The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1889-08-04

Every little while new figures, in lace,
and new designs, on the behOlder, were in
troduced. j need not describe the dance
fully, for those who have seen 1T will re-
morsefully remember it, and those who
have not will slyly go to see it when they
are In Paris.
From the can-can to the morgue is arapid
change. but will just allude to the latter
went not so much out of curiosity this
time, but because had heard of an Ameri-
cans disappearance and feared that he had
gone to the Seine. the last and saddest OF
all places to seek relief from the sings
and arrows of outrageous fortune. he was
not at the mOrgue, however.
There were four people there represent
ing four different phases of life. The first
was an old lady. Her grey hair was de-
Gently put back from Ler peaceful brow,
and her basket was in her lap. Quietly
she ignored the earnest startled and hOrri-
fed looks of the eager procession outside
the glass. Her rest had come at last Pos
sibly worthless and heartless son came to
body's ill-treated mother-in-law, for the
mOther-in-law is not encouraged as she
ought to be, even in France.
Then came middle-aged man whose
hands were marked with toll. His face
was as calm as the skies on a summer night.
There was nothing terrible about it, for he
looked like one who wraps the drapery of
bis couch about him and lies down 20 pleas
ant dreams"
Then came young man with q cap. His
clothes were as he wore them and his face
was not distorted. The CHASTITY fishermen
of the Seine like the prowler on the
Thames. SO graphically described by Dick
ems in Our Mutual Friend" had found the
the bosom of his shirt in lifting him to the
surface, but he was past annoyance over q
little thing like that, and his rest was un-
disturbed even In the face of the multitude,
and. like SteerfOrth, he lay with his arm
beneath his head as he had done at school.
Then came a young girl ] could not help
thinking of the Railway mystery. as / saw
her there No one knew her, but every one
pushed toward that part of the morgue to
see her face and wonder who she might be.
the light had gone from her grey eyes. but
the man who helped to make this picture in
the old. grim morgue probably snaps his
fingers at the fates and drinks his absinthe
with his friends. He is welcome to the
JOY he has. Her own peaceful slumber is
better
The Partisan morgue is not horrible. To
me it is a history of humanity. In it you
may read the last chapter of a life and con-
lecture what the other chapters were.
do not go there to see horrors. but to see
the last tableau and Judge as well as ! may
what the others were before it and what
led to all this.
There is one feature of the Champs Ely
sCOo =" ulCu udo uOb uoou uClctOlOIc LclolItu
to that know of and so l speak of 1t here.
1t is the array OF wet nurses under the trees
all the way up to the arc | refer to it be-
cause a New York lady called my attention
to it to-day, and so it is proper. They are
all large. robust women. and as the gor-
geous equipages pass by. filled with pomp.
pride and circumstance, these vigorous
nurses earn their salary by looking at the
procession. 1t would be very strange any
where but In France. Here everything
which is necessary and sensible, is correct.
False mOdesty and foolish, mawkish fear
of certain things are not noticeable. This
is a good thing to remember and consider.
These nurses are generally middle-aged
and very healthy, otherwise they would
not be employed. They take the little
Champs Elysees at evening time. and the lit
tie BOurbOns may be seen there till dark
taking their meals as the crowds roll by.
BILL NYE