The Gazette, 1893-10-26, Page 2t
NOT WISELY;
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r
CHAPTER XXX. " I daresay Lauraine brought it all on
. ROMANCE VERSUS COMMON SENSE. herself. A man can't always put up with-
such airs as those to which she treated Sir
Francis, and, in contrast with Lady Jean,
why Lauraine was -nothing."
" No," agrees Lady Etwynde. " A good
woman and pureminded generally looks
colourless a.nd tame beside a wicked one.
The contrast is too strong I suppose.
Mrs. Douglas looks at her sharply. She
does not like her tone, nor understand it.
{ " Well, I only hope it will come right,"
she says. "I shall write to Lauraine and
advise her to make it up with her husband.
It is so stupid, making a fuss and expose -
losing everything, and all for -what ?"
" I think," says Lady Etwynde, quietly,
" that you do not.undc.rstand your (laugh-
ter, and you do her injustice. A woman
must know how to support her own dignity ;
I suppose you allow that r
"I daresay Lauraine made a great deal
of unnecessary fuss ; it would be just like
her. She is full of romance and high-flown
ideas. If she had been quite circumspect
herself it would not matter; but after get-
ting herself talked about with Keith -I
myself had to warn ber-I think Sir Francis
was very good to overlook it."
"Sir Francis perhaps had his own aims
to attain," interpolates Lady Etwynde. " I
am inclined to think so, judging by re-
sults."
"Why does Lauraine not come to town ?"
Says Mrs. Douglas, impatiently, to Lady
Etwynde. "-She must be moped to death
in that dreary Northumberland place. It
gives me the horrors even to think of it."
It is a cold afternoon in February, and
it is Lady Etwynde's "day," but the
xsthetes are deserting her now. Her mar-
riage is fixed for the end of the month. It
is to be very quiet, and Lauraine has
written to say she cannot curiae to it; her
health is so delicate, that all excitement
and fatigue are forbidden. But the real
truth is, that Sir Francis has developed a
new system of tyranny, framed in by every
species of insulting suspicion, and has
ordered Lauraine to remain at Falcon's
chase,and declared she shall not even go up
to London for the season. It is childish, it
is cowardly, and it is unreasonable, and he
knows it is all these ; but he is infuriated
with her, and savage at the failure of his
schemes, and this is the only sort of revenge
that he can think of at present. He him-
self is in Paris, with all the gaieties and
amusements of the season awaiting his
selection, but chafing inwardly and fiercely
at Lady Jean's strange conduct, and com•
plete avoidance of himself.
Of course she goes nowhere -her deep
mourning compels retirement -but she has
a small circle of friends who come to her
afternoons in her pretty rooms in the Rue
Victoire, and Sir Francis knows this, and
knows that he is always excluded and the
fact makes him more irritable, more bitter
against his wife, and more impatient of
seeing his mistress than he has ever been
since they parted at the Chase.
" How long am I to wait ?" he wonders,
impatiently, " What can be her mean-
inAs yet neither of these questions seemed
destined to be answered. -
" I know there is something," persists
Mrs. Douglas, drawing near the fire in the
pretty artistic drawing -room, and dropping
her voice confidentially. " It looks so odd,
and Str Francis is never with her now. Do
tell nae, Lady Etwynde, was there anything
-anything wrong -when you were down
there at Christmas ?"
"I think Lenraine is most unhappy,"
says Lady Etwynde, sorrowfully ; "and I
think her marriage was a great mistake. I
often heard you congratulating yourself and
-her.-on its brilliance, Mrs. Douglas; but
I think, could you see behind the scenes and
look into your daughter's breaking heart,
you.would not feel quite so proud, or so
satisfied respecting it."
Mrs. Douglas looks at her annoyed and
impatient.
" If she is unhappy it must be her own
fault. She had everything that could make
a woman happy, and her husband was
devoted ,teher. If she has lost his affection,
it is by her own imprudence and folly., I
warned her long ago how it would be."
" Perhaps your warning came too -late.
Most warnings do," says Lady Etwynde,
coldly. "But a loveless marriage to a girl
of Lauraine's disposition and nature was a
dangerous experiment. You ought to have
let her marry Keith Athelstone."
Mrs. Douglas's eyes flash angrily. "I sup-
pose yonare in her conhdence. Iacted for the
best. Keith -was always wild and rash, and
not at all a suitable match ; and, besides
that, she was not in love with him -or, at
least, never told me so. She was quite con-
tent to marry Sir Francis."
" She could have known nothing of his
reputation, then," answers Lady Etwynde.
" He was always a bad, fast man ; and _he
has treated Laureate abominably."
Mrs. Douglas looks at her with increased
curiosity. "What has he done ? Is it about
-Lady Jean ?"
" Yes," answers Lady Etwynde, colour-
ing. " Lauraine knows now what the world
has long suspected ; and when she would
not allow that woman to remain under her
roof, Sir Francis threatened her with pro-
ceedings, and dragged in poor Keith Athel-
stone's name."
"Good Heavens !" exclaims Mrs. Douglas,
" what scandal -what horror ! Oh, surely
he is not in earnest ? Why, Lauraine is a
fool -a perfect fool ! Why did she make a
scene about it ? Of coarse, everyone knows
such things happen constantly. Men are
never faithful -never ! But to insult the
woman -and for what good ? To think that
a daughter of mine should have been such
an idiot ?"
"It does seeps remarkable, doesn't it ?"
says Lady Etwynde, dryly. "You see
women nowadays generally prefer 'worldly
advantage to their own self-respect."
" Self-respect ! Fiddlesticks !" cries Mrs.
Douglas, growing more and more irate. ,I
" Will self-respect give her her present
position, or gain the world's belief in her
innocence if she is once in the Divorce
Court? Self-respect ! I hate such rubbish.
She had everything she wanted ; why could
she not have been content ?"
I daresay you would never understand
why," answers Lady Etwynde, calmly.
"°Lauraine is singularly unlike yourself."
" Lanraine- is a fool -a perfect fool !"
cries Mrs. Douglas, furiously. '" To get
herself into a serape like this, and all for
nothing ; to insult a woman of Lady Jean's
position, and then to get herself talked
about as she's done with that young idiot
Keith, and simply because of some childish
folly long ago, when they fancied them-
selves in Iove with each other ! Why, she
must have taken leave other senses, and
all this time she has not said a word to me
-her own mother 1"
Lady Etwynde is silent. She is thinking
it would have been stranger still if Lauraine
had taken her mother into her confidence.
" I am sure Sir Francis was always most
kind to her," resumes Mrs. Douglas, present-
ly. " Always when I have seen them to-
gether."
o-gether"
" I believe- it is not a rule in good society
for husband and wife to quarrel openly,"
remarks Lady Etwynde.
" She should have been content and. sensi- '• he says, fondly, as he looks down at the
blelike other people," goes on Mrs. Douglas,egrbr ;ht head upon his breast. "Alter the
disregarding the interruption. " Gmod waters of sorrow have been drunk again and
- us ever o those of `o i
K `io - j►Gne saints of me tl)3*2a8go u s. gaga , hriee doublgxweet are
ui era's make of men _ you must "Anel `otrare sure you are quite happy ?"
Le them as theyare.. And did she actin- y
- clic whispers. F.
make Ledy`Jean leave the- hx use-'" "nappyl ,I timid bless God on my. knees
"she wo 1 have '" been ems less - everyhones by for Revue; me -you."
than Lady Jean , had: she .con otied: A saddetit. rush. of tears dims the brilliant
resepee, knowing'what ahs `:i pw," eyed S reinbles for very happiness.
,:Etwynde, with Tzsing indig
u if a husband do tlon
st leest"shonld er �ril<l
"Do you mean -do you really think he
wishes for freedom?" almost gasps Mrs.
Douglas. " Is it so bad as that?"
"Lady Jean seems to have infatuated
him," answers Lady Etwynde. " He was
always weak where women were concerned,
you know. He has treated Lauraine very
badly and he is even now in Paris."
"I think I will go down to Falcon's
Chase," says Mrs. Douglas, presently. " I
must see Lauraine and advise her. It is
really most critical. I had no idea tillage
were so bad. She has not chosen to take
me into her confidence ; still, as her mother,
it is my duty to see she does not ruin her
whole future." -
"I think," says Lady Etwynde, very
quietly, "I would not go if I were you."
" Why not ?" demands Mrs. Douglas
sharply.
"She might not like it," answers Lady
Etwynde ; "and you can do no good -no
one can. Lauraine is proud, but she is also
high -principled. I do not think yon need
fear for her. What is right to do she will
do, at any cost. Besides, I think the worst
is over now. Sir Francis has not carried
out his threat; and I fancy he won't. He
has ordered Lauraine to remain in North-
umberland ; but I do not think that is any
great punishment to her. She always loved
the Chase, and all her memories oi her child
are with it."
"It is a pity the child died," says Mrs.
Douglas, involuntarily.
" You may well say that. Ile would at
least have been some consolation to her now.
Not that it would have madeany difference
to Sir Francis. He never cared for the boy.
Still it was a tie."
"Lauraine must have been in fault,"
complains Mrs. Douglas, fretfully. " It is
all nonsense to say she is a martyr -Sir
Francis was no worse than other men. If,
she had been less cold, less odd, he would
never have ran after other women."
" I do not agree with you," interrupts
Lady Etwynfle. "Sir Francis is just what
he always was --a thorapinhly selfish man,
and a man whose habits -are ingrained in
every fibre of his nature. He has never
treated women with any respect, and his
passion for Lauraine was as short-lived as
any of his other fancies. He married her
because -well you `know the real reason as
well as you known the man, and in two
years he was tired of her. For a woman,
young, beautiful, warm-hearted, she has
had a most trying life, and a most cruel ex-
perience. Had she indeed been what hun-
dreds of others are,she might have consoled',
herself easily enough, but she could not do
that, and -she has her reward."
Mrs. Douglas is silent and uneci nfortable.
"It is a great pity," she says at last. "A
great pity. And one can really do nothing?"
" Nothing," answers La.dy Etwynde,
"except wait and hope."
Then the door opens and Colonel Carlisle
enters, and a beautiful flush and light come
overher face as she greets him. Mrs. -
Douglas looks at her radiant eyes and sees
his proud and tender glance, and hears the
happy ring in their answering voices,- and
as she goes out and leaves them alone a
little uncomfortable feeling rises in her
heart. "Is there something in love, after
all ?" she asks herself.
" What has that woman been saying ?"
asks Colonel Carlisle, as the door closes and
he seats himself by his betrothed. " Yon
looked worried when I came in."
"She always does worry me, I think,"
says Lady Etwynde, nestling closer to his
side, as the strong arm draws her towards
" She is so worldly, so cold, so heart-
less ; and I hate to hear a mother speak of
her daughter as she speaks of Lauraine."
"They seem totally unlike each other,"
says the Colonel. " Poor Lauraine 1 Have
yon any news of her ?" -
" I had a letter this morning. She can-
not come up for our marriage. Of course,
Sir Francis won't let her -that is the real
truth. It is a little bit of spite on his
part."
" What an n._ldrtnnate marriage that
was !" exclaims Colonel Carlisle, involuntar-
ily. "Ah, my darling, thank God that we
shall have have and sympathy on which to
-base ours. There is no hell upon earth like
a union where: There is no love, no respect,
no single thought or feeling shared in com-
mon -where one's nature revolts and one's
duty demands submission -where the sac-
redness of home is violated every hour until
the name becomes amockery—"He pauses
abruptly. -
Lady Etwynde knows to what his words
refer -to where his thoughts have turned.
"And that was your fate -once," she sighs
softly. "And -l -judged you so harshly."
" You have more than atoned for that,"
as -its own, bow can silt beetherwise than
glad as. human life ear' seldom . count glad-
nets ;full'of3.a deep, sile> , wordless bliss -
that "steeps her in a trance `,-ef -exquisite
conteIit?
But even amidst her own joy her heart
feels a sudden pang of regret for the friend
she loves so dearly. -
" Poor Lauraine !-what she has missed!"
she sighs.
"She bed mot your constancy, my darl-
ing -!":murmurs her lover, tenderly. " To
think that for all these years you held me
shrined in the proud little heart that I
thought so cold and unforgiving once! How
true a love was yours !"
"It had need to be true if it was so unfor-
giving," she says, smiling up into the dark
eyes that seareh her own. " When I think
of those long, wasted years—"
"Do not think of them," he interrupts,
passionately, "or think of them, only to
crowd into those that are to come, a double
portion of the love they have missed."
And with his lips on hers she is content,
indeed, that it should be so.
CHAPTER XXXI..
AT LAST !
Alone in her rooms in Paris, Lady Jean
sits perplexing. herself over ways and
means.
She is awfully in debt, even though she
has let her country -house and supplement-
ed her income by another five hundred
a year. She is angry with herself for hav-
ing refused Sir Francis's assistance, and too
proud to call him to her side. She can
think of no scheme by which to baffle Laur-
aine, and though she knows her rival is
condemned to a species of exile, and that
she is as unhappy as a woman can well be,
that in no way comforts her for the fact of
her own defeat.
Her position is full of peril and uncer-
tainty. She can no longer float on the
smooth waters of Society, for Society is
shocked and outraged by her husband's mis-
deeds, and an ill odour clings to her name.
The people she gathers round her now are
not at all the class of people she prefers.
Needy foreigners, second-rate celebrities ;
Englishmen with shady reputations and
tarnished titles ; French Bohemians who
have known and admired her in the days
of her success -all these congregate together
at her little rooms in the Rue Victoire ; and
among them all she looks for some willing
tool who will lend himself to her hand and
work out her schemes.
But for long she looks in vain.
The winter passes en. The cool, fresh
days of early spring are heralded by bursts of
sunshine, by the tender budding leafage of
the Boulevards, by the scents and hues of
flowers that are piled up in the baskets of
.the market women, and fill the windows of
the fleuristes with brilliance and beauty
once again. -
And in the springtime, suddenly and
without warning, Lady Jean's sch me of
vengeance comes to her as a vision of possi-
bility at last, for who should come to Paris
but Keith Athelstone.
He has been wintering is the south cf
France. He comes to the gay city with ra
set purpose or desire. He is alone, and
melancholy, and depresssed. He thinks he
will have a fortnight in Paris, and then
start for that long projected American tour,
and the first parson he sees and greets in
Paris is the Lady Jean.
She has never been a favorite of his, and
he is inclined to be curt and avoid her.
But she has other schemes in her head, and,
unless a man is absolutely discourteous, it
is not easy for him to bailie a woman who
has set her mind upon deluding him, especi-
ally a woman clever and keen as the Lady
Jean.
She is very quiet, very subdued. All the
fastness and wildness seems to have evap-
oratei. She tells him of her bereavement,
her troubles. She speaks sympathisingly
of his own, and brings in Lauraine's came
so gently and gradually that he cannot take
alarm at it. In the end he accepts an invi-
tation to her house, and finds everything so
subdued, so decorous, in such perfect good
taste, that he thinks Lady Jean's widow-
hood has produced most salutary effects.
In his present mood gaiety and fastness
would have jarred upon and disgusted him.
As it is, all is toned down, chastened, so 3th-
ing. and, in perfect taste. He conies
again and yet again. Lady Jean
keeps the foreigners, and shady adven-
turers, and the Bohemian element carefully
out of his sight, and she herself treats him
with that consideration - and deference al-
_
ays flattering to a young man's feelings
w.
when displayed by a woman older than
himself, and still beautiful and admired. She
mentions the Vavasourr casually, Lauraine
as being immersed in worldly gaieties, Sir
Francis as being abroad, at Monte' Carlo.
The latter fact is true, he having proceeded
there in disgust at her obstinacy and cold-
ness, and yet not liking to break with her
entirely, because she happens to be the only
woman of whom he has never tired.
The fortnight passes, and Keith still lin-
gers. Life has no special object for hint at
present. The spring has turned cold and
bleak and the American tour may await his
own convenience.
One evening hescomes to Lady Jean by
special invitation. 'There are a few people
there ; there is a little music, and a little
" play," not very high, nor very alarming ;
but Keith refuses it for a reason that no one
there guesses. Play had been a passion
with him once. Its dangerous excitement
had lured him into the moat terrible scrape
of that " wild youth " to which Mrs. Doug-
las is so fond of alluding. Once free of that
early trouble, be had solemnly' promised
Lauraine never to touch card or diee again,
and he has kept his word.
Lady Jean does not press him, though
she Looks surprised at his refnsaL She sits
with him in a dim corner of the room. and
lures him on to talk to her as he has done of
late.
Watching them with anger and suspicion
are two fierce eyes," the eyes of a certain
Count Karolyski, of whom no one knows
anything oxeept that he is a Hungarian, an
expert card_ player, and a deadly shot.
(To BE CONTI: URD.)
The largest apes have only sixteen mine -
es of brain; the lowest men have thirty-nine.
The Turkish 'Sultan lately decided.that
his 167 wives should be vaccinated. A doe -
tor veasece.11ed
oe.torveas,ce.11ed to the harem, and he stood
on one side, of a , temporary wooden wall,-
through
ail,through which a hole was bored. No out:-
-shier
ut--sider is ever permitted to_ -gaze upon the
saaihst that faithful heart; -faces of the Sultan's wives. An arm of
el;'beloved almost to idolatry, each woman vvas passed through - the aper-
eriiig that 'strong and perfect ture,and the doctor vac inated them all
3 .:>.,
>��T 9.T`T�L'� _
Queer Articles Collected in t1 a Lost and
'aiaad l;nreau.
If you want -to see a queer exhibit:at the
fair that is not on -exhibition, look up .the
" lost and found " bureau in the new service
building back of festival hail. Ask for Mr.
W. F. Singer, who is the custodian of the
bureau, and tell him you would lite to see
some of the queer things he has found.
When I went over there Mr. Singer said
to ire : " Now it you want to see an odd
collection of umbrelias just -come in here
and look at mine. , I have an umbrella for
every day in the week, umbrellas for sun-
shine and for rain, and umbrellas to match
every suit of clothes I ever had or ever will
have." I followed him to the end of the
room, which is boarded off with a partition
about four feet high, the apace within being
stacked with umbrellas of all kinds, colors,
styles and ages ; some are veritable antiques,
some puffy about the waist line, others were
middle-aged and some lacked beads and
some lacked feet ; some had even lost their
ribs and had evidently seen hard lines. A
few were aristocrats of the first water and
were not herded with the common lot, but
were kept in clean quarters and dusted once
a week. In all there were not less than a
thousand umbrellas waiting for their own-
ers.
"Where are the owners and why don't
they come after their property said L
That is what I went to know," said Mr.
Singer. "A great many of these umbrellas
are not worth coming after and to tell the
truth, when a man loses his umbrella he
knows it is a goner, and it is no use to look
for it, and very few people know there is
such a place as the `lost and found' bureau."
"What will become of all these things
after the fair is over?" "That is still
a question,"said Mr. Singer. "I presume
we will sell them off in packages the way
the Postoffice Department does with its
unclaimed mail matter.
Now in these pigeonholes, which line
both of the rooms, we keep the wraps and
reticules; most of the articles are lost by
ladies, as you see by looking over the col-
lection. Every article is tagged with a
number, description and date of finding."
There are ever so many wraps and some of
thetn are quite nice and pretty; as to the
handbags, their name is legion. There are"
all sorts and conditions, silk and leather
cotton and wool, black, red, yellow, green
and blue, Why is it that women prefer carry-
ing such ungainly things to havingpockets
in their dresses?" Defy any one of them to
give me a sensible reason why she should
not have pockets. If I were a woman -
but I'm not, I won't say what I would d3
if I were.
While I was moralizing,Mr.Singer is div-
ing into his strong box and bringing to
light some of his valuables. He looks at
them with a knowing twinkle, as he hands
you a policeman's billy and says : "-What
do you think of the guardian of the peace
who would lose that ? Yes, sir, that was -
found on the grounds one Morning and' the
owner has never called for it, as you might
suspect. But just hold on a minute, I've
got something better than that to show
you. What do you say to this jolly pair
of beavers that were found on the wooded
island one morning last week ? What a
tale might they unfold if they could speak;
and they were both bought in Chicago,
too."
I exclaimed again whens judge's badge
was shown tome. " Things like these are
never called for," said Mr. Singer.
Mr. Singer would be well off if he could
only claim to the contents of all the pocket
books found on the fair grounds. These
also belong mostly- to the ladies, who have
a way of carrying their purses in their
hands.
I was surprised to see so many gold spec-
tacles and eyeglasses unclaimed, knowing
how serious such a loss must be and how
hard to replace. A man must be in a
pretty bad fix who comes to the fair and
looses his eyes, for it takes time to make
eyeglasses, and time in Chicago is worth
it weight in gold.
Of watches, Mr. Singer has quite an ar-
ray, gold ones as well as silver ones.
Among other articles are opera glasses and
fans, gloves and handkerchiefs, hats and
veils, just think of a girl loosing her hat,
and just think of a man losing a white
boiled shirt ! Yet there it lay on the table,
a white linen shirt !
There were several hundred note books'.
lying on the floor, piled against the wall,
together with a number of novels.
It is estimated than since the 1st of May
over $10,000 worth of property has been
restored to the owners. Fully 50 per cent. of
the articles lost are brought to the " lost
and found" bureau and about 90 per cent. of
those found are returned or claimed.
The Origin of Stonehenge.
The Illustrated Archmologist sums up
the final conclusion with regard to the origin
of Stonehenge. Mr. li,emilly Alien's con-
tributor, like Mr. Fergusson. lends :ro
countenance to Stukeley's Druidical fancies
nor does he agree with Sir John Lubbock
that this grand megalithic monument is of
prehistoric antiquity. His conclusion, upon
a review of all the evidence attainable, is
that it was raised immediately after the
first -shock of the Roman Conquest, upon
the downfall of Druidism, by the Britons 1
under the -leadership of their native chief-
tains ; that by undertaking this pious work
the minds of the natives were not only dis-
tracted from war, but were pacified and re-
assured in a belief that the immortal gods
bad not deserted them. The temple was
erected in a locality consecrated from time
immemorial as a burial ground of the race
-in honoring the sa3red tombs, reverence'
was paid to the distinguished dead ; and it
was partly constructed of sacred rocks
brought from the identical bed of boulders
which had formerly supplied material for
the construction of the great temple of
Avebury, andpartly of sacred rocks
brought from abroad from the territories of
brother Celts known to be prospering under
Ronan sway beyond the sea. -
" Is the boss at home?" Housemaid-
" No, Tuesday is -bargain day, and she
never gets home until real late in the after-
noon."
The River St. Lawrence, it is estimated,
covers 40,000 square miles : and as nearly
the whole of this area averages 600 feet in
depth, the -aggregate volume of water can-
not be rirucji short of 10,800 solid miles.. -It
iscomputed that a body of water ofethis
size would require - more than 48 years to
pass over the Falls Of Niagara at the rate of
d.
erotiose ue strong,and -perfect without getting a glimpse of their faces. 11,003,000 cubic feet in a secon
A RUSSIAN SIREN.
&lime. Novikotr, Who Fascinated Siati4one
is Coming to America. -
1 The cable brings the news that Olga De
Novikoff is on her way from London to
visit America.
This famous Russian woman is generally
believed to be a spy in the pay of the Mus-
covite Government. Those who are ac-
quainted with her and her resources assert
that there is no other way of accounting for
the outlays of money which she expends
with such lavishness for the furtherance of
her projects.
These, speaking broadly, consist of a
never-ending attempt to extend the power
of Russia. For the furtherance of this pur-
pose she has visited and resided in England
for several years. There she exercised such
a favorable influence over Gladstone that
his attention to her excited some very
malicious comment upon the part of the
Tory press.
At a meeting held at St. James' Hall, at
which both Mme. Novikoff and Gladstone
were present, a little incident happened
that attracted considerable attention. The
meeting had declared in emphatic terms
that no war should be undertaken in de-
fence of the Turks, and that Lord Salis-
bury should, at the coming conference, in-
sist on the liberation of Bulgaria.
When the enthusiastic crowd was dis-
persing, Mme. Novikoff got caught in the
human swirl that was crushing downstairs.
Suddenly Mr. Gladstone recognized her in
the press, and making his way to her side,
offered her his arm, and conducted her
safely down,
Not content with this act of sdmewhat
perilous courtesy, considering the accusa-
tions that were being hurled in reckless
profusion against Mr. Gladstone on account
of his alleged sympathy for Russia, he in-
sisted upon seeing Mme. Novikoff safely
home to her hotel.
She is a zealous Orthodox Greek Cath-
olic. She is an ardent and unreasoning
Pan-Slavist,and considerations of humanity
find no place in her scales to balance the
attainment of her aims.
This paradox of a woman is opposed to
political progress in Russia because it
would give birth to a new era, hence it
would make her work needless. Her ab-
sorbing passion has given rise to a vein of
selfishness which puts all other traits in.
theshade. But this is not observable at
first sight. Her diplomacy is too subtle
for that.
The Worst Slums in the World.
A few days after my arrival, writes an
"Observant Englishman" in the R_Review of
Reviews, I was fortunate enough to meet a
group of earnest social reformers who were
discussing the condition of the lower strata
of Chicago" life. One of them, a friend of
mineconnected with a university settlement
in East London, and well acquainted with
.the darkest district in the metropolis,
startled me by saying that he had found
worse slums in Chicago than he bad ever
seen in London.
"Our rookeries," -he said, "are bad
enough, but they are at least built of brick
or stone. Here, hewever, the low tenements
are mostly of wood, and when the wood
decays or breaks away the consequences
are more deplorable than anything we have
in London.
This was the testimony of a visitor. It
was confirmed by the testimony of resident
sociological experts. One of these was a
lady, at present engaged- by the national
government in investigating and reporting
on the life and homes of the poor in Chicago
The awful stateof things she described
greatly surprised me, and I suggested that
it was due to the presence of the large for-
eign element.
" On the contrary," she replied, " the
very worst places in the city are inhabited
by native Americans." And she showed
me the official chart of one of the lowest
streets, on which the tenements were mark-
ed white when occupied by rative Ameri-
cans, black when occupied by foreigners.
The rooms to the front which possess the
worst character were white.
These carefully asertained facts knock
the bottom out of the complacent assurance
I have since so often heard expressed, that
foreigners were responsible for the darkest
shades of Chicago life.
"Is this state of things allowed by law
to exist?" I asked.
"Certainly not," replied the lady ; " it
exists in fiat contras ention of every muni-
cipal ordinance."
"Can nothing be done to enforce the
law ?"
The very men whoseduty it is to en-
force the -law are the nominees of the
classes interested in violating it."
" Can you not rouse the churches to com-
bine and put a stop to this municipal cor-
ruption ?"
" Tne chnrhes !"-the lady spoke with
infinite scorn-" the proprietors of She
worst class'of property in Chicago are lead-
ing men in the churches. I have more hope
of arousing the poor Polish Jews to a sense
of their civic duty and opportunity than
the churhes. The Poles, poor aa they are,
a nd ignorant, do want to lead a c.ecent
life."
" Ask Papa First."
An amusing story is told of the United
States Senator Vedder when he began to
teach school. He had one pupil who was
about his own age, a merry irrepressible
young girl. Her frequent outbursts of
laughter were very annoying to the young
teacher.
f
It was near the close of the day when the -
weary teacher's-°patienee had been sorely
tried, that he determined to give the girl a
little lesson in the way of corporal punish-
ment. Such tortures were always inflicted
on the hand with a strap or cane, in the
presence of all the pupils.
So, approaching her, cane in hand, he ad.
dressed her thus.
'6Mins--, give me your hand." -
She dropped her head and blushed.
Again he said, sternly t
" Miss--.- I say, give nae your hand."
Now slowly lifting her eyes, she remark- _
ed
"Mr. : Vedder,this is embarrassing for me.
You should not makesudeproposalsin pule -
ie. However' you must ask my papafirst n '
Jinks --"Did you ever send 'The I�
Without_. a Country", Winks.=
but 1. can _ sympathize - with him.
'Tile'- Without any -latus in
l sago.'
PIMP -
f.=
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