The Helena independent. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1875-1943, 1891-03-01
TAX HEARD AT A TEA.
Browning Reposed on the Table,
the Ladies Talked Naught
Ha Of Him.
The Conversation Does Not Seem
to Have Been Exactly
Apropos.
Every Face Blanched When the Poet Was
suggested-Tell 1t Not in
Boston.

Mrs. Leslie Chapin's parlors in Van Ness avenue.
On the table 10 a complete set of .browning's
works; on a small desk q pile of reference
from the high. carved mantel, and on the piano
are various songs, all settings of the poets
words. Mrs. Chaplin is pouring tea behind a
Her pretty niece. Bessie Russell, from Boston,
i carrying around bits OF waters and little
mingles with the soft clatter of china.
Mrs. Lovejoy-Such an awfully fetching
gown, and SO decollete! She does un-
have had a modiste, SO l suppose the clever
thing got it up at home. thought l saw a
Redfern belt in her cloak, but I'll wager
she got it from a..
Mrs. Clarke-Servant! He is a perfect
jewel. The only trouble we have is in liv-
ing up to him. You see, he has been with
the Richardson's ever since he left the other
side, and they seem never to have relaxed
for an instant. l just revel in it, but Mr..
Clarke gets SO rebellious that I tremble for
our reputation. He eats butter for dinner
right under the buffers reproachful eyes.
and once he served himself twice with soup;
I could see it was AZ awful shock to James,
though of course he was too we'll trained to
say that
Mrs. McGreRor-That horrible Mrs.
Clancy has set up a carriage and pair, and
is actually leaving great sheets of paste
board all over the city. Her carriage has
q coat of arms, too, they say. If it is ap-
propriate it ought to be a pair of red, Irish
arms bare, rampant on a dashboard gules.
Her mother was my laundress half a dozen
years ago and caused l. tragedy in my faml-
ly, too. Ny dear old maiden aunt, Betsey
Swift, was sitting on the side porch one
night at dusk, n old Colonel Chavez had
just taken her withered white HAND to help
mir to say, heaven knows what. of old.
fashioned love phrases, when q howl made
him start and shrink like a mimosa.
There stood that tipsy old woman, waving
one of poor Betsey's undergarments in the
air mi trying to explain a tear or a burn.
Betsey gave one look and fled. and the
colonel never got quite to the point again.
It was a cruel shame, and l think
Miss DouRlas-The Humane society ought
to demonstrate with him. He has disci-
plined that miserable dog of his until he
hasn't q spontaneous moment of existence.
He won't allow him to snore, nor to turn
round but once before ne lies down, and as
for the joy of a flea or two to hunt he has
left that hope behind long ago. Why, his
master even counts how many times he wags
his tail, and says. patroniZingly, There,
that'll do, Chesterfield, :" and either the tone
or the name has the desired effect. You see,
his owner is one of the New England
Dwights and has set ideas about everything,
ven
Mrs. Wilton-His own identity. Why,
dear woman, he hasn't any. He is just Mrs.
Carrolps husband and maid. of-nll-work.
He picks the camphor out of her furs, heats
her curling irons, and they even say mani
cures her finger nails. l AM going to ask
him up to dine and bring his wife's new
book, Petals Of Passion" I'll try and
cut the fringe off his cuffs while he cuts the
leaves of the book. OF course he is an In