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"I have bee]: waned one: or twice,” . he replied. “I. it was awe” whvghim proud gm: rge obeys is don’t you, Nam 9’ \A . behavior. he gave the brute a gentle kick in the ribs, “he will tackle a Russian bear almost. as big and as heavy as a duly horse, and enjoy the business into the bargain : as for a. man uwmed,he would tear his throat out in a moment." ' “A nice son of an mind to uke shout, ” I marked. “Look at him,” he said. as, half in play, and ban by Way of ‘rem‘inder towards good I remember he had with him-an immense hound almost as large as a. calmmd brindled, with white test. and a white blaze on his chest. I inquired about the monster, and Mr. Sabine told me that. it was a bear- hound from the kennel: of the Czar at. Moscow, on“ then be had obtained it. through the Rosana Ambusador M. Puis. ' 50:. Wmmed‘ to difine this, and nlmoot. majestically accommodated himself topay humor. , ,,, ‘ _.__ _-.-- "nun-gnu an. .3501” Wish; my side. “ ‘ I was more than usually disposed to wel- come-kink for l-wao irritated out. of mass- m'wi'i'h the Dean, with my husband and I might. “most. any w‘th the world gener- llly. 7‘ ’ . Some few days later f was out alone, Forte-cue had got. what she celled a. headache. I turned on to the Parade wee leisurely making my way tow Hove, when I recognized a soringv am Of course Mn. Forteacue had no u in reply. , i‘he least approach to common-sense was dways enficient to neutrl'iae her babble of common-place. And Mr. Sabine combined the strongest common-sense with 3 humor which, as be pleased, could be either genial or exupenting. Mrs. Fortescue certainly dig! not geemito find it genial. thing to He need. he explained, to commence the day with a plunge into the sea from the bnthing station under the ende‘of the pier; then he allowed the Weather to guide him. Sometimes he would play tennis; st others he would go out with the fishing boats; at others walk or ride on the downs. Some- times he would drive tandem, s secret, he ndded, which not even Americans had ever mustered, nlthongh American gentlemen were our equals in most things, and our better: in not a few, Cricket, tandem, and tennis; were all peculiarly English. They all required nerve, health. high nnimnl spirits, and con- sidernbleâ€" pstience 3nd practice ; and it warfor this reason that he was so fond of I When Mrs. Fortescue pressed him as to how he dealt withjhe “wicked old‘enemy,” and begged him With much cayness to teach her his infallible secret of perpetual ybuth ”mime, he answered cheerfully that. he i the methods which he employed were beyond a. lady’s reach- For himself, he had long ago come to the conclusion that one of the greatest pleasures in liie is to do nothing in your way and at. your own time. And hoe thus found sutfident occupation. But on the other hand she was distinctly unnaingfi’nd in many ways very useful. She w” n parasite, no doubt, but one of those paruites that give no annoyance. 0n the contrary, ahe slwnya had some happy sug- gestion as to how the day ought to be ’pent. She took all the trouble of house- keeping od' my hands. She could guess my humors, and new to a. nicety when to‘ openk, had when to keep a tranquil and I golden silence. I Mr. Sabine soon became 9 regular visitor. There was no yhch‘tin'g at Brighton, he ex~ plained, bemuse"it wan 3. Ice shore, and harborlem. The Brighton Harriers were beneath contempt, the thing was a gallop from first to list, with no hunting in it, And if there was a check for more than ten seconds, the hounds were lifted. It was no more hunting than circus ruhng in horsemanship. In fact, I really believe that. she had, found me useful at. the outset, and had ended by liking me u it was her nature to like anybody. And I think I may honestly say, that in my case at any mte, she was exempthom flattery, which is the besetting weakness of parssites. If anything, she was frank, and would even take me to task with such justice that. it was impossible to be angry, and with such genislity and humor that it was equally impossibie not to be amused. it. and boldly thrusting his mailed half out at the door. When he is tired of his por- ticulaf'shell he gives it up'for another, and if he sees a smaller hermit: than himself with n- more codifortable home, he promptly lugs him out of it and tskes possession ‘ himself. This was Mrs. Fortescue all over. 1‘ At present she had a. shell that suited her. But she was ready any day to change it for sbetter. She had not even the com- mon industry of the spider which constructs its own web, or the csddis worm which builds its own house. Mt. Hermit Crab has powerful claws, And a. well-armored chest, but the remain- der of his body is hopelessly soft. and unpr0~ tected. So he fixes himself,teil first,into some convenient shellâ€"usually that, of a deceased whelk, hiding his defenceless portion within Mrs. Fortescne still stopped on, and bowed no intention of going. She remind- ed me of one of those funny little animals which you see-at. the Aquariumâ€"the her- mit crab. me. 1 turned on to the Parade and eism'ely making my way towards when I recognized a springy step be- I, and the next moment. Mr. Sabine CHAPTER XI. Things went. on in this way for several weeks, it. may very well hove been six or seven or even more : I will not really un- dertake to say. I know, however, that I had hen-d from Sir Henry several times. Withhorvhoml clerk: nt his disposal, his tendency to be prolix grew upon him, and I actually believe that the tedious letters he sent me ware rough daft. of dapatches afterwards toned down, mellowed and vornifihed for the Foreign OIfiCe. ‘THE DEAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. If¢ VOL 1- N0 23 «fled a; aicE I; were all I] required :a, and con- Be: and it so fond of ‘, Mrs. ' ' mix“ miaeymnonr “I deserve soilnethingf’ he said, with a low laugh! “for my self-denial in not slip- ping able as, if I recollect my Eton days rightly, Jason did ~15ng gill not inflict _â€"_I1 _7 7 He Elew a. shrill call on a whistle and offered me his arm up the companion. At the side of the vessel lay the long boast, and after a. very few strong, sharp strokes her bow was grinding on the shingle. He sprang on the beach and held out his hand. In a second I was by his side. We were exactly opposite the street leading to Mont lier Road,aud in nvery few min- ates. was at my on door. “And here, if the sight of it will not mnke you scream or faint, is the scar.” And he drew up his sleeve above the elbow. There, clearly enough, ran down the whole ‘length of the arm a long, deep scratch. looking as if some cruel steel hook had dragged like a ploughshare through the flesh. I could not help a. little cry. “ Oh, no,” he laughed, you need not be afraid of me, Lady Craven. I love you too deeply not to respect you, and I have full faith in my own star. Everything in this world comes to the man who trusts himself, whether his object been embassy, or a pearl 1 beyond the price of empires. Came; let me see you ashore. ” ,,,,,,,, __v. v is one of his clawa.” And he detached from his much-chain an immense talon set in a filagree of gold. “I killed him withmhat,” he said: “rip- ped him up, in fact, before he had time to perform thg Danie serxiceAfox: myself. Here He pointed to the cornice of the cabin, and I saw in a small glass case, grinning through reeds and sedge, the head of an Indian tiger. Beneath in a small case hung aheavy hunting knife. ___-.- “vuull an] - “You would never do such a thing. You know as well as I do that. it, would be cowardly. And. whatever you are, you are not. a. coward.” He seemed pleased and laughed merrily. “No,” he said, “it would be a very cowardly thing to do and very treacherous. I always prefer fair fight. It is utterly untrue that. all is fair in lo :2 and war. It. is not foir, for instance: m buy a man’s daughter at the price of his debts, a posi- tion, and an income. I value nothing myself for which I have not fought. Look there.” I just hesitéted for a moment. looked at him and said dgfiantly : u Vm. .......1,1__W ‘3 Suppose, Lady Craven, at. this moment you begun to hear the engmes throb and to feel the vessel vibrate, and found that we had weighed anchor and were under steam for the South?” In a moment we were oil', and before I knew it I was on board the yacht. It was so dark that I could make very little out; but I distinctly remember the quiet luxury j and comfort of the cabin, which was fitted ;in dark walnut with dcep crimson velvet i carefully trimmed. - ll We seemed to have been expected. Any- ! how. a steward, unordered, brought in a l variety of dainties worthy of the “ Arabian Nights,” and 1 just remember running riot like a schoolgirl wnth a cup of chocolate,some superb grapes thickly covered with their own bloom and some little marvels of French confectionery, all of which appeared ‘ and disappeared. Mr. Sabine having obtained my permis- sion, by way of formality, to light a cigar, and having accomplished the process sat- isfactorily, removed it from his mouth and gravely commenced . ~ I 1 After we hwl some tea. Mr. Sabine sug- gestedastroll, and I gladly threw on a heavy closk and sallled out with him on to the Parade. We sauntered down the King’s Road, and as we made our way along a smart man/in quiet navy blue and gold buttons, with a. broad gold band round his cap, steppe-l forward, touched the peak ol his cap, and fell back again. “ I had quite forgotten to tell you,” said Mr. Sabine carelessly, “my yacht is lying here. Would you care to see her? We can go on hoard for a few minutes.” We went down some battered old stone steps and picked our way over the shingle where I four-cared cutter was lying in wait every man at his thwart and the cox. swau'u m the stern. ,=_ _ - u. Ava vvvu way. One evening, about the beginning of Nov emberâ€"as a matter of fact it was the very first day of that monthâ€"Mr. Sabine called in the afternoon. it was five o’clock, and ltwilight was past. Mrs. Fortescue was indisposed..a haul eiok headsclm had con- fined her to her room. Such, at all events was her excuse: although I believe that, asamatter of fact, she was awaiting the arrival of certain very special cosmetics from town, for the fresh air of Brighton tries the complexion terribly, as poor Mrs. Skewton found our. Why should I trouble 2 Why weary myself? Destiny'ywas stronger than I and would work things out in its own way. One evening, about the beginning of Nov- omhnv-_m. .. .m... _ : r ,,,,,,, null "IIQU WI hahppen. 1couldJseeic all be! di Tennyson‘s“Lady of Shalc “Seeing all her own mischam ghastly countenance she looked Camelot. " I somehow found myself drifting, as a. sailing vessel will in a. strong current when there is not. so much as a capful of wind to fill her sails or give her the way to hold to her helm. I knew perfectly well what. was going to LA_" , ' ‘ ' ' '“a"“ nanny on 31’ “my 1 began to abandon all idea of resistance to his wishes : for, to be exact, the very word abandon implies quite as much a conscious resolution as is involvedin the act, of laying down your arms or hauling down your flag. “ Van Amburgh would have laughed in your face if you had told him that he re- lied upon anything beyond the power of his own nerves consclously exercised. So it seemed to be with Mr. Sabine. He had made up his mind to have his own way, he took it, and he had it. without. the show of a dispute. For myself I ought. hardlv to an that. T ,_- ~wv|~5v UCBQU qua. KIS- Now this man had this particular kind of power,wha.:ever it, may be and however ac- quired. There was nothing supernatural in it. I had read before then how the serpent lascinates its prey, and how the snake charmer in his own turn asserts the ultimate superiority of man of lescinutiug the ser- pent. No one who has ever been in the East doubts for a. moment that certain Hindooepossess this particular skill, just Bidel, and Muccomo are born dam/Mums; before whom the savage beast rquzrtils. Nam .L:n â€"477 I - PT‘WCMW, Icannnt tell how, I found Mr. Sabine talking to me in a low toné, but earnestly and almost passionately. I knew “'35 {ought not to listen. I knew that I ought W leave him then and there, to seek any refuge, to escape from him under any pretext. And yetI listened and let him talk on. ‘ And Forge, hearing his name in the interrogation, looked up with an ugly kind of growl, fuwncd with his tail, arid, in obedience of the gesture slunk to heel, and slouchetl along behind us. His manner in its canine iushinn was so distinctly lmllizerent'u to almost make one feel uncanny. inter of fact it was ihe very L mouthâ€"Mr. Sabine called :1. IL was five o’clock, and 933B. Mrs. Fortescue was ad sick headache had con- ” room. Such, an all events ought hardly to 3}) that. I moment. Then I all before“ me an of Shalom" when mischance with t down to going to she sewed my lrm, hurried me along for some few yards, and then dra ged me into 5 chemistsshop, where she adgministered 8- compound which she ordered unhesitating- 1y, ()ne ngnces trifles at. times like when. she seized my arm, hurried m some few yards, and then dn 1; a chemistsshop, where she a m compound which she ordered u: [y. ()ne notifies t_rifl_es at times __J 1» ___‘:__ w. n... ma xuaxmgner WEV homewards and q uickened her pace as she As luck would have it I met her within a. very few seconds. She was making her way homewards and quickened her mme an aim Never, I suppose, could woman have felt more helpless and isolated in this world. My father, the Dean, was the frailest of all broken reeds. Jackson had evidently some- how been making mischief for her own pur- poses. M r. Sabine had gone to town, as I knew. Mm. Fortescue was the only soul to whom I could turn: and I had never longed for her so much as I did at that way mto the street. Fer the window I saw him get into a fly, and motion the fly- man to drive away. I sat dovm for some few minutes and wondered; but. my wonder did not help me to any solution of the problem. Then I hastily hurried on a bonnet and cloak, and made my way down to the Parade, where I walked slowly along, revolving the situation and wondering dazedly what might. come of it. it. auguteSD intention of doing so, under any conceivable set of circumstances, whatever he may have led you to believe or sunpose. I may say good-bye, I cannot say God bless you: but I hope that the remainder of your life may be happy, and its end brighter than that of mine is now destined to be. ” Again I advanced towards him, and again he motioned me away. Then he passed through the door, and I heard him descend the stairs with slow steps and make his way into the street. From the window I saw him get into a fly, and motion the fly- ‘ man to drive awa . J r _,,4 i 1 was so astonished, that I could hardly ask what he meant, and what had happened ‘ to so agitate him. _ “Don’t pretend ignorance,” he replied. “you understand me perfectly well. Heaven knows this miserable business gives me more pain than it does you. Your father I do not suppose, will trouble himself. But I have my own honor to guard, and where that is concerned, I am rosolutc and immoveable. ” Again I looked at him in blank bewilder- mept. “I do not suppose you will marry him," he proceeded. “In fact, I am sure that he will never marry you, and had never the slightest intention of doing so, under any i conceivable set of circumstances, whatever he may have led you to believe or suppose. I may say good-bye, I cannot sav God bless I was so astonished; thatâ€"i ask what he meant, and what to st: agitate him. “I have heard everything," ho said, or stamznered out, “and I know everything. ‘Explunations and excuses are out of the question. I have come down to-day, against the express advice of my solicitors, to let you know as much, and also to tell you that in this world we shall never meet again. I could wish it had been otherwise. It is a and ending to my life, and it is absolute ruin to yours. But we cannot undo what has been «lone. I supposeâ€"I know you never cared for me ; but I had hoped you might learn, at any rate, to like me. That hope is now ‘ past, and it only remains for both of us to forget, if we can possibly do so.” And‘ here the old man fairly broke down. ‘ 1 . _ _ a. fit. l I rose to my feet and advanced to greet ‘ him. but he waved me back with both his hands, and I could see he was quivering with emotion. In a. few seconds be sufficiently recovered himself to sit down. I, for my part, re- mained standing, not to give myself any advantage over him, but simply in utter bewilderment. When he found speech at last, his utter- ance Was slow and labored, and I cannot help admitting that I was seized with a four lest he should be taken suddenly with It fir It was Sir Henry hi obviously in a state of and violent excitement. I One afternoon, nboutafortnight later, I was in the drawing-room, reading. It. was I a (lull day, and I was near the fire, which lcrackled cheerfully. The particular book that. interested me happened to be, by a curious kind of coincidence, Beckford’a “Va.thek." Ihad given orders that. I was not at home, so 1 was not troubled by a. loud knock at. the door. To my surprise, the person who had knocked came straight in, straight up the staircase, threw open the ‘ door and entered the room. , ... “u"... “MI. eyelids closed mi 15y and eyes , ,H, W..- v..- on] uu cvuul‘ turnedinto one glorious glimmer 3f dim purple light. The waves fell. Our path lay through great beds ot water-fillies, thestars hung down from heaven, as if you could reach out your hand and pluck them like ripe fruit. And then, somehow, there stole over me the sense rather than the sound itself of dim far-off music. and my tired nunlidn A'naA.’ A“ .eh .1 'J -â€"â€" "'J vvvll IVUIIII The day had thoroughly wearied me out, and I was soon asleep. My sleep, however, was disturbed by dreams, not so much terrible as amusing. 3, Somehow or other we were all on board the yacht together, and my father, in a moment of abject depression from sea- sickness, had pro sad to Mrs. Fortescue and been accepts by her. And Sir Henry was writing ceaseless despatches, and talk- ing to everybody. And Mr. Sabine was at the wheel, and I was seated close by‘ him. And then the sea and the skvtocether ' “Won’t. you have any dinner?” I decliued all creature comforts, and in their place ordered an ample supply of hot, water to be taken up to my bed-room. Then I sat. for a. while before the fire and watched its ruins crumble away into bridges and mountain-passes, and at lust I arose with a. superstitious kind of shudder, and, after a. brief good-night to Mrs. Fortescue, made my way to my own room. VIIL , s I looked her full in the face. “1 have been to and fro upon the earth, Mrs. Fort- esauc, something like Satan in the Book of Job, who went about looking for an honest man. I, however, have been looking for an honest woman, and, not finding her abroad, have come home to yourself.” “You are Jokiug, my dear,” simpered Mrs. F ortescue, as a. bright red patch burst outupon each cheek, blazing luridly through ‘ the powder and enamel. “No, Mrs. Fortescue ; on the contrary, I never was more in earnest in my lif . And now that I am home at last, and reully very tired with the sea air, I think I shall go straight to bed.” .. .V _...â€"a nu] nu IAVGI. “Where 0;) earth have you been, dear Miriam, at this unearthly hnnt, and in this tezlnible Weather 1’" I find Von in to-morrow. Meantime I think 3 I shall for once in a way stroll round to the l club and have a game of billiards. I feel I exactly in the nerve for It.” I had taken off my right glove and had given him my hand. He caught my hand and raised it to his lips. The glove he thrust into the breast of his coat, and he then stood hareheaded in the street for one at two brief seconds until the door had closed upon me. Mrs. Fortescne had heard that I was out. Apparently the news had restored her, for she had come down to the sitting-room and was patiently awaiting my arrival. “Where on earth have you been, dear XIII-in... â€"s .La, “ 011, WAD 6'0le P0 WEB THE G'IFTIE G'IE Sir Henry h_imsélf, and he a __,_....-. me away. Then he passed )or, and I bend him descend h slow steps and make ‘lia itreet.‘ From the window I CHAPTER XII of the imam, extreme OM EME *1. ()NT. FRIDAY, JUNE 15, 1891- For bridges, or where the pipeqe over a. foot in diameter, the bank upon the inlet side should be laid up with stone or brick, using water lime or cement for the purpose, Ill shown in the illustration. Where the filling above the pipe is from four to ten feet, this wall will generally be found cheaper than purchasing three or four extra. lengths of pi e. and hauling the earth nec- essary for a. a oping bank. A stake driven firmly in the channel of a. stream, about two feet from the inlet, wilhcnteh all flood- ‘wood end debris apd preve‘t the clogging ointhe pipe. Th3 ' \ seermn . 3mm mag». but.“ 5/ ‘ Wm S It is not an uncommon thing to see sluices and bridges of pipe where the water- has formed u. channel alongside the pipe, and the earth has caved in from the road surâ€" face. This of course shows faulty construcâ€" tion, stones and pieces of the old sluices having been placed in contact with the outer surface of pipe, and during high water none of it finds its way along the interstices thus formed, and soon enough soil is removed to causc- trouble. Hence never” place stone or wood in such positions, but'fill in with earth firmlv rammed. inches lower than the upper or inlet. Also that when discharged the water flows of! freely, and does not back up into the pipe. Danger from the latter need only be feared during winter. I Where the old wooden or stone sluice is one foot square, a sewer pipe ten inches inside diameter will remove the water equally as Well, as there is comparatively no friction end no impediment or stoppage as by the old process, as the water glides noiselessly through on the smwth, glazed surface. The chief points to be observed in the use of these pipes is to have the upper surface of the pipe at least one foot below the surface of the roadway, and that, the discharge or outlet end he at least four} [ SEWER PIPE BRIDGE WITH MASONRY ‘ EMBANKMENT. provement consists mainly in the use of vitrified sewer pipe, which, if properly placed in position, will be found in good condition after many years, while the com- mon wooden and stone sluices, as usually constructed, need more or less attention after a time. posed 9f. ” _ , .,__-. -....., “a u 1 auuuul like t0 have that woman stabbed in the back, or tied up in a sack and thrown into the sewers ; or otherwise unpleasamlv dia- VVV..-». n-Iv‘r l‘ linfllllah or cockatrice, or whatever you rm” it». Now we know everything, my dear. "Fall 3. lie and stick to it, which is the eleventh commandment. with promisc,’ Dear me, dear me, what fools we must. have been! Do you know I really feel, as if I should l:l-,‘ ‘. L 7â€"-V. ‘Iuhl' woman was about as bad and treacherous an egg as ever was hatched into a basilisk or cockatrice. or wlmram... m.” :. I At this moment there was a knock at the door. 1 held up my finger for silences and then quietly undid the lock. It. we, the housemaivlâ€"a pleasant. girl enough, too honest to hnve been listening, and Loo simple to have understood anything if she had. “ What is it, Mary ‘1" I asked. “ if you please, my lady, Miss Jackson has just, gone EWuy, my lady, and have told me to tell your ladyship that her wages is paid up to date, and that. she’ll send for her boxes Lo-morrow morning.” Mrs. Fnrtcscue looked at me and laughed. “ Voila. lavipere dans les flours. That. “Thatis all,” I answered. “Surely it is enough." ' “Enough, my dear Miriam,” said Mrs/1 Fortecue. “Quite enough. I do not see how things could possibly have turned out better.” This was a. novel view of the situation for me, and I wondered what it might mean. “ Look here, my dear," and the little woman began to check off her points upon her fingers. “ You are rid of your father for life, that is the first clear point you have scored. You are rid of your husband, who says he is never coming back. Mind you keep him to that promise. Well, that I is the second point. You have not a mug- nificent but a. very good income. You are entirely your own mistress, and of course the old fellow cannot liVe for ever. What there is to grizzle about I fail to see." “Sir Henry is going to divorce me." I stsmmered out. “ I shall be disgraced for ever," and here I fairly broke down. “ Divorce you!” cried Mrs. Fortescue. ‘ “ Where are his proofs? He can't. go into 1 Court on his suspicions, you know. 5115- c picions go for nothing. even in diplomacy. Where are his proofs ‘:" n... V. u.\|.uaun. “Oh, indeed,” said Mrs Fortescue, snap- ping her lips together smartly. “0h. indeed, what a. very bi man to be sure 1 Almost too big to com escend to be Am- bassador, even at St.Petersburg. Well, my dear I should say for my part, if I were you, that the whole thing was a. lucky riddauce of bad rubbish, and should be disposed to feel correspondingly thankful. And is that really all ?” 7' Not at all,” I said. “ None of these things. The matter is far more serious than you think, and of that I am con« vinced. He was very deeply moved, and evidently in earnest. He told me that we shouid never meet again, and that 1 was disgraced forever, that he had Iett the whole matter to his solicitors, that he should refuse to see me, and that he should take no explanation or excusas.” u [\u - ‘ Modern Bridges and Sluices. We left the shop, and made the best of 1 our way home. Mrs. Fortescue motioned me to the sofa end said, “Lie down my dear child.” Then she rang the bell sharply, and inquired for Jackson. Miss Jackson had gone out. , “ That; is all right,” lnu1hed Mrs. For- tescue, as the door closed. Then she locked the door itself, and gently and deftly inserted her pocket~hnndkerchief into the key-hole. Then she came end But down on the edge of the sofa by my side. “ Now, my dear, I can guess pretty well what is coming; but at the sane time, I am dying to hear all about it from yourself in your own way. Of course, you have :henrd from that old mummy, and he has threatened all kinds of things. ” “ Sir Henry has been here, ” I replied. “ Whew !” Mrs. Fortescue fairly whist- led in her amazement. “ I never knew such a. mummy so galvanized before. Come here himself, has he ‘3 And did he condescend to articulate speech, or was he diplomatic and unintelligible? ()r die he tear his wig, and crack his stays with emotion, genuine or feigned ‘3” (TO BE cnxrzxufiu otherwise unpleusantly dis- US, TAE SEE OORSELS AS'ITHEIBS tsupport; "iii ”J v. r""‘ uuggeey 1" Have you nothing better than money to leave your children ? I! you have not, but send your daughters into the world with empty brain and unskilled hand, you are guilty of assassination, homicide, regicide, inianticide. There are women toiling in our cities for three and four dollar per week, who wore the daughtersof merchant princes. These suffering ones now would be glad to have the crumbs that once fell from their father’s table. That worn-out, broken shoe that she wears is the lineal descend- ant of the tweve-dollar gaiters in which ‘ her mother walked ; and that torn and faded calico had ancestry of magnificentl ‘ brocade, that swept Broadway clean I without any expense to the street commis- ' sinners. Though you live in an elegant residence, and fare sumptuously every day, let your daughters feel it is a disgrace to them not to know how to work. I de- nounce the idea, prevalent in society, that thoughouryoungwomen mayembroiderslip- pers and crochet, and make mate for lamps to stand on, without disgrace, the idea of doing anything for a livelihood is dishonor- able. It is a shame for a young woman belonging to a large family to be imflicient whnn fl." S‘oL.._a_n- I, ,~ You say you have a fortune to leave them. 0 man and woman! have you not learned that, like vultures. like hawks. like eagles, riches have wings and fly away? Though you should be successful in leaving a competency behind you, the trickery of executors may swamp it in a. night, or some elders or deacons of our churches may get up a fictitious company, and induce your orphans to put their money into it, and if it be lost. prove to them that it was etern ally decreed that that was the way they ‘were to lose it, and that it wentin the most orthodox and heavenly style. 0, the dam- uable schemes that professed Christians will engage iuâ€"until God puts His fingers into the collars of the hypocrite’s robe and rips it clear down to the bottom 1 You i have no right, because you are well off, to conclude that your children are going to be as well off. A man died, leaving a. large' fortune. His son fell dead in a Philadelphia. grogshop. His old comrades came in and said, as they bent over his corpse, “ What ‘ is the matter with you, Boggsey ?" The surgeon standing over him said, “Hush ‘ up! he is dead !" Ah, he is dead they I said. “Come, boys, let us go and take a I drink in memory of poor Boggsey !" l "I! "A "A“ nAIL1â€"_ L .. .. i it may be with foot; but work she must, or be wretched forever. girls of our families must be started with that idea. The curse of our American sixth, seventh, tenth, fiftieth thousandth thing in their life is to get somebody to take care of them. Instead of that, the first lesson should be, how under God they may take‘care of themselves. fact is that a majority of them do have to take care of themselves, and that, ‘ too, after having, through the false notions of their parents, wasted the years in which they ought to have learned how successfully ‘ to maintain themselves. We now and here declare the inhumanity,cruelty and outrage of that father and mother who pass their daughters into womanhood, having given them no facilty for earning their livelihood. Madame de Staél said: “It is not these writings that I am proud of, but the fact that I have facility in ten occupations, in any one of which I could make a liveli- hood.” is just as important tor a. woman’s safety tnd happiness. The most unhappy Women in our communities today are those who have no engagements to call them up in the morning, who, once having risen and breakfasted, lounge through the dull fore- noon in slippers dow" at the heel and with disheveled hair, reading the lust novel ; and who, having dragged through a. wretch- ed forenoon and taken their afternoon sleep. and haVingspent an hournna a. half at their: toilet, pick up their curd-case and go out to make calls; and who pass their evenings waiting for somebody to come in and break up the monotony. Arabella. Stuart never was imprisoned in so dark a dungeon us that. There is no happiness in an idle woman. It may be with hand, it may be with brain, it may be with foot; but work she must, or be wretched forever. The limin- ‘ , _ .._ -.-Ivuv 9‘4.er in AV: , at Bayeux were made by the Queen of I A William the Conqueror. Augustus the Emperor would not wear any garments ex- cept those that Were fashioned by some member of his royal family. So let the toiler everywhere be respected ! The greatest blessing that could have happened to our first parents was being turned out of Eden after they had done wrong. Adam and Eve, in their perfect 1 state, might have got along with out work, or any such slight employment as a perfect garden, with no weeds in it, demanded. But, as soon as they had sinned, the best thing fcr them was to be turned out where they would have to work. We know what a withering thing it is for a man to have nothing to do. Good old Ashbel Green, at [ourscore years, when asked why he kept on Working, said, “ I do so to keep out of mischief.” We see that a man who has a large amount oi money to start With has no chance. 0f the thousand prosperous and honorable men that you know, nine hundred and ninety-nine had to work vigor- ously at the beginning. very Ion ago the needle was busy. It Was consixlied honorable for women to toil in olden time. Alexander the Great stood in his palace showing garments made by his own mother. The finest tapestries at Biweux were made by the Queen of William the Conqueror. Augustus the prnn’.___ , - - _ '7' u. an olvvulva Whether the “euye of the needle" be the small gate at the side of the big gate at the entrance of the wall of the ancient city, as is generally interpreted, or the eye of the needle such as is now handled in sewing a garment, I do not say. In either case It would be a tight thing for a. camel to go through the eye of a needle. But there are whole caravans of fatigues and hardships ‘ going through the eye of the sewing- w man’s needle. ery 1% ago the needle was busy. It was consi ed honorable for women to toil in olden time. Alexandar u... an.“ MAM: mwoxLYN, June 3.â€"â€"Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, who is now on his round-the- worId-journey, has_chosen as the subject for to-day, “ Martyrs of the Needle," the text being Matt. 19-24, “It, is easier for a came] to go through the eye Of an needle.” Whether the “eye of the needle” be the Whole Cnravum of Fun ships an Through [he lug-Woman‘s Needle. BROOKLYN, June 3. â€"â€"P 'I‘almage, who is now 01 world~journey, haschose: for to-dzw. H M..mm -t‘ THE MOST UNHAPPY ARE THOSE WHO LIVE AN IDLE LIFE. MARTYRS [IF THE NEEDLE lo. Good old Ashbel Green, at am, when asked why he kept, said, “ I do so to keep out of We see that a man who has a uaey to start w1tvh has e thousand prnsperous that you know, nine -nine had to work vigor- World with d, you are 19. reglcide, boiling in Fnllgzuwi and [lard- in?" ~â€" Eye ofllle Sow SEE US 9:? wt“ At. a large meeting of these women, held in a hall in Philadelphia. grand speeches were delivered, but a needlewoman took the stand, threw aside her faded shawl, and with her shrivelled arm hurled a very thunderbolt of eloquence speaking of the horrore of her own experience. Stand at the corner of a street: in New York in the very early morning as the wo- men 0 totheir work. Many of them had no break out except‘the 01'th than were left; over from the n'iybflhe“ " (ex-nay that! nhnm AT. ‘1.“- 1 There are about fifty thousand sewing girls in New York and Brooklyn. Across the darkness of this night I hear their death groan. It is not such a. cry as comes from those who are suddenly hurled out of life, but a. slow, grinding, "horrible wasting away. Gather them before you and look into their faces, pinched, ghostly. hunger struck ! Look at their fingers needle prick- ed and bloodtipped ! See that premature stoop in the shoulders ! Hear that dry hacking, merciless cough ! ----_..... wan-us- I go still further, and say that women should have equal compensation with men. By what principle of justice is it that women in many of our cities get only two- thirds as much pay as men, and in many cases only half ‘3 Here is the gigantic in- justiceâ€"that for work equally well if not better doue , woman receives far less com- peasation then man. Start with National Government. For along while women clerks in Washington got nine hundred dollars‘ for doing that for which men received eigh- teen hundred. To thousands of young women in our cities to-day there is only this alternative hstarvation or dishonor. Many of the largest mercantile establishments of our l cities are accessory to these abominations: and from their large establishments there are scoresaf souls being pitched oil" into death; and their employers know it! i hear from all this land the wail of womanhood. Man has nothing to answer to that wail but fiattcries. He says she is an angel. She is not. She knows she is not. She is a human being, who gets hun- gry when she has no food, and cold when she has no fire. Give her no more flatteries 1 give her justice ! hour of anguish, I demand that no one hedge up her pathway to a livelihood. U, the meanness, the despicability of men who begrudge a woman the right. to work any- where in any honorable calling! In... “:11 r.“ , Now. Isay, if there be any pref in occupation, let woman have it. knows her trials are the severest. Ii acuter sensitiveness to misfortune, b hour of anguish. I dennA n.“ .- . J“... -v.., uuPPuxvaucr cnllil- reu, her drunken husband, her old father and mother, pays her house rent, always has wholesome food on the table, and, when she can get some neighbor on the Sibbath to come in and take care of her family, ap~ pears in church, with hat and cloak. that are far from indicating the toil to which she is subjected. Such a woman as that has body and soul enough to fit her for any position. She could stand beside the majority of your salesmen and dispose of more goods. She could go into your wheel-wright shops and beat one-half of your workmen at making carriages. \‘Ve talk about woman as though we had resigned to her all the light work, and ourselves had shouldered the heavier. But the day of judgment, which will reveal the sufierings of the stake and inquisition, will marshal before the throne of God and the hierarchs of Heaven the martyrs of the l wash-tub and needle. ,,,,,, u... Paula luabul‘y. wnat toil on earth is more severe, exhausting and tremendous than the toil of the needle to which for ages she has been subjected? The battering ram, the sword, the carbine, the battle-axe, have made no such havoc as the needle. I would that these living se- pulchres in which women have for ages been buried might. be opened, and that some resurrection trumpet might bring up those living corpses to the fresh air and snnlmht. mauuccuuu LrumpeL might luring up those living corpses to the fresh air and sunlight. (£0 with me and I willshow you a woman who, by the hardest toil, supports her child- ren, her drunken husband, her old father and nun“. »_ .7 Butit is said that her nature is so delicate Lhatshe is unfibted for exhausting toil. I ask in the name of all past history, what Lni] nn part]. L. Mu“ U , 77v queuce the Quaker meeting-house. It, is said, if woman is given such oppor- tunities: she will occupy places that. might be taken by men. I say, if she have more skill and adaptedness for any position that a man has, let her have it. ! She has an nunJ. -:-L‘ _ queuce thg Quaker In the course ofa lifetime you consume whole forests, and droves of cattle, and every day you live breathe forty hogsheads of good pure air. You must, by some kind of usefulness, pay for all this. Our race was the last thing createdâ€"the birds and fishes on the fourth day, the cattle and lizards on the fifth day, and man on the sixth day. If geologists are right, the earth was a million of years in the posses- sion of the insects, beasts and birds, before our race came upon it. In one sense, we are innovators. The cattle, the lizards and the hawks had pre-emption right. The question is not what we are to do with the lizards and summer insects, but what the lizards and summer insects are to do with us. If we want a place in this world we must earn it. The partridge makes its own nest before it occupies it. The lark, by its morning song earns its breakfast before it eats it. The Bible giVes an intimation that the first duty of an idler is to starve, when it says if he “ will not work, neither shall he eat,” Idleness ruins the health ; and very soon Nature says, “ This man has re- fused to pay his rent; out with him !" Society is to be reconstructed on the subjectof woman’s toil. A vast majority of those who wnnm ham. "um“â€" =- 3 ' â€"â€"w\.lc¢ “.1ququ woman's ton. A vast majority of those who would have woman 1ndusbn- ous shut her up to a few kinda of work. \l_- 3 v . - * As far as I can understand, the line of respectability lies between that which is useful and that which is useless. If women «lo that which is of no value. their work is honorable. If they do practical work, it is dishonorable. That our young women may escape the censure of doing dishonorable work. I shall particularize. You may knit a. tidy for the back of an arm chair. but by no means make the money wherewith to buy the chair. You may, with delicate brush, beautify a mantel ornament, but die rather than earn enough to buy a marble mantel. You may learn artistic music until you can squall Italian, but never sing “()rtonville" or “Old Hundred” Do nothing practical, ifyou would, in the eyes of refined society, preserve your respecta- bility. I scout these finical notions. I tell you no woman, any more than a man, has a right to occupy a place in this world unless she pays a. rent for it. be idle while a mother toils at the weshtub. It is as honorable to sweep house, make beds, or trims hats, as it is to twista. watch chain. : load on the table, and, when me neighbor on the Sibbath take care of her family, ap~ , with hat. and cloak. that are re severe, exhausiihg and the toil of the needle to 19. has been subjeqted? Al ,, V- -..-.n,. her house rent, always l__‘L,A and say ='tlhm‘. women be any plfeferenc: her apparei tmngs. ner every prayer, as God heard it, was full of everybody who had trouble The brightestthings in all the house dropped from her fingers. She had peculiar notions but the grandest notion she ever had was to make you happy. She dressed wellâ€" } Auntie always dressed well; but her highest adornnient was that of a meek and quiet spirit, which, in the sight of God is of great price. When she died, you all gath- ered lovingly about her: and as you carried. her out to rest, the Sunday school do! almost covered the 'floor with japonioslq. and the poo eople stood at the en_d of ,V may wit their sprout» “v eyes. 7 hing bit . ly; with” Valid -»_. u . Posts are fond of talking about man as : an oak, and woman ,the vine that climbs it; but I have seen many a tree fall that not only went down itself, but took all the vines with it. I can tell you of something stronger than an oak for an ivy to climb on, and that is the throne of the great Jehovalh. Single or aflianced, that woman is strong who leans on God and does her best. The needle may break ; the factory band may slip; the wages may fail: but over every good woman’s head there are spread the two great, gentle, stupendous wings of the Almighty. Compare the life and death of such an one with that of some Christian aunt that was once a blessing to your household. ‘ I'do not know that she was ever ofi‘ered a hand in marriage. She lived single that, untrammeled, she miaht he everybody's blessing Whenever the sick were to be visited, or the poor to be provided with bread, she went with a blessing. She could pray, or sing “Rock of Ages,” for any sick pauper who asked her. As she got older there were days when she was a little sharp but f or the most part Auntie was asunbeam â€"just the one for Christmas eve. She knew better than anyone else how to fix things. Her every prayer, as God heard it, was full of evervbodv whn hm trunk-In _V. - -v u svnuvu VI” The dying actress whose life hnd l viciqus said, “ The scene closes. Draw curtain.” Generally the tragedy co first. the farce afterward ; but in her it was first the farce of a. useless life, 1 then the tragedy of a wretched eternity _._.--â€" vu-Aavsnu. What will become of this godless disciple of fashion? What an insult to her sex ! Her manners are an outrage upon decency. She is more thoughtful of the attitude the strikes upon the carpet than how she will look in the judgment ; more worried about her freckles than her sins : more interested in her bonnet strings than in her redemp- tion. Her apparel is the poorest parr'of' ’a Christian woman, however magnificently dressed, and no one has so much right. to dress well as a Christian. Not so with the * godless disciple of fashion. Take her robes and you take everything. Death will come down on her some day, and rub the bistre off her eyelids, and the rouge off her cheeks, and with two rough bony hands, scatter spangles and glass beads and rings and ribbons and lace and brooches and buckles and sashes and frisettes and golden clasps. "l‘lm AM..- _-.____ 7. ‘ I a "fi_ v--. "nrr‘ll unué. Many of you will go single-handed through life, and you will have Lochoose between two characters. Young woman. I am sure you will turn your back upon the useless, giggling, painted uonentity which society ignominously acknowledges to be a. woman. and ask (I‘rod to make you an humble. active, earnest Christlan. I!" better than any one else. ResolVe that. (9.0.1 helping, you will take cage of yourself. If you are, after a. whileycalledinno an- other relation you will all the better be qualified for it by your spiritof self-reliance; or if you can be called to stay as you are, can be happy and self-supporting, Um... n: "A“ n. . . â€",vâ€" ... uym man is 081101;. How, wk? ,1 ”We; up for her. God has more resources than we know of. The flaming sword that hung at Eden’s gone when women was driven out will cleave with its terrible edge her oppreasors. . But there is something for our women to do. Let our young people prepare to excel in spheres of work, and they will be able ‘ ufter a while, to get larger wages. If it be shown that a. women can, in a store, sell more goods in a year than a man, she will soon be able not only to ask but to demand more wages, and to demand them success- fully. Unskilled and incompetent labor must take what is given ; skilled end com- petent labor will eventuallym'ake its own standard. Admitting that the law of supply and denmnd regulates these thing, I contend that the demand for skilled labor is very great, and the supply very small. -, Start with the idea that 'work is honor? able, and that you can do some 'one thing better than any one else. ResolVe that. (9.0.1 helping, you will take care of yourself, If you are, aftera. While.~cn.lled-intn an- , ........ y. nuuu ”anon might have on other questions I am not h re discuss; but. what would be the} etfesj‘ female suffrage upon woman’s wages? 1‘36 not. believe that woman will ever get jultice by woman’s ballot. “3%:ij sheigel it frcm man’s hunt" V V. .. -uv vow-Aen- How are these evils to be eradicated? What have you to answer, you who sell coats. and have shoes made. and contract for the southern and western markets? What help is there, what panacea, what redemption" Some say, “Give women the ballot." W at eHect such ballot might have on min.» “Monk-" r , . an. ,uu uuL gomg to pay me?" “ Yes " he said, I will pay you ;" and he kickéd hey: down the stairs. J fl- -â€"Ju. a Incl-l you are going to leafve me ‘3” “ Yes,” she says. “ and I have come to get what you owe me.” He made no answer. She said. “ Are you not going to pay me?" “ Yes.” I“. no:.~, T -~-‘" ,, __- 5...". uucul to pOWdel‘. One Sabbath night, in the vestibule at my church, after service, a woman fell in convulsions. The doctor saitI she needed medicine not so much as somethin to eat. As she began to revive. in her gelirium, she said, gaspingly. “ V.ight cents! Eight cents ! Eight cents ! I wish I could get it done ! I am so tired! I wish I could get some sleep, but I must get it done 1 Eight cents ! Eight cents !” We found afterwards that she was making garments at 8 cents a piece, and that she could make but three of them in a day. Hear it ! Three times eight are twenty-four! Hear it men and women who have comfortable homes ! Some of the worst villains of the city are the employers of these women. They beat them down to the last penny, and try to cheat them out of that. The woman must deposit a. dollar or two before she gets the ‘ garments to work on. When the work is done it is sharply inspected, the most in- significant flaw‘ picked out, and the wages refused, and sometimes the dollar deposited not given back. The Women’s Protective Union reports a case where one of these poor souls, finding a place where she could get more wages, resolved to change em- ployers, and went to get her pay for work done. The elnnlovpr no". . u x L“- “Is the}; a. God? Will there be a. judg- ment? I tell you, if God rises up to re- dress woman’s wrongs many of our large establishments will beawallowed up quicker than a. South American earthquake ever took downacity, God will catch these oppressors between the two mill-stone: of His Wrath. and grind them to powder, Om: .ankun. _:_,LL . . , head-work, these in flower-making in milli- nery, enamelllng, cigar-making, hook-bind- ing, labelling feather-picking, prinbcolor- ing, paper-box making, but. moat overwork ed of all and least compensated, the sewing woman. Why do they not take the city cars on their way up? They cannot afford ‘ the five cents? If, concluding to deny her- self something else, she gets who the car, give her a. seat! You want to see how Latxmer and Ridley appeared in the fire look at that woman and behold a more horrible martyrdom, a. hotter fire, a more agoniqing death ! JOHN T. lANE. mus. w. awn ‘onath night, in the vestibule of :h, after service, a woman fell in us. The doctor said she needed not so much as something to eat. .nnn .158. 1 RICHARDS r Proprietors. nese women. They beat last penny, and try to hat. The woman must two before she gets the In. When the work is frcm man 3 ballot. me up for her. God We know of. The ng an Eden’a gum an out will cleave mes. Draw the tragedy comes but in her life life, and : â€"“ i hear Yes,” she