Chicago daily tribune. [volume], June 29, 1873, Page 11, Image 11

About Chicago daily tribune. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1872-1963

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new york:
Merciless Persecution of Trav
•: elers —A Novel Rail
way Feature.
Lecture-Field —Some of the
. Gifted Candidates for Ly
ceum-Laurels.
The Next Italian Opera-Season—A New
Process for Masculine
Renovation.
pram Oar Oxen Correspondent
New Yoaa, Juno 38,1873.
.. Xt this time, when so many persona are going
ant of town, their interest, as well as that of all
travelers, demands that they should make their
journeys with as little discomfort as possible,
gravel has many annoyances at best, and there
is oo good reason why they should be deliber
ately increased.
A GREAT BAIL WAY-ANNOYANCE.
-• Que of the greatest inconveniences of railway
carßi it present, is from the vendors of all sorts
of giincracks, who, from tho beginning to the
«ndof your journey, make yon the involun
iuy depositary of their wares. The train
freely leaves tho station before men
or boys pass down the aisle, throwing books and
into your lap, which they expect you
to take particular care of until they return. If
yon let their publications fall on the floor, as
you ought to, they look deeply grieved, and, not
improbably, express their anger in anything but
delicate terms. You are glad that this unpleaa
tntness is past, but you are glad too soou. Tho
nine wretches, or persons equally wretched,
Some along again in a few minutes, and deposit
boxes of lozenges on your knees, or in the seat
you occupy. These are collected in turn, with
the same contingent results as before, and are
lacceeded by a general distribution of
lugar and parcels.
Fruit, in every state either of greenness ordecay,
is then introduced by the common enemy, and,
if you happen to be asleep, you are awakened by
the cry of oranges, apples, or cherries; and, if
you do not show that you are awake, a basket is
thrust into your side, until you open your eyes,
md protest against such infliction. You have
likely lost your temper by this time to such a
degree that you feel inclined to throw these in
fernal vendors out of the window. But you
tboke down your wrath, and once more address
yourself to slumber, when a clamorous demand is
eude that you should purchase chestnuts or
popcorn. Still exercising self-restraint, you
bold your peace until you aro besought to buy
cough-drops, .warranted to cure coids, pneu
monia, pleurisy, cpnsumption, and every possi
ble disease of the throat and longs. Then, if
yen be an ordinary man, you swear for a few
iscouds; but excite so much attention by your
tmamiahilitT that you feel mortified at year tem
per. and sink into the grimmest silencer You
think, “ Oh, well! it isn't worth while making
trouble about trifles ; it is all over now, at any
rate!”
Mistaken mortal! The thing was only begun.
It moves in a continuous circle, and has no end.
Ike cough-drops merely servo to resume the
offer of newspapers, —usually cheap weeklies,
remarkable for abominable English and hideous
fllnfitrations. Tbe books come on again; and
each books i The trashiest novels and the most
valguly-Bensational romances, which no person
of taste or culture could be pursuaded to read,
are hurled into your lap, or piled up under your
eyes, without the least regard to your conven
ience or comfort. Then the lozenges, the maple
candy, pop-corn, etc., etc., etc., revolve and re
ferolve, and always in time to prevent your read
ing or getting a little nap.
* Ibis persecution of travelers has become so
common that nobody thinks of complaining of
it. Indeed, it has grown to be regarded as one
of the rights of tho road.
A NEW jrUISAJTCE.
Anew nuisance is just beginning to be in
tngorated,as the reporters would say, in the
ih&pe of beggars and cripples, who either come
or are led into the cars during the time that the
renders are resting from their labors. This
branchcf the businesswill, lam sure, be rapidly
extended and improved. The beggars will be
more disagreeable, dirty, and importunate, and
lie cripples more loathsome and repulsive.
Tift shall soon have a very choice
lot of" the maimed and diseased,
who will doubtless display their sores, wounds,
snd fractures, after the manner of the Span
ish mendicants. 'We shall have, too, that charm
ing company of musicians, so familiar to all of
ns, who torture ancient fiddles, and shriek dis
cordantly with the assumption of singing.
Tbe question is, Have travelers any rights that
tbe railroad companies are bound to respect ?
Aa everybody knows,, the ! rail ways receive—at
least their representatives do—a certain price
for permitting such perpetual inflictions on
their patrons. They do not.care a fig ; it would
seem, for the public, except so far as its money
is concerned. Getting that, they are in
different to everything else. It is
said that the monopolizing corporations
have an additional object in thus
persecuting travelers. Tho object is to drive
their customers from the ordinary cars to the
Pullman Palace-cars, where an extra rate is
paid,—thus establishing, by degrees, first and
iccoad-class accommodations. If the compa
nies will use their usual enterprise, and secure a
few thousand juvenile Italian fiddlers and
Bcreechers, and import several ship-loads of
Italian and Seville beggars, they would accom
plish their object in an unusually short space of
time.
WOULIHBI LECTUBEBS.
The Lyceum Bureaus—as they are styled—
Uie just made up their list of lecturers for
tot season; and it is amusing to observe how
may distinguished nobodies the list contains,-
Heady fr.Jf of all tho men and women
I have seen announced for the sea
ton of ’73-'74 are persons of whom I
hire never heard, and it is my business to know
cithoee in any way prominent. I wish some
would tell merwho engages such men as J.
PiTMna Pndjins, the famous humorist, or Ben
Buley Buchu, the renowned traveler; Mrs.
Bertphine Smithers, the noted reader, or 'Miss
Jemima Jumpup, the eloquent advocate of her
(si* Borne of these are advertised year after
year, but moat of'them, finding that they are
tot at ah in request, withdraw to private life,
uri condemn, forever after, the country and an
tp which cannot appreciate them. Nothing
taowa the vanity and egotism of persons more
their putting themselves forward as lec
tor*,when they have neither reputation nor
Milih.
for example,the sub-editor of aTillagenewspa-
P®j vho haa •written stereotyped fustian for bot
fears, and who has received superabundant
imagoes himself to bo so in tel*
gifted that he must inform the great
of the stuff of which he is composed. Ho
““Me the Lyceum as the means of communi
i but, unfortunately, the Lyceum does not
Stooge him.
Another rustic scribbler acquires a little local
by rehearsing old etories, and byreprinting,
5? slight alterations, extracts from the leading
TVPspeis. In his own mind, -he is another
■inenms Ward, or Jlaii Twain, arid is convinced,
&,»<•* one °* tds supposed-to-be aido-split-
Sf “soouraes, that thoueands upon thousands
woman, who learns that Mrs.
uomT? v r " nn a Dielrinson haa achieved re
oeheves ehe has a vocation to show the
"gwronea of her sex, and hopes to do so in a
of lectures.. She has no ideas and no
j le^*jSo ; bat she does not imagine that such
stand in the way of her advancement.
mnff!®. 41 ® some of the amiable idiots who
» diamine the public mind from the
who, when they are denied the
deem the time thoroughly degen-
Itnev. - T . IrE MIO DEiMA.
ioluiiJr rauis DQt it pours, appears to bo true
lni»i opera in this city. Yon Jmow. what a
*ad we *“ TO had for several years,
thg a!? P°oriy Lucca was sustained ai
pnjaJffl Academy season. Now we are
tnmnSr’ “ 01t autumn, two complete opera
theSir 0 ? 0 .? 1 the Academy, with Nilsson, and
KmV.' r Grand Opera-House, with De
MtrelzoV fv™ 08 * la to have the former, and
provided the programme
tsoaSrß i^k- 88 Proodsed. If it be, one of the
We«mn Pooud to lose money, since it seome
orvS . 83 we are willing to do to support
Ho, Wtli^r 0 ? 105- at a t™ e - Gye and Mapl
e lc»,'r,, _ “sotere, as you arc aware, hove
seison, vJL? 10 ? 0 !’ su, London for a number of
lyric rivalry to oho another.
S3 to do P°t do, Now York will not be
*ShsittiVim_ lei v “ music, Nilsson is such a
■ I * £re i and has established such a social
reputation, that she Trill doubtless draw large
houses, whatever be De Murska’s fortune at the
other house.
It is to be hoped that the artists supporting the
prima donna will bo as good as they ought to be
amllhat the chorus and mountings will be effi
cient and sufficient. If they are not, X question
whether the patronage eiomlcc] will be at all
largo. The public have grown tired of third or
foorth.-rato performances at first-class prices.
"When one is compelled to pay 85 or $6 for a sin
gle scat at the opera, one is certainly entitled to
hear good music very well rendered.
6AJLMAQUNDL
It has been noticed recently that a number of
our moat ancient gallants have presented in pub
lic a particularly froah and renovated appear
ance. It is not dye nor corsets alone, —these
they haveheretoforo used, —they have imparted
to their face and form the acmblauco of com
parative youth and vigor. Their intimate friends
say they look from twenty-five to thirty years
leas old than they did. Much curioeity is felt
among other venerable beaux to know how they
have managed this; but, thus far, the secret
has been well kept.
Some wag has circulated the report that Pierre
Blot is dying of dyspepsia from eating diaboa of
bia own preparation. Blot pronounces thin a
villainous libel, and declares, if bis culinary rules
were followed on this side of the sea, there
would be no dyspepsia in the Republic.
No less than aix wsll-educatca women, occu
pying good positions iu society, are now reported
to be preparing for the stage. Strange to say,
they intend to servo a regular dramatic appreu
ticoship, beginning at the bottom instead of the
top of the ladder; and, consequently, they may
succeed.
The fortune of the late Charles M. Barras, of
“ Black Crook ” fame, will not amount, it is
said, to more than $60,000 to $70,000, instead of
$250,000, as was supposed. The reduced sum
will hardly bo enough to satisfy tho numerous
and rapacious relatives who have risen to the
surface since hia demiso.
Henry Ward Beecher expects to finish his
41 Life of Christ ” within tho next mouth ; and
tho sale of tho second volume will be larger than
that of the first. Tbs rumor that his intimate
acquaintance with Henry C. Bowen assisted him
in his subject is assorted to be wholly without
truth.
An experienced detective avers that not less
than $5,000,000 of counterfeit-money, of all
sorts, is made within a radius of fifty miles of
the Metiopolis.
It is said that, by next Christmas, there will
be about thirty theatres and variecy-eutertain
ments in tho city; and that tho autumn aud
winter season will be more prosperous than any
has ever been hero before.
Though William Cullen Bryant is popularly
presumed to be the principal owner of the J?cen
ing Post; ho really owns less than one-third,
while Alexander Henderson, tho pnblishor,
holds two-thirds of tho paper. Colstoun.
LOST AND SAVED.
I feared there was danger, 1 knew that be
went there daily. But bo plead all those ox*
cases with which men delude themselves and
those who love them. His confidence in his
safety quieted my fears for a time. But, with
vision sharpened by love and fear, I penetrated
walls, and saw what more should seo.
Driven by an impulse which overcame fear, X
entered the outer door, whose worn threshold
attested to the multitude “who walk to*
gether there,** and, passing that respectable
show of cigar-boxes, reached the inner
room. I paused, and saw its garnishing,
of bottles, glasses, and cards, and around a table
a group of men, who, with unnatural voices,
laughed and talked with the maudlin silliness of
intoxication.
- Above the din of conversation there was an
other sound,—a clanking sound, —and I saw that
each man had heavy chains hanging from his
wrists and ankles ; but tboir sight was so giddy
that they could not see them, and their senses so
dulled that they could not feel them.' And, as
they tossed the cards and gestured in their wild
excitement, the chains clanked and rattled.
The game is finished. Another bottle is open
ed : the glasses are filled and emptied; and,
with keener zest and wilder hilarity, a new game
is commenced.
In a strange glow of light, in the corner of the
room, a terrible sight fastens my gaze. A shape
too frightful to describe.—a dreadful coun
tenance, gleeful with hellish triumph,—is watch
ing the group around the table. In his hands is
a pair of fetters, from which hang ponderous
chains.
At the table, 1 see ? now, one man who is not
manacled. But his time has come; his delusion
is complete; his blindness is such that the red
hot irons can bo fastened to his wrists, and be
will not know it.
> I see the chains now hanging from the wrists
, of the man I love, —the father of my children, —
the light of my home, —the godlike man I wor
* ship.
• The agony is too great! "With a cry I awoke
f . to find myself in tho seclusion of my chamber,
and to hear the heavy, unnatural breathing of
my husband, who is sleeping at my side.
; 'But it was not a dream. It is a dreadful ro
-1 ality. The saloon is there, tho inner room, the
; table, the cards, the liquor, the glasses, tho men ;
( yes, and the chains are there, and the hideous
i monster, with the rod-hot irons, ready for tho
poor victim when he shall be sufliciently blinded
and helpless.
' God of Heaven! have mercy on them in their
i great danger.
i O wives and mothers I who love those men, is
i there no power to break those chains and sot
them free ? Prayer and fasting are good, but
i they must be joined with works,
i Bet some effort be made that shall prevent
L their terrible doom.
O men that keep these gates of Hell I raise
your hands; do you not see tho fetters ? Move
, your feet; do you not see that you are chained ?
1 Turn away from the glare that blinds you ; do
you not see the legions that swarm around you
from tho regions of damnation, dancing,
tinging, shouting, in. hellish exultation ?
There are no better men than many of those
whose danger is so fearful. Of all God’s no
blest works, they are the crowning effort. With
intellects which almost reach tbo infinite, and
„ hearts so foil of love and kindness as to bo al
most divine, they are tho sun and centre of a
universe all their own; and, in their terrible
fall, they bring, with dreadful sorrow, the hearts
of those who love them to the grave.
O ye whoso feet are in the slippery places !
Raise your fettered hands, and grasp the hand
of the Almighty. He'alone can save you. Ho
alone can make you * free. He alone can
clothe you in an armor against which
the darts of the enemy shall not prevail.
Do you not seo that hideous shape bringing tbo
fetters red-hot from the forgo ? God of Heaven
have mercy on you when all that is mortal shall
pass away from you ; when, with cleared vision,
you shall see, in long procession, in their ter
rible ruin, the men you have tempted within
your doors ; when, with hearing sharpened to
terrible acuteness, you shall hear tho cry of tho
orphans you have made ; when yon shall see, in
all their desolation, tho homes you have de
stroyed ; when these untimely widows, whose
hearts you have broken, shall appear against
you.
Can yon console yourself then with the thought
that, if you had not gathered toll on this dread
ful highway to HelL some one else would have
done so? Scribes, Pharisees, hypocrites! when
tho Almighty Judge shall ass you, ‘‘Where is
your brother?” what will you answer? You
have seen him carried away by the torrent of cir
cumstances, associations, habits, appetites, de
lusive temptations, and have turned away on the
other side, thanking God that you were not as
other men. You have seen him straggling
on the slippery banks of tho fearful
whirlpool, weak, dizzy, helpless, praying for
help, and have put forth no hand to save. I
tell you it shall be more tolerable, in that day,
for the poor victim than for you.
Pedbuabv, 1873.—Through mouths which
have eeemed years, ws have straggled against
tho evil power which would drag down to terri
ble ruin the noblest and best of men. Wo have
fled away from tho tempter; wo havo tried to
hide from his reach; but everywhere he has
followed us, always in an unexpected moment,
he baa stolon upon us, preventing our hopes,
defving our resistance. When prayers and tears
had nearly riven the fetters which were too
strong for mental will to break, he came again,
and bound anew the wretched, unwilling vie turn
One hope is loft; that, by constant prayer and
effort, the priceless soul may be saved: that
when promatnre death shall set the spirit free,
the fetters will be left behind, and tho redeem
ed soul will be carried beyond the reach of the
evil power from which earth offers no invincible
do I see in ths future beyond this?
Dark clouds cover my way, which I do not wish
to penetrate. , .
I see a broken-hearted widow, whose only
dower is shame and sorrow. . .
I gee helpless orphans, whoso only inheri
tance is a dishonored name.
God of heaven I have -mercy on ns, as we do
put onr trust in Thee. 1
Hay, 1873. —Joy! joy! The faith that would ]
cast the mountains into the sea has prevailed 3
‘fHE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, JUNE 20, 1873
with God, and the fetters are broken. They are
burned to ashes in a fire that is hotter than the
furnaces of Hell.
Hope has spread her wings, and lifted my
heart above the reach of sorrow;. The sun has
broKen through the thick clouds, and shines
upon iny pathway, making it bright so long as
life may last.
Poveity can bring no care. Death may come,
and carry my loved ones across the river; but
this would not bo trouble. So long as God ia
with us in Hia Omnipotence, preventing the
damning power of. liquor, my heart can know no
sorrow, and the future can have in store for me
nothing bat joy! joy! Mes. R.
THE LIFE OF SALMON P. CHASE.
Its Lessons to Young IHcn*
Demareat Lloyd in the Christian Weekly.
As a boy, he stooped and had an impediment
in his speech, and was slow ia learning; as a
young man, he was at first unfortunate and slow
to succeed. Graduating from Dartmouth at 18,
he proceeded to Washington and lived there for
more than a year without any income, running
in debt for his very subsistence. Hia uncle, then
a Senator of the United States, refused to ob
tain him a place in the Treasury; and it is one
of the contrasts of history, that the Treasury
clerk who lived in the same house with young
Chase and whose good fortune naturally excited
in him a desire for a similar position, was a
white-haired Treasury clerk still, when Chase
came back as Secretary to hold up the hands of
war. As a lawyer, his prospects were the re
verse of flattering. Ho was only admitted to the
Bar on his explaining that he intended to go to
Cincinnati to practice, and thero, in his first ar
gument broke down completely. For some time,
tho spell of ill-success hung over him. It used
to bo one of hia amusing stories that hia'ouly foe
for a long time was a silver half-dollar which his
client returned after a short interval to borrow £ad
never repaid. Ovoratudy, overwork, - anxiety,
and friendlesancss broke down his health. As
ho tossed on a fevered bed, could ho, the young
briefless lawyer, have soon in tho future the lit
tle scrap of paper President Lincoln was to send
to the Senate of the United States in 1864, would
he not hare thought it a Vision of *& burning
brain ? Asa curiosity, it may as well bo given
here. It bangs to-day in Mr. Chase’s dining
room at Edgewood, and is written in Mr. Lin
coln’s own plain, manly hand. It runs as fol
lows :
Executive Mansion, \
"Washington, D. C., Doc. 6,1864. J
To the Senate of the. United States: ■ •
I nominate Salmon P, Chase, of Ohio, to be Chief
Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States,
▼ice Roger B. Taney, deceased.
Abraham Lincoln.
United States Senate. \
In Executive Session, Dec. 6, 1864,)
Read; considered by unanimous consent, and nomi
nation unanimously confirmed.
D. V 7. C. Clark,
' Principal Executive Clerk.
There could hardly have been a more inauspi
cious beginning or a more splendid success.
He was conspicuous in later, as well as in early
life, for his moral courage. Towards tho close
of his first term as Governor of Ohio, there were
rumors of a defalcation in the State Treasury.
It was a damaging thing to the State Administra
tion ; smaller men would have hushed it up or
smoothed it over, if possible; but Hr. Chase,
though a candidate for re-election, walked to the
Treasurer's office, took possession of the estab
lishment, and instituted an investigation. Tbe
exposure he had precipitated was his heavi
est load to carry through tbe en
suing campaign. Another instance of
his mgh courage was given also in his candidacy
for Governor. He was nominated by a combina
tion of two parties, one of them being the Know-
Nothing organization. Instead of concealing
his antagonism to the principles of a powerful
party which was supporting him, Mr. Chase,
though standing on the common'platform, re
pudiated any connection with the Know-Nothing
organization, and denounced unsparingly tho
tenets of his own adherents. The consequence
was, that though elected, he r&nmany thousands
dehind his ticket. No doubt many men thought as
Gov. Brough said when young Chase argued for
runaway slaves. “Therels a fine young manj
who has spoiled his bread aud butter.” Tho
sequel showed who was tho wisest.
His comparatively moderate circumstances
have been commented on in many of the tributes
which have been poured out to his memory by
press aud people, with a half apology for any
mention of tbe subject, and an intimation that
public men deserve little credit for dying poor.
Sorely this is a mistake. Honesty has become
no such common thing that wo may cease to ad
mire and praise it. Corruption is older than tho
pyramids aud will still be young when tha pyra
mids have crumbled. To say that ho was honest,
would be to paint but half his merit. Ho was scru
pulously honest, oven fastidiously honest. If such
a thing could bo. As an illustration of this, I
can relate an incident of which he told mo him
self, though not given to speaking of such mat
ters. It was during his term as Secretary of tbe
Treasury, that his bankers invested some thou
sands of dollars of his money in a stock which
rose a few months after, giving a profit on the
transaction of some four thousand dollars. A
check for the amount, nearly a year’s salary
of a Cabinet officer, was sent to Mr. Chase.
He returned it to be destroyed, saying that
while at the head of the Treasury, and
in control of tho national finances, ho diet
not deem it proper for him to engage in any
transaction affecting in tho slightest degree the
condition of tho currency. Such an example
is surely too precious to be lost. His oppor
tunities for making himself rich, if the thought
of such a thing over occurred to him, were
simply illimitable. In the immense transactions
of w&r times, the great shiftings of values, he
might have enriched himself to the very bounds
of desire without so much as tho taint of sus
picion on his garments. Our public men have
not become so pure that we can afford to dis
miss this example with a mere word of commen
dation.
THE CHARMS OF MUSIC.
Yes, the wsr-wbocp* of the Indian may produce a
pleasant thrill
When they’re mellowed by a distance that one feels
increasing still;
And the shrilling of the whistle from the steamer’s
brazen anout
Hay have minor tones of music, though I haven’t
found thorn out.
In the orchestra of Nature—in the wind, the wave, the
cloud —
There are harmonics unnumbered, though the style is
rather “loud.”
Kay, I’m willing to acknowledge that, throughout the
realms of sound—
With one dreadful reservation—there may melody be
found.
But, 0, human follow-creatures, of the cheering faith
possessed
That there larks a charm in music to beguile the sav
age breast,
Now I put it to you meekly, did there ever bosom beat
With a throb of Joy responsive to the Music of the
Street 7
Did yon over know a brother, whether civilized or
wild.
From the pale-faced son of Europe to the dusky Afric
child.
Who could find a charm of music in the strangnlary
wheeze
That is twisted from the organ of the nomad Genoese 7
Was there ever human tympan so inveterately hard
That it was not racked with torture by the strolling
Savoyard,
When with grimy little talons he is plucking at tho
sharp
TinUnnabulating catgut of his wretched little harp 7
Ah 1 no wonder fabled Orpheus moved the solid rocks
and trees,
If his efforts “ held a candle” to such fearful ones as
these;
Kor that Pluto, in the anguish of his music-troubled
sleep.
Bent Eurydiee to stop him, and believed the bargain
cheap I
Up and down the highways, gathered in a Heaven-as
cending pyre.
Should these dreadful organs perish, in a holocaust
of fire,
And if any swarthy beggar thenceforth broke the rest
or sound,
I would grind him, by the Powers, finer than the tunes
be ground.
— Harper’s Weekly.
Laces of the Countess Guiccioli*
Tho love of tho beautiful, stimulated by curi
oslty, guided us, flays Otdignani , to tho now
abandoned residence of tho l&to Marquise de
Boissy (Countess Guiccioli), where tho sale of
her laces waa to take place. We had heard of
some rare Valenciennes, Brussels point, and
Aloncon. With tho exception of six metres of
the latter, which went for 210 francs, and two
metres of tho same which brought 106 franca,
and another lot 290 francs, the queen of laces
was not fairly represented; but the above
mentioned were exquisite, and were purchased
by an Englishman. Tho Brussels point con
sisted of four fiouncas and a scarf, and were
sold for 800 francs; the Valenciennes, consisting
of five metres and two barbes, went for 310
francs; they were purchased by an "American
ladr, who, having already, a quantity of the
same in her possession, was anxious to com
plete the sot by the addition of this beautiful
remnant.
MISS EUNICE S GLOVE.
For a long time, blithe and fragile Mias Eu
nice, demure, correct in deportment, and jet
not wholly without enthusiasm, thought that
day the unluckiest in her life on which she first
took into her hands that unobtrusive yet dra
matic book, Miss Crofutt’s Missionary Labors in
the English Prisons.
It came to her notice by more accident, not
by favor of proselyting friends; and such was its
singular material that she at once devoured
it with avidity. As its title suggests, it
was the history of the ameliorating endeav
ors of a woman, in criminal society, and
it contained, perforce, a large amount of tragic
and pathetic incident. But this last was so
blended and involved with what. Miss Eunice
would have skipped os commonplace, that she
was led to digest the whole volume,—statistics,
philosophy, comments, and aIL She studied the
analysis of the atmosphere of cells, the proper
ties and waste of wheaten dour, the cost of
clothing to the General Government, the whys
and wherefores of crime and evil-doing ; and it
was not long before there was generated within
her bosom a lino and healthy ardor to emulate
this practical and courageous pattern. .
She waS profoundly moved by the tales of mis
sionary labors proper. She was filled with joy
to read that. Miss Crofutt and her lieutenants
sometimes cracked and broke away the formid
able busks which enveloped divine kernels in the
hearts of some of the wretches, and she fre
quently wept at the stories of victories gained
over monsters whose defenses of silence and
stolidity had snddcnly fallen into ruin above the
slow but persistent sapping of constant kind
ness. Acute tinglinga and chilling thrills
Would. pervade her entire body when
she read that on Christmas every
wretch seemed to become for that . day,
at least, a gracious man; that the sight of & few
penny tapers, or the possession of a handful of
sweet stuff, or a spray of holly, or a hot-house
bloom, would appear to convert the worst of
them into children. Her heart would swell to
learn how they acted during, the one poor hour
of yearly freedom in the prison yards; that they
swelled their chests: that they ran; that they
took long- strides; that the singers anxiously
tried their voices, now grown husky; that the
athletes wrestled, only to find their limbs stiff
and their arts forgotten; that the gentlest of
thorn lifted their faces, to the broad sky, and
spent the sixty, minutes in a dreadful gazing at
the clouds.
The pretty student gradually became possessed
with a rage. She desired to convert some one ;
to recover some astray; to reform sofiie wretch.
She regretted that she lived in America, and
not in England, where the most perfect rascals
were to be found; she was sorry that the
gloomy, sin-saturated prisons, which were the
scenes of Miss Orofutt’a labors, must always be
beyond her ken.
There was no crime in the family or the neigh
borhood against which she might strive; no one
whom she knew was even austere; she bad never
met a brute; all her rascals were newspa
per rascals. For aught she knew, this tranquil
ity and good-will might go on forever, without
affording her an opportunity. She must be de
nied the smallest contact with these frightful
faces and figures; these bars and cages, these
deformities of the mind and heart, these curiosi
ties of conscience, shyness, skill, and daring;
all these dramas of reclamation, all these scenes
of fervent gratitude, thankfulness, and intoxi
cating liberty,—all or any of these things must
never come to be the lot of her eyes; and she
gave herself up to the most poignant regret.
But one day she was astonished to discover
that all of these delights lay within half an
hour’s journey of her home ; and moreover,
that there was approaching an hour which was
annually set apart for the indulgence of the in
mates of the prison in question. She did not
stop to ask herself, as she might well have done,
how it was that she had so completely ignored
this particular institution, which was one
of the largest and best conducted in the
country, especially when her desire
to visit one was so keen; but she
straightway sot about preparing for her intend
ed visit in a manner which she fancied Miss
I Crofutt would have approved, had she been
present.
She resolved, in the most radical sense of the
word, to be alive. She jotted on some ivory
tablets, with a gold pencil, a number of hints to
assist her in her observations. For example:
“Prenological development; size of cells;
ounces of solid and liquid tissue-pro
ducing food; were mirrors allowed ?
if so, what was • the effect ? jim
my and skeleton-key, character of; canary
birds; query, would not their admission into
every cell animate in the human prisoners a
similar buoyancy ? to. urge upon the turnkeys
the use of the Spanish garroto in place of the
present distressing gallows; to find the propor
tion of Orthodox and Unitarian prisoners to
those of other persuasions.” But besides
these and fifty other similar memoranda, tho
enthusiast cast about her for something practi
cal to do.
She hit upon tho capital idea.of flowers. She
at once ordered from a gardener of taste 200
bouquets, or-ratber nosegays, which she intend
ed for distribution among tho prisoners sho was
about to visit, and she called upon her father
for tho money.
Then sho began to prepare her mind. Sho
wished to define tho plan from which sho was to
make her contemplations. She settled that sho
would be grave and gentle. She would be ex
quisitely careful not to hold herself too much
aloof, and yet not to step beyond the bounds of
that sweet reservo that she conceived must have
been at onco Miss Crofutt’s sword and buckler.
Her object was to awaken in the most aban
doned criminals a realization that the world, in
its most benignant phase, was still open to
them.; that society, having obtained & requital
for their wickedness, was ready to embrace them
again on proof of their repentance.
She determined to select at tho outset two or
throe of the most remarkable monsters and
turn the full head of hot persuasions exclusively
upon them, instead of sprinkling (as it were)
the whole community with her grace. Bbe
would arouse at first a very few, and then a few
more, and a few more, ana ao on adjnfinitum.
It was on a hot July morning that she jour
neyed on foot ovor tho bridge which led to the
prison, and there walked a man behind her car
rying tho flowers.
Her eyes were cast down, this being the po
sition most significant of her spirit. Her pace
was equal, firm, and rapid : she made herself
oblivious of the bustle of tho streets, and she
repented that her vanity had permitted her to
wear white and lavender, these making a com
bination in her dress which she had been told
became her well. Bhe had no right to embellish
herself. Was she going to the races,
or a match, or a kettle-dram, that she
must dandify herself with particular shades of
color? 6he stopped short, blushing. Would
Miss Cro But there was no help for it now.
It was too late to turn back. She proceeded,
feeling that the odds were against her.
She approached her destination in such a way
that the prison came into view suddenly. She
paused, with a feeling of terror. The enormous
gray building rose far above a lofty white wall of
stone, and a sense of its prodigious strength and
awful gloom overwhelmed her. On the top of
the wall, holding by an iron railing, there stood
a man withanfie trailing behind him. He
was looking down into tho yard inside.
His attitude of watchfulness, his weapon, the
unseen thing that was being thus fiercely
guarded, provoked in her such a revulsion that
she came to a standstill.
What in the name of mercy had she coma hare
for ? She began to tremble. The man with the
flowers came np to her and halted. From the
prison there came at this instant the loud clang
of a belh; and succeeding this a pro*
longed and resonant murmur which seemed
to increase. Miss Eunice looked hastily
around her. There wore several people who must
have heard the same sounds that reached her
ears, but they were not alarmed. In fact, one
or two of them seemed to be going to the prison
direct. The courage of our philanthropist be
gan to revive. A woman in a crick house oppo
site suddenly pulled up a window-curtain and
fixed an amused and inquisitive look upon her.
This would have sent her into a thrice-heated
furnace. . “ Come, if you please," she command
ed the man, and she marched upon the jaiL
She entered at first a series of neat offices in a
wing of the structure, and then she came to a
small door made of black bars of iron. A man
stood on the farther side of this, with a bunch
of large keys. When he saw Bliss Eunice ho
unlocked and opened tho door, and she passed
through.
She found that she had entered a vast, cool,
and lofty cage, one hundred feet in diameter;
it had an iron floor, and there were several peo
ple strolling about hero and there. Through
several grated apertures the sunlight streamed
with a strong effect, and a soft breeze swept
around the cavernous apartment.
Without the cage, before her and on either
hand, were three more wings of the building,
and in these were the prisoners’ corridors.
At the moment she entered, the men wore
leaving their cells, and mounting the stone stairs
m regular order, on their way to the chapel j
above. The noisy flies went tip and down and to
the right and to the left, shuffling, and scraping,
and making a groat tumult. The men were
dreesedin blue, and were soon indistinctly through
the lofty gratings. From above, and below, and
all around her, there camo the metallic snapping
of bolts and the rattle of moving bars; and so
significant was everything of savage repression
and violence, that Miss Eunice was compelled to
say faintly to herself, “I am afraid it will take
a httle time to got used to all this.”
She rested upon one of the seats in the rotun
da while tho chapel services were being conduct-,
ed, and she thus bad an opportunity to regain a
portion of her lost heart. She felt wonderfully
dwarfed and belittled, and her plan of
recovering souls had, in some way or
other, lost much of its feasibility. A glance at
her bright flowers revived her a little, as did also
a surprising, long-drawn roar from over her
head, to the tune of ‘‘America.” Tho prisoners
wero singing.
Hiss Eunice was not alone in her intended
work, for there were several other ladies, also
with supplies of flowers, who with her awaited
until tho prisoners should descend into tho yard
and be let loose before presenting them with
what they had brought. Their common purpose
made them acquainted, and by the aid of chat
and sympathy they fortified each other.
Half an hour later the 500 men descended from
the chapel to the yard, rushing out upon its
bare broad surface as you have scon a burst of
water suddenly irrigate a road-bed. A hoarse
and tremendous shout at once filled tho air, and
echoed against tho walla like the throat of a vol
cano. Some of the wretches waltzed and spun
around like dervishes, some throw somersaults,
some folded their arms gravely and marched up
and down, some fraternized, some walked away
pondering, some took off their tall caps and sat
down in the shade, some looked towards the
rotunda with expectation, and there were 'those
who looked towards it with contempt.
There led from the rotunda to tho yard a flight
of stops. Miss Eunice descended these steps
with a quaking heart, and a turnkey shouted to
tho prisoners over her head that she and others
had flowers for them.
No sooner had tho words left his lips than the
men rushed up pell-mell.
This was a crucial moment.
There thronged npon Miss Eunice an army of
men who wero being punished for all the crimes
in the calendar. Each individual here had been
caged because he was either & highwayman, or a
forger, or a burglar, or a ruffian, or a thief, or a
murderer. The unclean and frightful tide boro
down upon our terrified missionary, shrieking
and whooping. Every prisoner thrust out his
hand over the bead of tho one in front of him,
and tho foremost plucked at her dress.
She had need of courage. A sense of danger
and contamination impelled her to fly, but a
gleam of reason in the midst of her distraction
enabled her to stand her ground. She forced
herself to smile, though she knew her faco had
grown pale.
She placed a bunch of flowers into an immense
hand which projected from a coarse bluo sleeve
in front of her; the owner of the hand was
pushed away so quickly by those who came after
him that Miss Eunice failed to see his face.
Her tortured ear caugnt a rough *• Thank y’,
miss!" The spirit of Miss Crofutt revived in a
flash, and her disciple thereafter possessed no
lack of nerve.
She plied the crowd with flowers as long as
they lasted, and a jaunty self-possession en
abled her finally to gaze without flinching at the
marts of depraved and wicked faces with which
she was surrounded. Instead of retaining her'
position upon tho stops, she gradually descended
into the yard, as did several other visitors. She
began to feel at home; she found her tongue,
and her color came bock again. She felt a warm
pride in noticing with what care and respect tho
prisoners treated her gifts.; they carried them
about with great tenderness, and some compared
thoin with those of their friends.
Presently she began to recall her plans. It
occurred to her to select her two or throe vil
lains. For one, she immediately pitched upon a
lean-faced wretch in front of her. He seemed
to be old, for his back was bent and he leaned
npon a cane. His features were large, and they
bore an expression of profound gloom. His
head was sunk upon his breast, his lofty conical
cap was pulled over his cars, and his shapeless
uniform seemed to weigh him down, so infirm
was he.
Miss Eunice s|>oko to him. He did not hear ;
she spoke again. He glanced at her like a flash,
but without moving ; this waa at once followed
by a scrutinizing look. He raised hia head, and
then turned towards her gravely.
Tho solemnity of hia demeanor nearly threw
Miss Eunice oft her balance, but she mastered
herself by beginning to talk rapidly. Tho pris
oner leaned over a httle to hear better. Another
camo up, and two or three turned around tolook.
She bethought herself of an incident related in
Mias Ccofutt’s book, and she essayed its recital.
It concerned a lawyer who was once
pleading in a French criminal court in behalf of
a m*n whoso crime had been committed under
the influence of dire want. In hia plea he
described the case of another whom ho knew
who had been punished with a just but short im
prisonment instead of a long one, which the
Judge had been at liberty to impose, but from
which he humanely 1 refrained. Miss Eunice
happily remembered tho words of the lawyer:
“That man suffered like the wrong-doer that he
waa. Ho knew his punishment was just.-♦ Ther
efore there lived perpetually in his breast an im
pulse towards a better life which was cot sup
pressed and stifled by tho five years ho passed
within the walls of tho Jail. He came forth and
began to labor. He toiled bard. Ho struggled
against averted faces and cold words, and he
began to rise. Ho secreted nothing, faltered at
nothing, and cover stumbled. He succeed
ed; men took off their hats to him once
more; he became wealthy, honorable.
God-fearing. I, gentlemen, am that man,
that criminal.” As she quoted this
last declaration, Miss Eunice erected herself
with taming eyes, and touched herself proudly
upon tho breast. A dash crept into her cheeks,
and her nostrils dilated, and she grew tall.
Bhe came back to earth again, and found her
self surrounded with the prisoners. She was a
little startled.
**Ah, that was good!” ejaculated the old man
upon whom she had fixed her eyes. Kiss Eunice
felt an inexpressible sense of delight.
Murmurs of approbation cazno from all of her
listeners, especially from one on her right hand.
She looked around at him pleasantly.
But the smile faded from her lips on behold
ing him. He was extremely tall and very power
ful. Ho overshadowed her. His face was large,
ugly, and forbidding; his gray hair and beam
were cropped close, his eyebrows met at the
bridge of his nose and overhang his large eves
like a screen. Hia lips were very wide, and, be
ing tamed downwards at the comers, they gave
him a dolorous expression. His lower jaw was
square and protruding, and a pair of *prodigious
white ears projected from beneath his sugar-loaf
cap. Ha seemed to take bis cue from the old
man, for ho repeated his sentiment.
" Yes,” said ho, with a voice which broke al
ternately into a roar and a whisper, “ that was a
good story.”
“Y-yes,” faltered Miss Eunice, “and it has
the merit of being t-truo.”
He replied with a nod, and 'looked absently
over her head while he mbbod the nap upon his
rhirt with his band. Miss Eunice discovered
that hla knee touched the skirt of her dress, and
she was about to move in order tc destroy this
contact, when she remembered that Miss Cro
futt would probably have cherished the accident
as a promoter of a valuable personal influence,
so she allowed it to remain. The lean-faced
man was not to be mentioned in the same breath
with this one. therefore she adopted the superior
villain out of hand.
Sbo began to approach him. She asked him
where he lived, meaning to discover whence he
had come. He replied in the same mixture of
roar and whisper, “ Six undered ua one, North
Wing.”
Miss Eunice grew scarlet. Presently she re
covered sufficiently to pursue some inquiries
respecting the rules and customs of the prison.
She did not feet that she was interesting’her’
friend, yet it seemed clear that he did not wish
to go away. His answers wore curt, yet be
swept his cap off bis head, implying by the act
a certain reverence which Miss Eunice’s vanity
permitted her to exult at. Therefore she be
came more loquacious than ever. Some men
came up to speak with the prisoner, but he
shook them off and remained in an attitude of
strict attention, with his chin on his hand, look
ing now at tho sky, now at the ground, and now
at Miss Eunice.
In handling the flowers her gloves had been
stained, and she now held them in her fingers,
nervously twisting them as she talked. In the
course of time she grew short of subjects, and,
as her listener suggested nothing, several lapses
occurred; in one of them she absently spread
her gloves out in her palms, meanwhile wonder
ing how the English girl acted under similar cir
cumstances.
Suddenly a large hand slowly interposed itself
between her eyes and her gloves, and then with
drew, taking one of the soiled trifles with it.
She was surprised, but the surprise was pleas
urable. She said nothing at first. The prisoner
gravely spread his prize out upon his own palm,
and after looking at it carefully, he rolled it up
into a tight ball and thrust it deep in an inner
pocket.
This act made the philanthropist aware that
she bad made progress. She rose insensibly to
the elevation of patron, and she made promises
to come frequently and visit her ward and to
look in upon him when bo was at work; while
saying ibis she withdrew a little fiom the
his nnga figure hod supplied her with.
Ho throat his hands into his pockets,. but he
hastily took them out again. Still he said noth
ing and hung his head. It was while she was
in the mood of a conqueror that Mias Eunice
went 3wv- She felt a touch of repugnance at
stepping from before his eyes a free woman,
therefore she took pains to go when she thought
he.was not looking.
She pointed him out to a turnkey, who told
her he was expiating the sins of assault and
burglarious entry. Outwardly Mias Eunice
looked grieved; hut within she exalted that ho
was so emphatically a rascal.
"When she emerged from the cool, shadowy,
and frowning prison into the ghy sunlight, she
experienced a Dense of bewilderment. The sig
nificance of a lock and a bar seemed greater on
quitting them than it had when she had per
ceived them first. The drama of imprisonment
and punishment oppressed her spirit with ten
fold gloom now that she gazed upon the brillian
cy and freedom of the outer world. That she
and everybody around her were permitted to
walk hero and there at win, without question
and limit, generated within her an indefinite
feeling of gratitude; and the noise, the colors,
the creaking wagons, the myriad voices, the
splendid variety and change of all things excited
a profound but at the same time a mournful
satisfaction.
Midway in her return journey she was shrieked
at from a carriage, which at once approached
the sidewalk. Within it wore four gay maidens,
bound to tho Navy-Yard, from whence they
were to sail, with a large party of people of
nice assortment, in an experimental steamer,
which was to be made to go with kerosene
lamps, in some way. They seized upon her
hands and cajoled her. wouldn’t she go?
They (provided the oil made the wheels and
things go round) were to * lunch at Port
Warren, dine at Port Independence, and dance
at Fort Winthrop. Come, please go. O, do 1
Tho Genn&niana were to furnish the music.
Miss Eunice sighed; but shook her bead. She
had not yet got tho air of the prison out of her
lungs, nor the figure of her robber out of her
eyes, nor the sense of horror and repulsion out
of her sympathies.
At another time she would have gone to the
ends of the earth with such a happy crew, but
now she only shook her bead again and was reso
lute. No one could wring a reason from her,
and the wondering quartet drove away.
Before the day went, Miss Etmlc awoke to the
disagreeable fact that her plans had become
shrunken and contracted, that a certain some
thing had curdled her spontaneity, and that her
ardor had flown out at some crevice and had left
her with the dry husk of an intent.
She exerted herself to glow a little, but she
failed. She talked well at the tea-table, but she
did not tell about the glove. This matter plagued
her. She ran over in hermind the various doings
of Miss Crofutt, and she could not conceal from
herself that that lady had never given a glove to
one of her wretches ; no, nor had she ever per
mitted the smallest approach to familiarity.
Miss Eunice wopt a little. She was on the eve
of despairing.
In the silence of the night the idea presented
itself to her with a disagreeable baldness. There
was a thief over yonder that possessed a confi
dence with her.
They bad found it necessary to shut this man
up in iron and stone, and to goard him with a
nfle with a largo leaden ball in it.
This villain was a convict. That was a terri
ble word, one that made her blood chilL
She. the admired of hundreds and the beloved
of a family, had done a secret and shameful
thing of winch she dared not tell. In these
solemn hours tha madness of her act appalled
her.
She asked herself what might not the fellow
do with the glove ? Surely he would exhibit is
among lua brutal companions, and perhaps allow
it to pass to and fro among them. They would
laugh and joke 4 with him, and be would laugh
and joke in return, and no doubt he would kiss
it to their great delight. Again, he might go to
her friends, and by working upon their fears and
by threatening an exposure of her, extort money
from thorn. Again, might be not harass her by
constantly appearing to her at all times and all
places and making all sorts of claims and de
mands? Again, might ho not, with terrible in
genuity, use it in connection with some -false key
or some iack-in-the-box, or some dark-lantern,
or something, in order to effect his escape; or
might ho not tell the story times without count
to eomo wretched curiosity-hunters who would
advertise her folly ail over the country, to hor
perpetual misery ?
Sho became harnessed to this train of thought.
She could not escape from it. She reversed the
relation that she hoped to hold toward such a
man, and she stood in his shadow, not he in
hers.
In consequence of these ever-present fears
and sensations, there was one day, not very far
in the future, that she came to have an intolera
ble dread of. This day was the one on which the
sentence of the man was to expire. Sho felt
he would surely search for her; and that he
would had her there could he no manner of
doubt, for, in her surplus of confidence, she had
told him her full name, inasmuch os he had told,
her his.
When she contemplated this new source of
terror, her peace of mind fiod directly. So did
her plans for philanthropic labor. Not a shred
remained. The anxiety began to toll upon her.
and she took to peering onfe of a certain shaded
window that commanded the square in front
of her house. It waa not long beforo she
remembered that for good behavior cer
tain days were deducted from the convicts’
terms of imprisonment. Therefore, her ruf
fian might be released at a moment not
anticipated by her. He might, in fact, be dis
charged on any day. Ho might be on his way
towards her even now.
She was not very far from right, for suddenly
the man did appear.
Qe one day turned the corner, as she was look-
ing cut at the window fearing that she should
see him, and came in a diagonal direction across
the hot, flagged square.
Hiss Eunice’s pulse leaped into the hundreds.
She glued her ©yea upon him. There was no
mistake. There was the red face, the evil eyes,
the large mouth, aud the massive frame.
What should she do ? Should oho hide ?
Should she raise the sash and shriek to the po
lice ? Should ahe arm herself with a knife ? or
what ? In the name of mercy, what ? She
glared into the street. He came on steadily, and
she lost him for ho passed beneath her. In a
moment she beard the jangle of the bell.' She
was petrified. She heard his heavy step below.
He had gone into a little reception-room beside
the door. He crossed to a sofa opposite the
mautoL She then heard him get up and go to a
window, then he walked about, and then sat
down—probably upon a red leather seat beside
the window.
Meanwhile the servant was coming to an
nounce him'. From some impulse, which was
a strange and sudden one, she eluded the maid
and rushed headlong upon her danger. She nev
er remembered her descent of the stairs. She
awoke to a cool contemplation of matters only to
find herself entering tho room.
Had she made a mistake, after all ? It was a
question that was asked and answered in a flash.
This man was pretty erect and self-assured, but
she discerned in an instant that there was need
ed but the blue woolen jacket and tho tall cap
to make him the wretch of the month before.
Ho said nothing. Neither did she. Ho stood
up, and occupied himself by twisting a button
upon his waistcoat. She, fearing a threat or a
demand, stood bridling to receive it. She look
ed at him from top to toe with parted lips.
He glanced at nor. She stepped back. He
put the rim of his cap in hie month and bit it
once or twice, and then looked ont at the win
dow. Still neither spoke. A voice at this in
stant seemed impossible.
He glanced again like a flash. She shrank,
and pat her hands npon the bolt. Presently he
began to stir. He pat oat one foot and gradu
ally moved forward. He made another step.
He was going away. He had almost reached the
door, when Miss Eunice articulated in a confused
whisper, “My—my glove; I wish you would
give me my glove.”
He stopped, fixed his eyes upon her, and after
Eassing his fingers up and down the outside of
is coat, said, with deliberation, in a hnaky
voice, “No, mum. Fmgohffurto keep it os
long as I live, if it takes two thousand years.’ 1
“Keep it! sho stammered.
“ Keep it,” he replied. •
He gave her an untranslatable look. It nei
ther frightened her nor permitted her to demand
the glove more emphatically. She felt her
cheeks and temples and her hands grow cold,
and midway in the process of fainting she saw
him disappear. Ho vanished quietly. Deliber
ation and respect characterized his movements,.
and there was not so much as a jar of the outer
door.
Poor philanthropist!
This incident nearly sent, her to a sick bed.
She fully expected that her secret would appear
in the newspapers in foil, and she lived in dread
of the oosiaugbfe of an angry and outraged so
ciety.
The more she reflected upon what her possi
bilities had been, and bow she had misused;
them, the iller and the more distressed she got.
She grew thin and snare in flesh.' Her friends
became frightened. They began to dose her and
to coddle her. She looked at them with eyes full
of supreme melancholy, and she ; frequently
wept open their should era.
In spite of her precautions, however, a thun
derbolt slipped in.
One day her father read at the table an item
that met his eye. He repeated it aloud, on ac
count of the peculiar statement in the lost lino:
“Detained on Suspicion.—A rough-looking
fellow, who gave the name of Gorman, was ar
rested on the high-road to Toxbridgo Springs for
suspected’comphcity in some recent robberies in
the neighborhood. He was fortunately able to
give a pretty clear account of his late where
abouts, and he was permitted to depart with a
caution from the Justice. Nothing was found
upon him but a few coppers and an old kid glove
wrapped in a bit of paper.”
Moss Eunice’s soup spilled. This was too
much, and she fainted this time in right good
earnest; and she straightway became an invalid
of the settled typo. They put her to bed. The
doctor told her plainly that bo knew she had a
secret, but she looked at him so imploringly that
ho refrained from telling his fancies; but he or
dered on immediate change of air. It was set
tled at once that she should go
to the “Springs,” to Tuxbridge Springs,
The doctor Anew there were young
people there, also plenty of dancing. So sue
journeyed thither with her pa and her mo, and
with pillows and servants.
They were shown to their rooms, and strong
portera followed with the luggage. Oue of
them had her huge trunk upon his shoulder.
Ho put it carefully upon the fioor, and. by so
doing exposed the ex-prisoner to Miss Eunice,
and Miss Eunice to himself. He was astonished,
but he remained silent. Eat she must needs be
frightened and fall into another fit of trembling.
After an awkward moment ho went away, while
she called to her father and begged piteously to
be taken away from Tuxbridge Springs instant
ly. There was no appeal. She hated, haled,
HATED Tuxbridge Springs, and she should die
if she were forced to remain. Sho rained tears.
The would give no reason, hut she could not
stay. No, millions on millions could not per
suade her; go sho must. There was no alterna
tive. The partv quitted the place within the
hour, hag and baggage. Miss Eunice’s father
was perplexed and angry, and her mother would
have'been angry also if she had dared.
They went to other springs and stayed a
month, but the patient’s fright increased each
day and so did her fever. She was full of dis
tractions. . In her dreams everybody laughed nfe
her as the one who had flirted with a convict.
She would ever be pursued with tho tale of her
foolishness and stupidity. Should, she over re
cover her self-respect and confidence ?
She had become radically selfish. She forgot
tho old ideas of noble-heartodneas and self-de
nial, and her temper had become weak and child
ish. She did not meet her puzzle face to face,
but she ran away from it with her hands over
her ears. Miss Crofutt stared at her, and there
fore she threw Miss CtofutVa book into the
fire.
After two days of unceasing debate, she
called her parents and with the greatest agita
tion told them all
It so happened, in this case, that events, to
use a railroad phrase, made connection.
No sooner had Miss Eunice told her story than,
the man came again. This time ho was accom
panied by a woman.
“ Only got my glove away from him,” sobbed
the unhappy one, “that is all I ask!” This
was a fine admission! It was thought proper to
bring an officer, and so a strong ono was aant
for.
Meanwhile the couple had been admitted to
the parlor. Mias Eunice's father stationed the
officer at one door, while be, with a pistol, stood
at the other. Thou Miss Eunice went into the
apartment. She was wasted, weak, and nervous.'
The two villains got up as she came in, and
bowed. She began to tremble as usual, and laid
bold upon the xnantel-pioco. “ How much do
you want ?” she gasped.
The man gave the woman a push with his fore
finger. She stopped forward* quickly with her
crest up. Her eyes turned, and sho fixed a vix
enish look upon Miss Eunice. She suddenly
shot her hand out from beneath her shawl, and
extended it at full length. Across it lay Misa
Eunice's glove, very mnch soiled.
“ Was that tiling over yours ?” demanded the
woman shrilly.
“ Y-yea,” said Mias Eunice, faintly.
The' woman eeemod (if the apt word is to be
excused) staggered. Snfc withdrew hor hand
and looked the glove over. The man shook his
bead and began to laugh behind his hat.
“And did you ever give it to him ?” pursued
the woman, pointing over her shoulder with her
thumb.
Miss Eunice nodded.
4t (X your own free will ?”
After a moment of ellonce she ejaculated in a
whisper, “Yes.”
Now wait,” said the man, coming to tho
front, “ ’nongh has been said by you.” He then
addressed himself to Mias Eunice with tho re
mains of tha laugh still illuminating his face.
44 This is my wife’s sister, and she’s ono of the
jealous kind. I love my wife ” (boro ho became
grave) “and I novor showed her any kind ol
slight that I know of. I’ve always been fair tc
her, and she’s always been fair to me. Plain
sailin’ so far; I never kep’ anything from her.—
hat this.” He reached out and took the glove
from the woman, and spread it out upon his own
palm, as Miss Eunice had seen him do once be
fore. He looked at it thoughtfully. “I woulii’l
tell her aoout this; no, never. She w&a neves
very particular to ask me; that’s where her trust
in me came in. She knotted I was above doing
anything out of tho way—that is—l mean—” Ha
stammered and blushed, and then rushed on
volubly. ‘‘But her sister hero thought I paid
too much attention to it; ehe thought I looked
at It too much, and kep’ it secret. So she nagged
and nagged, and kept the pitch boilin’ until 1
had to let it out: I told ’om ” (Misa Eunice
shivered). til No,’ says she, my wife’s sister,
4 that won’t do, Gorman. That’s chaff, and I’m
too old a bird.’ Ther’/ore I fetched her straight
to von, so sho could put tho question direct.”
He stopped a moment as if in doubt how to go
on. Miss Eunice began to open her eyes, and
she released the manteL Tho man resumed with
something like impressiveness:
“ Wen yon last held that,” said he, slowly t bal
ancing the glove in his band, “I was a wicked
man with bad intentions through and through.
When I first held it I bcc&mo an honest man,
with good intentions.”
A burning blush of shame covered M!m Eu
nice’s face and neck.
41 An* as I kep’it my intentions went on im
provin’ and improvin’, till I made up my mind
to behave myself in future, forever. Ho you
understand ?—forever. No backslidin’, no hitch
in’, notslippin’up. I take occasion to say, miss,
that I was besot time aud again ; that the in
stant I set my foot outside them prison-gates,
over there, my old chums got round mo ; bus
I shook my head. ‘No,’ says I, * I won’t go
back on the glove.’ ”
Miss Eunice hung her head. The two bad
exchanged places, she thought; she was tho
criminal and he tho judge.
“ An’ what is more,” continued ho, with the
same weight in his tone. “I not only kep’ sight
of the glove, hut I kep’ sight of the generous
sperrit that gave it. I didn’t lot that go. f
never forgot what you meant. I knowed—l
knowed,” repeated ho, lifting his forefinger,—
“ I knowed a time would come when there
wouldn’t be any enthoosiasm, any ‘hurrah,’ and
then perhaps you’d be sorry you was so kind to
mo: an’ the time did come.
Miss Eunice buried her face in her hands and
wept aloud.
“ But did I quit the glove ? No, mum. I held
on to it. It was what I fought by. I wasn’t go
ing to give it up because it was asked for. All
tho police officers in the city couldn’t have took
it from me. I put it deep into my pocket and I
walked out. It was difforcult, miss. But I
com© through. The glovo'did it. 14 helped mo
stand out against temptation when it was strong.
If I looked at it, I remembered that once thoro
was & pare heart that pitied me. It cheered mo
up. After a while 1 kinder got out of the mud.
Then I got work. The glove again. Then a
girl that'knowed me before I took to bad ways
married me and no questions asked. Then X
oat took the glove into a dark corner and
! fleased it.”
Miss Eunice was belittled.
A noise was heard in the hall-way. Miss Eu
nice’s father and the policeman were going
away. 9
The awkwardness of the succeeding silence
was relieved by the moving of the man and the
woman. They hod done their errand, and were
going.
Said Miss Eunice, with the faint idea of mak
ing a practical apology to her visitor, "I shall
go to tho prison once a week’&fter thiri, I think.”
“ Then may God bless ye, iliss,” said the man.
He came back with tears in his eyes and took
her proffered hand for an instant. Then he and
his wife's sister wont away.
. Hiss Eunice’s remaining spark of charity at
once crackled.and burst into a flame. There is
sure to be a little something that is had in every
body’s philanthropy when it is first put to use •
it requires to be filed down like a faulty casting
before it will run without danger to anybody.
Samaritanism that goes off with h&lf a charge is
sure to do great mischief somewhere: but
Eunice’s, now properly corrected, henceforth
shot off at the proper end, and inevitably hit the
mark. She purchased a new Crofutt.— Atixrt
.Webster, Jr., in the AUanUcfor July.
' —An old gentleman in Virginia bought himself
a residence near the buiying-ground, “so as to
have quiet; neighbors whvd mind their own
business.”
11