CARL. DUNDER. SomoNloroQuoorThlngB Ho Can't Make Out. Maype it vhns pecause I vims an oldt Dutchmans dot I can't make somethings oudt, but I like to know how Bhe vhai. If I haf some snow on der sidewalk in front of my houee a polictnmns comes along and says! "Now, you cot dot snow richt off or I take sooch law on you as vhill make your heart ache! Doan' you know it Vhas dan gerous und acainst der law! You'd better look sharp, oldt mans, or I haf you vhero soma docs doan't bite you!" If somepody haf a vacant lot next to me, nnd der snow on dot sidowalk vhas so high as my shoulder, nopody cleans him off. Somo day vhen I vhas looking at her, a policemans crawl through dot snow und snys: "I liko to know who owns dot lot." I tells him it vhas a merchant on Woodward avenue, und dot snow doan' get off before next Shuly. "Oh! it vhas a merchant, eh! Vhell, dot snow vhas all right. It doan' hurt Bomebody at all, and it vhas fun to wade throuah it." 1 go in der house und sot down und try to make it all oudt, but I can't do it. One day my poy Shake shtands oudt door und blows a horn toot! toot! toot! He doan' toot more as fife times vhen a policeman comes along und says: "Shtop dot noise or I gif you some collar! Der idea of blowing dot horn und making all de people -go crazy! Doan' you know it vhas agin der law to make sooch a nuisance?" Dot scares Shak6 so badt he hides down cellar all day, but in two hours more ash four men mit wagons comes around my place und blow toot! tootl toot! until I vhas al most deaf. I go oudt und ask dot policeman to shtop her, but he says: uoan you know uometings, oldt mans! Dot vhas according to law, und I can't shtop him." I goes oop by der Brush farm und buys me a lot feefty feet front. May pe I build me a house some day. Vhen tax-time comes I goes over by der city hall to pay my taxes. "Afl right, Mr. Dunder," 6ays der man mit der tax-book, "your tax vhas seexty seven dollar." It Beems like it vhas ompos3lble, but I haf to pay her. I vhas going avhay. vhen a man comes in una says he owns four hoonered feet next to me. und how mooch vhas der taxes? "Thirty-fife dollar, und you vhill pleasp forgif medot she vhas so high!" Because I haf a lot my taxes vhas seexty-seven dollar. Be cause he haf a piece his taxes vhas shust half! I go home und think aboudt him, un 1 1 talk with my wife, but we can't make her oudt. Sometimes on Soonday 1 hitch oop der pony und take der oldt wo mans und Shake out to Springwells to see my brooder-in-law. Dot pony vhas blind in one' eye und he haf two ring bones und two spavins, und he vhas so lazy dot he goes joal jog! joe! all dor time. We vhas coming home when a policemans rushes oudt at us und says: "Nowyou look oudt! Der werry next time you vhas driving so fast I take yon in der Hecorder'B Court und make your fine fife dollar!" I shtop to speak mit him a few words und somebody mit two horses und a carriage und a silver harness comes along like lightning und almost runs my wheel off. I look at dot police mans but hedoan' see nothings. One day more ash a dozen fellers mit carts und wagons comes n round t my placeund calls, "Rags! rags! rags!" until my head aches. By und by I coes oudt in front of my place und call: Beer! beer! beer!" und shust so queek as some weaslesl vhas arrested und fined tree dollar, und der shudee says to me: "Mr. Dunder, I vhas as tonished mit you! If you doan' know better ash dot I put you in some asylum mit der fools! Doan' let dot happen again!" Vhell, like I said in der start, 1 can't make her all oudt, undt if somepody can tell me I vhas mooch obliged und feel tickled all oafer. Detroit Freo Press. Growth of Speech In a Child. From the Open Court. The babe's first cries aro purely in stinctive, and therefore purely animal. Its consonants are m nnd b, labials and liquids used with the open vow els. It does not use the genial tu bercle, nor for many weeks the frontal brain. Its second list of sounds move fnrther back and are g, goo, gutturals ot the simplest sort. Wo have to bear in mind that the babe oganically follows historic evolution and is an epitome oi past progress. So, also in his speech he moves on and over the pathway of the past and reviows it all. An intelligent child expresses ap probation and disapprobation by the same sounds that are used by adult monkeys. The savage hardly uses cerebrated sounds at all. The refine ment of languages has ever consisted in eliminating the animal inheritance. The child's use of gestures is also in herited. He does not need to learn to use his hands; only to secure mus cular Btrength to diract them. Hi? play is at first purely animal frolic, rejoicing in shouts and shrieks that later he does not find necessary to his enjoyment. His laughinc and cry inc can only be understood as lan guage, ns they surely are also in adults. JOHN RUSKIN'S ROMANCE,. How Ho Courtod, Married, and Was Divorced From His Idoallstlo Woman. New York Grnphlc John Kuskin did a strangely way ward thing when he consented to uet married. Ho did a most erratic and to the public a most inexplicable thing: when he arranged for his divorce. He had accepted some of tho loftiest, traditions about womanhood thnt men sometimes read of and talk about, and ho looked for his ideal companion. One night he met her in. the drawing-room of a London friend, who, without his knowing it, had brought the young lady to meet tho eyes of the great writer. It was a Juno night. He was thirty five, and sho looked like a Greek goddess. He was dazzled. Sho was a tall, graceful girl of nineteen, with a faco and figure as faultless as one of tho statues of old. No one ever expected Buskin to fall in love, and he did not. Sho was poor, needed a home and its comforts, and so they r ere married. Their wedded life ,.is peaceful, friendly, kindly to the highest degree, but thero was not a spark of affection to lichten their existence. She ad mired the great man she had married, and was cratcful for the wealth and comfort ho showered on her. He worshiped her as he would the marble made life-like by the sculptors's chis el. There was nothing human about the life they led as husband and wife; nnd she was a woman, who. in her heart, like all true women, laughed at the traditions that made her sex iove distanc worship. One day Buskin broucht nn artist to paint his wife's picture. And the man was Millais. and he was a bright, cheery, handsome fellow, human, eveiy inch of him, with a great and absorbing lovo for the beautiful, and a willingness to tell of his love. He began to paint the portrait of the macnificent woman, nnd when he had finished he was in love with hia friend's wife. Womanlike she saw it, and perhaps she was not lull of sorrow and re proach. It was the first tribute of real manful love that had been laid at her feet. And Ruskin? His wide eyes saw the romance that was weaving nround their two lives, and his heart realized how little affection he had to lavish on tho woman whom ho had made his. wife. How he told her the story of his pride in her, and the sacrifice ho was to make for her, while she lay prone at his feet, ia ono of the things which only sho or he coujd tell. It is difficult to obtain a divorce in England, but John Kuskin secured it tor her, and one bracing morning in the early winter, a month after tho divorce was granted, Ruskin Btood beside the couple in one of London's quiet churches", and saw them mado man and wife. That was a good ninny yenrs aao, and since then Millais "has becomo rich and lamous, and is now Sir John, and his wife is my Lady Millais. The warmest, sturdiest friend tho struggling painter had in his toiling days was the man whose wifo he had married, and through all the years of Millais' later success and great honor John Ruskin has been the welcome guest and almost daily visitor to the man and woman whoso lives he so unselfishly crowned with happiness. . HowUltra-Fashionable Young Men of Boston Spend Their Leisure Hours. lloBton Corrcnpondciic3. This is the greatest club town in tho world. Every phase of the intellect ual activity for which Boston is so famous is represented by a social or ganization. There is going on hero what might be called a perpetual fer-nientationofideas,scientific,philosoph-ical, literary, religious every kind, in short, that interests highly civilized humanity all of which aro seeking expiession and recognition, very much as the molecules of a gas strive inces santly to escape from the receiver con fining them. Now, the most effective way to push an idea, as every one admits, is over a dinner table. The man who would otherwise regard vonr net hobbv ns no pml nf n. bore will listen to you patiently as an accompaniment to the nuts and raisins, and, with extra-dry chain pagne and a pousse-cafe to top oil, your most uninteresting remarks will appear to him positively oracular. Thus it happens that fordining clubs there is a perfect craze in this enlight ened metropolis. Evprybody who is anybody belongs to at least half a dozen, ench of which represents some thing calculated to excite convival en thusiasm, say, once a month. The object to which this enthusiasm is di rected is of copnratively little impor tance, so long as the grub is palatable and tho wine of good flavor. It may bo theological, political, musical, artistic whatever you piense. Every religi ous denomination in Boston has it3 representative club, with tho solitnry exception of the Episcopalians, who are just now organizing one. Theirs will be the nwellest of all for the fashionable portion of the town, though honeycombed with moro or less agnostic Unitnrianism, is profess edly devoted to the church of En gland. At periodical intervals each pious sodality is assembled for tho purpose of discussing over the festive board such important questions of sectarian intorest as may chance to be uppermost. Likewise 'the literary coterits meet for mutual admiration, the scientific people for learned dis cussion, the politicians for tho incuba tion ot Machiavellian schemes, and bo on ad infinitum. There is not, in short, an imaginable subject of contempo raneous human interest which is not represented in Boston by a club. t v,"