CUPID IN MERRY MOOD
Mischievous and Impractical Little God
of Love Seems Never to Take
a Vacation From Hi;
Pleasing Duties.
Among His Latest Victims Are aa
American Mining Engineer and
a Grecian Countess—John Boll
Shown How Love Laughs at
Law—Hospital Ward Made the
Scene of a Pretty Romance.
New Tar*.—T/'thin the space of a
brief few days, Cupid has played more
pranks than the most romantic school
girl could ever conjure up In her
wildest dreams!
He has brought together an Amer
ican mining engineer and a Grecian
countess at the mouth of a Mexican
mine. He has married off a rich
young fellow to the nurse who pulled
him through appendicitis. He has pre
sided at a midnight wedding at which
a dashing young naval officer and a
pretty chorus girl were the principals.
•He has hired a special train so that
a New York millionaire’s son could
marry a divorcee in another state.
And last of all. but not least, he has
arranged a wedding on the high seas,
outside the international three-mile
limit, so that an impatient young cou
ple wouldn’t have to wait two weeks
for the banns to be published, thus
single-handed setting aside the stern
and implacable majesty of the British
common law.
It has been left for Miss Alice
Whyte and M. Hall Cowan to show
John Bull how love laughs at law
They just couldn't wait two weeks
longer, so they were married accord
ing to the rites of the Church of Eng
land far out at sea. That saved the
two weeks banns and made happy
two young persons very much in love,
says the World.
T'ne two young people come from
Windsor, Ont. The young man
popped the question four years ago
and got his whispered “yes,” sweetest
word in the world. But they couldn’t
be married then, for the fact that the
young man hadn't been graduated
from the University of Michigan and
hadn't established himself iu busi
ness.
Sent for Promised Wife.
He was graduated in 1901. Soon aft
a steamer chair on the deck of the
good ship just before she sailed from
the Brooklyn dock recently. Hei
mother and father were there to bid
her Godspeed on her strange wedding
journey, and so were several friends
“You see," she explained, “Mr
Cowan couldn't get away and it came
down to a point of my going to Trinl
dad. We had been engaged for foui
i years and we didn't want to wait anj
longer. But at first everything
seemed to go wrong.
“When Mr. Cowan sent for me first
1 I was too ill to go. The second time
I couldn’t make the -Maraval. Then
he sent for me to come on the 6th oi
August, but that made it too long
So at last we arranged for this trif
of the Maraval and Capt. Hunter is
going to give me away.
"Well, all our plans were made foi
this voyage,” continued Miss Whyte
"when suddenly Mr. Cowan discovered
that, we would have to wait for two
weeks until the banns could be pub
fished. Here I was, all ready to sail
without any chaperon except the
stewardess, and I must wait twe
weeks before I could be married.
“We expect to reach Granada on
Monday and we plan to be married
while the ship is far out at sea at
eight o'clock that evening. Now, you
know, the sea belongs to everybody
and marriage laws—stupid things! —
don’t concern Father Neptune. So
when we land at Trinidad on the next
morning—it is ISO miles from Granada
—we shall be legally married and the
horrid old banns can't bother us.”
It all came out. as they planned.
Three cheers and a tiger for Cupid
this time!
Blindly Led by Cupid.
What's a trip to Mexico where love
is concerned?* How could the Count
ess de Killy, a charming young widow,
or George A. Schroeder, a handsome
young mining engineer, guess that it
was Cupid who was leading them to
the mouth of the Ventura mine in
Uexieo?
Mr. Schroeder is engineer for the
Ventura corporation, of Loudon, and
also for the rich Stratton Independ
ence mine in Colorado. His corpora
tion sent him to the mine in Mexico
just as the handsome young countess
er he got a position with Hiram Walk
er & Sons' oil interests in Port of
Spain. Trinidad. He wrent away and
did well. He sent for Miss Whyte.
She was too ill to take the journey.
So the impatient bridegroom-to-be had
to wait
Hut let Miss Whyte tell her own
story just as she told it reclining in
! went there on a business trip. They
: met in that far-off land under sunny
i skies, and the romance of the place
I —perhaps Cupid had a hand—drew
them to one another.
The widow was rich, and among
her properties were mines in Mexico.
Thither she journeyed a few months
ago to inspect them and there she met
the American. The rest was easy,
because Cupid had his mind made up.
Mr. Schroeder pleaded his case and
the Greek countess agreed to become
the plain American “Mrs." So they
came back to Brooklyn to be married.
There a few days ago they were wed.
But this didn’t end the ceremonial
part of the wedding. The countess
wanted also a wedding in the faith
of her fathers, so all the party jumped
into automobiles and were whisked
over to Manhattan and up to the little
Greek church. Seventy-second street,
near Lexington avenue, where there
was another wedding, according to the
full ritual of the orthodox Greek
church.
There was a crowd of the couple's
David St. John, head of the Hacken
sack hospital's corps of physicians,
and the young man’s father, Gustav
L. Jaeger, a rich New York manu
facturer. were the only witnesses.
Miss Margaret Vanhorn came from
Mahwah and young Mr. Jaeger has
a home in Maywood, N. J. They are
now away on a wedding trip to Hali
fax.
Cupid even presides when the sur
geons use their knives.
Cupid Behind the Scenes.
Up the bay several weeks ago came
Admiral Evans’ fleet and the big In
diana, one of Uncle Sam’s crack bat
tleships. They cast anchor in the
North river, where Admiral Evans di
rected. and soon officers and men
were ashore stretching their legs.
Now, some of those gay young fel
lows of the fleet hadn't seen a pretty
girl for so long that they Just ached
to go to some show. So what could ba
better than "The Social Whirl” at the
' friends to see tlie beautiful ceremony,
which included hymns and chants by
1 a full vested choir. The ceremonies
! ended with the crowning of the couple
: with flowers.
And Cupid had come out victor
again.
Love God at Work in Hospital.
The doctors shook their heads. The
iad that lay on the operating table be
fore them was pretty far gone. He
had gangrenous appendicitis, and the
| poison had already set in.
"One chance in a hundred," said the
operating surgeon as he prepared the
instruments and motioned to his as
sistants to administer the anaesthetic.
"And now. Miss Vanhorn, if you
please," he said, turning to a pretty
trained nurse who stood ready to help.
Soon the ether had done its work
and the knives began. An hour later
Carl A. Jaeger, the patient, was back
in bed, slowly coming out of the in
fluence of the anaesthetic. At his
] side sat the trained nurse. Miss Van
i horn, with a look of concern upon her
fair face, for the case was very grave.
Would the young man's temperature
slowly fall and recovery set in? Or
would his heart give out under the
tremendous strain of the ether and
! the shock, and he pass away as a
tale that is told?
The young man stirred and moaned.
The nurse fanned his forehead, bead
ed with cold drops of sweat. He
moaned again She watched him as
closely as a cat watches a mouse.
He slowly came back to conscious
ness.
"I’m thirsty," he moaned.
The nurse gave him a siwonful of
hot water. A full drink of the cold
wrater he craved might have meant
death just then. When he asked for
food he got a sip of milk, nothing
■more.
The days went by and the young
man slowly improved. Finally the
surgeon made his last visit.
“Young man,” said he, “you owe
your life to your nurse, not to me."
That was a year ago. Cupid, the
cunning rogue, got in his work at
once. Young Mr. Jaeger didn't want
to give up the acquaintance of Miss
Vanhorn when he was discharged,
cured. He asked iiermission to call,
; and got it. It doesn't take the wisdom
; of a Solomon to guess the rest.
They were married the other day at
the Presbyterian Manse, Hackensack,
j by Rev. C. Rudolph Kuebler. Dr.
-4;-Sir'-v---sj.-r:-k*,,
Casino? No sooner said than done.
All hands took a box and the one
closest to the stage chanced to be
Ensign Freeman Hall, paymaster. All
of a sudden Cupid took a hand.* En
sign Hall spied dashing Miss Eleanor
Lund on the stage and promptly lost
! his heart. He secured an introduc
tion and paid ardent court.
The rest of the story was told be
fore Rev. Dr. Henry Marsh Warren,
the ‘hotel chaplain," when a cab
drove up before his home, No. 48
West Ninety-fourth street, a few
nights ago—or rather morning, be
cause it was well after midnight. In
the cab were the youlig naval offlcei
and Miss Lund.
Now in common with most clergy
men, Rev. Dr. Warren retires at an
early hour. This particular uight was
no exception. But the furious jang
ling of the Dell awoke him and Mrs
Warren.
"We want to get married,” an
nounced Ensign Hall.
"Not so fast." cautioned Dr. War
ren. “I'll have to ask a few ques
tions.”
But he was soon satisfied. He
found that the officer was 35 years
old and his bride 22. Then Mrs. War
ren was summoned as a witness and
j the knot was tied.
Hct Contest.
A Scotch minister on going to
preach to his congregation one Sab
; bath morning met with the following
accident: Leather breeches being the
style, and having hung his in the
loft during the week, he hastily
donned them and went into the pul
pit. While they were in the loft a
j few busy wasps had built their nest
in them, and, as the good man walked
to and fro. preaching to his people
it annoyed the wasps so that they be
gan to sting him. He stood the at
j tack as long as imssible. getting morfe
! excited every minute and gesticulat
ing wildly, he finally shouted to his
astonished congregation:
"Brethren and sisters, the word of
the Lord is in my mouth, but th«
devil is in my breeches!"—Buffalo
Times.
Expert Swimmer at 72.
Mary Wheatland has been giving
exhibitions of fancy swimming and
diving in the sea at Bangor, England
Mary is 72 years old. and has been
an expert swimmer for 57 years.*
O' .V^ J/.V M i. v. u u ■»» ..
•_ »
She Smmoheatg nf
tlte feek-a-®on Uatat
By LALLA SELBINI,
, French Actres*.
L' IS far easier to give a definition of immodesty than of
modesty. Immodesty can be typified by two words, in my
estimation—the “peek-a-boo waist.”
\V hile I appear every afternoon and evening on a
roof garden in a tight-fitting bathing suit, I must confess
my sense of modesty would never go so far as to wear a
peek-a-boo waist.
There is nothing more immodest than one of these
suf»f»e?tive, half-revealing, half-concealing garments that
women have taken as a part of their costuming.
Some one has said that for me to criticise peek-a-boo waists is
a little strange, since my appearance is so utterly unhampered by con
ventional clothing. Let me make one point clear; there.is nothing
_ ■ - • ■ ■_____,_msL.
more immodest about a woman’s figure clothed in the tight-fitting
bathing suit than in a statue. While a woman may appear on the
stage in a costume which accentuates an act she is giving, it is a part
of her stage profession. So long as it is not vulgar from an aesthetic
sense, it cannot be vulgar at all. Real vulgarity or immodesty can only
exist where the artistic sense is shocked, and to a pure mind with
artistic instincts dominating it there cannot be susceptibility to im
modest suggestions.
The Venus of Medici is an exquisite figure. I am sure there are
few people who would admit being shocked at this old Greek statue.
Yet how infinitely vulgar and suggestive she would be if some shocked
lady would garb her in a peek-a-boo waist.
On the street I think women should wear street clothes. 1 The
peek-a-boo waist with its multitudinous holes, its glimpse of lingerie
and colored ribbons is far more immodest than the so-called out
rageously low-necked gown of the English society woman or the
strip tights of the beautifully formed actress.
American women have gained a reputation of discretion as com
pared with French women, but I must say that we would never be
guilty of going the lengths of displaying our persons as the apparently
conventional American women do in the neek-a-boo waist.
Lady Newdigate’s Finger.
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.
Flora -Newdigate had other devotees,
hut none so prominent as Proigne.
Sir Ralph, her husband, by this
time, had ceased to be discussed at
aJl. Nobody ever said, nowadays,
“Does he care?” “Is he bothered?”
Everybody realized that, even if he
hated the whole proceeding, he was
Quite too emotionless a person (out
wardly) to give a sign.
Proigne "did nothing,” and did it
with conspicuous luxury. Had not his
parents died genteel paupers? Who
gave him his sumptuous flat in De
Vere Gardens? It was his aunt, the
wealthy Mrs. Clavering. And evident
ly this lady didn't mind about Lady
Newdigate any more than Sir Ralph
minded about Proigne.
But Mrs. Caverley did min’. She
had been a London belle in her day,
and had cherished the man whom she
married.
In her Curzon street drawing-room
we find her sipping tea and talking
with the daughter of a dear dead
friend.
"Now, Amelia,” she was saying, “I
know that I can confide to you .that
I detest the whole thing terribly. I
want it to end. It must end.”
“I think there might be a way,”
Lady.Wheatsheaf mused aloud.
Then she told Proigne’s aunt what
the “way” was.
Mrs. Caverley was nodding somber
ly when she finished. “Not at all bad,
my dear; not at all bad. You're the
sort of woman who could bring them
together. Adela Strafford; of course;
yes; your step-sister, and just ready
to appear in the world. Only 18, too;
and Flora Newdigate is 30, if a day.
Is the resemblance so striking?”
"It’s really wonderful; though Flora,
you know, is much more beautiful.”
Lady Wheatsheaf rose to go.
“Bring her here to tea on Friday;
don't fail!” pleaded Mrs. Caverley.
“I’ll have Cyril. I positively promise
him. And you must positively prom
ise me Adela.”
Adela Strafford met Proigne at
many places besides his aunt’s house
in the near future. Lady Wheatsheaf
had all the resources of a gay, rich
woman. She sometimes contrived that
meetings which in reality had been
artfully arranged shouia seem prod
ucts of mere coincidence and accident.
One day, at a Belgravian afternoon
crush, Lady Wheatsheaf drew Mrs.
Caverley aside.
“My treasured young sister has fall
en in love,” she said.
"What! With Cyril? So quickly?”
“It isn't so quickly, after all. It’s
been several weeks, you know.”
She was sorrier when she went home
lhat afternoon, to her house in Port
man square.
’ You didn’t go anywhere to-day,
then, Adela?”
The girl turned from a window
through which she had been gazing
down at the tleet-driven cabs and vic
torias. Her eyes were woe-begone,
but her gaze looked brave, though
harshly pained.
"Mrs. Pomfret has been here, Ame
lia. We have had quite a long taik.”
“Merciless little scandal-monger,”
thought Lady Wheatsheai.
“She has told me everything,’’ Adela
wmt on.
"What—what?”
“That Mrs. Caverley and you are
conspiring to steal from Lady Newdi
gate her adorer, her vassal. That you
have been using my so-called ’resem
blance’ to her as a lure. That Lady
Newdigate laughs at the whole affair,
and has made it plain that she need
only lift, a finger to have him repent
antly back at her side.”
Here Adela's wrath blazed out. “L s
all true!” she cried. “I don’t blame
you, or Mrs. Caverley either. You
both had your motives. You, Amelia,
have always wanted me to marry what
you call ‘well.’ Besides, I—I love you
too much to blame you for anything.”
The girl paused, and drew in a long
breath. "But Cyril Proigne! I shorn a
like to meet him once more, and 1
shall!”
“Adela! Why—why?”
“To tell him how infinitely I despise
him for having dared to use me as his
makeshift, h!~ cat’s paw!” She gave a
laugh of piercing bitterness. “As if
the finger of his idol couldn’t have
been lifted without employing a poor,
young country girl like myself as the
lever force!" She echoed her own
laugh again, and caught up a mantle
and hat which had evidently lain in
readiness near by.
Adela: panted her sister, “where
on earth are you going? Surely not
to him!"
"No,” shot the dogged reply, "as if
I would! I'm going to her.”
“One moment, Adela,” threw out
Lady Wheatsheaf.
But the girl darted away.
To Grosvenor square from Portman
was only a short drive.
“1 think, Miss Stra ford,” said the
butler, who had a long-tried memory
and recogn -ctd Adela as having called
one day with tier sister, the ultra
smart marchioness of Wheatsheaf
"that Lady Newdigate is just at pres
ent in the library.”
Lady Newdigate, a dream of loveli
ness in clinging violet silks, rose as
she entered.
"Ah, you’re alone?” said Adela,
glancing here and there and finding
that only coigns of shadow and patch
es of brightness encircled that one en
chanting figure ».n the half-gloomed
chamber.
Lady Newdigate vof whom it had
been declared that an active volcano
could not non-plus her) mereiy an
swered: “Won’t you have a cup of
tea?”
"No, thanks. I don’t care to sit
down, either. I simply came to tell
you, Lady Newdigate, that as far as I
! am concerned, you may lift your finger
i at once or not at all.”
! "Really? Lift my finger? But 1
i don't understand.” The exquisite face
looked decorously astonished—ao
| more.
"Oh, yes, you do understand,” said
Adela, with far more quiet than she
felt. ”1 never knew till to-day that
Mr. Cyril Proigne had paid you court
for years. I never knew till to-day
that_the attentions he has shown me
were caused by his wish to regain
your favor. .
Adela was turning away when a
shape rose from a sofa half screened
by copious palms. Instantly the girl
recognized Cyril Proigne. He had
turned very pale, but his usually
placid voice was never more composed.
Looking straight at Adela, he spoke.
“You didn’t see me when you came
in, and no matter what might have
been the nature of your visit, I should
at ouce have discovered myself like
this. I have been here but a short
time, and I came here to tell my old
friend, Lady Newdigate, a somewhat
Important matter.”
Adela s lip was curled. Really, I
| am not interested in your confidences
j to Lady Newdigate.”.
“For the best of all reasons,”
' Proigne answered, somewhat sadly, '1
had hoped that you would be. My ‘im
portant matter’ was the deep wish
that I feel, Miss Adela, to ask you to
become my wife, and my intention of
I approaching you to- morrow with thia
(to me) very momentous request.”
Adela crimsoned, and drooped her
j eyes.
“Why haven’t you told me this?”
| Lady Newdigate said to Proigne, turn
; ing toward him with a fragmentary
! coo of laughter, and looking as beau
! tiful as he had ever seen her.
Proigne took out his watch and
glanced at it. “I have been here just
Bve minutes, dear lady, as you’ll ad
mit. I really haven’t had time.”
“But I have time,” burst from
Adela, “to tell you that, to-morrow or
at any future day, Mr. Proigne, you
need make no such request of me as
that which you have just described.”
At once Adela slipped from the 11
; brary. Cyril Proigne made several
swift pursuant steps. Then he receded
from the doorway through which she
had passed. While Adela's unheard
“This girl—a nice girl, but a trifle
bourgeoise, you must admit—said that
I’d boasted of how I need only lift my
finger to have you back again. It’s
not true. Still, I lift my finger now,
Cyril. You’ve been terrible. I didn’t
dream you could be so terrible. But
never mind; I forgive you this once,
and see: I lift my finger.”
Cyril stood quite motionless. But
he might have made some answer if
Sir Ralph Newdigate had not entered
tne library ten seconds later, red
faced, massive, perspiringly hot.
“Bless my soul,” he cried. "I met
Lady Jenny Smythe as I was coming
home in nny cab, and Lord Lymelynde
was with her; he usually is, you know
—ha! ha! ha! I asked ’em to drop in
for dinner—pot luck, you know—and
go with us to-night. They accepted
(including old Smythe, of course—ha!
ha! ha!). How old Smythe can stand
his goings-on with Lady Jenny, I’m
blessed if I—well, never mind. You
will stay and dine, Cyril, that's a good
old chap!”
“I—I was just trying to remember,”
murmured Proigne, pulling at his
chestnut mustache nervously.
His eyes again met Lady Newdi
gate’s.
And Cyril Proigne stayed and dined
that evening in Grosvenor square.
(Copyright. 1901. ty Joseph B. Bowleg.)
QUICK START.
O. W. Nickerson and J. Baker
were residents of Harwi Capt.
i Nickerson, as he was called, waB a
man of means and very shrewd. Joe
was leas fortunate.
One day the captain met Joe and
said: “Come over to-night.” Joe did
so, and as soon as he entered the cap
tain’s home the captain took him into
a distant room, closed all the windows
and doors securely
ting rich, and you can pay me $25. Be
saving, of course, and when you dc
make a bargain with anyone be sun
that no one hears you, and then if yoi
get the worst of it, or want to back
out, you can. Now hand me the $25.’
Joe thought a second, and then said:
“Did anyone hear us make this bar
gain, captain?’’
"Not a Houl,” replied the captain.
, "Well, then,” Joe said, "I guess I’l/
begin on you.’"
————^—
SOME CHICKEN RECIPES.
Several More or Less Elaborate Dishes
--The ]Directions for the Sam*
Given in Full.
CHICKEN CUTLETS WITH RICE.
—A teacupl'ul of rice, some good stock,
one onion, salt and pepper, some cold
ham and chicken, egg, breadcrumbs^
Boil a teacupful of rice in some good
stock and pound it in a mortar with,
an onion that has been cooked in but
ter, with salt and pepper. Pound sep
arately in equal proportions cold ham
and chicken; form this into cutlets;
cover them with egg and bread crumbs
and fry. Serve with a sharp sauce.
CHICKEN LOAF.—A chicken, two
ounces of butter, pepper and salt, egg.
Boil a chicken In as little water as
possible until the meat can easily be
picked from the bones; cut it up fine;
then put it back into the saucepan
with two ounces of butter and a sea
soning of pepper and salt. Grease a
square china mold, and cover the
bottom with slices of bard boiled «ggs;
pour in the chicken, place a weight
on It, -and set aside to cool, when.it
will turn out.
PRESSED CHICKEN.—Two chick
ens. boiled until the meat leaves the
bones easily; then pull to pieces and
chop fine, letting the liquor. In which
they were cooked boil down until only
a cupful remains. Add about one-half
as much chopped ham as chicken; roll
two soda crackers, pour the stock over,
seasoning highly. Mix well together,
put iu a deep, long pan, pressing down
hard with the hand. Fold a cloth sev
eral times, put over the top, and put
on a weight. It will slice nicely if
prepared the day before using.
CHICKEN RISSOLES.—Some rem
nants of fowl, ham and tongue, butter,
a pinch of flour, white pepper, salt,
nutmeg, parsley, eggs, a few drops of
lemon juice flour, water, three pinches
of sugar. Mince very finely some
remnants of fowls, free from skin, add
an equal quantity of ham or tongue,
as well as a small quantity of truffles,
all finely minced; toss the whole into
a saucepan with a piece of butter
mixed with a pinch of flour; add white
pepper, salt and nutmeg to taste, as
well as a little minced parsley; stir
in, off the fi.re, the yolks of one or two
eggs beaten up with a few drops of
lemon juice, and lay the mixture on a
plate to cool. Make a paste with some
flour, a little water, two eggs, a pinch
of salt, and two or three of sugar; roll
it out to the thickness of a penny
piece, stamp it out in round pieces
three inches in diameter; put a piece
of the above mince on each, then fold
them up, fastening the edges by mois
tening them with water. Trim the
rissoles neatly with a fluted cutter, dip
each one in heated up egg, and fry a
golden coior in hot lard.
CHICKEN" TERRAPIN—Place a
stewpan on the fire with a small tea
cup of water in it; when it boils add
the flesh of tender boiled chicken,
picked fine. Mix smooth a quarter of
a pound of butter with a tablespoonful
of flour. When the chicken has
boiled three minutes add the butter
and flour, stirring it all the time.
Season with salt, cayenne pepper, a
small blade of mace and half a pint, of
good sherry wine. Let it simmer over
a slow fire ten minutes, then add a '
gill of milk and serve in a hot dish.
CREAM CHICKEN.—Four chickens,
three cans of mushrooms, four sweet
breads. Boil chicken till tender and
cut as for salad, removing all skin;
boil and chop sweetbreads. Mix chick
en. sweetbread? and mushrooms, and
bake in alternate layers writh bread
crumbs. seasoned with pieces of but-,
ter and cream dressing given below.
This is sufficient for 20 people.
CREAM DRESSING.—One and one
half pints of cream, one grated onion,
three tablespoonfuls of flour, four ta-j
blespoonfuls of butter. Heat cream,
rub flour in butter and put in the
cream; cook till it thickens; take off
and stir In onion. Put the first layer
of chicken, sweetbreads and mush
rooms in a dish and season each of.,
tne layers with cayenne pepper and
salt. Let the top layer be of bread
crumbs.—Chicago Tribune.
Bride's Watch as License Fee.
John Burns and Miss Gertrude
Dowling, a young couple, came here
from Philadelphia to be wedded. Upon
applying at the office of Magistrate
Brotnan for a marriage license the
bridegroom was surprised when told
it would cost three dollars. His total
amount of cash was $2.75.
The license was made out and the
bridegroom prospective was in a
quandary. Suddenly a bright idea
struck him. After a hastv conversa
tion with the bride-elect the latter
produced her gold watch and handed
it to the young man. He left in a
hurry, pawned the timepiece with an
acquaintance, and, returning, paid for
the license.
The couple departed, all smiles, for
the home of Rev. George 1,. Wolfe,
the '‘marrying parson,-’ where they
were wedded.
The husband had enough left to
give the preacher his fee. They then
returned to Philadelphia.—Wilming
ton Correspondence Baltimore Sun.
Why Indian Is Beardless.
The American Indian is not abso
lutely beardless. The growth is small,
and because of this smallness they
pluck it out. Beards differ very much
among different nations. Clim-ate,
food, etc., have much to do with it.
In hot and dry countries, such as
Arabia, Ethiopia, East India. Spain
and Italy, the beard is generally dark,
dry, hard and thin. Persons of a mild
disposition, well nourished, have a
light-colored, thick and slightly curl
ing beard. The eunuchs of Turkey,
who have been such from childhood,
have no beard. It generally con
sidered a sign of development.
Furniture Stains.
Have ready three pieces of woolen
cloth; dip one into linseed oil, rub the
spot briskly, wet the second with alco
hol and apply to oily surface, rubbing
quickly, as too much alcohol will de
stroy the varnish, and finally polish
with the third cloth, moistened with
oil or furniture polish. Another way
is to U3e equal parts of vinegar, sweet
oil, and spirits of turpentine; shake
all well together in a bottle; apply
with a flannel cloth and rub dry with
old silk or .linen.
To Remove Varnish.
Alcohol will remove varnish from
fabrics. •