r. !""
,J flJlmrSgW
0
1
k
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w
4
TELL IT O'ER AGAIN.
II nec or tT7.ec trill sot sadce
To aaic the story plain.
Tint ttc rehearse in prose or verse,
Wc tell it o'er ngain:
"With tender care, and oft witn prayer.
Tie mcsssse ire impart,
"Until the child Iron: play beguiled
Has learned it well by heart.
But even tfcea. with ton;uc aad pea.
la Ct.y chosen vrords.
The these is spread, to music wed
As sweet as sobss of b.nls;
And far and near some heart sincere
Tal.es np the glad retrain.
Asd quicto heed another's need.
Repeats it o'er avals'
Thus every day, alonj- our way.
To many or to fctr.
The story's to.d that is so old.
And yet is ever new;
And il we fear :t is not clear.
Or woo nj is In va n,
Howcngerly at-d tenderly
"We tell it o'er again!
But a our homes of ttta.es there comes
A shadow fraught with ill.
That casts a hi ght o'er all things br.ght,
A CarU, forchod.s? chllL
And well we know by signs that show.
The bitter jrrief aad pain
Of hearts that srieve irom znorn till eve.
That love is on the wane.
Then Is the time that souls sublime
Will gather round their own.
With tenderness and fond caress
For past neslect atone ,
And though o old their love they told
In language terse and plain.
Fear "tw.ll disarm, and do no harm
To tell it o er acaln.
Josephine Pollard, in N. Y Ledger.
MIRIAM.
Toe RlOes f HArlGi ML
Bv Manda L. Crocker.
CorrEiGnT, 1S.
CHAPTER XXVL CONTIMHUJ.
Io. the squire was not coming: doubtless
he wouid not, as Allan had announced his
intention of overhauLngthe dozens of dusty
volumes, some of them ancient and curious
ly bound and others of later date. ''What a
place for an old book-worm of a fellow!'"
ejaculated Allan, elbowicg the ancient tome
at hi right, as he thrust his kaad into the
reces in the wall, after having satisfied
himself that Bancroft -was not coming.
The first thin? his hand touched he drew
forth. It proved to be the long-hidden
casket containing Lady Percival's jewels.
Uruliing the dust from tne e.egant cover
he opened it for a moment in order that he
might know what he reallv did have. Dia
mond: diamond, scintillating even in the
dim light told him he had the required
jewels. Shutting the casket he discovered
the letters L. P. engraven in the center of
the cover.
"Aunt PercivaJ,"' be murmured. "Oh! I
feel so Strang'' in this awful place, where
sweet Lady Perciva! died; from where my
lather fied, and from whose doors my dar
ling was driven in her widow's weeds! God
be merciful. I wih I wa. out of thi!"
Once more he put hi-, hand into the recess
and renewed the search. Three small boxes
and silver drinking cups nest rewarded his
u. enaeavors. iiie-e ue uepu:
to jckcts without examining 1
T "e searched the recess.
endeavors. Tiie-e he deposited in various
: them and again
The fau-ily plate, bv Jove" And out it
came from the remote corner of the cap
board. Silver, silver, silver! And here was
a riddle he cou.d not solve. How could this
little place bold all this I He tried the other
aide of the ajcrture. and to his astonish
ment a panel moved easily back, revealing
a capacious recess, and the "corner" he
thought he had reached was not a "corner,"
only a sort of civi-ion.
"It's deuced lucky I brought my travel
ing case, or else how should I smuggle all
this away from Heatherleigh! Egad! I feel
ike a thief'
Having stowed all the valuables away in
his large .ise, he shut np the recess and
replaced tne books he had removed.
"I believe I will go upstairs now and see
-what has bconie of the squire."' .mused
Allan, looking about him.
But the Squi'e was coming down. Allan
heard him on the stairs, and forthwith he
began to be deeply interested in a yellow
paged vo.jme, for whose contents he didn't
care a half-penny.
The books are quite hinterestinsr, I
snculd thina." said Bancroft, peepi'.g in
seeing the young barrister deeply en
r:ed, as he thought, in reaJing.
'Oh! yx;" AI.an made an- wet, with a
yawn, "interest.ng enoh, but I'm deuced
tired of them. and. as I have taken the titles
il seme and selected others for which they
ent me, 1 gues we may as well go. that
Is, if you have no further business in this
torrid pkure!'
" "Ornd place! Why. thLs hi the wery
place to drear hof romances by the "our,
I WTO I
-m
y
l I VS Ik- I W
nx -ninrsT his iixxd into the excess.
Mr. Our tastes differ, to be sure. low, hi
could stav 'ere for ha week."'
"Lord!" ejaculated Allan, in horror. "I
should be a raving maniac in half that
Cmph!" and the jolly squire looked at
him in amaze. Then he said: "Books packed,
hi suppose!" ana tit the same time eyeing
the traveling case keenly.
"Yes." answered Allan, prevaricating.
CHAPTER XXVIL
Squire Bancroft had not been so lone in
the gallery lor nothing. He tad almost
wept over the line portrait of the youngest
ou in the reversed row, Allan Perciva!,
last child of Leon Peravai, the austere, as
he was known.
And now, on coming out into the hall,
this voung sprig of a Londoner put him so
much in and f the picture of the higb
spirited youth lie used to know that he
stooped snort to think:
.fu: -vwi snnie'ow has hif ." he mused.
and then taking his gaze from the travel
J
i. tl X '. i ,Lj !-U
er bag he acted on the impulse oi tac bu-
ii -rwo.- ioro. toibc friend.'" said he, touch-
c ah nn ttip shoulder as they stepped
can't 'elp but see that yon resemble so
much one portrait bin this gallery hup
stairs. His hit possible hi bam haddress
ing a Perciva!! Can hit be that you hare the
son hof Hallan PercivaL so long hago dis
inherited solely because 'e 'ad sense
henough to marry ha sensible woman?"
The squire's Urst sentence sent a sus
picious impression with its curious articu
lation, and his tap on Allan's shoulder
seemed to augur no good to the contents of
the case he carried. But the compound
question which followed the eccentric old
fellow's prelude put those fast-nsing fears
of detection to flight, and substituted a
choking sensation of oppressive wrong in
their stead.
Alisn looked up. "You know me, then, by
my resemblance to my father," he said,
with a sad attempt at a smile. "I am the
only sen of thai Allan Fercival in fact,
the only child living, and that is why
Miriam Percival Fairfax and her solicitors
trust me on this errand to the Hall.
The present owner of Heatherleigh is
my cousin, Mr. Bancroft, and I am com
missioned to the Hall by her implicit or
ders." 44 "Pen my soul! 'pon my soul !" exclaimed
the squire, grasping Allan's hand. 'Pon
my soul. Hi thought the world hof your
father, my boy; has hif 'c were myhown
brother." And the impulsive Bancroft
flourished his handkerchief and blew his
nose with the sound of a trumpet. "Then
hits your father's picture upstairs; w'y
don't you go hup hand get hit!"
Allan shuddered. ''Do not ask mo to go
upstairs and into Vial room," he answered,
turning faint at the idea, and covering his
face with his hand, as if to shut out even
the bitter memories.
"Ho! Hi see." rejoined the squire, "you
said this 'ornd place," and he put his arms
akimbo. "Hi see' Hi see!" he continued,
'you dread hit hon your father's haccount'
Forgive me, my bay: Hi didn't think J Hi
know the sad story hof your father s. being
kicked hout; 'eard hof 'is death, too, but
didn't 'ear that 'e left ha son. Well ! well !''
For some minutes the old squire stood
looking affectionately at Allan and think
ing, then he placed his hand kindly on the
young man's arm and said: "Don't you
want your father's portrait, my boy? Hif
you do w'y, hi will be glad to go hup there
hafter hit for vol."
Allan nodded in the affirmative. He
could not speak. A feeling of utter lone
liness was creeping out of the shadows
and wrapping his soul in its miserable in
fluence Up there, in the dark, ghostly
place, his father's picture hung with its
face to the wall, he had been told a thou
sand times, because he had been cast out
and now. after three and a half decades of
gloom and disgrace, it was to be brought
down and given into the hands of the son,
the child of his mesalliance.
Allan heard the squire go up the length
of the shadowy sta.rcase, heard him tread
ing the corridors, as one hears things in a
strange, indistinct dream.
The sunshine stole down through the
tufted elms, the noisy rooks chattered and
scolded high up above the ancient gables
and the April airs went whispering by, but
Allan heard them not. He was listening
attentively to a voice sounding down the
aisles of the oy-gone, and he heard it say:
-Curses on that old Hall, that sent me
adrift; curses, I say!" and it was the voice
of his father.
And in connection with this maledictive
sentence he heard a sweet, soft voice, and
it said in a deprecating tone: "Allan'
Allan !" And it was the voice of his gentle
lady mother.
But Squire Bancroft interrupted this
communion of spirits akin, and broke
Allan's painful reverie by saying: "Ere hit
his." At the same time he wiped a sus
picious moisture from his old eyes and
locked the great doors in silence.
Allan Percival left Heatherleigh as one
in a dream. The long, desolate avenue,
down which his darling had passed alone in
her grief did not seem real to him. The
clanging of the great gates sounded afar off
and even the hum of the carriage wheels
on the echoing drive beyond came to his
ear as unnatural and deadened. He
thought of it. and remembered Miriam's
horror of the place.
He paused at Hedge Place, the squire's
lovely cot -ige, and letting him out with
many w ci adieus, drove mechanically on
to war-, the city.
Hastings came in view, and he drew a
sigh of relief. Tne shimmer of the sea De
yond gave him a new impetus, and he
smi.ed. "It won't be so very long now,"
he said, waking up, "until I shall see her,
my own."'
He consulted his watch. "I have time to
get every thing attended to in my care and
reach London to-morrow; then a final in
terview with my bankers there, a bidding
good-bye to a few friends, and I'm off on the
reacherous waters yonder."
'Back again !" Allan ejaculated, as he
threw open the door of his lodgings, and
entered with his precious burdens. "WelL
I'm blest if I m not glad the affair is wind
ing up. W hat a great deal grows out of a
I;
little, sometimes, to be sure, ' he continued,
s-ettling himself comfortably in his chair by
the table and emptying his pockets of the
Heatherleigh find. "If I had not met that
old lady in the park that blustering autumn
day last year, I presume I should not have
bees there again this time.
"I guess I had better shut the door and
insert the key, lest I have auditors."
W ith this timely conclusion he fastened the
door, and, returning to the table, spread out
the contents of the three dusty little boxes
on the green chintz cover.
"I only wish to see them a moment," he
apologized to a hint of conscience, ''and
Miriam wouldn't care.'
The two little eoony cases contained
jewels also, as well as the more pretentious
casket, but whether they were the property
of Miriam or not he had no means of find
ing out. They were very costly, however,
and must have been prized very much by
the happy possessor, whoever it might
have been, Allan thought, as he held up
to the light an exquisitely wrought bracelet,
with little forget-me-nots clustered at the
fastening.
"Tnese shad be her wedding present from
the Hall," he said to himself, sarcastically.
Then he dropped them, shimmering in the
light wandering through the white dimity
curtain, as if they bad been serpents.
"What if they carry the malediction of
our infernal old ancestor!" be questioned,
half aghast at the mental suggestion ; "every
thing about the cursed place, I verily be
lieve, bears the brand and feels the taint!
I came near losing my senses under the
baleful influence myself, and only a few
hours there at that. These cave lain for
years in the desolate gloom, and the price
of a soul may be their cost!"
He shoved the shining heap from him
with a gesture of horror, and sat looking at
the contents of the third box or case. Whatr
ever it was was wrapped in a bttlc silken
scarf. Allan reached over and touched it
gently. "Oh! here is a slip of paper at
tached to it," he said, growing interested
in the delicate package, and suddenly for
getting the glamor of a horrible dread
connected in his mind with the glittering
jewels opposite him.
How his heart throbbed for an instant a
he recognized Miriam's dedicate, yet firm
writing: "My baby curls; Mtrran; Perci-Tai."
"Ob!" he said, half rapturously, "when
she, my darling, was a little, care-free girL"
Unrolliug the scarf, he held in his palm a
long silken ringlet, tied with a bonnie blue
ribbon. A look of happy satisfaction
beamed from his dark eyes. "My Miriam's
curls," he said, tenderly, "cut from her
dear bead before the shadows gathered
over her path; cut, doubtless, by my aunt's
fingers, now crumbled to dust, Ladr Per
cival!" He rolled up the curl carefully and re
stored it to its case. A kindly emotion
stirred the depths of bis oul, and a dreamy
expression softened his features.
Perhaps," he mused. '-perhaps these jew
els are my darling's, also; and, if they are,
no harm can hover over them."
The sight of the ringlet had softened and
rendered mild the whole atmosphere, and
c, W'lm "jJj"J i
flsr
hA,J-J u
- ii
v. 1 I 1 I i v -u
mvn n 'i
"THESE SHALL BE HEK WEDDING PltESENTS."
he gathered the bracelets and their accom
panying necklace up with a far-away, pre
occupied air and shut them in their elegant
cases with a sigh.
CHAPTER XXVIIL
It is May, and a beautiful day, with a
symphony lingering in the fragrant air.
Miriam is out among the rosebuds that
beautify the clambering vines astneywait
for the breath of June to unfold their glory.
And, instead of the pale, pinched expres
sion on her perfect features as in the win
ter, the flush of health and may I 6ay hap
piness? yes, happiness, creeps into her
oval face, where the dimples of her girl
hood are still visible.
The silken ringlet entwined with its
bibbon of blue, which so moved the heart
of Allan PercivaL is not to be compared
with the luxuriant tresses straying in
shining lengths down over her shoulders.
Miriam Percival Fairfax has outlived the
crucible years of her life; the dark chap
ters of her strange history are being fol
lowed up by bright, golden pages, fragrant
with the love of a blissful, happy summer
to be.
1 had a difficult task, indeed, to persuade
her that the dream of seeing Peggy and of
hearing her eoeming prophetic words would
all come to naught. But I fancy, although
she declares yet at times that "it means
something to come," her faith .n night
visions is on the wane.
But the roses bud whsie last year the
rue grew darkly luxuriant, and the smiles,
the rarest of all rare things then, are slip
ping gradually into her days.
Some time ago she came to me with her
flue voice all a-tremble, and wondered to
me if I "thought it would be proper to wear
colors?" I looked at her a moment: the
somber crape folds had grown to be iden
tical with Miriam. I 6hould not have known
her, I thought, without them but ten long,
sorrowing years for a young heart to throb
beneath the garb of mourning was enough;
who could ask more! Then. too. mourning
was of the heart, not the habiliments alto
gether, and if this lone woman has found a
silver lining to the heavy clouds of her
heavens, why not?
"Ycs,"I said, "perfectly proper, dear, see
ing that Allan is coming."
Then she smiled one of her rare, perfect
smiies, WLich can neither be forgotten nor
described, and said she "should go down to
the city and make some purchases."
Sly little puss; did she imagine that I.
who had played the part of a detective for
a twelvemonth or more, could be hood
winked into "spring fashions"' in this man
ner? If she did, she has reckoned without
her host, as I mentally cite a wedding day
somewhere adown this golden summer; a
perfect day in June, no doubt, as May is
waning. Ah! yes: methtnks 1 hear wed
ding-bells, and their clear, sweet music is
in harmony with the symphony of the day.
But Miriam. A couple of letters lying in
her lap bear foreign post-marks, and she
has been reading them softly to herself,
smiltng the while, as if the contents were
pleasing in the extreme.
The soft, grav texture of her dress sne
chose gray for afternoon costume, but
there is a beautiful white satin folded away
amid a cloud of costly lace for another oc
casionfalls from her queenly figure in full
folds, and she looks every inch a veritable
queen; this stately, proud daughter of the
Percivals.
'Heatherleigh is in the past," she says,
turning her head, with a smile which is
half joy, half sorrow. "The house of the
Percivals have nothing more in its somber
shadows. "Jfo; no more, forever!"
"Sold!" I ask.
"Yes; disposed of," she answers, look
ing away seaward. The fair face flushes
and pales fitfully. Tnere is a strong tide of
memory surging up from the past; a thou
sand thoughts are coming to the front for
recognition, and it is safe to say they are
net pleasant ones.
I work away on my embroidery and fin
ish an impossible grape cluster m smoky
purple without pretending to offer any
th.ng further. Such things are best thought
out in silence, I have learned. So we sit an
hour in the soft, sweet weather without a
word: she looking seaward and down at
the letters alternately, and I attentive to
my embroidery, with an occasional glance
at her face. She will speak presently, and
tell me what she is thinking about. I have
known her long enough to know this, and
work away, awaiting her pleasure.
"I have sent to the Hall for a fewthings,"
she begins, just as I expected she would;
"and if I am happy enough to get those the
whole place known as Heatherleigh may
rest for aye under the curse of Sir Leon
Heatherleigh, for aught I care."
Her face flushes crimson, then pales like
a lily; she is still revengeful and passion
ate in her hatred of the HalL I had thought
she had forgotten the old, desperate days,
but she has not. I do not answer; I have
no words. I scarcely ever have when Mir
iam towers up in speeches like this, and
she relapses into another reverie, as disa
greeable, perhaps, as the first.
"Peggy Clarkson never told you," she be
gins again, "of a certain night's work of
ours, did she hers and mine!"
Her face assumes a look of mingled
pr.de and defiance, and she smiles a little
as I answer "No."
"I thought she could be trusted, even
unto death," and her eyes filled with tears,
in memory of the deceased servant. "Now
after it is all over and done with, I will tell
you oar little ecm," as said, cocuMsa-tiaily.
M diT5
i l i-i "-n. . i vir. "te. '"
W y -At IL Vi ,:
Wf VW . Vi ,1 , 'f 12
'TreH," ""answer, folding my hands
my work, preparing to listen.
"My mother," continued Miriam, "had a
beautiful silver service of her own. and be
fore I left the Hall 1, with Peggy's assist
ance, hid it away, with several other things
of value, including my mother's jewels. We
stowed tiiem all away in a recess behind
the book-shelves in tne library, taking the
midnight hour for our work. Sir Rupert"
(she never calls him father) "had forgot
ten, I think, the existence of the secret cup
board; and as it was closed by a sliding
panel, scarcely visible when closed, I do aot
doubt but that they were found just as I put
thesiaway. I hope so, at least,' she ended,
with a sigh.
The pieasant. cheerful look comes into
her face once more, aad she stoops aad ab
sently gathers a dozen violets at her feet
There is something more she wishes to tell
me. so I wait.
Tnis is the last of May?" she speaks, in
terrogatively, and I answer: "Yes, the very
last days of the spring."
A crimson flush sweeps up over cheek
and brow, and "Allan is coming," she con
fesses, sweetly.
"Oh !" I pretend to be surprised, happily
so; but I was certain he would come long
before this disclosure.
But it does my soul good to see the
happy love-light in her beautiful eyes and
to bear her confession, so I reach over and
press a kiss of congratulation on her rose
flushed cheek, and say: "I am so glad for
you, Miriam, and for Allan, too."
"I was sure you would be," replies Miri
am, looking at me wistfully, questioningly
'What is it !"'I ask, intuitively knowing she
desires to ak me something from which,
for some reason, she shrinks.
"Do you suppose Arthur would care!"
The question came scarcely above a whis
per, and her face takes on a look of fright
ened, painful inquiry.
'No," 1 answer, decisively, and give her
a look of incredulity. I can scarcely believe
my ears. "Would Arthur care? No,
Miriam, he would not; so rest contented.
Do you suppose that Arthur would be so
selfish as that!'" I ask.
She answers by a negative shake of her
head, which brings one long, glossy curl
down over her heaving bosom, but she does
not speak. Evidently I have alluded to the
dead too aoruptly. Well, I have never un
derstood the strange, beautiful woman be-
fore me thoroughly, and what mignt please .
anybody else would, likely as not, fall dis- .
astrousiy across her thoughts.
"You shall be. married here at the cot- i
tage." I say, makiug a bold attempt at
turning her mind from the mournful past
to the future with its promising outlook. I
"My poor little cottage has never known a i
marriage, a birth or a death," I add, plead
ingly, looking straight at her for the answer.
"Your dear little home has been very
lucky, then." she replies, with a far-away,
sad look.
I am almost out of patience with her.
Why must she dwell forever on the doleful
past! But she speaks.
"Yes, I should like to be married here,'
she says. "I was married once in church,"
and she shivered as if the memory of it
chilled her very soul, "and I never want to
have the ceremony repeated there."
She fastens the violets in her fichu of
creamy lace, and, gathering up the letters,
goe-4 m.
'Allan is coming,' I repeat to the rose
buds: "Allan is coming wnen you bloom,"
and the breeze, sweeping up from the sea,
sighs through the trees: "Yes, yes, yes !"
"Allan is bringing a friend' with him.'
Miriam nestles down beside me on the sofa
later and whispers this bit of news in my
attentive ear.
"But I can not imagine who it can be,"
she adds, in a puzzled tone.
"A friend," and we ponder until we give
up in despair of even thinking of one likely
to come with him, and turn to discussing
the preparations necessary for the happy
event of her wedding.
'TO UE COST1SCED.1
ORCHARD AND FOREST.
To Each I'roTiilent Nature lias Assigned
Iuiportaut Duties.
Out here in the yard stands an apple tree
which is doing full duty in bearing fruit.
Though it is thick with foliage, the apples,
tinted with red on the side next the sun, are
appearingthrough it, and the prospect is that
not later than "Oliver's day," or even soon
er than that, the juicy product will be
picked from the branches. In view of the
fact that the apple holds so important a
place in the world, this tree may claim to be
doing a great work. It will gratify healthy
tastes, help strengthen men and women for
their employments, and become a part of
that great system which operates to pro
vide the human family with food. But over
there, across a small valley and on the
crest of a hill, stands the remnant of a
forest a large one, too, for it runs away
back along the ridge to the southwards. It
is imposing to look at, whether in winter
or summer, and in that view is worth its
room, and ten times more. But the age
is practical, and asks for something more
than looks, especially of native trees
occupying the soil, as these do. which the
lords of creation claim for. their many
purposes. With this in mind, the business
thought is apt to be. that compared with
the apple tree, these oaks and hickories,
with an intermingling of dogwood and
chestnut, are of very little value, and that
they perform no service to the community.
But is it a correct one? At several points
at the foot of the hill little fountains are
bubbling out and going off on their play
ful journey through the fields and mead
ows. The birds stop beside them and
drink, then fly off happy with song. A
cow finds a shady spot where she takes a
leisurely drink. It is the harvest time, and
a boy carries to the reapers refreshing cup
fuls. In a retired place, shadowed by a
noble elm and embowered anong vines, is a
cottage full of rustic life, and there, for two
generations, the spring has given its un-
lamng hiessings. And more than once
when sickness came and lips were sore with
fever, its waters have given a comfort
greater than all the help of the physicians.
And isn't the forest, therefore, busy doing
good? Without its sheltering influence the
waters would all dry up, and the fountains
and streamlets would disappear from among
the other features of the scsnery. It is the
great oaks and hickories which carry the
water to the bird and cow, and it is they
which hold the cup alike to the lips of the
reaper and the sufferer in the chamber of
pain. United Presbyterian.
m
Bow to Carl Ostrick Plumes.
Have ready some corncobs and common
salt, and let the fire in the cook stove burn
down till you have a good bed of coals, lay
the cobs on and sprinkle them with salt, and
shake the feather in the smoke. Add cobs
and salt from time to tune, and be sure tc
shake the plume well, turning every part
to the smoke. The harder you shake the
feather the better it will look. Be careful
to bold it far enough from the fire to keep
it from burning. The livelier the coals
without blaze the better. I have tried to
make this plain. I thought my plumes com
pletely spoiled till I tried this recipe. I saw
a milliner wash a white plume once, and r
curl it this way, and it looked as nice as
new. She washed it in suds and rinsed t
in clear water, and shook it vigorously s
tilaboat dry, and then aaask Is arsr tfct
THE HUMAN APPETITE.
How It Can Be Satisfied in the
City of Chicago.
KeataoRints Where Mouth-KowU Are in
Dally Use Fifteen-Cent Hash-House
A Study of Waiters and Their
Peculiar Ways.
special Chicago Correspondence.
In Chicago, as elsewhere, man can not
live without dining, and the only differ
ence between the simon-pure Chicagoan
and other specimens of American man
kind in this respect is that the Michi
gan Lake breezes have the effect of
creating an appetite which would put to
shame the dweller in any other part of
the country. Take him all in all, the
average Chicago man lives to eat, and
the average Chicago woman keeps him
company.
This will, perhaps, explain the ex
istence of the thousands of restau
rants and eating
houses whose
prosperity scorns
s o inexplicable
to strangers who
visit the Garden
City for the first
time. Each
street corner
here, they ob
serve, has its sa
loon, with a drug
store across the
way and a restau
rant in the mid
dle of the block.
This is natural.
Tho pure ozone
from the lake
creates an appe-
head waiter. tite for substan
tial eatables, tho hurry and worry of
business life rcako a brisk demand for
drinkables, and the subsequent over
loaded condition of the stomach com
pels a visit to the nearest pill shop.
The great Chicago trinity saloon,
drug store and restaurant,' a wise man
from the East once upon a time called
the combination, and, to tell the truth,
he was not far from summing the whole
thing up correctly.
Saloons and drug stores are very
much alike wherever one may go. and
it would be a wasto of words to speak
about them, but a description of what
Chicago offers in the way of eating
houses will throw some light on a mat
ter in which every body is interested.
First of all, then, Chicago has restau
rants for all classes and conditions of
human beings. Restaurants for the
rich, restaurants for the poor, restau
rants for women, restaurants for ne
groes, restaurants for Germans, restau
rants for Frenchmen, restaurants for
rat-and-rice-eating heathens, lunch
counters for busy clerks and eating
halls for tramps and other impecunious
individuals.
There are, for instance, gorgeous
dining halls for the representatives of
tho four hundred who may desire to
dine outside of their clubs, where a
piece of sirloin steak costs a dollar and
a look at the head waiter adds a quar
ter to tho bill, where garcom in full
dress flit hither and thither with noise
less tread, where finger-bowls are in
every-day use and where even the
fashionable mouth-bowl is not a
6tranger.
What on earth is a mouth-bowl, you
ask. Why, the mouth-bowl is a Russian
institution; a square or round glass
bowl with a pret
ty little glass in
side; the whole
being served on
a glass dish to
gether with a
fine linen doily
of diminutive
size. After the
finger-bowl has
been passed, the
garcon. makes his
appearance with
tho mouth-bowL
With as much
grace as you can
command you re
move the glass
from the bowl,
pass the p e r
f umed water
through your
mouth and un- white waitek.
ostcntatiously deposit it in the bowl.
Then you take the doily, wipe your
mouth, put the glass back into tho bowl,
wipe your fingers and the task is done.
As'l said, this and an unlimited number
of other luxuries you can enjoy, pro
vided you are willing to pay two or
three dollars for a thirty-five-cent meal.
If you do not care to pay a week's sal
ary for a day's board you can go to any
one of the two hundred or more restau
rants where a good meal can be obtained
for thirty-five or fifty cents. In these
places you will not find many of the ap
pointments of fashionable life, but you
will be thrown with the representatives
of the great middle class of Chicago,
men and women who prefer a good roast
or a choice chop to costly bricsbrac in
the way of cut glass and solid silver.
Instead of being waited on by gentle
men in full dress, guests are served by
clean-looking Africans armed with nap
kin and towel, which implements of
their profession, I am sorry to say, as
sume a hue resembling that of their
manipulators before the dinner rush is
half over. As restaurants go, these es
tablishments aro very satisfactory, how
ever, and entitled to the custom of
sensible people.
Natives or visitors fond of German
Cooking have tfea choice of half a dozen
or more places where "buck wurst mit
sauer-kraut" is served with the same
regularity as are pork and beans in the
Yankee boarding-house. Swiss cheese
and even tho aromatic Limburgercan
be washed down with a delicious cup of
coffee or chocolate, for, Btrange as it
may seem, in none of the German restau
rants of the better class can beer or other
intoxicating liquors be obtained. The
cooking is Teutonic from the soup down
to the Kaiser pudding, and buxom Ger
man lassies with an amplitude of bustio
carry your order from the diainjr-rooai to
tha latches.
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if
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Ihe Kestaurants rrancaise, on th
other hand, employ fine-looking male
waiters, who
view with con
tempt, begotten
by a feeling
of racial su
periority, upon
German waiting
maids and hum
ble Senegambian
menials. In nine
cases out of ten
the sh abby
French waiter is
a man of family,
that is, tho de
scendant of a
family with a
titlo as long as
that of the
menu. French
LADY WAITEK.
French soup on tho
and German noblemen in reduced
circumstances seem to tako to wait
ing on a table as naturally as a
duck does to water, and as most of
them are decidedly in reduced circum
stances after they have been in thi:
glorious country for five or six months
without catching a shallow-pated Amer
ican heiress, the supply of titled menials
far exceeds the demand. The result has
been a reduction of wages for this class
of labor, and a union composed of col
ored gentlemen has under consideration
tho passage of a memorial to Congress
praying for the exclusion from their na
tive land of Counts and Barons who can
not make an honest living in the effeto
monarchies of the Old World. In this
they have the sympathy of their white
fellow-citizens, who will cheerfully sec
ond their patriotic and disinterested
efforts.
Tho king of Chicago waiters, how
ever, is not the titled foreigner, but
tho hash-slinger in the five and ten
cent feed-houses located on South Clark
and West Madison streets. He is a char
acter that baSes description; half
tramp, half gentleman. Rigged out in
a shirt that may. perchance, have once
been white, and an apron reaching from
the neck to the feet so as to cover a
patch-work pair of trousers, be intimi
dates his customers by scowling at them
in a way which instinctively makes
them put their hands over those pock
ets in which they may have a stray
dime or two. The order given, it is
bawled out in a stentorian voice and tho
unhappy guest, too frightened to leave
his seat, is kept waiting fifteen or
twenty minutes before his order is filled.
One of these queer establishments has
a sign on the window with the inscrip
tion: : Eat, dkisk am be merrt, tor to- :
MOimOWWEDIE. :
HAXA5DEGG8 10 CENTS. :
: OATS1EAI.AKD3EGGS.I0CZSTS.
; Witfi a cup of coe or tea free gratis. :
In the same place a small beefsteak,
potatoes, bread and butter, and threo
doughnuts can be obtained for a dime,
and a sirloin steak with the same extras
for fifteen cents. Pork and beans is
worth eight cents; mutton chops, ten
cents; roast chicken, fifteen cents, and
other articles in proportion. Of course,
eating houses of this description are
patronized only by tke lowest class of
working-people, tramps and other prob
lematical characters. The fact that, ac
cording to a police official's statement,
there are in existence in the business
districts of Chicago over one hundred of
this class of restaurants, each of which
feeds from one to five hundred person.-"
per day, proves perhaps more conclusive
ly than any thing else that a large city
like Chicago harbors at all times ten
thousand men who aro either out of
work or belong f the criminal class.
The hash-slingers employed by the pro
prietors of these resorts are recruited
from their customers, and hence the
casual observer aeed not he surprised
when he receives a somewhat noisy re
ception. Chinese restaurants are something of
a novelty in Chicago, and no Caucasian
would care to visit one of them for tho
purpose of obtaining a meal more than
once. The victuals and delicacies served
by the pig-tailed proprietors of these
South Clark street dens are prepared in
genuine Oriental
style and sea
soned with an
indescribable
combination of
vile herbs aad
spices. Rice
forms the princi
pal substance of j
every feast, but
on high holidays
tho hoathen
basement revel
ers indulge in
bird's nest soup,
imeprted yams
and dried fish,
the smell of
which would
make a full
grown skunk
hide its head in
sname. lne coloueo waiteb.
prices asked by Chinese Bonifaces are
extravagant, but the old adage de gvsti
bus lion ejtditpittandum can be applied to
the almond-eyed Asiatics with the same
propriety as to the civilized bon vivants,
and perhaps we, who consider raw
oysters on the half-shell a rare delicacy,
have no business to throw stones at the
poor deluded heathen who prefers de
cayed fish to animated bivalves.
But, as said before, in Chicago &
stranger can have whatever he wants at
prices to suit his purse. The meats
served in the most expensive as well as
the cheapest places have passed a rigid
inspection, and while the "cuts' in the
fifteen-cent restaurants may not be the
choicest, yet they are as wholesome as
those served in more gorgeous places,
and this fact dwellers in the rural dis
tricts should not forget when visiting
the great aetropolia of the West.
G. W. Weitpixbt.
ASm Sign.
'Jones, said Smythe, as he watched
a couple strolling near, -that is a first
love affair.
"How do you know?"
"I just heard her make him promise
4 not to smoke or drink. Time.
THEBxisbut eae safe way to milk a
kicking cow, and that is to get you
9)7
sBbL-j
milk of the dealer im that mt
out into the saasbiae. "Faidon xae, but ai
i