AUG. 6 
THE RURAL fJEW-YORKER. 
522 
during the last flve-and-thlrty years. It was only 
towards the end of her letter that she referred to 
the matter which I had at heart. Then at last 
she confided to me that she had seen Miss Maxted 
who had seemed much surprised, not to say vexed, 
at what I had written. But whether this arose 
from concern at my sufferings In the state cham¬ 
ber, or annoyance at the light way in which I 
treated the Maxted ghosts, I could not for the life 
of me make out. All I could gather was that Miss 
Maxted had somewhat grudgingly yielded to my 
request, and had Instructed her agents to give me 
every assistance In draining the moat. 
So the moat was drained. The whole country 
side, not a very populous district, came to assist. 
It was not a difficult Joh, as the house stood at a 
higher level than the surrounding ground, and 
the water from the moat waB run off into a large 
duck-pond near the gardener’s cottage. The work 
was nearly finished towards sunset, and the men 
went err. leaving the rest of the water still to run. 
The moat must have been quite empty by mid¬ 
night. I once more occupied the Btate chamber, 
which after the second night's disturbance 1 had 
vacated, and I sat up till two In the morning, 
awaiting the usual visitation. The affair came 
off os heretofore, but with one curious dUTerence. 
The wtndow was opened; there was a struggle, a 
shriek and a heavy fall—hut. not into water, 
obviously because the water was all gone. This 
made me all the more anxious to Inspect the bot¬ 
tom of the moat, and I was determined to be the 
first to do so. very soon after daylight I was 
moving, and. having dressed myseir, hastened to 
the spot to explore. The bottom of the moat was 
In a filthy condition. Paved with massive blocks 
of granite, in which the process of disintegration 
was slow, there had been in all these years but a 
slight accumulation of muddy sediment: but The 
stone floor was encumbered with a thousand odds 
and ends, a heterogeneous collection of the most 
extraordinary nondescript things. Fragments of 
crockery and glass; drinking vessels, some of 
horn and evidently centuries old; scraps of va¬ 
rious metals; the carcass of a cat recently 
drowned ana not yet decomposed—these were 
what first caught my eye. There would be fine 
pickings for mud grubbers and chlffonnlere If they 
might be permitted to sift and search among these 
newly exposed treasures. I did not pause to turn 
them over myself, but made for that part of the 
moat which lay Immediately below the window of 
the state chamber and peered down. 
What was that lying all of a heap, like a col¬ 
lection of old iron at the door of a rag and bone- 
seiler's shop. A number of pieces of Iron evi¬ 
dently, all oxidised and corroded, covered with 
red rust and a deposit of slimy aqueous lichen. 
Without delay 1 clambered down Into the moat 
and began to examine them more closely. They 
were clearly pieces of old armor, breastplate or 
cuirass, greaves, gauntlets, with a round helmet 
lrlng a little apart from the rest, l turned over 
everything one by one, and, to my horror, discov¬ 
ered within, a quantity of human hones, all in 
excellent preservation, each encased still in the 
armor which had once been their protection 
against mortal foes. The breast-bones were 
plainly distinguishable inside the cuirass, the 
thigh bones were within the greaves, the hands in 
the gauntlets ; worse than all through the open 
visor of the morion grinned the still perfect teeth 
of a ghastly skull. 
" These then," thought I, “are the mortal re¬ 
mains of some poor wretch whom revengeful or 
other passions have sent thus secretly, and proba¬ 
bly without warning, to his long account. They 
must he taken up and burled without delay.” 
“ Hulloa, master, what are you after down 
there ?” cried a voice at this moment, ana I saw 
the old gardDer above, looking at me with suspi¬ 
cious eyes. 
“ Come and see for yourself. You may as well 
lend a band. These bones are human bones—” 
“ 1 wouldn’t touch them with the end of my 
long rake," he said, shuddering. "You’d beat 
leave 'em alone too; what call Is there for you to 
meddle or mix with these Things? They don’t 
concern you.” 
"I'll go hall that when these bones are burled 
there'll be no more haunting of the state chamber. 
Come, don’t be an old fool. Lay hold : I’ll hand 
them up to you, one by one.” 
Very reluctantly, and grumbling audibly, the 
gardener received the armor and the bones they 
encased, as I gave them to him. Then l climbed 
up the stone counterscarp of the moat, and with 
hla assistance removed them all to a corner of the 
garden. There I made the old man dig a deep hole, 
and we consigned them to the earth. A Email 
stone was set to mark the spot, In ease Miss Max- 
tea or any one might wIbu to reopen the rude 
grave. 
*• There, Mr. Duke,” 1 said with a sigh of re¬ 
lief, “ that’s the end of that business. The manor 
House will be no longer worried by ghosts.” 
“ Ghosts never forgive, master,” said the grave¬ 
digger, gloomily. " You may think to muzzle 
’em and put a stop on ’em here ; but they’re like 
weeds. It they’re pulled out a o corner, ’ll 
spring up faster In another.” 
" i feel certain at any rale, that they’ll leave 
the state chamber alone.” 
•‘Maybe, and It’ll not be a day too soon. But 
there Is a curse upen the old place, I’m afeared, 
and If you stop here, master, you’ll be troubled by 
them in tome other way. Mark my words—In 
some other, worser way.” 
I was right, however, as to the state chamber. 
I slept In It that same night, and the next night, 
and still a third, without encountering the slight¬ 
est disturbance or annoyance. Alter this I felt 
j usutlfed Id writing, through my aunt, to advise 
Mias Maxted of the success ol' my operations, in 
due course, and through the Bame channel, i re¬ 
ceived the owner’s warmest thanks. But doubts 
underlaid every line. Miss Maxted, like her gar 
dener, mistrusted the completeness of the cure. I 
might be confident that the Manor House was 
purged, but she knew the place better, and feared 
that manifestations and visitations would crop up 
in some other shape and form. The message I 
received ended with a sentence which gave me. as 
I thought, much tnslght Into Miss Maxted’s char¬ 
acter. ** Perhaps, as I seemed an amateur In 
ghost laying,” she told my aunt. “ I might, not 
mind exercising myBelf a little longer m the at¬ 
tempt to render the Manor a hospitable house.” 
Miss Maxted was clearly chaffing me—making 
game of me—and I am not sure T was altogether 
pleased. 
But the days and nights slipped by without any 
fresh occurrence. The former I spent at my easel 
In the air; It was perfect painting weather, and I 
had already several pictures well on towards com¬ 
pletion. The latter T passed In the snug dining¬ 
room reading and dozing before the fire. I slept 
now always In the state chamber, and retired 
early to rest, one night—it, was about a fortnight, 
after the drainage of the moat—as usual I took up 
my candlestick soou after ten, and went through 
the door leading Into the corridor, which, as I have 
said, margined all these rooms, and led to the foot 
of the staircase. All along this corridor. It, will 
he remembered, were windows opening into the 
central court. 
I had Issued forth a little brusquely, as was my 
wont: but the moment I was through the door I 
became conscious that Eome one was watching 
my movements from the central court. I caught 
sight—1 was nearly positive of it-of a partially 
veiled face at, the passage window. It was but a 
momentary glimpse; directly my eyes rested upon 
It, it had disappeared. Yet It left a distinct im¬ 
pression on my mind. It could not be mere fancy 
or imagination. 1 was perfectly cool and collect¬ 
ed, and 1 bad a clear recollection of what I had 
seen. The head was enveloped In a white hood or 
snood, which was drawn across the lower features 
and concealed them, and indeed most of the face 
but the eyes. Those eyes! as they glittered bright 
and hatefully in their snowy setting, I felt certain 
I had seen them before. But where ? 
To oe continued. 
BRIC-A-BRAC. 
See the lawyer ms he stands 
Moving Jaws and waving: hands, 
Telling- lies he understands— 
Pressing of his suit. 
See the tailor, with a zest. 
Like all tailors poorly dressed, 
Ironing coat, pants and vest- 
pressing of hissuit. 
Mark the lover while he kneels; 
Tell the thrilling throb hr- feels; 
Hear the nonsense he reveals— 
Pressing of his suit. 
Lawyer’s suit may be amended. 
Tailor's suit may be a mended 
Lover's suit may be aim ended 
\\ hero the suit don’t suit. 
THK STORY OF AN UMBRELLA. 
The Nachrlchten of Basle tells a story which 
may give the bold purchaser a hint of a new 
method of protecting himself against fraudulent 
shopkeepers. A young gentleman bought a silk 
umbrella i torn an umbrella-dealer indefinitely 
characterized as C-. The next day was 
rainy ; the umbrella was put Into use, but the silk 
tore tn six places during the first hour of its con¬ 
tact with the rain. The purchaser went straight 
to the shop, exhibited the ruined article, and de¬ 
manded a sound one m Its stead, c -’s Bilk- 
umbrellas, however, were made to sell, not to 
endure use; the dealer smiled politely, and ob¬ 
served that purchasers ought to he careful when 
they made their selections. The young man took 
home his umbrella, painted around it the fol¬ 
lowing Inscription in big letters: “ This is 
how an umbrella looks to-day which was at 
C—'s shop yesterday,” and hired a commis¬ 
sionaire to walk to and fro before C-'s shop 
with the opened umbrella for a whole day. This 
unusual form of advertisement naturally Irritated 
BerrC-, and could not have been wl’ hoot a 
deterring Influence upon possible customers. 
C-sent for the police, and asked them to ar¬ 
rest the bearer of the umbrella, but they declared 
that they could see no legal crime In the commis¬ 
sionaire's proceeding, and declined to take him off 
to jail. Early the next morning, the imperturb¬ 
able umbrella-carrier appeared again, and ho 
kept sentinel In this manner in front of C-’s 
shop for nearly a week. At the end of this period, 
the shopkeeper saw that he must give way, and 
calling the man, asked htm to go to his employer 
and say that everything should he settled accord¬ 
ing to his wishes. When the bold Inventor or the 
stratagem entered the shop, the dealer offered htm 
a sound silk umbrella tn exchange for the sickly 
one. The purchaser agreed to accept It, but added 
the further demand that th« dealer should pay 
the commissionaire a week's wages, to which sug¬ 
gestion he was compelled to assent. 
Now doth the cornet serenely sail. 
Throughout the cerulean blue; 
Walking ahead of its tortuous tail, 
And setting astronomy askew. 
—Irvington Washing. 
A child in a small Bavarian village was being 
catechised by a priest, and, asked how many 
things are necessary tn a service of baptism, he 
promptly replied, “Three, father." "Ah, you 
stupid,” retorted the holy man, " I thought every¬ 
body knew that only two are absolutely neces¬ 
sary ; first, water, and second the Bible. Now, 
young sir, won’t you tell me what are the three V 
The boy looked up with a bland smile, ana an¬ 
swered, "My rather, the three are first, water; 
second, the Bible,; and third, a baby. 
" Two heads are better than one,”—on a letter 
that weighs over half an ounce.—Yawcob Strauss 
Jfur ®Hourctt. 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
THE CHILDREN. 
“ I’m tired of this ceaseless worry”—thus the weary 
mother said. 
“ I rise up betimes in the morning, and I’m always the 
last to bod; 
Yet my labors are never ended, and the children’s 
frolic and strife 
Seems sometimes to drive me crazy, and I’m tired of 
this wretched life.” 
I grieved for the weary mother, for her face was worn 
and wan. 
And a rosy bride I’d seen her but scarce five Summers 
gone; 
But, when T looked at the children—so happy, so 
healthful and gay— 
I spoke not a word of pity, but turned with a sob 
away. 
For I minded how once my dwelling, now orderly, 
still and neat. 
Ke-echoed my children's voiceB, and the pattering of 
their feet. 
As they scampered thro’hall and parlor, and in and 
out at the doors, 
While dollies usurped my sofas, and picture-books 
strewed my floors. 
And I minded the day they sickened, and their voices 
grew sad and weak. 
As the fatal fever lightened, and wasted the burning 
cheek. 
Till over the pale, pinched features, so changed from 
their winsome grace. 
Crept the look—Oao hard to witness!—of woe on a 
baby’s face! 
O God ! Thou dost all things wisoly, and I question 
not Thy decree! 
Perchance I had else forgotten that my treasures 
were lent to mo. 
But, ah 1 the benumbing anguish to list for the failing 
breath. 
As the dear form chills and stiffens in the cold, cold 
clutch of Death! 
To day, thro’ my lonely dwelling, so quiet, precise and 
neat, 
Where the echoes are sadly silent, I wander with rest¬ 
less feet; 
I find not that old confusion which once did sorely 
annoy, 
But I inoau ’midst the drear precision, for the Bight 
of a broken toy! 
Q courage! ye weary mothers whose labors seem never 
o’er: 
Ah! vapid aud vain your being should your little oues 
need no more! 
My children are gone forever; but all that a mortal 
might strive 
Were bliss—but bliss—could I clasp them safe, safe in 
my arms alive 1 
SOMMER DREAMS. 
“ Thus, gazing on thy void and sapphire sky, 
Oh, Summer ! in my inmoRtsoul arise 
Uplifted thoughts, to which the woods reply, 
And the bland air with its soft melodies, 
Till, basking in some vision’s glorious ray, 
I long lor eagle's plumes to flee away.’’ 
In this noon ol summer’s glory, when her ra¬ 
diant smile spreads a russet-glow over earth, and 
her brown, rlpeDlng palm showers the beautiful 
and the needful In lavish abundance around us, 
even the world's busiest tollers will pause to In¬ 
hale her perfumed breath and dream, 
“ Forgetting awhile all their trials and strife; 
The dull, cheerless 1'aotorieB, the long, toiling hours,” 
Generally we think only of fortune’s favored 
ones dreamlug beBlde the crested ocean wave, or, 
solitary, beneath the shadow of the lofty moun¬ 
tain peak, as though ease and favorable surrouud- 
lngs alone could faster that luxury of thought and 
emotion- But the busiest, the humblest and the 
most practical have their Summer dreams. No 
perception so dull, no heart so Callous, but It 
yields, ooaselousiy or unconsciously, to the subtle 
influence of Summer's charms, whether in the 
dusty avenue of the city, tn the din of the work¬ 
shop, or the bustle of the humblest home, so long 
as grass grows by the wayside, and trees retain 
their foliage and zephyrs fan the languid air. 
Our emotions are strangely allied to external 
nature. Every chord vlbrallDg In her heart finds 
a responding echo in our own. The brilliancy of 
the morning calls forth a song of Joy; the languid, 
iremulous alienee of mid-day olaims— 
” The voiceless thought which would not speak biq 
weep,” 
and In the solemn grandeur of the night it be¬ 
comes a prayer. Youth dreaming of the golden 
future, age of the mellow past. One half the world 
expressing In song what the other half would say 
In sighs. One sweet Influence upon different 
minds. We can scarcely realize or define the 
subtle spell, but it is upon us nevertheless, 
•• Filling our hearta with beauty not of earth,’ 
making it feel strangely tender and teaching our 
Ups a new language ot love and humanity. 
They say that dreams are idle, the outgrowth or 
a weak sentimentalism ; but we have ever found 
them humanizing i*na elevating, springing trom 
an Imaginative, generous mind to enhance the 
beautiful and beautlry the unattractive by their 
magic coloring. 
See, for instance, the wee bare-footed, brown- 
limbed bit of humanity by the roadside, intent on 
building a mud castle. Is not that ft dream beau¬ 
tifying reality? Would we have it otherwise? 
Would we have the little hands idle, and the 
young, creative brain Inactive, because It Is only 
a dream ? Yet what are we but Older children, 
embryos of divine excellence to whom just suoh 
dreams serve to show and Incite to livo for the 
highest beauty and perfection attainable.’ The 
castles we build, the dreams we dream, evince a 
spark of the bouI’b loftiest aspirations. 
Dream, therefore; sing, weep, pray: whatever 
good, or tender, or beautiful thy heart Impels thee 
to will ennoble thy soul, em Ich thy life and soften 
Its nigged aspect! Open thy heart’s sanctuary to 
the music of nature's thousand voices 1 drink In 
Its heaven-born inspiration 
“ Till the toll-weary soul leaps forth from the (lark 
To worship its God in His temple of trees.” 
Bertha A. Winkler. 
-♦ »»-- 
ECONOMICAL COMFORT. 
While traversing a road In a city’s guburb I 
chanced to see what the seeker of comrort no doubt 
will be pleased to learn of. A plan so simple 
hag perhaps, been devised by many, but as 
minds run in so maDy different channels there 
may remain some to enlighten. The story Is this: 
gfrzlbg at a cottage near the road 1 noticed the 
piazza had been enveloped in mosquito netting. 
From the further end to, but not covering the 
doorway portion. It was tacked securely from top 
to bottom and the division between the entrance 
and the part fronting the windows was framed off 
with narrow strips just heavy enough to hold a 
door frame, In this was a door, the whole being 
covered with netting. Double width netting can 
he bought from 8 to 10 cents a yard, and a dozen 
yards probably was all that was necessary so the 
cost must have been trifling. The occupant bad 
added a hammock which buDg Inside the Inclosure 
and Increased the picture of solid enjoyment. 
Those who are driven Indoors by the tormenting 
mosquitoes ana flies should invest In a lew yards 
of netting, some tacks, etc., and make outdoor 
like sufierable. Interest. 
-♦ ♦ a- 
FASHIONS. 
Parasols to he stylish must have a pompon of 
feathers or a bunch of roses on top. 
Panama straw hats with the brim faced with 
white surah and trimmed with white pompons, 
are very pretty. 
A popular style In millinery Is to line the brims 
of hats and bonnets underneath with dark-colored 
velvet. 
New Llsie thread stockings show feet entirely 
of lace work, with the upper portion of lace-work, 
alternating with widths more closely woven. The 
lace Is either ecru, pale tan-color, lemon or tea- 
color, and the solid portions are Indian red, dark, 
blue, or else dark-brown. 
Shoe-buckles of antique silver contribute such 
designs as stars, horse-Bhoes, the clover leaf and 
heart, as well as frogs, lizards, snakes, sheep, ele¬ 
phants and camels. 
OrnamentB for presents Include a pair of tiny 
gold spurs, one or which is to be attached to the 
top or a riding boot and the other worn ou the 
chatetelne as a charm. Some spurs are orna¬ 
mented with a jewel, such as a ruby, diamond, 
sapphire, or an emerald. 
Some of the new shirred basques have gather¬ 
ings which cover the shoulders only to the depth 
ot a yoke; the shirring Is then discontinued across 
the bust, and begins again below, the shirrs being 
extremely small around the waist, and becoming 
larger as they extend even beyond the hips to the 
outline of the basque. Much more dressy shirred 
basques have shlrrtngs at the neck, back and 
front, in pompadour shape; the interval over the 
bust Is left free, and a width or shin In • appears 
around the waist. The skirt of the basque Is then 
pointed In front at each Bide, ana the much-ex¬ 
tended and full back la festooned in the center. 
Fashionable seaside toilets are now the order of 
the day. The latest models In elegant costumes 
have skirt-fronts of shaded silk, shirred across. 
Tunics of torquolso, lavender, or terra-cotta-col¬ 
ored vailing are In great favor. 
A very fresh looktng toilet Is thus composed- 
skirt of Louise-blue summer satin, entirely covered 
with pretty bands of embroidered unbleached 
cambric, scalloped out round the edge, bordered 
with narrow lace, and gathered into flounces; 
bodice trimmed to correspond. 
Linen dresses are made very much in the samo 
way, and trimmed with striped materials to cor¬ 
respond. Outside pockets are no longer worn; 
the one useful pocket Is concealed amoug the folds 
of the draped scarf or under the drapery of the 
panlers. 
Little girls wear flocks of pompadour sateen, In 
pretty floral patterns over light-colored grounds. 
Shoes of black kid, seml-hlgh and laced, are 
adopted tor morning toilets; the colored HtocklDg 
has decidedly taken the place of the while one, 
which has almost disappeared. Dark colors, such 
as grayish blue, garnet, purple and iron-gray, 
are alone worn for morning nose; for tne evening 
light-colored 8Uk stockings with lace clocks applied 
are fashionable. 
Simple, useful costumes lor the country or the 
beach are made of striped limousine, or of light 
cheviot cloth in tiny checks upon grounds of un¬ 
certain color. To the dress la very frequently 
added a small pelertne-sort of large collar, either 
plain or gathered upon the shoulders, fined with 
bright-colored silk and fastened with a long flow¬ 
ing bow or ribbon ot the same color. This pelerine 
does not come down lower than the shoulders, and 
does not hide the waist; It, however, dispenses 
with wearing any other mantle for out-walking. 
■-* ■ ■ » «- 
ABOUT WOMEN. 
Miss Dorothy Dix, well known for her services 
In the hospitals, Is critically 111 In Washington. 
James Russell Lowell la giving sittings in 
London to Anna Lea Merritt, one of the best of 
the young American portrait painters. 
A ORAND-DAUOUTKR of the famous beauty, the 
Marquise de Minnie, uas just died. Louis XV 
once said of her " This Minute has no second.” 
Three women residing in Brooklyn, N. Y., were 
lately burned by klDdllng fire with kerosene and 
died from the effects. It would seem that there 
were lessons enough on record to prevent such 
occurrences; why will they not be heeded? 
