Chapter VI: Part 6

The volume contains no mention, for instance, of a name now so high on the dramatic scroll of to-day as that of Mrs. Leslie Carter. It was in that very year of 1896 that Mrs. Carter was laying the foundation of her vogue by her swing from the belfry in David Belasco's "Heart of Maryland."

She hails from the West, and grew up as Caroline Louise Dudley, with never an aspiration for the stage. She recalls the first performance she ever saw as being "Joe" Jefferson in "The Cricket on the Hearth" at MacCauley's Theater, Louisville. She was not particularly carried away by it, although for some time thereafter her father facetiously dubbed her "Tilly," after the _Tilly Slowboy_ of Dickens's story.

After her father's death the family moved from Kentucky to Ohio, and here she met the wealthy Leslie Carter, of Chicago, and married him. But the match proved an unhappy one, a divorce followed, and Mrs. Carter was very ill for a long time. On her recovery she faced the necessity of earning her own living, and as she could neither sew, teach, nor manipulate a typewriter, she turned to the stage, as so many others, in similar cases, had done before her.

But it was a heart-breaking task to find some one to give her even a chance to show what she could do. The haunting of managers' offices day after day, the making of appointments with them that they never kept nor thought of keeping, the lying in wait for them at dark turns on the stairs, and the dashing across the street to intercept them in their walks abroad--all this fell to the lot of Louise Leslie Carter, as she was known when Belasco finally consented to put her out in "The Ugly Duckling," by Paul Potter.

But the play failed, and all seemed lost except two things: Mr. Belasco's faith in Mrs. Carter and her trust in his judgment of her abilities. Another essay was made the next year--1891--this time in a vehicle of an altogether different description, "Miss Helyett," a musical comedy with the score by Edmond Audran, who wrote "Olivette" and "The Mascot," and in which Mrs. Carter played the part of a Quaker maiden who has droll adventures among the Spanish Pyrenees.

This did better than "The Ugly Duckling," but still the star failed to "arrive," and still she and her manager kept up their belief in each other. Mr. Belasco now decided to try a play of his own making, and with this the victory was won.

No, not quite all. It remained for "Zaza," adapted from the French, and brought out at the Garrick in New York, January 9, 1899, to round out the little story which David Belasco told in his curtain speech on that now historic night. He spoke only two sentences, but they comprised the career of the star who came to be the inspiration of all the theaters that now bear his name.

And this is what he said:

"Nine years ago a poor woman threw herself at my feet and asked me to help her. Now she is the happiest woman in the world, for she can telegraph to her son that you like her in 'Zaza,' and that the boy may be proud of his mother."

The next day's papers told the story of that evening in headlines like these: "Genius the Word for Mrs. Carter," "Mrs. Carter Scores the Greatest Hit of Her Time," "The New Bernhardt."

RICHMAN DESERTED TRADE.

He Was Employed in a Chicago Store
and Spent Many of His Evenings
in Amateur Dramatics.

Reference to the premiere of "Mrs. Dane's Defense," in the paragraph on Margaret Anglin, recalls the fact that that occasion marked the first appearance of Charles Richman with the Empire stock company, he having the opposite role to Miss Anglin. He had won golden spurs as leading man with Annie Russell in "Miss Hobbs" and "A Royal Family," to which company he had passed from "The Great Ruby" at Daly's, where he had been playing with Ada Rehan at the time of Mr. Daly's death.

Mr. Richman went from trade to the theater by way of the amateur stage. He was employed in a Chicago store, and spent many of his evenings with an amateur dramatic association, of which he was one of the most active members. A benefit performance for some charity on one occasion proved such a success that a friend with money and a desire to sprout the wings of an "angel" proposed to put the troupe on the road for a summer season.

"I was immensely excited and pleased over the notion," Mr. Richman explained in telling me of his start as a professional, "but the rest of the cast were rather dubious about undertaking the experiment, and their friends and relatives were decidedly opposed to it. But I persuaded and my wealthy friend cajoled, and finally we set out.

"Three mothers insisted on going along, so we must have resembled a moving boarding-house. The outcome may be imagined. The man of money parted with this in exchange for experience, but, happily, nobody had to walk the ties home. However, the die was cast so far as I was concerned. I had smelled of the calcium, and there was no more clerking for me. I came to New York, managed to meet the late James A. Herne, who cast me for _Philip Fleming_ to the _Margaret_ of his wife. Under his management I was also _The Stranger_ in that oddly impressive play, 'Hannele.'"

Mr. Richman, who was sadly handicapped by mismanagement in his starring venture of two seasons ago, is now awaiting the completion of a new play to launch forth once more into the active midstream of theatrical endeavor, where his undoubted ability justifies his presence. During his career as leading man at Daly's he demonstrated his right to that high post by the worthy portrayal of characters as wide apart as Shakespeare comedies and Drury Lane melodrama could make them.

FAY TEMPLETON BORN TO IT.

This Popular Actress Has Made Successes
in Three Distinct Lines as a
Result of Changing Weight.

Fay Templeton has made three separate and distinct starts in her career, and this without counting her baby days one, when, her father being manager of a theater in Saint Joseph, Missouri, she was put in the bill whenever an infant was needed. In due course, however, she was whisked away from the footlights and sent abroad to be educated. On her return, Rice secured for her _Gabriel_ in "Evangeline" and thus launched her--in tights--on the first of her three epochs--that of man's attire.

As _Gabriel_ she became the talk of the town, but when she appeared at the same theater--the Fourteenth Street--some seasons later as _Hendrik Hudson_, in a burletta of that name, her former admirers declared that she was fat, and declined to worship longer at her shrine. Thus it came about that when Edward E. Rice, her old manager in "Evangeline," engaged her to break the title role in "Excelsior, Jr.," with which he opened the theater part of his Olympia in 1895, he stipulated that when the time came for rehearsals she must not weigh over one hundred and fifty pounds.

Whether she succeeded in getting herself down to just this figure is not a matter of veracious record, but it is true that she made a hit with her men's clothes and became an authority in the yellow journals on masculine attire. But the banting process was not to her liking, so that Miss Templeton finally decided to seek the sort of parts where her avoirdupois would cut no figure in the artistic results. In this way she came to join Weber & Fields's, entering upon the second phase of her career as a burlesque actress of the first rank.

Her imitations of Irene Vanbrugh in "The Gay Lord Quex," of Ethel Barrymore in "Captain Jinks," of Annie Russell in "The Girl and the Judge," were all of them wonders in their way, and possibly had she been content to remain at the Twenty-Ninth Street music-hall for more than a season after Lillian Russell's advent, the two partners might never have split. But quit she did, and went up to the New York, where her imitation of Fougere in "Broadway to Tokio" was called by one of the critics a classic.

Incapacity of authors to provide the proper sort of vehicle is responsible for Miss Templeton's passage to her third stage of triumph. This has just been reached in "Forty-Five Minutes from Broadway," that classless concoction of George M. Cohan which shows her as a sedate housemaid of somber clothes and repressed demeanor. But so subtle is her art that she fills the huge New Amsterdam Theater as only Mansfield has ever succeeded in filling it before. There is no tinsel, no dancing, not a single imitation, but in an entirely new field Fay Templeton has blazed a path by the sheer finesse of her skill in attaining results by the simplest means.

WHEN WE OLD BOYS WERE YOUNG.

LONG AGO.

I once knew all the birds that came
And nestled in our orchard trees;
For every flower I had a name--
My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees;
I knew where thrived in yonder glen
What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe--
Oh, I was very learned then--
But that was very long ago.

And, pining for the joys of youth,
I tread the old familiar spot,
Only to learn the solemn truth--
I have forgotten, am forgot.
Yet here's this youngster at my knee
Knows all the things I used to know;
To think I once was as wise as he--
But that was very long ago.

I know it's folly to complain
Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree;
Yet, were not wishes all in vain,
I tell you what my wish should be;
I'd wish to be a boy again,
Back with the friends I used to know;
For I was, oh! so happy then--
But that was very long ago.

_Eugene Field._

WHEN ADAM WAS A BOY.

Earth wasn't as it is to-day
When Adam was a boy;
Nobody's hair was streaked with gray
When Adam was a boy.
Then when the sun would scorch and stew
There wasn't anybody who
Asked, "Is it hot enough for you?"
When Adam was a boy.

There were no front lawns to be mowed
When Adam was a boy;
No kitchen gardens to be hoed
When Adam was a boy.
No ice-cream freezers to be turned,
No crocks of cream that must be churned,
No grammar lessons to be learned,
When Adam was a boy.

There was no staying after school,
When Adam was a boy,
Because somebody broke a rule
When Adam was a boy.
Nobody had to go to bed
Without a sup of broth or bread,
Because of something done or said,
When Adam was a boy.

Yet life was pretty dull, no doubt,
When Adam was a boy;
There were no baseball clubs about
When Adam was a boy.
No street piano stopped each day
In front of where he lived to play;
No brass band ever marched his way,
When Adam was a boy.

There were no fireworks at all
When Adam was a boy;
No one could pitch a drop curve ball
When Adam was a boy.
But here is why our times are so
Much better than the long ago--
There was no Santa Claus, you know,
When Adam was a boy.

_Nixon Waterman, in the
Woman's Home Companion._

CASTLE YESTERDAY.

In the Valley of Contentment, just beyond the Hills of Old,
Where the streams are always silver and the sunshine always gold,
Where the hour is ever morning and the skies are never gray,
In the yellow haze of springtime stands the Castle Yesterday.

Oh, the seasons that we spent there when the whole wide world was
young;
The friends we've had as maid and lad, the songs that we have sung!
The echoes of their music cannot quite have died away,
But still must thrill the roof-tree of the Castle Yesterday.

And the loving hearts we knew there in the time of trust and truth,
Surely still they wait behind us in the Pantheon of Youth!
But the angel of the valley at the portal bars our way,
And a flaming sword forbids us from the Castle Yesterday.

When the pilgrimage is ended, may we turn then, may we change
To the vanished and familiar from the present and the strange?
Who so chooses to his heaven--I shall be content to stay
Where the ghosts of dead years wander through the halls of Yesterday.

_Saturday Evening Post._

Definitions of "A Friend."

The first person who comes in when the whole world has gone
out.

A bank of credit on which we can draw supplies of
confidence, counsel, sympathy, help, and love.

One who combines for you alike the pleasures and benefits of
society and solitude.

A jewel whose luster the strong acids of poverty and
misfortune cannot dim.

One who multiplies joys, divides griefs, and whose honesty
is inviolable.

One who loves the truth and you, and will tell the truth in
spite of you.

The Triple Alliance of the three great powers, Love,
Sympathy, and Help.

A watch which beats true for all time, and never "runs
down."

A permanent fortification when one's affairs are in a state
of siege.

One who to himself is true, and therefore must be so to you.

A balancing pole to him who walks across the tight-rope of
life.

The link in life's long chain that bears the greatest
strain.

A harbor of refuge from the stormy waves of adversity.

One who considers my need before my deservings.

The jewel that shines brightest in the darkness.

A stimulant to the nobler side of our nature.

A volume of sympathy bound in cloth.

A diamond in the ring of acquaintance.

A star of hope in the cloud of adversity.

One truer to me than I am to myself.

Friendship, one soul in two bodies.

An insurance against misanthropy.

A link of gold in the chain of life.

One who understands our silence.

The essence of pure devotion.

The sunshine of calamity.

A second right hand.

* * * * *

As a result of offering a prize for the best original
definition of "A Friend," several years ago, London
_Tit-Bits_ came into possession of thousands from all parts
of the world. From these the foregoing were selected as the
most striking. The prize was awarded to the first.

Dress For All Occasions.

A Brief Code of Sartorial Etiquette for Men and Women--What to
Wear, and When to Wear It.

_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

"What shall I wear?" is often one of the most perplexing questions we can ask ourselves. Nothing gives one sensations much more unpleasant than to find oneself dressed inappropriately for any occasion. Men suffer on this score, even as women, and are frequently as much in need of help.

To be well dressed does not necessarily mean that one must be "got up regardless" in the extreme of fashion and with the utmost limit of expense. Style consists in knowing how to wear your clothes as much as in knowing what to wear. But no matter how stylish in appearance a person may be, if he or she is wearing the wrong things at the wrong time the effect will go for nothing.

The following hints will, therefore, be found of service, for him as well as for her:

MORNING DRESS.

=For Women.=--This should be as simple as possible. Nothing is in worse taste than to appear in the mornings, down-town, shopping, or at business, in over-elaborate costumes. They may be silk-lined through and through, of the finest materials that money can buy, but they must be simple. For business, wear a plain shirt-waist, preferably white, not of too sheer material, so that it may be easily and frequently laundered. A dark skirt, with jacket to match; a simple hat and belt harmonizing with the rest of the costume; a linen stock, or collar and tie, and dark gloves. No jewelry, except perhaps a simple ring or pin.

For wear around the house in the mornings, a little more latitude may be permitted, although the golden rule for morning dressing should be simplicity.

=For Men.=--The same golden rule holds good. A plain, dark business suit, sack coat and vest to match; derby or soft hat, and heavy dark gloves. Never wear a high hat in the morning, unless for some special occasion, nor a frock coat, which properly should be reserved for afternoon wear.

AFTERNOON DRESS.

=For Women.=--This may be simple, or as elaborate as one pleases, the only restriction being that it must be high in the neck, and should also be of heavier material than that which may be put into an evening gown.

For afternoon teas, receptions, etc., the hostess wears a high-necked, long-sleeved gown of any rich cloth, velvet or silk, elaborately trimmed, always long in the skirt, and with jewels. No hat should be worn by the hostess or those who are assisting her. White kid gloves are usually worn, unless the affair is exceedingly small and informal. If the hostess wears gloves, her assistants must do so also.

Guests at a tea never remove their hats, unless they have been asked to receive, or are especially requested to do so by the hostess. Light hats or bonnets may be worn; white or very light gloves, and dress shoes.

A debutante should always wear white, made as becomingly and elaborately as possible. For her assistants, white or very light-colored gowns.

=For Men.=--When calling, at afternoon teas, receptions, etc., during the fall and winter, the correct dress is a double or single breasted frock coat of black or very dark gray, soft cheviot or vicuna, with double or single breasted vest, either to match the coat or of fancy cloth. Trousers of gray; white linen; a broad, folded tie of light-colored silk; top hat, gray gloves, and patent-leather shoes.

EVENING DRESS.

=For Women.=--This should never be worn before six o'clock in the evening. In general, it is the same for balls, dinners, receptions, etc., and for large affairs may be as elaborate and expensive as the purse of the wearer will permit. It should always be low in the neck, cut square, round, or heart-shaped over the chest and shoulders, and with short sleeves. Long gloves, coming at least to the elbow, must be worn. Slippers should either match the gown in color, or be of patent leather.

For small affairs, and those in summer, gowns of simpler material and with fewer jewels are in better taste.

A girl in her first season should wear few jewels, and her gowns should be light in color. A hat should not be worn with evening dress. A lace scarf thrown over the head will give ample protection.

It is not good form for a woman to wear full evening dress for certain occasions--such as the theater, dining in a public place, etc.

=For Men.=--Evening dress may be worn on any occasion after six o'clock. Full dress is obligatory for all large and formal functions. Black claw-hammer coat, with trousers to match; white waistcoat, cut low in front to display a stiffly starched and immaculate shirt-front; white lawn tie, with high white collar; broad cuffs, pearl buttons and studs, and patent-leather shoes. White gloves should also be worn at the opera, a ball, or a formal reception.

There are but two possible variations of this costume: one, the Tuxedo, which may be worn for informal affairs (a black tie goes with this); the other is the short dinner-jacket, always worn with a black tie, which is suitable only when dining at home without guests.

DRESS FOR THEATER AND OPERA.

=For Women.=--High-necked and long-sleeved gown, such as might be worn at an afternoon reception. Gloves, white, or of a very light color. The hair should be carefully and becomingly dressed. For an orchestra chair at the opera, the same costume may be worn, or it may be more elaborate. For a box at a theatrical performance, light gowns, also high in the neck, are suitable, to be worn with white gloves, and dress hats. For a box at the opera, full dress should be worn.

=For Men.=--When with ladies, or in a box at the theater, opera, or concert, full dress should be worn. White gloves are often worn, but are not obligatory. A short dinner-jacket is permissible when the wearer is with a man friend, but never when he is one of a party, or is with a lady not nearly related to him. With the dinner-jacket a black silk or satin bow tie, and a waistcoat matching the coat, are worn. With a long-tailed evening coat, a stiff silk-top hat, or a crush opera-hat, is proper.

DRESS FOR WEDDINGS.

=For Women.=--Elaborate afternoon and reception gowns are worn at church or house weddings held in the morning or afternoon. Hats are to be worn at the following reception or breakfast, and gloves should be laid aside only while one is eating. For the immediate family of the bride or groom, deep mourning should be left off for the wedding-day, and gray and lilac, or black and purple, be worn instead.

At an evening wedding, full dress may be worn, or else very elaborate high-throated, long-sleeved gowns, without hats, and with white gloves.

A maiden bride should dress in white, and should wear a veil, of lace, tulle, or gauze. Whatever the material of the wedding-dress may be, its skirt should be trained, and for a noon or afternoon ceremony the waist should be high-necked and with long sleeves. For an evening wedding, the bodice may be cut out in the throat, and be without sleeves. Few jewels should be worn, and those preferably the gift of the family or the groom. White gloves and shoes should be worn.

For a second marriage, the bride should wear a traveling dress, or, if the wedding is elaborately celebrated in church, a handsome reception gown. In both cases, a hat should be worn. The costume must not be purely white, but should be light and not somber in color.

=For Men.=--Guests at a noon or afternoon wedding should wear the conventional afternoon costume: black frock coat, gray trousers, a four-in-hand or Ascot tie of light color, waistcoat of white pique or one matching the coat, patent-leather shoes, gray gloves, and a silk hat. At an evening wedding only full dress is permissible. For a morning wedding, the same costume may be worn as in the afternoon, but it is more usual to wear a full suit of silver-gray wool, the coat being what is known as the English walking coat, a rather long cutaway. A black cutaway waistcoat to match and gray trousers are always proper. Gray gloves, patent-leather shoes, white linen and broadly folded silk or satin ties are suitable with these latter costumes.

The groom at a noon or afternoon wedding should wear a black or dark-blue frock coat; high, white, double-breasted pique waistcoat or one matching the coat; gray trousers; white linen; a full-folded silk or satin tie, of light color, with a pearl pin; gray, suede gloves, patent-leather shoes, and a top hat. For a night wedding, full evening dress is necessary.

The best man dresses as nearly as possible like the groom.

The ushers should dress as nearly alike as possible. For day weddings, black frock coats, gray trousers, white pique or black waistcoats, full-folded necktie, of dark silk with a lighter pattern, and gray gloves. Hats should not be carried during the service, but left in charge of some one in the vestibule. For evening weddings, full dress must be worn. The boutonnieres sent by the bride are always to be worn, as are the groom's gifts, whether sleeve-links or scarf-pins. Gloves should be kept on while serving in the aisles.

FOR LUNCHEONS AND BREAKFASTS.

=For Women.=--Guests as well as hostess should wear at a large luncheon simply the best afternoon gown they possess. The hostess should wear no hat; the guest a dressy one, with white or light gloves. In summer, a thin dress of light silk, or organdie, a flower-trimmed hat, white gloves, thin dress shoes, and a bright parasol are suitable.

=For Men.=--In winter, conventional afternoon costumes should be worn for a luncheon. For a noon breakfast, the same. For an earlier breakfast, a complete morning suit, with sack coat. With this, a colored shirt is permissible; a four-in-hand tie, derby, morning gloves, and black shoes.

For summer luncheons and breakfasts, white duck or very light striped flannel may be worn; tan or white Oxford ties, and a straw hat.

DRESS FOR MUSICALES, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, ETC.

=For Women.=--At an evening performance, full dress, jewels, and white gloves. For an afternoon performance, dress appropriate for luncheons, receptions, etc.

=For Men.=--If the performance is in the evening, full dress must be worn. If in the afternoon, frock coat, gray trousers, and so on, as before described.

MOURNING DRESS.

=For Women.=--A widow wears for her first mourning dress, a black worsted skirt and waist, made as simply as possible, and trimmed with folds of English crepe; a small bonnet, made entirely of crepe, with a long crepe veil falling in the rear to the knees, and for the first month a veil of equal length covering the face. Inside the front of the bonnet is set a white ruche of lisse, the unmistakable insignia of widowhood. If desired, bands of hemstitched organdie may be worn without impropriety at wrists and throat. Black kid gloves, a black-bordered handkerchief, black shoes of soft dull finish complete the costume. After a year and a half or two years, crepe-de-chine, lusterless silk, etc., may be worn in place of the crepe-trimmed gowns, with black hats or bonnets, and dull jet ornaments. Six months later, white and lilac may be used sparingly, and after six months again, colors may be resumed if desired.

A married woman in mourning for child, sister, brother, or parent, wears the above costume, with the exception of the white ruche in the bonnet. Mourning should be worn for about the same length of time.

It is optional whether or not mourning be worn for infants. If so, simple black, without crepe, is sufficient.

For a mother-in-law or father-in-law, black without crepe for one month should be worn; to be followed by black and white, or gray, with lilac, for another month.

Young unmarried women should not wear the black bonnet and veil. A black gown trimmed with crepe, a hat trimmed entirely with crepe, small face-veil of black net with a wide crepe border; black gloves, a black-bordered handkerchief, and ornaments of dull jet are proper for the first six months or year. For second mourning, white is used with the black, and lilac.

Middle-aged, unmarried women wear what a married woman wears, with the exception of the widow's weeds, and for the same length of time.

For an aunt, uncle, or grandparent, simple black without crepe, worn for three months, is customary. Jewelry that is not noticeable may be worn with this.

Children under fifteen should not be put into mourning. No girl under seventeen should wear crepe.

=For Men.=--A widower, for the first eighteen months, should wear complete suit of black, black lusterless silk cravats, white linen, cuff-links of dull black enamel, dull black leather shoes, black gloves, and a crepe hat-band. After a year, the band may be left off. For second mourning, gray or black clothes, black-and-white silk neckties, gray gloves, and white or black-and-white linen are proper.

Mourning for parent, child, sister, or brother is worn six months or a year, according to desire. In these cases, also, the crepe hat-band is used, but is narrower than that worn by a widower.

The custom of sewing a black cloth or crepe band on the left coat-sleeve is not to be commended.

The Box Tunnel.

BY CHARLES READE.

Charles Reade was born at Ipsden, England, June 8, 1814, and
died in London, April 11, 1884. After leaving Oxford in 1835
he studied law and was called to the bar in 1843. Soon
afterward he resolved to devote himself to literature. He
published his first novel in 1852. This was "Peg
Woffington," and its success was so unqualified that if the
author had any doubts concerning his wisdom in changing his
profession they were soon dispelled. Among his subsequent
novels were "It Is Never Too Late to Mend," "The Cloister
and the Hearth," "Hard Cash," "Foul Play," "Put Yourself in
His Place," and "A Terrible Temptation."

Most of the novels of Charles Reade had to do with certain
social and legal abuses then existing in England, and they
did much to effect a pronounced improvement in the
conditions attacked.

"The Box Tunnel," which appears herewith, is a short story
written in 1857. It is an excellent specimen of that
peculiar quality of humor for which its gifted author was
famous.

The 10.15 train glided from Paddington, May 7, 1847. In the left compartment of a certain first-class carriage were four passengers; of these, two were worth description. The lady had a smooth, white, delicate brow, strongly marked eyebrows, long lashes, eyes that seemed to change color, and a good-sized, delicious mouth, with teeth as white as milk. A man could not see her nose for her eyes and mouth; her own sex could and would have told us some nonsense about it. She wore an unpretending grayish dress buttoned to the throat with lozenge-shaped buttons, and a Scottish shawl that agreeably evaded color. She was like a duck, so tight her plain feathers fitted her, and there she sat, smooth, snug, and delicious, with a book in her hand, and the soupcon of her wrist just visible as she held it. Her opposite neighbor was what I call a good style of man--the more to his credit, since he belonged to a corporation that frequently turns out the worst imaginable style of young men. He was a cavalry officer, aged twenty-five. He had a mustache, but not a very repulsive one; not one of those subnasal pigtails on which soup is suspended like dew on a shrub; it was short, thick, and black as a coal. His teeth had not yet been turned by tobacco-smoke to the color of juice, his clothes did not stick to nor hang to him, he had an engaging smile, and, what I liked the dog for, his vanity, which was inordinate, was in its proper place, his heart, not in his face, jostling mine and other people's who have none--in a word, he was what one oftener hears of than meets--a young gentleman.

He was conversing in an animated whisper with a companion, a fellow officer; they were talking about what it is far better not to--women. Our friend clearly did not wish to be overheard; for he cast ever and anon a furtive glance at his fair _vis-a-vis_ and lowered his voice. She seemed completely absorbed in her book, and that reassured him.

At last the two soldiers came down to a whisper (the truth must be told), the one who got down at Slough, and was lost to posterity, bet ten pounds to three, that he who was going down with us to Bath and immortality would not kiss either of the ladies opposite upon the road. "Done, done!"

Now I am sorry a man I have hitherto praised should have lent himself, even in a whisper, to such a speculation; "but nobody is wise at all hours," not even when the clock is striking five and twenty; and you are to consider his profession, his good looks, and the temptation--ten to three.

After Slough the party was reduced to three; at Twylford one lady dropped her handkerchief; Captain Dolignan fell on it like a lamb; two or three words were interchanged on this occasion.

At Reading the Marlborough of our tale made one of the safe investments of that day, he bought a _Times_ and _Punch_; the latter full of steel-pen thrusts and woodcuts. Valor and beauty deigned to laugh at some inflamed humbug or other punctured by _Punch_. Now laughing together thaws our human ice; long before Swindon it was a talking match--at Swindon who so devoted as Captain Dolignan?--he handed them out--he souped them--he tough-chickened them--he brandied and cochinealed one, and brandied and burnt-sugared the other; on their return to the carriage, one lady passed into the inner compartment to inspect a certain gentleman's seat on that side of the line.

Reader, had it been you or I, the beauty would have been the deserter, the average one would have stayed with us till all was blue, ourselves included; not more surely does our slice of bread and butter, when it escapes from our hand, revolve it ever so often, alight face downward on the carpet.

But this was a bit of a fop, Adonis, dragoon--so Venus remained _tete-a-tete_ with him. You have seen a dog meet an unknown female of the species; how handsome, how impresse, how expressive he becomes; such was Dolignan after Swindon, and to do the dog justice, he got handsome and handsomer; and you have seen a cat conscious of approaching cream--such was Miss Haythorn; she became demurer and demurer; presently our captain looked out of the window and laughed; this elicited an inquiring look from Miss Haythorn.

"We are only a mile from the Box Tunnel."

"Do you always laugh a mile from the Box Tunnel?" said the lady.

"Invariably."

"What for?"

"Why, hem! It is a gentleman's joke."

Captain Dolignan then recounted to Miss Haythorn the following:

"A lady and her husband sat together going through the Box Tunnel--there was one gentleman opposite; it was pitch dark; after the tunnel the lady said, 'George, how absurd of you to salute me going through the tunnel.' 'I did no such thing.' 'You didn't?' 'No! Why?' 'Because somehow I thought you did!'"

Here Captain Dolignan laughed and endeavored to lead his companion to laugh, but it was not to be done. The train entered the tunnel.

Miss Haythorn. Ah!

Dolignan. What is the matter?

Miss Haythorn. I am frightened.

Dolignan (moving to her side). Pray do not be alarmed; I am near you.

Miss Haythorn. You are near me--very near me, indeed, Captain Dolignan.

Dolignan. You know my name?

Miss Haythorn. I heard you mention it. I wish we were out of this dark place.

Dolignan. I could be content to spend hours here, reassuring you, my dear lady.

Miss Haythorn. Nonsense!

Dolignan. Pweep! (Grave reader, do not put your lips to the next pretty creature you meet or you will understand what this means.)

Miss Haythorn. Eh! Eh!

Friend. What is the matter?

Miss Haythorn. Open the door! Open the door!

There was a sound of hurried whispers, the door was shut and the blind pulled down with hostile sharpness.

If any critic falls on me for putting inarticulate sounds in a dialogue as above, I answer with all the insolence I can command at present, "Hit boys as big as yourself"; bigger perhaps, such as Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes; they began it, and I learned it of them, sore against my will.

Miss Haythorn's scream lost most of its effect because the engine whistled forty thousand murders at the same moment; and fictitious grief makes itself heard when real cannot.

Between the tunnel and Bath our young friend had time to ask himself whether his conduct had been marked by that delicate reserve which is supposed to distinguish the perfect gentleman.

With a long face, real or feigned, he held open the door; his late friends attempted to escape on the other side--impossible! they must pass him. She whom he had insulted (Latin for kissed) deposited somewhere at his feet a look of gentle, blushing reproach; the other, whom he had not insulted, darted red-hot daggers at him from her eyes; and so they parted.

It was perhaps fortunate for Dolignan that he had the grace to be a friend to Major Hoskyns of his regiment, a veteran laughed at by the youngsters, for the major was too apt to look coldly upon billiard-balls and cigars; he had seen cannon-balls and linstocks. He had also, to tell the truth, swallowed a good bit of the mess-room poker, which made it as impossible for Major Hoskyns to descend to an ungentlemanlike word or action as to brush his own trousers below the knee.

Captain Dolignan told this gentleman his story in gleeful accents; but Major Hoskyns heard him coldly, and as coldly answered that he had known a man to lose his life for the same thing.

"That is nothing," continued the major, "but unfortunately he deserved to lose it."

At this blood mounted to the younger man's temples; and his senior added, "I mean to say he was thirty-five; you, I presume, are twenty-one!"

"Twenty-five."

"That is much the same thing; will you be advised by me?"

"If you will advise me."

"Speak to no one of this, and send White the three pounds, that he may think you have lost the bet."

"That is hard, when I won it."

"Do it for all that, sir."

Let the disbelievers in human perfectibility know that this dragoon capable of a blush did this virtuous action, albeit with violent reluctance; and this was his first damper. A week after these events he was at a ball. He was in that state of factious discontent which belongs to us amiable English. He was looking in vain for a lady, equal in personal attraction to the idea he had formed of George Dolignan as a man, when suddenly there glided past him a most delightful vision! a lady whose beauty and symmetry took him by the eyes--another look: "It can't be! Yes, it is!" Miss Haythorn! (not that he knew her name) but what an apotheosis!

The duck had become a peahen--radiant, dazzling, she looked twice as beautiful and almost twice as large as before. He lost sight of her. He found her again. She was so lovely she made him ill--and he, alone, must not dance with her, speak to her. If he had been content to begin her acquaintance the usual way, it might have ended in kissing: it must end in nothing.

As she danced, sparks of beauty fell from her on all around, but him--she did not see him; it was clear she never would see him--one gentleman was particularly assiduous; she smiled on his assiduity; he was ugly, but she smiled on him. Dolignan was surprised at his success, his ill taste, his ugliness, his impertinence. Dolignan at last found himself injured; "who was this man? and what right had he to go on so? He never kissed her, I suppose," said Dolle. Dolignan could not prove it, but he felt that somehow the rights of property were invaded.

He went home and dreamed of Miss Haythorn, and hated all the ugly successful. He spent a fortnight trying to find out who his beauty was--he never could encounter her again. At last he heard of her in this way: A lawyer's clerk paid him a little visit and commenced a little action against him in the name of Miss Haythorn, for insulting her in a railway train.

The young gentleman was shocked; endeavored to soften the lawyer's clerk; that machine did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of the term. The lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short step; and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door, and many a succeeding day, without effect.

But one fine afternoon she issued forth quite naturally, as if she did it every day, and walked briskly on the parade. Dolignan did the same, met and passed her many times on the parade, and searched for pity in her eyes, but found neither look nor recognition, nor any other sentiment; for all this she walked and walked, till all the other promenaders were tired and gone--then her culprit summoned resolution, and taking off his hat, with a voice for the first time tremulous, besought permission to address her.

She stopped, blushed, and neither acknowledged nor disowned his acquaintance. He blushed, stammered out how ashamed he was, how he deserved to be punished, how he was punished, how little she knew how unhappy he was, and concluded by begging her not to let all the world know the disgrace of a man who was already mortified enough by the loss of her acquaintance.

She asked an explanation; he told her of the action that had been commenced in her name; she gently shrugged her shoulders and said, "How stupid they are!" Emboldened by this, he begged to know whether or not a life of distant, unpretending devotion would, after a lapse of years, erase the memory of his madness--his crime!

"She did not know!"

"She must now bid him adieu, as she had preparations to make for a ball in the Crescent, where everybody was to be."

They parted, and Dolignan determined to be at the ball, where everybody was to be. He was there, and after some time he obtained an introduction to Miss Haythorn, and he danced with her. Her manner was gracious. With the wonderful tact of her sex, she seemed to have commenced the acquaintance that evening.

That night, for the first time, Dolignan was in love. I will spare the reader all a lover's arts, by which he succeeded in dining where she dined, in dancing where she danced, in overtaking her by accident when she rode. His devotion followed her to church, where the dragoon was rewarded by learning there is a world where they neither polk nor smoke--the two capital abominations of this one.

He made an acquaintance with her uncle, who liked him, and he saw at last with joy that her eye loved to dwell upon him, when she thought he did not observe her. It was three months after the Box Tunnel that Captain Dolignan called one day upon Captain Haythorn, R.N., whom he had met twice in his life, and slightly propitiated by violently listening to a cutting-out expedition; he called, and in the usual way asked permission to pay his addresses to his daughter.

The worthy captain straightway began doing quarter-deck, when suddenly he was summoned from the apartment by a mysterious message. On his return he announced, with a total change of voice, that "It was all right, and his visitor might run alongside as soon as he chose." My reader has divined the truth; this nautical commander was in complete and happy subjugation to his daughter, our heroine.

As he was taking leave, Dolignan saw his divinity glide into the drawing-room. He followed her, observed a sweet consciousness deepen into confusion--she tried to laugh and cried instead, and then she smiled again; when he kissed her hand at the door it was "George" and "Marian" instead of "Captain" this and "Miss" the other.

A reasonable time after this (for my tale is merciful and skips formalities and torturing delays), these two were very happy; they were once more upon the railroad, going to enjoy their honeymoon all by themselves. Marian Dolignan was dressed just as before--duck-like and delicious; all bright except her clothes; but George sat beside her this time instead of opposite; and she drank him in gently from her long eyelashes.

"Marian," said George, "married people should tell each other all. Will you ever forgive me if I own to you; no----"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Well, then, you remember the Box Tunnel." (This was the first allusion he had ventured to it.) "I am ashamed to say I had three pounds to ten with White I would kiss one of you two ladies," and George, pathetic externally, chuckled within.

"I know that, George; I overheard you," was the demure reply.

"Oh! You overheard me! Impossible."

"And did you not hear me whisper to my companion? I made a bet with her."

"You made a bet! how singular! What was it?"

"Only a pair of gloves, George."

"Yes, I know; but what about it?"

"That if you did you should be my husband, dearest."

"Oh! but stay; then you could not have been so very angry with me, love. Why, dearest, then you brought that action against me."

Mrs. Dolignan looked down.

"I was afraid you were forgetting me! George, you will never forgive me?"

"Angel! Why, here is the Box Tunnel!"

Now, reader--fie! No! No such thing! You can't expect to be indulged in this way every time we come to a dark place. Besides, it is not the thing. Consider, two sensible married people. No such phenomenon, I assure you, took place. No scream in hopeless rivalry of the engine--this time!

SAYINGS IN EVERY-DAY USE.

Where They Come From, Who Said Them First, and How in Course of Time
They Have Become Changed.

Many of our common sayings, so trite and pithy, are used without the least idea from whose mouth or pen they first originated. Probably the works of Shakespeare furnish us with more of these familiar maxims than any other writer, for to him we owe: "All is not gold that glitters"; "Make a virtue of necessity"; "Screw your courage to a sticking place" (not point); "They laugh that win"; "This is the long and short of it"; "Make assurance double sure" (not doubly); "As merry as the day is long"; "A Daniel come to judgment"; "Frailty, thy name is woman"; and a host of others.

Washington Irving gives us "The almighty dollar"; Thomas Norton queried long ago, "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" while Goldsmith answers, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no fibs." Charles C. Pinckney: "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute." "First in war, first in peace, and first in the heart of his fellow citizens" (not countrymen) appeared in the resolutions presented to the House of Representatives in December, 1790, prepared by General Henry Lee.

Thomas Tusser, a writer of the sixteenth century, gives us: "It's an ill wind turns none to good," "Better late than never," "Look ere thou leap," and "The stone that is rolling can gather no moss." "All cry and no wool" is found in Butler's "Hudibras."

Dryden says: "None but the brave deserve the fair," "Men are but children of a larger growth," and "Through thick and thin." "No pent-up Utica contracts your powers," declared Jonathan Sewall.

"When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war."--Nathaniel Lee (1655-1692).

"The end must justify the means" is from Matthew Prior. We are indebted to Colley Cibber for the agreeable intelligence that "Richard is himself again." Johnson tells us of "A good hater"; and Sir James Mackintosh, in 1791, used the phrase often attributed to John Randolph, "Wise and masterly inactivity."

"Variety's the very spice of life," and "Not much the worse for wear," Cowper; "Man proposes, but God disposes," Thomas a Kempis.

Christopher Marlowe gave forth the invitation so often repeated by his brothers in a less public way, "Love me little, love me long." Sir Edward Coke was of the opinion that "A man's house is his castle." To Milton we owe "The paradise of fools," "Fresh woods and pastures new," and "Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war."

Edward Young tells us "Death loves a shining mark," "A fool at forty is indeed a fool," but alas for his knowledge of human nature when he adds that "Man wants but little, nor that little long"!

From Bacon comes "Knowledge is power."

A good deal of so-called slang is classic. "Escape with the skin of my teeth" is from Job. "He is a brick" is from Plutarch. That historian tells of a king of Sparta who boasted that his army was the only wall of the city, "and every man is a brick." We call a fair and honest man "a square man," but the Greeks describe the same person as _tetragonos_--"a four-cornered man."

"Every dog has its day" is commonly attributed to Shakespeare, in _Hamlet's_ speech, "The cat will mew and dog will have his day." But forty years before "Hamlet" Heywood wrote, "But, as every man saith, a dog hath his daie."

LITTLE STORIES OF BIG PEOPLE.

EDISON'S "FAKE" CIGARS.

A friend of the inventor says that Thomas A. Edison is very fond of smoking, but that sometimes he becomes so absorbed in work that he even forgets that he has a cigar in his mouth.

Mr. Edison once complained to a man in the tobacco business that he, the inventor, could not account for the rapidity with which the cigars disappeared from a box that he always kept in his office. The "Wizard" was not inclined to think that he smoked them all himself. Finally, he asked the tobacco man what might be done to remedy the situation.

The latter suggested that he make up some cigars--"fake" them, in other words--with a well-known label on the outside. "I'll fill 'em with horsehair and hard rubber," said he. "Then you'll find that there will not be so many missing."

"All right," said Mr. Edison, and he forgot all about the matter.

Several weeks later, when the tobacco man was again calling on the inventor, the latter suddenly said:

"Look here! I thought you were going to fix me up some fake cigars!"

"Why, I did!" exclaimed the other, in hurt surprise.

"When?"

"Don't you remember the flat box with a green label--cigars in bundle form, tied with yellow ribbon?"

Edison smiled reflectively. "Do you know," he finally said, in abashed tones, "I smoked every one of those cigars myself!"--_Saturday Evening Post._

THE "DEAD-BEAT" AND THE PASS.

Among after-dinner speakers, Joseph Jefferson ranked as one who could tell a good story in a dry, delightful way. His stories dealt principally with theatrical subjects.

"While starring through Indiana several years ago," he said at a dinner one night, "my manager was approached by a man who had the local reputation of being a pass 'worker,' or dead-beat. He told the usual yarn about being a former actor, and ended by asking for professional courtesies.

"'I would be glad to oblige you,' said the manager, 'but, unfortunately, I haven't a card with me.' Just then a happy thought struck him, and he added: 'I'll tell you what I'll do. I will write the pass where it will be easy for you to show it.'

"Leaning over, with a pencil he wrote 'Pass the bearer' on the fellow's white shirt-front, and signed his name. The beat thanked him and hastened to the gate. The ticket-taker gravely examined the writing and let him take a few steps inside, then called him back, saying, in a loud voice:

"'Hold on, my friend; I forgot. It will be necessary for you to leave that pass with me.'"--_Harper's Weekly._

THE HOST WAS PLEASED.

"Edward Everett Hale," said a lawyer, "was one of the guests at a millionaire's dinner.

"The millionaire was a free spender, but he wanted full credit for every dollar put out.

"And, as the dinner progressed, he told his guests what the more expensive dishes had cost. He dwelt especially on the expense of the large and beautiful grapes, each bunch a foot long, each grape bigger than a plum. He told, down to a penny, what he had figured it out that the grapes had cost him apiece.

"The guests looked annoyed. They ate the expensive grapes charily. But Dr. Hale, smiling, extended his plate and said:

"'Would you mind cutting me off about $1.87 worth more, please?'"--_New York Tribune._

CHOPIN'S "INSPIRATION."

Many people have heard the "Marche Funebre" of Chopin, but few are aware that it had its origin in a rather ghastly after-dinner frolic.

The painter Ziem, still living in hale old age, relates how, about fifty-six years ago, he had given a little Bohemian dinner in his studio, which was divided by hangings into three sections. In one section was a skeleton sometimes used by Ziem for "draping" and an old piano covered with a sheet.

During the after-dinner fun Ziem and the painter Ricard crept into this section, and, wrapping the old sheet like a pall around the skeleton, carried it among their comrades, where Polignac seized it, and, wrapping himself with the skeleton in the sheet, sat down to play a queer dance of death at the wheezy old piano.

In the midst of it all, Chopin, who was of the party, was seized with an inspiration, and, seating himself at the piano with an exclamation that brought the roisterers to their senses, extemporized then and there the famous "Marche Funebre," while his Bohemian auditory applauded in frantic delight.--_London Globe._

VERY SUPERIOR CLAY.

The late Eugene Field, while on one of his lecturing tours, entered Philadelphia.

There was some delay at the bridge over the Schuylkill River, and the humorist's attention was attracted by the turbid, coffee-colored stream flowing underneath. He asked the colored porter:

"Don't you people get your drinking-water from this stream?"

"Yassir! Ain't got no yuther place to git it frum, 'cept th' Delaweah. Yassir!"

"I should think," said the humorist, "that you would be afraid to drink such water; especially as the seepage from that cemetery I see on the hill must drain directly into the river and pollute it."